Loved to Death

(I wrote this piece a few weeks ago, but somehow lost it on my hard drive…found it, so here goes…)

“If the people we love are stolen from us, the way to have them live on is to never stop loving them. Buildings burn, people die, but real love is forever.” – From The Crow, spoken by Sarah (1994)

“Of all the wonders that I yet have heard,
It seems to me most strange that men should fear;
Seeing that death, a necessary end,
Will come when it will come.” - Shakespeare

I don’t know how many times my wake-up alarms went off this morning. I could probably figure it out if I knew the interval of the alarm between each hit of the snooze button. I know that it was already forty-five minutes beyond the first alarm (the one that is supposed to wake me up) and the time that I finally opened my eyes and told myself that the time to wake was now. I sure didn’t want to, but I did.

The past few days have been ones of little sleep. On Wednesday, I worked a twelve-hour day. It wasn’t such a hard day, really. The first half was spent checking my floors in the 10-story business office building at work. Easy. The second half was spent in the kitchen, preparing a meal of chicken fingers and spicy cubed potatoes for the Wednesday night dinner. Not hard, but tiring work. And if my work day wasn’t long enough, I had been invited to go out afterwards for a while. Even though I felt like a zombie, I went, hung out and even had a frosty beverage or two. Angelo’s wasn’t packed with a crowd like it usually is, but my friends were there, so all was good. I think the last time I was there was St. Patrick’s Day where everyone was going green! There was so much green, that for a moment, I felt like I was at an EPA convention (cue snare drum). Anyway, I saw a friend that I hadn’t seen in a while. It happened to be her birthday and she was celebrating it by listening to a bunch of tipsy folks singing karaoke and drinking some weird Iced Tea supposedly made in Long Island (riiiight). I was really glad to see her again, cause, well…she catches my interest.

Yesterday, I worked nine hours, but before that, I went to my kids’ school to turn in some paperwork for upcoming events at the school. I love my kids’ school. I love the fact that the parents of the children attending there are involved with the daily activities of the school. And I like completing my obligation of mandatory volunteer hours. Too many parents aren’t involved with their kids’ education. Anyway, I have completed my obligation for this year. Whew! After work, I met another friend (interesting too!) at Starbucks for a Happy Hour ½ off frappachino. I’m a sucker for caramel, so I had the biggest one they had. I think I correctly said the name of the size I wanted. At least the server didn’t laugh at me, so I must have said it right. Venti…ven-ti…oh just give me a large! I heard a coffee creamer commercial the other day where the server was asking for the name of the coffee, not “how do you want your coffee”. I found it funny and thought of Starbucks immediately. Whatever they called it, I would have to say it was yummy! After what seemed like only a few minutes (but was really almost an hour and a half), I headed to the East Brainerd ball fields where my son was playing a game.

I am proud of both of my kids. They are both playing ball this summer. I mean, they played last summer, but this is a new league, with new coaches, and they are both a bit better at it than they were last year. I’m not much of a sports fan, but if my kids are playing, you can bet I’ll be there with the giant oversized “#1” Hand, cheering them on, and heckling the other players (LOL…not really). Now if they would only allow me to wear my Dual Beer Mug Hard Hat, then all would be well. My boy made me proud. In tonight’s game, he hit the ball every time he was up to bat. Usually, if he starts out bad, he gets downhearted for the rest of the game, or at least until he makes a hit. But this time he started out strong and stayed strong for the entire game.

I love them. My son just turned 7 and my daughter will be 11 this year. Well worn words and phrases state the obvious. “Time sure flies by”, “They’re getting so big”, and “Cherish every moment”, are ones that, although getting passé and cliché, make me think of how true they are. They won’t be little for long and the things that are reserved for the future are feeling more and more like “now” and less and less like “then”.

I spent some time tonight thinking about my kids. Most of it was looking at pictures of them as infants and toddlers, remembering those days with a mix of sadness and delight. I really cherish the photos of them as babies. Those days seem to fade into oblivion, but with photos and videos to remind me, they can stay fresh in this aging and forgetful mind of mine.

They are asleep for the night. When I look at my sleeping children, I wonder what they’re dreaming about. Surely not about tar balls washing up on sandy beaches from the oil spill in the Gulf and how that catastrophe has drastically damaged the ecosystem for years to come. Nor about how in a land far away from their comfortable home, the Israelis and Palestinians continue to battle an age-old conflict that will never be resolved. I’m sure it isn’t about flooding in Nashville, the violent crackdown on protesters in Thailand, nor how Korea, a country divided, continues the threat of war.

I’m sure they are dreaming happier dreams. My son might be dreaming of hitting the winning home run for his little league team or catching the fly ball that ends a winning game. He might even be dreaming of this certain little girl that is a grade ahead of him at school…and I wouldn’t doubt it; he talks about her all the time. My daughter might be dreaming of riding on the back of a winged dragon, or watching dinosaurs roaming in a strange landscape, or even with her…dreams of a boy, although being her daddy, I hope those dreams are still in the future.

I’m pretty sure their dreams do not involve hatred, evil or death. I know they know what death is. A great-grandmother, pets, and people that they sort of knew have died in their lifetime. They know that the possum in the road is not there because that’s where he fell asleep. The mouse that the cat brings up on the porch isn’t going to go home and tell of the near-miss with a large feline. Death is death; no one or no thing is going to come back, at least not on this earth. Ethereal matters I will not discuss here…He knows where my heart is.

Am I afraid of death? I should say no, but I think yes. I think that we all are afraid of dying, of leaving behind those we love; of not knowing what will happen after the last breath has left our bodies. You can say you are ready for it when you know it is near all you want, but I believe no one is really ever “ready”. Call me selfish, but I love life. I love living. I love being around those that I love. I love myself. I love loving. Am I vain to think that a lot of people would miss me? Is it wrong to think that many lives would be missing something that once made them smile, laugh, get angry, think…that to not have me in their lives ever again would be like they had died as well? I don’t know too many people that would absolutely not be able to continue life with relative normality if I were to disappear. Close family and friends, maybe for a little while. My kids; definitely.

When my sister died, there was one thing that I had wished for, something that even now, I would trade all the good times I was having while she was suffering, all the happiness in my life, all the drugs and alcohol and friends who were only around while a good time was to be had…I would trade all of it for one thing…I wish that we had been closer. I know in the physical sense, it was impossible; I lived in Tennessee while she was in Florida. I wished for mental and spiritual closeness with her that we just didn’t share. I blame it partly on the length of time spent apart, but mostly on my nonchalance, my “don’t give a damn” mentality…I was living my life and apart from my wife (at the time) and kids, everyone else ranked way below the here and now of then. And by the time I realized that there were other things more important than my little bubble of a world, she was gone.

I don’t ever want to have to wish that wish again. I want a close relationship with each and every one of my friends and my family. Even if I don’t know you that close, unless you have harmed me or anyone else that I love, unless you are the absolute incarnation of evil…I love you. Life is too fragile and too short to live in hatred or to be detached from those who care about you, about me, about whomever. In my heart, I know that I don’t hate anyone; I know that I don’t wish harm to come to anyone. I know that I can be inward, shy, reserved, and just plain scared sometimes…afraid of all the “what ifs”, afraid of rejection. I’m working on it…I’m working on it. But I also know that I’m comfortable when the “what ifs” are identified and dealt with. I know that rejection happens. I know that hurt happens. I know that mistakes can be made and sometimes the choices we make affect not only ourselves, but those around us. I’ve made choices that were hard to make. I know that even though outer forces and factions come into play when making a choice, ultimately it is my own decision. Sometimes I even regret the decisions I make. At the time, and even later, I know that the choices are made with the best interest of all involved, and even if they were the “right” choices…regret is often a consequence.

They say that “Death waits for no one”. I say that it can. It can hang around, lurking nearby, just waiting for the perfect time to pounce. Or it can show up one day unannounced. So love deeply those that you love. Let them know by actions and by words just how much you can and do love. Don’t let a chance to show appreciation escape. Love with all of your heart and that love will outlast any temporary stay on this planet. I want those I love to know I love them and always will.

I want to love them to death…

Wrong Turn Goes Right

Where am I? What seemed like ages ago, I felt a pull in the guise of a voice, perhaps in the smallest whisper, one only heard in the rustle of my hair in a breeze, an invitation to GO, pulling me towards my car. “Get in and drive”. Earlier, I had been sitting in my computer room, wasting time in front of the computer. I was on Facebook, Myspace, blogspot.com, Twittering my time in bits and bytes. Just wasting time, and ignoring the want of something more. The sun had been blocked by clouds for most of the morning, so when I saw the windows of this place I call home light up in the orange glow that suggests a warm day outside; the time to stop ignoring and start doing had finally arrived. But I protested a bit. Just a little bit. I was hungry. I had already had two cups of coffee but no food. The urge to fill my stomach overwhelmed the urge to get out, but once that need was filled, the call of escape started tapping me on the shoulder once again.

I didn’t know where I was going. I just got into my car and sat there for a while. I took inventory of what I had gathered for the excursion: water and Dr. Pepper, cell phone, camera. I couldn’t think of anything else I needed. Maybe except for a travel partner, someone to sit in the empty seat next to me, someone to share an afternoon drive to nowhere…someone who possibly had longer hair than I and a whole lot better looking…but I had to be content with just the imagination of that someone. With that, I turned the key and started the journey.

It is country out here. Country as cows and mules and chickens and porch dogs. Country as clean air, John Deere, Pabst Blue Ribbon, and buckshot. Due east, mountains rise above the horizon, misty blue mounds that disappear from sight when the road dips, looms into view when it rises. To the north, lies Cleveland. To the south; Dalton. To the west; Chattanooga. I headed east. Of course, I couldn’t go east as the birds fly. No roads go due east from here. They meander in all directions, surely meant to disorient the unwary wanderer, which I seem to be one of. I keep meaning to put a map in the car, or better yet, get online and map the roads that lead to the mountains from my house, but as of today, I had done neither one. I just decided that if I could see the mountains in front of me, I was headed in the right direction.

I can’t remember at what point I forgot to remember if that was a left or a right at that last intersection. I think that I distinctly remember saying that it didn’t matter, that all these roads lead to a major road somewhere, certainly goes to somewhere familiar, or at least familiar enough to find my way. But here in front of me is a fork in the road. I can’t see the mountains that have been peeping above the tree line, so that clue isn’t working for me at the moment. Up ahead is a church with a cemetery. I’ve always liked roaming through cemeteries. There’s finality in a graveyard. It is the one place that everyone will visit one day, not just for the day, but for a long, long time. Walking around in one is sobering. Death is neither picky nor discriminate. We all are welcome there!

But I don’t stop at the church with the graveyard. I keep on. I take a road that goes right (right seems right to me) and continue on. I pass houses, some with the look of antiquity (faded wood porches that wrap around the house…love those old houses), others that look only a few years old. Some houses even stay true to the “in disrepair, cars on blocks, appliances in the front yard (a washing machine flower pot…why didn’t I think of that?), and a yard gone fallow. Even though I don’t know where I’m going, I’m not lost at the moment; I’m just misplaced. Faith in getting somewhere is what keeps me going. Knowing that I’ll end up just where I’m going keeps me going further. The mountains are big enough that sooner or later, they will come back into sight and I will know exactly where I am and which way I should go.

If there was someone to ask for direction, I would do it. I’m not above admitting that I am wrong, lost, or going in the totally wrong direction. I’m not usually the person who just goes and goes on a whim, just thinking that I will find my own way. I like direction. But I’m stepping out here, going into territory unknown, although still familiar, and not worrying or caring one way or the other. What will be, will be. I’ve found myself doing that more and more lately, whether I like it or not.

I like Stephen King. I have for a long time now. His books have a way of pulling me in to the world within the writings, almost making me a character alongside those in the book. I guess any book can do that, but I’m talking about my favorite author here, so I’m going with that. I admit that sometimes he takes up too much time beating around the bush, taking forever to get to the point where the action starts, building up characters and timelines almost to the point of “get to the point already”. I’m about to start reading the 7th and last book of his “Dark Tower” series. Short synopsis: The Gunslinger, Roland, and his three companions (his “ka-tet”) are getting closer and closer to the Dark Tower and the secret that lies therein. There are many more worlds than our own, each one held by a Beam radiating from this Tower, and they are being broken one by one by workers loyal to “The Crimson King”. When the last Beam is broken, all worlds will fall into darkness, and be ruled by the Red Eye of the Crimson King…not a good thing. Roland is a believer in “Ka”, which in our world can also be called “Karma”. Ka decides that what will be, will be. Ka is what guides the bullet from his gun. Hell, Ka is what draws his gun. Even more so, Ka is what gives him a reason to shoot in the first place. “If Ka wills…”

I’m not too sure I like being subjected to Ka, Karma, or Destiny. I would like to think that I am in control. After all, I am the one choosing which way I will go, whether it is left (bad choice?) or right (good choice?) or just staying the course and keep on going forward. If where I end up is left up to Ka, then what’s the point in making any decision for right or for wrong? Or what’s the point of making any decision at all, for that matter? If I’m destined for failure, why should I try to succeed? If I’m destined to succeed, then all these failures are for what purpose? To show me what it is like to fail just so that I can have something to look back on once I’m at the top of The Tower? To me, to believe that is to have a “do-nothing” attitude. Hey…then I must be a believer in Karma, to some extent. I have been accused of just that before. I just “let things happen”.

Man, I’m getting confused here. Things happen for a very good reason. Which way is that going? If things just happen, then did I have a part in it? I’m sure I did…or do. And if I did have a part in it, then wouldn’t I have knowledge of what the reasoning behind it all was? I sure don’t. I haven’t and I’m not sure I ever will. At least it seems like I never will. Something else I’ve heard; “Where you are at this time and place is exactly where you are supposed to be”. That’s another thing that eats at me. I believe that and at the same time, I want proof that it is where I’m supposed to be. And I want to know if where I’m supposed to be is where I want to be, or if that will lead me to where I want to end up. I have the end result (the mountains, my happiness, my security) in my mind as my destination, and by golly, I’m going to get there. Ka be damned. Ka be praised.

Taking a left, taking a right, going straight ahead…It’s a choice I choose to make, even if the choice is the one that I was going to make all along, according to Destiny, whether I am conscious of that or not. Driving and going, going and driving...but, wait…I just now realized something. I’ve been driving and driving and getting lost and finding my way and getting lost again. I’ve passed time and I’ve passed places familiar and foreign. But really, you know what? I haven’t gone anywhere. I’m holding my head in my hands and thinking and straining and draining my brain…and I’m still in my driveway.

I head for the mountains.

Hey Buddy, Can You Paradigm?

The holidays are over and a new year has begun. 2010. Good grief…that sure seemed like a long time coming. Back in the simple and carefree days of my youth, any year with a set of digits more than 2000 was the future, man. The time of jetpacks and flying cars, self-cleaning homes and shiny silver clothing. Robots doing the work of man and man not caring. War and hurting disappearing like the dinosaurs. But here we are 10 years past that unimaginable number and we still walk and work and drive on asphalt. War is even more prevalent and pain still hurts. Remember 10 years ago? The whole Y2K scare? Everything automatic or computerized was supposed to revolt against man and we were “this” close to being pushed back into the dark ages? Or even back to the turn of the century (which seems to me, close enough to be the dark ages)? I bought into it a little. I mean, hey, it didn’t hurt to be prepared, even if nothing really happened. I bought a generator big enough to run a few major appliances, enough gas to run that generator and even a vehicle for a few days, and canned food and water to last a month. Turns out, I didn’t even have to use the generator and had extra gas for my cars, and food and water that ended up being used on campouts.

Now that it is the future, I think about the past. Sometimes my mind wanders back to when this man was just a wee lad, to the days of elementary learning and blissful naivety. I remember the three-bedroom, one-bathroom house in the heart of Florida that held five kids and one adult, and the adult took up one bedroom, leaving the children the remaining two. I shared a bedroom with my brother until he went to live in the great white north of Tennessee. That left me with three females (four, counting my grandmother) as roommates. To alleviate crowding in the “girls” room, my youngest cousin moved into my room with me. Those days are as hazy to me now as a brick-paved London street at midnight. Around Thanksgiving of this past year, the cousin that I shared a room with was asking me, “Remember the time when (insert some obscure incident here)?” and other questions that jogged my memory to remember absolutely nothing. My mind drew a blank with her specifics. But of course there are other things that I remember rather well.

With my grandmother living on a fixed income and raising the greater part of her grandchildren (the children of two of her three children), we didn’t have money for extravagant extras such as video games (Atari was the shiznit) or the latest popular anything being advertised on the lone television of the house that resided in the living room. We had to work off some of our church subsidized tuition to the private two-room schoolhouse by cleaning both the church and the school. It wasn’t that hard of work and it taught us skills needed for keeping our homes clean as adults, but of course being kids, it was torture to spend time before and after school doing work instead of playing. And the work wasn’t confined to the church and the school. There was plenty to do at the house. Windows to wash, floors to vacuum or sweep and mop, and rooms to keep clean. Outside, there were animals to feed, a yard to mow, weeds to pull, fruit to pick, eggs to harvest…you name it. My grandmother was not a tyrant, but she made sure we knew the value of work and the satisfaction of knowing that it was done to the end and done right. I still to this day attribute my finely honed attention to detail to those tasks taken to hand on the two acres of fruit trees, moss-covered oaks, and chicken houses that made up the most of what I called home.

I didn’t have a father figure growing up. My dad was out of the picture, due to whatever reasons he had for giving up his parental rights to my brother, sister, and me. Of course, I had uncles who lived nearby, but they had their own lives, and to be truthful, didn’t have much time for a molding a young boy to be a productive citizen. The closest I had to having male guidance were the preachers that rotated in and out of our church. I would do jobs for them at the house that most of them stayed at when they spent their tenure at our church. One preacher was working on a handcrafted wooden boat. After hours of raking leaves in the yard, he would meet me with a tall glass of lemonade and ask if I wanted to give a hand in sanding, sealing, and polishing the two-toned watercraft in his garage. I gladly took to task dipping a paintbrush and carefully layering the sealant onto the boat or gently sanding the alternating strips of dark and light wood that comprised an honest work of art. And what was my reward for my time in his garage? Satisfaction. That, and time on the river when it was finally done. Fishing just off the banks, even if nothing was biting, spending time with someone who genuinely cared enough to teach me things that I otherwise might not have had the chance to learn. I needed what every child needs…to be taught, to be shown…to learn by example.

Being an example for someone is hard work. It is hard to constantly keep yourself in check to make sure that the things you do or the things you say don’t affect someone in a negative light. I mean, it is easy enough to live by example, but to live as an example…your work is certainly cut out for you. There are two kinds of people that you have to be an example for. Those who don’t know you and those that do. You might say that those that don’t know you aren’t as important as those that do. But I think they are. How else can you turn them into friends, co-workers, lovers, or family? Here’s how…by showing them who you are in the most positive light, not just because you want to impress them, but because you truly and honestly are that person.

I am not a bad person. I am not hateful (I “hate” hate, if that makes any sense). I try, oh so hard, to treat others the way I would like to be treated. That doesn’t mean that I don’t make mistakes or hurt people. I certainly don’t intentionally hurt anyone, but it happens. And when it does happen…I hurt as well. I lose my patience. I sometimes let four-letter words slip past my tongue. I get jealous. I get mad. I do all these things that other humans do. And that’s just it. We do them because we are human. We mess up. As a race, we fall short of perfection each and every day. And if we care even the slightest bit about how our actions can affect someone else’s life, then we ought to strive on a daily basis to improve and somehow reverse our shortcomings and prove not only to ourselves, but to those that matter, that we can be living examples of love and life. And just who are those that matter? Everyone matters.

What is a model? Isn’t a model just a replica of the real thing? I used to be deep into the hobby of modeling. Not a fashion model, that’s for sure…I’m talking about putting together small replicas of the real thing. Model cars, model boats, model airplanes. The true modeling hobbyist knows that details are important. Deep into my days of getting Testor’s glue on my fingers and paint on my grandmother’s table, I joined the “Model of the Month Club”. Each month a model car (or plane, or boat, but usually it was a car) was sent to me via the U.S. Postal service. I remember the first time I received a package. I was so excited that I couldn’t wait to open it up and start putting it together. The package looked all official with “Fragile” warnings and “Model of the Month Club” logo. Wow. I was going to be responsible for something that not only represented the real thing, but I had to be extra careful not to break it as well. That excitement lasted just about as long as it took me to open the box. Everything (and I mean everything…well, except for the windshield) was one color and hard plastic. The “rubber” tires were hard plastic. They weren’t even black. They were the same color as the rest of the pieces. It was the lamest model I had ever gotten. I didn’t want to paint the tires black. I didn’t want to chrome the pieces that were already supposed to be chrome. It was not a good example of what it was supposed to represent. I looked at the picture on the box compared to what was inside the box…and shook my head.

I must be an example. I must improve on who I am, because I have people who depend on me for their own “learning by example”. I do not want to “be a disappointment” to those that matter (and everyone matters, right?). I think everyone would agree that the most important example that we have to set are to those who are most impressionable, those who look up to us to show them the way they ought to be, who to be, how to love, how to live. Those are our children.

I sometimes think that I am not a good father. There. I said it. How do others think of the job I do? I think most would not even know except for what they see, what I show them. Of course they wouldn’t know otherwise. But I do. Then there are those that see what they want to see and I can do no right in those eyes. I try, but…sigh…I always fall short. I have already failed at a chance to be an example…and those who know; know what I am talking about…

I see other parents interact with their kids and I think, “I’m not strict enough. They’ve got their kids under their thumbs and by golly; those kids know who is boss.” And then I see those same parents and think, “How can they be so mean to their kids? How can they treat them the way they do and try to make it come across as love?” And herein lies the confusion in my mind…how do I show love and compassion to my children and still be the one who lays down the law and dole out the punishment that comes with disobedience?

Ah. Then it hits me…

It is because of the love and compassion that I have for them that I must show them what is wrong and what’s right and the consequences that come from our actions. Be an example to myself. And part of that is to live as that model. Try to do right. Try to show love at every moment. Strive to be a good person through all the mistakes and in spite of all my imperfections. And does the mere fact that I see and recognize those mistakes and imperfections make me a better person already? Does it make me a better example to not others alone, but to myself?

I think it does.

Spare Some Change?

I worked a long day today. 11.5 hours. It isn't that hard and it keeps my mind from wandering too far. Seems like I should keep it on a short leash, kinda like the kid in Wal Mart, endlessly pulling taut the tether strapped around his chest on one end and held in the hand of a "parent" who obviously got their kid mixed up with the family dog.

I left work and (speak of the devil) made my way to Wal Mart to get some essentials and the 2-presents-per-kid-per-week that seems to make me think I'm not spending that much on my kids for Christmas. Spread out like that, I forget just what I have bought. Thank goodness none of them are wrapped up yet. Smart on my part, I must say..."I may not be a smart man, but I know what a duplicate is."

Out in the parking lot, I was putting my purchases in the trunk area of my (Oh, how I love it!!) Volvo Wagon, aka Grocery Getter/Kid Hauler/Work Transport, when I heard behind me a man's voice. "Excuse me sir." Sir. He called me "Sir". I'm a Mister, but I ain't a Sir... "I just came from Knoxville and am on my way to my parent's house in Lafayette. Do you think you could help me with some gas? I'm almost out and I don't think I can make it there with what's in the tank." Now I could have rolled my eyes in disgust or told the dude to get lost. But that isn't me. I must have an aura around me that either lets people know that "Hey, this guy's a sucker. He'll buy into your story" or that screams "This guy understands and has been there. He has a heart". Take your pick.

I've helped people out before. I'm not a hard nut to crack. I know what it is like to want/need and not have. And what the hell...I've got a little bit of extra money in my wallet. I had just put $20 on my Wal Mart Gift/Gas Card and had $7 left, which turned out to have this dude's name on it. Nope, never got his name, but apparently Someone did, because I felt compelled to tell him to follow me over to the Murphy USA...and because I was headed over there anyway.

This dude seemed sincere. He looked tired and ready to get to his destination. I looked to see if anyone else was in his little beat-up pick'em-up truck. If there were kids in there, that $7 was going to look awfully small to me. Luckily, it was just him, and $7 was plenty enough to get him from Ooltewah to Lafayette. Over at the gas station, he pulled up to the opposite side of the island that I pulled up to. I told him to hold on and that I would pre-pay for him. I gave the attendant the $7, told her to put it toward the gas on pump #6, walked over to the dude and told him he was ready to go. "Pump it till it quits", I told him. I then pumped my own gas. Dude was done far sooner than I expected, but then again, it doesn't take long to pump $7 worth of gas these days. I heard him pull the handle to squeeze in a few more cents (gotta make it an even number) and then he put the handle up. I asked if he got it all and he replied that he did. "Thank you Sir (there was that "Sir" again) and Merry Christmas. I got antifreeze and oil, but just didn't have enough for gas. Bless you".

He got in his truck and pulled away. In the meantime, my pump had filled my car up and had stopped. I put the cap back on, closed the gas flap and was moving around the back of my car to head to my door when the attendant rapped on the window and motioned me to come over to the window. When I approached the window, she asked me, "You prepaid $6, right?" I reminded her it was $7. "Well, he only put in $2." I know I told him to pump till it stopped and that it would be $7. Why he stopped at $2 (actually, $2.01 cause she asked if I had a penny) I don't know. I quickly ran to the front of the product display that flanked the front of the window to see if he was still in the area, but he had already taken off to (I presume) Lafayette. Back to his family. Back to someone he loves. Back to familiarity and hopefully, safety. When I got back to the window, I fished in my pocket, produced a penny, then she gave me back a $5 bill. I was still bewildered. "I don't know the guy, I was only trying to be a good soul and help out another one". She smiled, shrugged as if to say "I don't know" and I turned and got into my car.

I got change back from trying to do a good deed. That's a new one on me. Made me feel like I was in a Discover Card commercial. Cash back on all purchases. It pays to Discover.

I've been a funk lately. Things have taken a turn in my life and have gone in a direction where I never wanted to go. I didn't want things to happen like they have. But it is life and things happen, don't they? I'm in a funk, it’s the Happy Holidays Merry Frigging Christmas time of year and I'm in a funk. I'm sure I'm not the only one. In fact, I know I'm not the only one. This time of year is bad on lots of people. People I know and love so much are in their own version of the “funk”. I love Christmas, don't get me wrong, but there are times when I walk into a store and wanna hurry up and get my stuff and get out of there before I end up either ramming an unsuspecting shopper with my under-laden buggy or pull the hairs out of my head one by one...all because of the tinny oh-so-happy piped-in Christmas music. "Just hear those sleigh bells jingling, ring ting tingling too. Come on, it's lovely weather for a sleigh ride together with you..." "Have yourself a merry little Christmas, let your heart be light. From now on, our troubles will be out of sight..." "Sleigh bells ring, are you listening, in the lane, snow is glistening. A beautiful sight, we're happy tonight, walking in a winter wonderland..." Wait a minute. Is there an underlying theme here? Am I to believe that happiness is founded in jingling bells and mounds of cold, wet and slushy frozen precipitation? And that all my troubles will disappear with the coming of a pre-determined set holiday in the middle of winter? And that all of that has to be shared with someone special in order for that happiness to materialize?

No.

I don't believe that at all. I especially don’t believe that I have to have someone to love in my life in order to be happy. In other words, happiness does not stem from company. I know that. But I also know that having someone special in my life, someone to share all of life’s accomplishments and, yes, even defeats, makes that life a little more cheery, more laughable, more loveable, and the happiness that is already there is shared…and sharing makes it grow. I shared a little happiness tonight with someone whom I didn’t even know. Someone who apparently needed a little sharing…and that act of sharing moved the bold red line up a little bit on my happiness meter. Not because of that person (I don’t even know him, but I wish him well) but because of the happiness that was already deep inside of me, hell, inside all of us, that rises to the surface, more prominent in some, and even less in others.

Being down doesn’t last for long. That I do believe. I think I do…I hope I do. It doesn’t, right?

And by the way…Have yourself a Merry little Christmas now. ;-)

The Fall and the Deluge

Day two of no air-conditioning and all is well. It’s not that my AC is broken; I can turn it on if I want to. I usually don’t have the window units running while I am gone, whether it is all day at work or a short trip to the store. When I step in the door and if it is a bit warmer than I want it to be, I turn on the units. Out comes 70º of cold blow to cool down the place in record time. But I didn’t turn them on yesterday or today. It didn’t feel like it was needed and it wasn’t. The cursed rain has brought a side effect that makes the consumption of electricity here drop quite a bit…cooler weather. The impenetrable cloud cover that has blanketed the sky for what seems like forever has turned away a lot of the sun’s heat. That’s ok. Even though I am sick and tired of the rain, I welcome cooler weather with open arms.

I think that autumn tried to sneak up on me this year. I was flipping the Farmer’s Almanac calendar that hangs in my computer room. You know, the one that has the whole year’s weather predictions and the best days of the month, planting schedule, more holidays than I’ve ever heard of, and even the length of the days. A little concoction of overkill information mingled with a little fortune telling. As I flipped the page (I was about 13 days into September before noticing the calendar needed changing…) I saw that the first day of autumn is next Tuesday. That soon and I didn’t even notice.

I’ve always loved this season. Cooler weather makes for better camping. I love the way the days are tolerable and the nights are brisk. A campfire is a whole lot more appealing when you can hover around it and it actually feels good and needed instead of too hot and just there cause, well, that’s what you do when camping. Cooler weather lets you see your breath. You never see it in mid-July now, do you? Cooler weather lets us get our coats and jackets back out of the closet for yet another season of use. Cooler weather makes the trees shed their clothes and dresses the ground with their cast-off coverings. Cooler weather makes a jaunt up into the mountains pure driving excitement. Cooler weather makes snuggling better…

I’ve been happy lately. Nothing much has changed. A little of the past catching back up with me; anticipation of what seems to be a bit of the future; someone who I am hopeful for…a little of this; a little of that…makes a mixture of something to take the place of any feelings of gloom. My daughter asked me the other day a question that kind of made me think and put a little crack in my heart for her. She asked me if I ever felt like someone didn’t want me around them. I told her of course I had. It really is easy to read people when you know what to look for. I told her also that if people don’t want you around them, then they are probably not the people you want to be around anyway. It would be great if it really was as simple as that. But I didn’t go into the complexity of the heartache of knowing someone doesn’t want you around when all you want to do is be with that person.

I said I have been happy lately. I guess that should be just a general statement. Mostly that has been the norm. Of course there are those days. This brings me to a part of cooler weather, especially in this part of our great country, which is not so smile-inducing, for me, at least. It seems that instead of fluffy-white snow to play in, it is usually cold rain falling down from a cold, dreary sky. Just this morning, at work, as I was looking out of the 9th floor window facing Lookout Mountain, I saw the distant rain coming from Missionary Ridge to the east and from the valley to the south. It seemed to be merging into a wall of water that would soon be splashing up against the window and creating puddles on the parking lot below. I knew it was coming and I just sighed. I really am sick of the rain! On one of the sunny days last week, I was able to squeeze in time to mow my yard. Before that, it had been about two weeks since I was able to mow it. It had just been too wet from rain whenever I was home and had the time to mow. I’m glad that I got it done, because I think it has rained every day since then. So this morning, I was a little bit less than happy for a short period of time. It didn’t last too long, but it was long enough for gloomy thoughts to push their way into my head and push out any happiness lingering within. I don’t mind rain, normally. Everything needs water. Plants, animals, and humans…without it we wither, just like the flower sitting in the pot holding on to the cracked earth, begging for some relief. But day after day of rain is enough to make even the happiest soul yearn for a little sunshine. Too much of a good thing is not always good. Remember way back when…animals two-by-two…huh? Remember? Is it just me? Is there something wrong with me? It seems like constant rain brings on the gloom. I tried not to let those thoughts enter my head. I try not to think about them. I try not to think about the rain. Sunny days come. They really do. They exist between the days of rain.

I try not to think about the distance of the setting sun

I try not to think about the rain

I try not to think about the saints and sinners, who have more fun?

I try not to think about the rain

I try not to think about the evil empires and stupid fools

I try not to think about the rain

I try not to think about the regulations and the rules

I try not to think about the rain

Oh oh oh

What's wrong with me?

I try not to think about the money, the mortgage on my home

I try not to think about the rain

I try not to think about the voice mails, e-mails, angry females on the phone

I try not to think about the rain

I try not to think about the job and all responsibilities

I try not to think about the rain

I try not to think about my TV, BBC or MTV

I try not to think about the rain

Oh oh oh

What's wrong with me?

Oh oh oh oh

What's wrong with me?

I try not to think about the planets when they line up wrong

I try not to think about the rain

I try not to think about the future or the future, so on and so on

I try not to think about the rain

Oh oh oh

What's wrong with me?

Oh oh oh oh

What's wrong with me?

-Skye Edwards “What’s Wrong With Me?”

It's a Big 'Ol Circle

Wanna hear a bit of truth? Do ya?

You never know who you are going to meet or what is going to happen. You can’t tell who is going to step into your life, even if for the briefest of moments. And you never really know what you are going to do when faced with a decision, no matter how important or petty it is.

I was given eyes so that I may see today. I saw, I related, I acted. The initial decision that I made was not given a second thought. It was a no-brainer. Maybe, depending upon what you believe, I moved up a rung on karma’s ladder…got a star in my crown…filled a social need. All I know is that I have been given, and I had to give back.

I stopped for gas on my way home tonight. As I was making the left hand turn at the light near the gas station, my attention was drawn to two people, standing on the corner and holding a sign. As I moved through the turn, I could get a glimpse of the words written on the sign. “Starving makes me hungry”. The holder of the sign was a man who seemed to be in his early twenties, short dreadlocks draped upon his head, coveralls and sandals wrapped up the ensemble. Standing next to him was a woman, a little thin, but not skinny, with short stubby beginnings of dreadlocks, with a tank top, hat and jeans. I admit that I knew that I was going to do something for them as soon as I saw them, but the sign sealed it for me. I filled up with gas and by the time I was done, they had moved to a corner of the Wal Mart parking lot adjacent to the gas station. I pulled over and into a parking spot.

You know, when the woman came over to my bus window, she didn’t ask for money. She called me “brother” and after our hellos, I asked her what was up, what was the story. They were traveling and had made it this far and were doing what they had to do to keep going. I didn’t ask where they were coming from or where they were going to. I did ask about what they needed. Like I said, she didn’t ask for money. But she did ask for blankets or sleeping bags for them and two others who, because of the heat, were with their dogs in the truck they were traveling in. I knew I had lots of blankets in my bus. Some blankets that I had collected over the years, some of them hardly ever seeing use. I picked out four that I could give them. I remembered that I had some Diet Dr. Pepper and water on ice in the cooler. I gave them to them. I had some hot dog buns that were left over from lunch today. No hot dogs for them, but I gave the buns to them too. They were shading the sun with T-shirts. I threw them a tube of sunscreen.

I don’t go carrying around this stuff on purpose. Most of the stuff in the bus stays there, such as the blankets, but the sunscreen was left in there by someone else, the hot dog buns were from lunch, and the drinks were from my trip to the Cleveland greenway yesterday. I had no clue that I was going to be giving personal stuff to two total strangers. I just knew that these people needed and I was able to give what was at hand. I’ve been there. Not on the road without a home. Never been a nomad. Kinda like to stay close to home, ya know? But I have been in need and someone has been the giver to me, the taker. I have also seen pleas for help from a friend in another state, needing help, a place to stay…and was not able to do a single thing to help. But here, I would do what I could.

Mama Lou and Link. That was their names. Given names, made up names, I don’t care. They sounded all right to me. I gave them what they needed and I felt blessed to have been able to give. Even though I knew I was helping other people out, I couldn’t help wonder if I was partly doing it to help myself out as well...to get a lift out of giving someone else a lift. I thought that as I pulled away after wishing them luck.

Now the rest of this story wasn’t so “spur of the moment”. I was headed home. I wanted to get home. But from the time I left them I couldn’t stop thinking there was something more I could do. I didn’t have any money, and I had told them this. It was ok. I saw at least three cars stop and give them money, $5 here, $10 there. Campground fee money or liquor money? I didn’t care. I hoped they could make enough to find a place to sleep tonight…

I made it to Apison and it hit me. No, not a brilliant idea, but a raindrop. Then another, and a few more, then a bunch of them. That’s when the light bulb came on. No, still not the big idea, but one of comfort. The rain made me remember that I had some rain ponchos in the back of the bus, under the rear seat. The rain, the remembered ponchos, and the desire to turn around and give them to those people…THAT’S what brought about the last minute turn around. Necessity. They needed money sure, but I couldn’t give that to them. But there was one thing they needed that I could give them, and that was food and drink. I turned left and headed back to Ooltewah.

All the way I was thinking thought in my head. “What if they’ve already moved on?” “I wonder if they are vegetarians.” “Oh, I hope they are still there.” Almost a mantra, a prayer, I kept repeating, “Please let them still be there”. I made it to Ooltewah and quickly made my way into Bi-Lo. I picked up some water, trail mix, granola bars, cold sliced watermelon, some bananas, and some beef jerky, paid for it and almost ran back to my bus. I left there and after going through the traffic light, I saw they were still there, and their two friends had joined them, along with their dogs.

They saw me coming and I could hear my name being called out. Cool. I noticed that the sign said something different. “These are my friends. I made them myself”. I chuckled at the play on words and parked where I had before, got out, opened up the sliding door of my bus, and gave them what I had gotten. The ponchos, the food, the water. These they took with much appreciation. Before I left, I asked if I could take their picture. I warned them that it would probably end up on my blog. Mama Lou said that if it was anybody else, she would have told them “Hell, no!” But they sat down with their sign and their dogs and granted me my request.

I was done. I had given what I had to give and had nothing else. I wished them luck, told them where the Salvation Army shelter and Community Food Kitchen were located and got in my bus, fired her up, and with a wave of my hand and with “Bless you, brother” ringing in my ears, I drove away, most likely never to see these people again.

I felt good. I had always said that if ever given the chance, I would give back what I have been given. I don’t stop for every person I see standing on the street corner with a cleverly written sign. I don’t know if I related to these people as those I would have been hanging out with in the frazzled fuzzy days of the early nineties. Dreadlock dude with beard…free-spirited sprightly females…you remember them, don’t you? I don’t know why, but I just saw these two and knew that I was going to do what I could for them. Chock it up to a little bit of human compassion. If you don’t know what that is, look it up and try it sometime. You just might like it.

Going home, I passed a house where Ron, an old acquaintance of mine lives. As I passed, I heard a “Hoot!” I had been invited to stop in before, but just never had or took the time. I took the time this time. I got there and started catching up with the past. Come to find out, he rooms with another blast from the past, a guy named Shane. In the conversation, and after others arrived, I was invited to stay for supper. I didn’t have any plans for supper; in fact, I was eating on a bag of beef jerky I had gotten for myself. I wasn’t sure I would stay, but when I was asked a second time, I decided that I would. I ended up having cheese-stuffed hamburgers and homemade tater tots. Never had homemade tater tots before, and let me tell you, these are not O’Reida tots. No. But they were “All-Righta”, that’s for sure. I need to tell Shane that if he isn’t planning on keeping the lovely lady who concocted this meal, then he needs to think again.

What goes around comes around. Karma. Doing unto others as I would have done unto me. Some kind of psychoanalytical babble theory on the relativity of returns…I don’t know. I just know that I was given, I gave, and I was given again. At all three stages, the mood was appreciation and happiness. When I was in need and was given to, the appreciation of being helped caused happiness. When I was able to give, I was happy to do so and appreciated what I do have. When I was given back, I was appreciative and happy to have re-connected with the past in the form of friends. And I even received the gift of a cactus…

What’s going to happen to Mama Lou and Link? I don’t know. I didn’t ask where they were headed. They wanted to head downtown and I gave them information as to where they could get other help. Shoot. I work downtown, not too far from the Salvation Army and the Community Kitchen. Maybe I’ll see them tomorrow with their dogs and their sign, looking to get a few more miles down the road, maybe with a few more “self-made” friends, and hopefully not “hungry cause of starvation”…I wish them luck.

Greased Watermelons, Hot Potatoes, and the Ticking Clock

Sunday was my birthday. I spent this past weekend camping at a beautiful place with beautiful people. I guess the whole weekend was a birthday party, not just for me, but for several others who were there and whose birthdays were close together. I’m glad there was Friday and Saturday, cause Sunday was spent packing up and driving home. But that’s ok. It was a great weekend. It was time well spent.

My daughter is going to an all-girls summer camp this week. It will be the first time she has spent this much time away from either of her parents. A full week of meeting new friends and making memories to treasure. After we had arrived home and cleaned up from camping, I had to take her to her aunt’s house not too far away from my house. Since her daughter is going too, she took my daughter on Sunday and dropped them off on Monday morning. As the time came for me to leave with my son and come back home Sunday night, I started thinking about how big my girl is getting. She was so excited about staying at a camp, sleeping there like a giant sleepover at a friend’s house with more girls to play with than she could imagine. I was excited for her too, but overwhelmed with the prospect that she was not going to be with either myself or her mother. I told her I loved her and for her to have a good time this week. I gave her hugs and kisses and told her goodbye. I put my son in his car seat and came around to my side of the bus to get in…and it hit me. Tears started welling up in my eyes and my body began to hitch. I couldn’t stop it. I had to go see her once more and tell her the things I had just told her all over again. She saw my wet face (even though I had wiped away the tears only minutes before) and asked why I was crying. I just looked at her and told her they were happy tears and that my little girl was now a big girl. That was mostly true, but I think part of it was that I just knew that her childlike innocence was slipping away and I couldn’t help her hold on to it, no matter what I did…

I remember going to camp as a child. I remember spending an entire week away from family. The first time was the worst. I had never experienced being away from my grandma for that length of time before, and the homesickness hit me hard. But as time went by, and I realized just how fun the place was, and how many new friends I was making, the desire to be home again faded and was replaced by a longing to stay longer than just the appointed week. I remember the spring fed swimming hole with a dock and the water slide that made you almost fly before gravity took you to the water’s surface. There were holes big enough that we could swim through and for just a moment, feel like we were swimming through long tunnels, even though it was no more than six feet or less. In that spring, we also played a game. The counselors had thrown in a dozen or so watermelons. The object of the game was to jump in, grab a watermelon, and try to make it back to the dock without someone stealing it from you. But what made the game harder was this: the watermelons were lathered with Crisco. No sooner did you think you were home free with the prized watermelon that it would either slip out of your hands all by itself, or someone would just swim up and push it out of your hands. It took all you could to just hold on to it without losing it.

Remember the game of Hot Potato? You would stand in a circle of others and pass a ball around the circle and try to pass it off to the next person before the music stopped (ala Musical Chairs) and you were left holding the “Hot Potato”. You didn’t want to be left holding it because then you were out of the game. Now for real…hot potatoes are hot. This past weekend we made baked potatoes in the campfire. I really think that if you do it just right, there is no finer way to bake a potato than in a campfire. But you have to get them out of the red-hot coals. Sure, you can use tongs, if you have them. We had some, but they were plastic and really flimsy, so the potatoes had to be taken out by hand. Talk about hot…the true game of Hot Potato was on. Just grab one and get it out of your hand as fast as possible. This wasn’t just a game. You could get burned.

I’ve had my share of greased watermelons and hot potatoes. A lot of things that I really wanted to hold onto have slipped out of my hands, either because I couldn’t hold on to them tight enough, or outside forces pushed them out of my hands. And like a hot potato, some things I wanted so badly that I took them into my own hands and ended up getting singed. There had to be a reason why I couldn’t hold on to them. I truly believe that if I was meant to keep them, then I would still have them. They slipped out and became a part of me that each and every one of us share, something that the rich share with the poor, the evil share with the good, and no matter what you do to retain as much as you can, it slips away from us all…and that is the passage of time. I was watching an episode of Curious George with my son this morning. In it, George was tired of having to go to bed while it was still light outside. The Man in the Yellow Hat had shown him how to set a clock and George thought that if he set the hands back an hour, he would be able to play until dark and The Man could continue reading his book longer. Every day, he would set the clock back an hour without The Man realizing it. This resulted in The Man being several hours late for an appointment with the owner of a blimp that George wanted to ride in. George almost lost out on something he wanted because of trying to gain more time.

You can’t just create time. The mere movement of the hour hand backwards on a clock doesn’t do anything to stop actual time. As The Man in the Yellow Hat told George, “Our clock has to show the same time as everyone else’s clocks”. So true. That’s why you must try to retain the memories you make today, in real time, because what you have now may slip out of your grasp, just like the minutes and seconds of our lives. They slip away and you ain’t ever getting them back. Hold on to those you love. Make every moment count. One day your child is learning to walk and the next day they are running full speed away from you. Make the best of holding on to them and the memories made while watching time become a part of your past. You can’t stop it, but you sure can make sure that your allotted time on this planet is filled with making the best of it and filling it with happy memories.

I saw a sign on the end of a pier in North Redington Beach, FL that read, “God does not take away from Man’s allotted time on earth, the time spent fishing”. I like to think that you can replace “fishing” with “loving” and the meaning would not change. Show your love every day and maybe you can actually hold on tight to things and moments in your life that can just as easily slip from your grasp. And even though time won’t stop, it sure will seem like it.

Ticking away the moments that make up a dull day
Fritter and waste the hours in an offhand way
Kicking around on a piece of ground in your home town
Waiting for someone or something to show you the way

Tired of lying in the sunshine
staying home to watch the rain
And you are young and life is long
and there is time to kill today

And then one day you find
ten years have got behind you
No one told you when to run,
you missed the starting gun

And you run and you run
to catch up with the sun, but it's sinking
Racing around to come up behind you again
The sun is the same in a relative way, but you're older
Shorter of breath and one day closer to death

Every year is getting shorter, never seem to find the time
Plans that either come to naught or half a page of scribbled lines
Hanging on in quiet desperation is the English way
The time is gone, the song is over,
thought I'd something more to say

BREATHE REPRISE
Home, home again
I like to be here when I can
And when I come home cold and tired
It’s good to warm my bones beside the fire

Far away across the field
The tolling of the iron bell
Calls the faithful to their knees
To hear the softly spoken magic spells.

“Time” by Pink Floyd

A Party of One

I was thinking the other night while cooking up some stir-fry General Tso’s Chicken. The box said it would feed two people. What are they talking about? The General Tso’s Chicken I get from a Chinese takeout will feed two. Those orders are freakin’ huge! But this home version of my favorite Asian dinner? There might have been enough there to feed two, but this box would only feed one. Sure, I would have shared it with someone if there would have been someone to share it with. But it was only me and my pets, and I ain’t sharing that with them.

What was I thinking about? What was I not thinking about? I think it was the concept of cooking a meal made for two that only one person was going to eat that caused the thoughts that hurt my head and watered my eyes. I don’t normally cook for myself. At least not a full meal. I don’t see the need for it when my kids aren’t here. When they are, it’s a full course meal…meats, veggies, starches, maybe even dessert. When they aren’t…well, its grilled cheese with tomato soup or something else as easy to make. I guess I just feel that I’m not worth the effort. Even that Chinese meal I was making was not a full-course meal…a few minutes on the stove and it was ready for me to devour.

The thoughts. They suck. You’d think I’d learn by now there’s never an easy way. Never an easy way to let go; never an easy way to be free of pain; never an easy way to start all over. It is said that time heals all wounds. I suppose that is true, but who keeps track of the time? Is there a mystical being in some ethereal place surrounded by timepieces…sundials, wall clocks, wristwatches…watching them push time into the past, counting down the time to the seconds to where the pain just goes away? If this being would just reach over to the clock that is tied to my soul and push the hands forward a little…I would be eternally grateful.

There are people that come into your life that leave indelible marks upon you that you will never forget. My daughter is feeling down tonight. She doesn’t want to play with the neighbor boy, which in itself is an indication of something being wrong. I asked her what was wrong. She says she misses her friends from school, namely a boy named Brian. My little girl is missing a boy? Oh boy. I was reminded the other night (not that I need any reminding…I see it happening) that my little girl is not really a little girl anymore. I think the words used were “young lady”. I don’t want a young lady. Not yet. Now school has only been out for two weeks, certainly not long enough to develop deep rooted feelings of missing someone. But it may be long enough. I know that I miss people. I miss lots of people. I keep these little compartments in my heart that hold memories of each and every one of them and don’t think for one moment that I will run out of room in there for those from my past and for those yet to come. Renovation is occurring constantly. More rooms are built for housing the ones I have loved, do love, and will come to love.

I’ve got someone else that I am close to that is going away. Not too far away, but far enough that a short trip across town won’t suffice when I want to hang out. I want to say, “You say that it isn’t that far away, only a few hours. But you know how much I see you now…a whole lot less than I wish for. Just imagine when miles and time are between us.” If you are reading this at all, just know this: I miss you already. I will miss you when you go. Your room is already adorned with monkeys, music, and stories of adventure. Waiting for you to move on in…not you physically, but you know what I mean. And know that I do love you.

It isn’t the being alone that I don’t like. I can be alone. It might not be a good thing, but I do a lot of my thinking and planning while alone. I don’t like being lonely. I don’t feel lonely all the time. No, it is just something, a feeling that comes over me every once in a while, but it always seems to come when I am feeling down, when I am at my most vulnerable, when there is no one here to talk to, to ask how my day went, to tell me how theirs went. And it is always when I am doing something to remind me that I am alone, like when cooking a meal made for two to be eaten by only one.

I just learned of a book by Anneli Rufus called Party of One. In it she talks about the subculture of humans who have one thing in common. They are loners. Loners are often picked upon by the non-loners, the “Joiners, schmoozers, teamworkers, congregants and all those who play well with others”, calling them “Crazy. Cold. Stuck-up. Standoffish. Selfish. Sad. Bad. Secretive”. Throughout history, loners have not only survived, but have actually changed the world; not just saved civilizations, but had a big hand in creating them. I wouldn’t call myself a “non-loner” and I certainly am not a “loner”. I might be somewhere in between I suppose.

Not all aspects of being by myself are bad. Household commodities, like toilet paper seem to last longer (especially when the kids are away…nothing like a whole roll in the toilet to try and flush down); a bottle of laundry detergent seems bottomless; a gallon of milk lasts for what seems like weeks…wait, that’s not a good thing.

There are times when it isn’t easy to be alone. Times when I feel like there isn’t anyone out there listening, because when I call out, there’s no reply at all. Times when I feel like there’s never an easy way to get over the next hill, much less get to the top of the hill I am on at the time. Never an easy way to shake the sensation of a needle in a haystack, the distant star seen on a sunny day, the last man on the planet syndrome, the speck of life on a dandelion being held by a gentle elephant. Never an easy way…


I think I slip the net,
But I cut myself free,
I'm not losing yet,
So don't forget me.

I'll say it, replay it, and try tomorrow
I'll say it, replay it, and live with sorrow.

You'd think I learn by now,
There's never an easy way,
I get through somehow,
I'm on my knees to pray,

You'd think I learn by now,
There's never an easy way,
I get through somehow,
I'm on my knees.

I'll admit I'm wrong,
But I'm getting on track,
I've been here too long,
I'm under attack.

I place it, replace it, and try to change,
I place it, replace it, and rearrange.

You'd think I learn by now,
There's never an easy way,
I get through somehow,
I'm on my knees to pray.

You'd think I learn by now,
There's never an easy way,
I get through somehow.

I'm on my knees to pray.
On my knees to pray.

I think I slip the net,
But I cut myself free,
I'm not losing yet,
So don't forget me.

I'll say it, replay it, and try tomorrow,
I'll say it, replay it, and live with sorrow.

You'd think I learn by now,
There's never an easy way,
I get through somehow,
I'm on my knees to pray.

You'd think I learn by now,
There's never an easy way,
I get through somehow,
I'm on my knees to pray,
I'm on my knees to pray,

On my knees to pray.
On my knees to pray.

Never an Easy Way by Morcheeba

Never an easy way. But I’ll get through somehow…

Opening Doors and Closing Thoughts

Jingle, jingle, jingle. The keys at my hip loudly announce my arrival. They hang from a retractable keychain, the same kind stereotypically worn by all maintenance men. All the keys on this keychain open some sort of door. I have the master key that opens all the outer doors, the master key the opens all the inner doors, a key that opens all closet doors, the key to the Youth Center, and a little key that opens the toilet paper and hand towel holders. There’s a key to the shop and a key to my locker; a key to certain doors on certain floors. They make a lot of noise as I walk around the church where I work. I always know when a co-worker is near because of the tell-tale music of keys swinging from the hip. Jingle, jingle, jingle. Remember Schneider from the TV show, One Day at a Time? Minus the pack of smokes rolled up in the sleeve of a plain, white tee-shirt, the smacking of gum, and the vest…that’s me. Almost.

I open the door to get in the building. I open the door to the room with the time clock drop my time card in and start my day. Every day it is something different. Today I might be setting up the fellowship hall for a dinner; tomorrow I might be cleaning floors on the 10-story building attached to the church. The next day I might be moving furniture from a prayer room to the library or painting hand rails outside the church. I love my job. No major hassles, laid back atmosphere, and the coolest boss ever. Not that I make a whole lot of money. But I would rather be making the money I do here and love it than to make more and hate what I do. I’m not the best at what I do. I do make mistakes. But I hope to learn from those mistakes just like the mistakes made outside of the work arena. And there have been and I’m sure there will be more mistakes made.

Jingle, jingle, jingle. The keys in the ignition of my VW camper sing as they hang from the key chain in the ignition. Bumps in the road and quick turns make them sway and swing, the VW emblem hanging lowest on the chain acting as a pendulum of a clock. The keys on this keychain have different uses. Some open the doors to my buses; others are used to turn the ignition to drive the buses. Some keys open doors to my house, while others unlock padlocks to my utility and camping trailers.

I’ve had to drive my camper to work and using it to take my kids to school a lot lately. I haven’t used it as a main vehicle for many years. It had been staying in a garage (up until the latter part of last year) or in the driveway, waiting its turn for service to carry myself alone or with kids to a campsite somewhere. But while my other bus was out of service, the camper acted as my daily driver, mostly without complaint. It is a good bus. Many, many memories are attached to this bus. Both of my kids went camping in it when they were merely months old. It has taken me and my family to places far and near, and served as a home away from home for those times of getting away from it all.

Jingle, jingle, jingle. I walk down the hallway to the elevator. First stop is the break room on the eighth floor to place my lunch in the fridge. And while I’m there, I make a cup of coffee before starting my work. Dark roast with Splenda and Hazelnut creamer…a tasty cup of joy to start the work day. Next stop I make is the basement where the shop is located. No particular reason…I’m just checking in to see if my boss is there to get my orders for the day. He usually isn’t there. I just go there anyway. I stop by the desk in the main lobby and look at the calendar of events. There’s a funeral today. That means hanging around in the kitchen to clean up any spills that might happen while the mourners are gathered together in the fellowship hall, drinking coffee and water while remembering the life of the loved one who has passed. Then, after the last person has left the hall, I take all the coffee and water back to the kitchen, and prepare the room for the next event. Usually that involves setting up many tables and even more chairs for a dinner. With something going on in that church nearly every day, the need to set up the room is only job security. People die. People get married. People gather together. That room is going to be used for all of those reasons and I make sure it is ready for each occasion.

Jingle, jingle, jingle. Driving to work today (just like about every day) I have about 45 minutes of being behind the wheel…and think about things. I usually think about things while behind the wheel. Today I’m driving and suddenly the thought crossed my mind… “I don’t love her any more”. No, that’s not right either. I will always love her, but the love is different. It isn’t the love that was there when we first got together. It isn’t the love that existed when time had gone by and situations changed. It is a love that is just there, a love that will always be there to remember all the good times and even the bad times. I don’t have any regrets. I have heard to never regret what once made you smile. And there have been lots of smiles in our time together. I will never regret the time we had together. I’m sure that I will regret the loss of her; and I’m sure that one day I will notice that the regret is not as strong.

Jingle, jingle, jingle. The day I got laid off from my former job, I was mad as hell. Here I was, giving this company my time and skill to make a product that was worth thousands of dollars, doing my best to make sure that I put out a quality product and quality craftsmanship. I was doing it to make sure that I had a place to live, my kids had clothes and food, and we all were able to live comfortably. I was doing all of that and then got the notice from my boss. They didn’t need me anymore. Hell, they didn’t need me or the other 14 people they laid off on that same day. I was pissed. I felt cheated and like they were throwing me away, not caring that I had two children to take care of. But now, after collecting unemployment and then landing what I consider to be the best job I’ve ever had (well, besides staying home with my kids, that is), I am actually glad they laid me off. I still feel that things happen for a reason, and maybe the reason I got laid off from that job was so that I could get this one. Why? I still don’t know. But just like all the other doors that have closed behind me and opened others in front of me, I’m sure I’ll find out the answer to that question one day.

Jingle, jingle, jingle. It is hard to let go. But I know that I have to. Things that are a part of my old life are all around me and I keep some of them just to remind me of that life. That may not be a good thing, but I have said before that I don’t ever want to forget it, lest I relive it. But some are too great, holding too many memories and representing a great part of that former life. Those I need to let go of. And I shall do just that.

Sweetpea…I’m going to miss you.

Nothing

I haven't been in the writing mood lately. That doesn't mean that nothing has been happening in my life. Things sure have. I don't know why I haven't posted anything since March. Damn. Its been that long? Anyway, there are things on my mind I am going to share. Its coming. Something is brewing, whether its a storm or a cup of coffee...I'll find out and share.