Snug Harbor

Once again I am going to take you all on a journey of my youth. Some of you, my Dear Readers, will remember the Fish and Finn stories from the past two years. This is another glimpse into my youth only it takes place about three years after my family and I had moved out of Green Bay. This is going to be a series so make sure to come back and discover what misadventures I am up to.

Enjoy.

Sometimes in our lives
We all have pain
We all have sorrow

But if we are wise
We know that there's
Always tomorrow

Lean On Me

By; Bill Withers

It was 1982, my mother was newly married to her second husband and they had moved me and my sisters out of Green Bay and into rural Wisconsin. We had all left behind everything we knew about our lives and where we fit in the world. Our friends, our enemies and even a part of ourselves, quickly became ghosts of memories. These ghosts seemed to become friendlier and kinder as the distance from the reality of our former lives increased.

Our move took place in stages, the first of which was to sell the house in Green Bay and move to a temporary home while our new home was being built. While in the temporary home, in a small northern Wisconsin town mostly populated by second and third generation Polish immigrants, we tried to make friends and fit into the new community. I met a few kids my age and attempted to befriend them, which ended in a disastrous night that involved some purloined alcohol, plants from Mexico, girls, and an abandoned school.

This is not about that night, nor is it about the first stage of moving. This is about the second stage. A stage, where we all moved into a house in a new neighborhood with, as I recall, only three other homes that had kids in the general age vicinity of me and my two older sisters. Don’t misunderstand me, there were several housing developments within five miles of our new home looking to change its image, yet they mired in its geriatric memories of a more innocuous time.

I can’t speak for my sisters in how long it took them to make friends and fit in with others in our new surroundings, but I know it took me only a few weeks of exploring the woods and surrounding areas to meet a gang of scruffy, outdoor, latchkey kids who had similar interests in life as I did.

Interests… I suppose that’s what you could say bonded us together.

I met Kevin while I was swimming, fishing, hunting and camping on the reforestation property. I wasn’t supposed to be there, but then again, I didn’t really care. I was pretty unhappy in my life, where I was, and my inability to fit in with the people around me. I was like a schooner stuck at sea with no wind. I was floundering in teenage awkwardness and the people I had relied upon for years were in Green Bay. Living their lives, and offering the emotional support that only close friends, who’ve been tried by the fires of life can present.

So, alone, angry, misplaced, frustrated and misunderstood, I did the only thing I knew how to do. I withdrew from my family. I would like to say I felt a certain amount of pain and loss when I withdrew, but I did not. It had been years since I felt close to the people I shared square footage and holidays with. I really had nothing in common with them. My mom worked and in her off time she was trying to be the good wife, my sisters were busy with their own friends and boyfriends and my latest father figure never really struck me as sincere when he and I hung out together.

So, with my copies of “On the Road” and “Call of the Wild” along with my fishing rod, camping back-pack, my pup-tent, two packs of Marlboro red’s and a map of all the hiking trails within a twenty mile radius, I headed out on what was supposed to be a three day respite from my uncomfortable life and into a wilderness where I felt comfortable and at home. The only thing I left behind was a note on my bed, so that anyone in my family who was interested in my whereabouts would know I had gone off on another camping excursion.

I entered the reforestation property through a break in the barbed wire fence that separated our neighbor’s yard from the fire access road of the state protected land. Once on the fire road it only took me minutes to locate the deer trail that led to the pond where I knew I would be spending the next few days communing with nature.

I had discovered the pond shortly after my first visit to the site where our house had been built. While my family was walking the land and my mom’s second husband was pacing out the footprint of the house, I snuck away to explore my future surrounding. It was early spring when we did this, so early the trees had yet to start decorating themselves from the previous falls shedding of leaves. The bareness of the woods and slowly melting snow made it easy to spot animal droppings and tracks. In no time at all I found a small path off the fire road and headed down it.

Walking down the winding trail I spotted signs of deer, raccoon, squirrels, chipmunks and opossum. I also discovered some large droppings which gave me a start, since I assumed they belonged to fiercer and more protective animals that I had overheard some of the kids at school talking about… bears. I scanned the woods looking for signs of any creature close to me, but I knew in my mind I had been making too much noise while stomping through these unfamiliar woods for anything, large or small, to stick around and witness the source of the noisy visitor.

But knowing something in your head and feeling something else in the pit of your stomach are two totally different things. I could feel my heart start to race, sweat started to form on my forehead and I knew I was becoming skittish myself. I tried calming myself down and continued to walk down the path. I listened out for any large creatures tearing through the woods and slowed my pace a bit. Within ten to fifteen minutes I had put a good distance between me and the evidence of a larger species. I was just getting comfortable on the trail again when I came upon a copse of trees and I saw the path I was on took a left turn not far after the evergreens ended.

As I approached this turn I slowed my pace even more, it was a blind turn and in my young mind a family of bears had set up an ambush for me and as soon as I turned the corner they would pounce upon me and have a nice Skip-flavored snack to help bolster the loss of energy from the winter hibernation. (Like I said, I was a bit naïve in some of my animal knowledge and the fact I had all the horror stories from the kids at school racing through my mind didn’t help my mental state either.)

As I slowly rounded the trees, I could see where some bushes and bramble had encroached on the path. I could also see tufts of fur and hide stuck on some of the sturdier branches. It appeared many of the creatures used this trail and as evidence I promptly stepped in some fresh droppings of one them. I let out a quite curse and wiped my shoe off on some semi-decayed leaves. When I had finished I heard a sound I was not expecting.

Splashing.

As I turned to look down the path, I saw through the skeletal remains of brush a pond with fish jumping out of the water and into the asphyxiating oxygen of the day. I rubbed my eyes and shook my head a bit. Sure, I’d seen fish break the surface of their sanctuary in the past, but this was different, it seemed as if there was some sort of contest being held by the local chapter of Large Mouth Bass Union Local 4156. When one fish broke the water and twisted its body in an acrobatic display of Olympic proportions, another quickly followed suit. But with more style and energy than its predecessor had shown, as if they had to outdo each other, or else they would perish.

Fascinated, I hurried my pace so I could witness more of this odd and captivating behavior. I did not notice I had walked past the copse of pine trees, nor did I notice I had stopped at the edge of the water and my feet were getting soaked. I can’t say how long I stood watching this conduct, but it was the bone numbing coldness of my saturated socks that broke my reverie. I quickly turned and raced my way back to where my family was, hoping they had not noticed I had disappeared.

I needn’t have worried.

This was to be my sixth visit to my own private “Snug Harbor”, as I had come to think of it, since we had moved into the new house. But this was to be my first time spending more than just a day there. I had decided this spot on God’s green and blue marble would be my “Walden”, my safe place to call my own, but like most things in life, it didn’t quite work out that way.

It didn’t take me long to get there, but it took me longer to set up camp. On my previous excursions to my isolated sanctuary I had built a fire pit near several pine trees and I had cleared a patch of earth big enough to pitch my tent but within twenty feet of the pond. Once the tent was up, my bedroll laid out I went right to work getting a decent fire going and making sure my Boy Scout pots and pans were clean and ready for use.

Once the necessary chores were finished, I checked my BB gun to make sure it was loaded, checked my tackle box for proper lures and headed down to the pond to try and catch a proper lunch instead of eating some of the canned goods and sandwiches I’d brought as emergency rations. It was the last thing I wanted to do. I also took my Boy Scout pot to fill with water so I could boil it and then drink it later.

I had just finished getting a pot of water over the fire and had headed back to where I’d left my fishing rod when I someone standing right where I had left my fishing gear. This guy had my fishing rod in his hand and it looked as if he were reeling in my line. My sanctuary had just been invaded and I did not like it one bit.

“HEY! What the hell are you doing?” I called.

Guilty Pleasures

Yes, we all have them and I’m not talking about eating some Ben & Jerry’s ice cream every now and then or going to see a sappy movie once a year. I’m speaking about something you as a person stand completely against yet every now and then you come across the exception to your own personal rules. For instance, if you are a woman and dislike violent movies but whenever “Fight Club” comes on TV, you shelf those beliefs and gawp at a half naked Brad Pitt dressed like a thrift store reject beating the hell out of another human being. Or if you’re a guy who dislikes romance movies or anything fluffy and feel good but you secretly own a copy of “Titanic” (The worst film ever made in my opinion). These are the guilty pleasures in which I speak.

Now, I really don’t have any chick flicks I watch but what I do have is music. Yes, music. Now, I love rock and roll, metal, blues based rock, the blues, jazz, opera, some rap, and classical. I like to think I have a very well rounded musical taste and selection… call me musically eclectic if you will. Now, you may notice I don’t have any “Soft” jazz or “Smooth” jazz, hip-hop, pop, top-40 or even love songs on my list. This is because I don’t like those things, this does not mean I don’t or can’t appreciate them, they just don’t feel right to me when listening to them.

Does this mean I’m soft? Nah, I don’t think so, and the fact that the only time I actually listen to broadcast radio is when I’m at my part time job as a waiter. You see, most of the time I listen to my Zune… its Microsoft’s version of the iPod but without all the snootiness and dancing around. Now, I have over seventy-five thousand plays on my Zune and I have made over twenty-five playlists that seem to cover all my moods all the time. Also, I have complete control over what I get to listen to. None of the stuff I don’t like and all of the stuff I love is on that sixty-four giga-byte beauty of a modern marvel. But… there is one song I want on my Zune, and one song that seems to make me stop doing whatever it is I am doing and listen to the lyrics. Why? Because they are so damn well written and descriptive and I am going to write them here for you, my dear reader, I am going to get rid of the chorus though because that is one part of the song that irritates me.

Welcome to my Guilty Pleasure Song.

Enjoy.

Shadow’s grow so long before my eye

And they’re moving across the page

Suddenly the day turns into night

Far away from the city.

Moon appears to shine and light the sky

With the help of some firefly’s

Wonder how they have the power to shine, shine, shine

I can see them under the pine.

I can see the sunset in your eyes

Brown and gray, blue besides

Clouds are stalking islands in the sun

I wish I could buy one

Out of season.

Yes, the song is “Baby, I Love Your Way” by Peter Frampton. And yes, Frampton is rock. But that song is not. If you say it is, and I agreed with you, then we’d both be wrong. BILYW is a love song and I don’t like them, but the descriptive lyrics are amazing, especially the opening line, which hits me in the chest like a .12 gauge shotgun slug every time I hear it. Don’t hear what I’m not saying, this song doesn’t choke me up, it doesn’t make me cry, but what it does do is paint a mental picture of a man who is lonely, far away from his home and misses his lover. This, to me is brilliant and no matter how many times I hear it I get the same mental picture.

And when words can do that to a person, to me, then I know there was some strong JuJu going on when the writer put his pen to paper. This fascinates me and gives me hope that someday I will be able to catch that elusive bolt of lightning and whip up my own bitches brew of majic.

What is your guilty pleasure? What sort of majic would you like to create? Let me know.

Atrophied Bravery

Last week I was on a forced vacation. Now, by forced I mean that I have accrued so much vacation time that if I don’t take some time off of work, my job will take the time away from me. They won’t pay me for it either. So my supervisor took it upon herself to assign me some much needed time off. I didn’t argue or disagree, I just took the time. Unfortunately I was a bit ill during my down time and I ended up sleeping on the couch or in bed the whole week.

I’m not one to just sit around and do nothing. I normally like to stay busy in my daily life but when I am immobile I am usually found with my laptop in front of me or a good book. (Ok, sometimes a not-so-good book) By Wednesday afternoon I was sick of being sick, had not much of a voice left and was burnt out on television and computer time so I decided to do a bit of cleaning around the house. I grabbed my trusty dust bunny catcher and went on the hunt of those elusive beasties that seem to disappear into the cracks and crevices of the wooden floors of my home. This is of course after I’ve chased them down the hallway and into a bedroom, bathroom, dining room, living room or kitchen. But on this particular hunt one decided to hide under my bed. A well known breeding ground of dust-bunnies across the seven continents and even space, or so I’ve been told by some semi-lucid, absinthe filled astronauts who like to wear diapers as the cross our country in search of lost loves.

(Sidetracked)

I spied this obscenely pregnant dust-bunny attempting to squeeze its amble rump under my bed in an attempt to hide from me. I quickly leapt across the room with my electro-statically charged dust-bunny collector in my fully extended arms hoping my five foot eleven inch frame was close enough to capture this indomitable beast.

As I landed face first next to the bed, the bunny temporarily trapped in the force field of charged ions known world-wide as a “Swiffer” my celebratory elation was short lived as I witnessed my prized beastie attempting to break free. As my eyes adjusted to the shadows under the bed my eyes focused on a stack of long forgotten pulped paper. I searched my memory as to what books I may have stored under my nightly support but I those vaporous reminders of my past were as elusive as the dust-bunnies I’d been chasing.

I set aside my cleansing weapon and crawled further under the bed in an attempt to reach the stack of forgotten memories. The lack of light and my aged eyes did not allow me to determine what books I was reaching for and as my left hand landed on top of the stack of slick, soft cover paper and a flood of joy and laughter filled my brain. (This is the curse of having a tactile memory.) I knew as soon as my hand touched the first book what the entire stack contained and I could not help but smile to myself and extract myself quickly from the fibrous underbelly of my box-spring mattress.

I sat up and leaned against my nocturnal comfort and looked at the forgotten treasures that I was placing in my lap. They were of course my omnibuses of some of the best cartoon strips from the 1980’s, Calvin and Hobbes, Doonesbury and my all time favorite, Bloom County. I flipped through the ten pound stack of published goodness and pulled out my favorite of them all. Billy and the Boingers. A book that tells the tale of a death metal band called Deathtongue who gets dragged before the Tipper Gore run PMRC for lyrics of an obscene nature. I remember when the strip first was published how I rooted for the fictional band to stand up for its artistic rights and fight the good fight. But, like real life, the band buckled and they changed their name to Billy and the Boingers, a new political band that is dedicated to helping fix society’s problems through charity and awareness.

But the book held more than just that one story line, there were satires based on the Meese commission, Lee Iacocca, the iron curtain, and of course the wayward travels of the Starship Enterpoop to the lusty, busty and wanton planet of Mary Lou Retton clones… I’m smiling as I type this on my front porch because my frontal lobes are filled with a little ol’ lady screaming “Shut Up Lloyd and arm the photon torpedo tubes!” as she sits in her Chrysler K car with a wheel chair barreling down a hill towards them with Cutter John, Opus, Hodge-Podge and Portnoy screaming for death and vengeance of the occupiers of the Klingon K car.

Yes, I had been truly sidetracked that day and in the days that followed I managed to revisit some of my teenage and early twenties friends from the inky pages of the daily rags that ended up on my porch. I laughed at Calvin’s snowmen, was nervous about what was hiding in Brinkley’s “Anxiety Closet” and cheered when Cutter John was released from the clutches of certain doom from the KGB in Soviet Russia.

When I finished my journey to the eighties I went to the internet to see what sort of madness the modern kiddies are reading, I am sorry I did. The only two strips that seemed to catch my attention were “The Boondocks” and “Luann”. Yes, Doonesbury is still out there and still fun but I think it has lost a bit of its impact on American Politics. (Besides, “The Duke” seems a bit… sad. Sorry to all my HST fans out there. I am disappointed too.) Yes, it seems the great tales in the daily papers have faded out through attrition. I know it is not an easy task to maintain the fires of vigilance against our elected officials and their endless antics in this world. But you would think that someone somewhere would pick up the fallen crown of daily strip satire.

While I wait for someone to be brave enough to fight back against the government, Hollywood, lawyers and big business I think I will go and read the entire catalog of “The Boondocks” I like these characters and the writer is not afraid… of anything.

Visions of Reality

First let me apologize for writing this while I am sick and loaded up on cold and flu medicine as I watch the pink elephants slowly dance to Berlioz’s Symphony Phantastique across the living room floor and into the dining room. I hope the alligators that are practicing their trapeze act on the chandelier in there don’t try to turn them into appetizers tonight. Of course, if the elephants make it through the dining room they will have to fend off the sharks who are playing poker in the kitchen, they asked me to join in but I don’t have the three live chickens buy in right now. I told them they will have to wait until I get paid in order for me to sit in on a hand.

But, I suppose I have just gotten sidetracked once again.

Now, for my dear readers who have kept up with my blog and the comings and goings of my life you will know that one of my first blogs two years ago was about the closing of the museum I work for and how we were going to not just renovate the building but completely transform everything under the roof and add over an additional twelve thousand square feet of space. So it was pretty much an expansion, renovation and rehabilitation of the existing structure. The rebuild took eighteen months and a lot happened in that time, not just in my life but the lives of my fellow co-workers and the multitude of contractors who worked incessantly day and night in order for us to open the new museum on time.

When we did open, everything in the building was shiny, new and unmolested by the hands of thousands of visitors. Including my area, the trains, and that is what I am going to write a bit about today.

When I first was hired as Train Technician for the museum I knew there was a plan in place for an expansion and rehabilitation. So I started to keep a folder of ideas, needs and wants for the new layout. I did not know how much space I was going to be given but I knew certain key elements that I wanted for the new train layout and my office. This foresight helped me out more than I ever expected.

You see, one day, about two years before we shut the old museum down, I received orders from the Director of all the Museums in my fair adopted city, to come up with a layout design and track plan for the new train room. My first response to her was “How much room do I have?” He answer was to show me the rough renderings of where the new train room was to be and where my office would be located. She then informed me I had a week to finish my task.

My brain went into overdrive, I did a quick calculation of how much square footage I would have for my office, the layout footprint and sketched it all out onto a piece of graph paper. I then placed two phone calls to some buddies I knew had layout design experience and asked them for some advice and suggestions on track design. They agreed to help. I also loaded up a C.A.D. software program for layout design and input all the dimensions of the layout and went to work on the design phase. I fueled my creativity with sugar, caffeine, deadlines and the smell of plastic injection molding used to make most of the rolling stock in this day and age.

By the end of the week I had finished my design for a 710 square foot train layout with eight working mainlines and four interactive push buttons for the visitors to use. It took another week for the powers above me to approve the design and then my creative offspring was put on a shelf for almost two years. It became a pipe dream. The plans sat on a shelf collecting dust with my binder full of ideas. Until one day I received an email to send them out to bid by contractors across the nation. The joy of that day was immeasurable. The wait for answers from the contractors was an eternity of nervousness and paranoia.

Only two contractors agreed to build the layout with our terms. One fabricator I did not know, the other, his company is one of the best in the business. I got to choose which of the two to go with. I chose the one whose work I know.

After several thousand phone conversations, emails, texts and FedEx packages of information was exchanged and some track changes the initial substructure was fabricated and the layout underway. All my major ideas and goals were kept in the layout; a few minor ones had to be set to the side for special and operational reasons.

I made one visit to the contractors’ warehouse to see the progress of the layout while it was being fabricated. I was so filled with pride at what my mind was trying to understand that I almost exploded.

A few months after my visit the layout was delivered to the museum in approximately twenty-four sections, and after three weeks of hard work by no less then sixteen men it was installed and operating.

Operating… funny thing about that term. You see, and I guess this is where this whole story has lead me to… you see, while the museum was shut down, the primary supplier for locomotives for the museum made some changes to their operation system. They have upgraded to a better electronic system. What does this mean? Simple, while I do the primary maintenance of the “motive power” for the trains… (Motive Power means engines) I am no longer able to order the computer boards for the engines. They have been outdated. So I need to upgrade.

Upgrading is an expensive prospect. I have a large fleet of motive power that is now pretty much useless. If a board goes bad, I can’t replace it. So I have to order new engines. Engines aren’t cheap. So I sat down, wrote up a plan that will take several years to implement by slowly replacing a small number of engines and or sets each year. I submitted my plan and it was approved. I was stunned. But I quickly called my supplier and placed my order.

Twenty-four hours later I was signing a FedEx computer pad saying I was the recipient of my order. I now have brand new trains to use on our new layout. I wish I could say that all the time I spent writing the proposals, brainstorming over the details of the layout and trying to figure out what I want the visitors to experience when they walk into the train room has been easy. But I can’t, I’ve fought, worried, lost my temper and struggled to hold onto the ideas I first put down in that binder over seven years ago.

I look back now, with a 20-20 hindsight, and see where I could have done things differently, or been more calm in frustrating situations. But when look back now at how much energy I put into seeing this vision become a reality I don’t think there is much that I would change. My overall concept, design and message have been made a reality. Sure, I had a lot of help from a lot of people and we all worked very hard to complete our tasks and we did it to the best of our abilities.

Now when visitors come see the trains and the train layout and ask me questions about the collections or the exhibit, I smile and start to explain what it is they are looking at and how it actually influences their daily lives. They walk away a richer person in knowledge from what I tell them and that is worth all the craziness of years that have passed.

Ok, I am going to wrap this up, the card sharks are teasing the acrobatic alligators with the chickens and I sense a fight is about to break out somewhere between the kitchen and the dining room

Have a good week.

Thank God January is OVER!

I have just woken up from a hibernation of over fourteen hours. It seems my body has decided to take a much needed rest after being abused physically, mentally and emotionally for the past month. But, if I were truly honest I believe I would have to say that the abuse has gone on much longer than a month. Yes, I know I had a very nice family vacation in our Nations capitol over the winter break; a vacation that was filled with visiting some very important places and reflecting on some major events in our countries history.

At the end of those days we spent hours in a refreshing hot tub soaking our weary muscles only to be followed up with watching mindless television so our brains could rest as well. But did we truly get the rest we needed? Maybe… maybe not. If what has just happened to me is any indication of the type of rest which is needed for one human system then I say we did not get the type of break from life our bodies have cried out for. Of course, I could be wrong and it is just my system that needed to be rebooted.

I guess I should explain a few things first so that you might understand what has been going on a bit better.

January can suck it!

It was one hell of a month for me. I lost a family member, whose funeral I did not attend. Another family member of mine is in the hospital for an undetermined amount of time. And both family vehicles have been nothing but a constant source of heartburn and headaches. I’ve been injured, wounded and abused mentally, physically and emotionally. I seem to have spent more time than a doctor at various medical facilities in the greater Hampton Roads area and I just can’t seem to get motivated to write anything of substance.

On numerous occasions I have been overheard saying “I can’t wait for 2012 to be over with, bring on 2013.” And now that it is February, I still feel the same way.

Of course, I am positive that this year will be like most years. Filled with highs and lows with very few plateaus of stability, this is the way of life. It is today and it was yesterday. Our lives on this mudball seem to rarely be on an even keel. If they were, well, I believe we would end up killing each other just for excitement. Hmmm, just had a thought, maybe the reason for all the idiotic television shows that are broadcast into our homes are so we as a human race will feel better about either NOT having enough drama in our lives, OR having too much drama in our lives. (Yup, I’m going to have to think on that hypothesis for a while)

Well, I am going to sign off for now, this is supposed to be a quick update on what has been going on in my mixed up existence here in the heart of the South. I am supposed to go see a nice jazz concert tonight, which I have been looking forward to for several months.

Have a great week.

Family Untied

Last week I received a phone call that everyone eventually receives. It is not a phone call we want but it is a phone call we have to take. I shall not go into the details of the conversation or who was on the other end of my wireless device informing me of the bad news, nor will I say what the bad news was/is. I will say that the phone call was familial in nature and it got me thinking about my family. Now, I think about my family a lot. But most of the time it is in the “oh, I wonder what so-and-so is doing?” or “ya know, I remember when…” But not this time.

Nope, not this time at all.

You see dear reader, I, like most genetic offspring of the late nineteen-sixties and nineteen-seventies am the product of a broke home. And if you are from a broken home then you will understand what I am about to talk about, if you are not, then you will hopefully have a little more knowledge on how peoples actions seem to have not just ripple effects on the lives of others but tsunamis of emotional trauma into the lives they were once responsible for.

Where was I? Oh, yeah, right… my family.

When my folks got divorced I was in the third grade and my mother was the parent who got custody of me and my three sisters. This had to have been tough for her and I can’t imagine the sleepless nights she had while trying to figure out how she was going to take care of four kids, work full time at a business she didn’t know too much about and manage to have time for herself, her friends or even have a date or two with a guy who might be interested in a woman with four insane kids. As for my father, well, he went on to make his own way in the only way he knew how and my sisters and I saw very little of him.

I’ve heard stories from my father and others about some of the visitations we had with him during the mid-nineteen-seventies but I remember very little of those brief weekends spent in rural Wisconsin. And to be honest, I really don’t recall seeing much of my mother during those years either.

What I do recall is a steady stream of babysitters, doctor visits, fights, bad musical taste by my sisters (Sorry ladies but Donnie and Marie is really not good musical taste, neither is ABBA for that matter. But, this is just my opinion.) I remember lonely days and nights trying to fit in with kids who had either already went through the same shit I was going through or who did not understand what I was going through because their parents were still together. In love, fighting the good fight, and trying to make a solid nuclear family in a post nuclear world.

Summers were mostly spent with my pals, we’d party, get into trouble and try to avoid our siblings. During the school year we tried all sorts of sports only to discover we preferred to make fun of most of the athletes and their hypocritical nature of being good in school and terrible in the world.

By the time I became a teenager the bright eyed innocent child I was had become a tarnished, acne faced teen who knew where he came from and was attempting to cope with the fact that his role models were as flawed if not more flawed then he was. It was tough. Back then people said I was experiencing “Growing Pains.” I say I was becoming a realist with each passing day. I never thought I knew everything, but I sure carried myself as if I did.

I saw flaws everywhere, in my sisters, my parents, my teachers, my friends and myself. So I rebelled. What would you have done?

As the years passed and High School days turned into Fugue filled nights I found myself back in touch with my father. We both tried to rebuild the relationship we had when I believed him to be the greatest person in the world. It didn’t work. We fought. A lot. Cops were called; chairs were thrown into the soft parts of the flesh as easily as words were spoken in anger. We were both broken individuals with broken lives.

At the same time, I had become even more estranged from my mother and her new life. She was in the process of resetting her life. New husband, new house, new career, same kids except one, that would be me. She was doing everything in her power to dust off her past and make a bright shiny future in the Promised Land known as the nineteen-eighties. She was broken and trying to live her life with open wounds covered with masking tape and tissue paper.

All three of us seemed to be comfortable without each other in our lives.

It was not until the nineteen-nineties that I made a decision to do everything I could do to make sure both my parents would always be in my life in a manner I was comfortable with. It was not easy. Now, I know my folks should never be together in the same room let alone the same state, that would be like taking a jar of liquid Trinitrotoluene aka TNT standing in the epicenter of an earthquake. Nothing good can come of it.

But, through a lot of patience and talking, I managed to build bridges of communication to the givers of my life. My mother and I seemed to have built a sturdy, comfortable overpass of respect, love and care for each other.

My fathers and my relationship… Well, I guess it can simply be called a relationship of truce. I love him but I don’t always agree with him. I want him as much a part of my life as I can but I don’t want to sacrifice the person I have become or the life I have made just to make him happy. After all, I am not here to make him happy. I am here to make sure my wife and daughter are happy and taken care of.

So where does that leave us? Oh, yes, the phone call, well, the sun seems to be setting on someone with whom I’ve had a lifelong stormy relationship with and it is bugging me. I try to never have regrets in my life and for the most part I don’t. I have attempted to live by the words of Rory Cochrane “I do not regret the things I’ve done, but those I did not do.” And this seems to be the case. I seem to be thinking of all the things I did not get the opportunity to share with this person. Of all the times both of us had other things to do or our egos would not allow us to understand what the other was trying to do or say. Yup, we seemed to have goofed this one up.

So, with all this said, I shall wrap this up with a tear in my eye and the lyrics to a Harry Chapin song in my mind.

I've long since retired, my son's moved away
I called him up just the other day
I said, "I'd like to see you if you don't mind"
He said, "I'd love to, Dad, if I can find the time
You see my new job's a hassle and kids have the flu
But it's sure nice talking to you, Dad
It's been sure nice talking to you"

And as I hung up the phone it occurred to me
He'd grown up just like me
My boy was just like me

And the cat's in the cradle and the silver spoon
Little boy blue and the man on the moon
When you comin' home son?
I don't know when, but we'll get together then son
You know we'll have a good time then

Have a good week everyone. And call you parents, wherever they are.

Resolution Update

Happy New Year!!!

I know, I know, I’m a bit late, over a week late to tell you the truth but ya know, I’ve been a bit busy. Also, if you are like me, there is no way you want to wake up New Years Day, mouth filled with cotton and funk from the previous nights festivities that you can barely remember, just to read about someone else’s insane, or in some cases, inane party story. So, you can rest easier in knowing that I am not going to bore you with my party stories. Why? Because I have none to tell. See, simple.

I am however going to let you know how I’ve done on my resolutions from last year… which were what exactly?

1. Get published

2. Eat healthier

3. Be a better employee

4. Approach any and all situations with a sense of good humor

Well, let me break this list down in a more manageable manner.

1. One of my stories “Cindy’s Condition” was published in a book called “Death, Be Not Proud” and if you have been reading my blog this past year you know all about it. If you have not picked up a copy I highly recommend you do so. Not for me, for all the other great stories that are in there. I believe if you are a horror fan, you will really enjoy the tales. But that is not all; I have sold a second story which will be published sometime early this year as well. (Stay tuned for details. I would grade myself at an A for my publishing goals.

2. I have eaten healthier, but not by much. I am currently at a very manageable weight and my Doctor’s believe I will outlive them. (Ever want to prove a doc wrong?) Plus, I LOVE good food and most good food is filled with fat, cholesterol, sugar, salt and other things I don’t know the names of. Besides, I’m not a rabbit. I would grade myself at a B+ in my dietary goals.

3. I have really tried at this. I have not always been successful but I have given it my best effort. I would grade myself at a C+ if I were to be totally honest.

4. This particular resolution is always on my list and I seem to be getting better and better at it. In light of all the trials of this past year I have only lost my cool on three occasions. Which is actually pretty good not just for me but for anyone who is breathing and functioning on this planet. I would grade myself with a B for this one.

Where does that leave me? Well, for the year it looks as if I have a B average in my resolutions and I feel as if I was quite successful in my endeavors overall.

For this coming year I have not set down on paper what my resolutions will be but I am kicking around some ideas in my head. As I am sure you all are. I would love to hear from some of you as to how you feel you’ve done on your resolutions from last year, or if you didn’t have any resolutions last year, why not? And if you have any this year and wish to share them I would love to read about them. Think of it as a way to be held accountable for your own actions by someone you may or may not have ever met.

Have a great week!