"There will come a time when you believe everything is finished. That will be the beginning." - Louis L'Amour
There was a precipice. Stephen stood beside it and let it fill his field of vision. It was wide and bottomless bounded only by an impenetrable mist. And yet the soft sun shone on it from an early morning angle giving it a sense of calm newness and a whisper of hope. There were years enough for a lifetime behind him now. If he were to step off into the abyss, there would be those who would ascribe to him an end as appropriately timed as any and those who would move on without hesitation or wonder at the brevity of all life. Perhaps one or two would think to miss him but, truth be known, he had been leaving for most of his life and his absence would soon be an adjustment made. His connections to friends and family had always been maintained with simple civility and sparsely attended functions. No, Stephen was not one to delude himself with the thought of being indispensable. He had chosen his journey to meaning. He had pursued it with passion and, eventually, with honesty. He had experienced the attainment of his life's ambition. He understood that it was but for a moment of joy against a lifetime of missed opportunity. To this minute he had survived the stunning lack of consolation that accompanied his newly found certitude, his abiding faith. God is. He had walked to the precipice where he stood knowing there would be an end to the pain, the pain of knowing that he had wagered life for meaning only to learn that life was meaning, having been robbed of life, of meaning, by his consuming anticipation of some grand discovery. He had loved the idea of truth so completely that he had imagined no other outcome but joy to be the consequence of it. It was a fool's price paid for a common wisdom, a hollow victory. His eyes lifted to the idea of a horizon in the distance and his body moved rhythmically with the breeze undulating him ever closer and forward to submission, to his desire to be finished with everything. Quietly he heard the whisper of his daughter's voice on the wind. He sensed her shattered heart in his chest. There was confusion and anger in it, the unknowable why of his choice a cancer growing in her. To lose naturally is a consolable sadness. To willfully take is an inconsolable assault. He knew now. Everything was finished...unless he ended it. Then all, paradoxically, would not be finished. Some memories must not be made of choices. He had lived without consolation since he learned of life and what was behind him now. He had not begun anew for having mourned his losses. He could not place the burden of his failure upon his child. His weight went to his toes. His back arched sending his chest skyward. His momentum shifted away from the precipice. Stephen's eyes looked to the sky as his body moved from the edge. "I am finished", he said. "I begin."
Saturday, December 11, 2010
Friday, March 26, 2010
Chief Rain Cloud
Be still, sad heart, and cease repining;
Behind the clouds is the sun still shining;
Thy fate is the common fate of all,
Into each life some rain must fall,
Some days must be dark and dreary.
~Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
I am in love. I am in love with being alive and I have been for as long as I can remember. Even during times when I was so filled with pain that I was not sure I could bring myself to draw the next breath, there was some longing within that would speak to my comfortless mind and my broken spirit and whisper breathlessly to wait, for this, too, shall pass. I have not loved a shrinking violet. I have loved a steadfast sojourner clicking off its cadence with the consistency of a metronome. No mountain scaled, no valley traversed, in anything but the constant clicking of time. I am but a passenger to the journey of my life. I have the luxury of waiting and resting my mind as life presses relentlessly forward. There are times when I have no choice but to wait and let life move forward without my rapt attention. It does not need my consent. It carries me on through times when I cannot lift my eyes to see what is passing. It is my loss. But it is for the best. In moments of despair, I am aware, in some deep crevice of my heart, in my soul, that life is moving forward and it is safe to believe that there is still a love in me for the miracle of my life. If need be, I can simply close my eyes and wait. I am carried forward in the midst of the worst of life experiences and I am aware that there is still something of value in going with it. If only the marking of time. There is the sweet ache of the expectations love brings. I am in love. Oh, yes, deeply so.
My brother is dead. There’s no use beating around the bush about it. There’s nothing lyrical or magical in being dead. I have faith that God does as he wishes with us when we have marked our time on this planet. I leave the mysteries of what follows life to the moment my life ceases. I hold out hope for something amazing. I don’t demand it. I have something amazing enough to occupy my time for now and I do not want to think beyond the gift of life if I can do otherwise. I hope it is well with my brother. But what I celebrate of him is of the time he was alive.
My brother, Sonny, was a couple of years older than me but we were close to one another in size and people often were not sure which of us was the older of the two. We matured at different rates, both physically and emotionally. We suffered and achieved in uneven measure as we moved through our neighborhoods and schools. Sometimes I lost sight of who was first born and took for myself some of the birthrights of my brother. I was vain enough, and our family had enough turmoil at times, to make such things possible. They seemed relatively minor at the time but I will never fully recover from the scars from the gashes of my conscience upon his death when I realized how I had felt about myself and my brother. I know it is safe to say that he was my best friend and that I loved him dearly. But I also know that it is safe to say that, as the second born, I had the advantage of watching him struggle. I saw him struggle with his relationship with our father. I saw him struggle with peers and school. I watched and I learned and, in many cases, I avoided the suffering that Sonny endured. And, I am ashamed to acknowledge, I began to believe that my smoother path was indicative of some inherent virtue. I began to think I had something that Sonny didn’t have. I don’t think I ever made an overt statement and I know Sonny never let on that my attitude was so repugnant. But it was real. When he died, the realization of how I had felt about him crushed me. It took a long time to understand that, although not perfect by a country mile, Sonny was the most normal person in my family. He lived right up until he died. March 3, 1981.
He was on the USS Belleau Wood, steaming towards the Philippines, south of Guam, tethered in the back of a helicopter, moving around, working and making a difference in his world when the ship rolled and the wind blew and the blades ripped into the catwalk and the ocean took him without a trace. My brother left me in the dust with his work ethic. He was a full grown man when he was on the clock. On his own time, he was a child of wonder and slipped easily into his timeless imagination. He was securely tethered when he died, both to the casket like hold of a marine helicopter and to the points of his life that grounded him in this world. But make no mistake, all but one tether was long and, in the end, all allowed him to soar. I’m sure, in the flash of a few moments, there was recognition, denial, terror, acknowledgment, panic, pain, and release. I can only take comfort in the fact that it was over before I knew about it. I have never suffered in that moment with him because I know he would not want me there. He was my big brother. He looked out for me when he could. His remains lie buried in the dark depths of the Pacific Ocean. Yet I take comfort that, before the wreckage could come to rest, my brother was soaring, un-tethered.
I can see him beyond the rainclouds that he used to point to when he declared the need to bag his papers when the rest of us boys would bet on sunshine in order to avoid the extra time, effort, and expense of bagging. He wasn’t a pessimist. Sonny wanted to make sure his customers got a dry paper. We teased him and called him “Chief Rain Cloud”. Ironic, since it was the rest of us who were doing the dancing and hoping. Sonny just bagged ‘em and delivered ‘em, come what may. His customers loved him. It took me decades to match his work ethic, his desire and willingness to deliver beyond what was required. I struggle to match his desire and willingness to live, loosely tethered and soaring. I aspire still and always to be like my brother, Chief Rain Cloud, come what may.
Behind the clouds is the sun still shining;
Thy fate is the common fate of all,
Into each life some rain must fall,
Some days must be dark and dreary.
~Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
I am in love. I am in love with being alive and I have been for as long as I can remember. Even during times when I was so filled with pain that I was not sure I could bring myself to draw the next breath, there was some longing within that would speak to my comfortless mind and my broken spirit and whisper breathlessly to wait, for this, too, shall pass. I have not loved a shrinking violet. I have loved a steadfast sojourner clicking off its cadence with the consistency of a metronome. No mountain scaled, no valley traversed, in anything but the constant clicking of time. I am but a passenger to the journey of my life. I have the luxury of waiting and resting my mind as life presses relentlessly forward. There are times when I have no choice but to wait and let life move forward without my rapt attention. It does not need my consent. It carries me on through times when I cannot lift my eyes to see what is passing. It is my loss. But it is for the best. In moments of despair, I am aware, in some deep crevice of my heart, in my soul, that life is moving forward and it is safe to believe that there is still a love in me for the miracle of my life. If need be, I can simply close my eyes and wait. I am carried forward in the midst of the worst of life experiences and I am aware that there is still something of value in going with it. If only the marking of time. There is the sweet ache of the expectations love brings. I am in love. Oh, yes, deeply so.
My brother is dead. There’s no use beating around the bush about it. There’s nothing lyrical or magical in being dead. I have faith that God does as he wishes with us when we have marked our time on this planet. I leave the mysteries of what follows life to the moment my life ceases. I hold out hope for something amazing. I don’t demand it. I have something amazing enough to occupy my time for now and I do not want to think beyond the gift of life if I can do otherwise. I hope it is well with my brother. But what I celebrate of him is of the time he was alive.
My brother, Sonny, was a couple of years older than me but we were close to one another in size and people often were not sure which of us was the older of the two. We matured at different rates, both physically and emotionally. We suffered and achieved in uneven measure as we moved through our neighborhoods and schools. Sometimes I lost sight of who was first born and took for myself some of the birthrights of my brother. I was vain enough, and our family had enough turmoil at times, to make such things possible. They seemed relatively minor at the time but I will never fully recover from the scars from the gashes of my conscience upon his death when I realized how I had felt about myself and my brother. I know it is safe to say that he was my best friend and that I loved him dearly. But I also know that it is safe to say that, as the second born, I had the advantage of watching him struggle. I saw him struggle with his relationship with our father. I saw him struggle with peers and school. I watched and I learned and, in many cases, I avoided the suffering that Sonny endured. And, I am ashamed to acknowledge, I began to believe that my smoother path was indicative of some inherent virtue. I began to think I had something that Sonny didn’t have. I don’t think I ever made an overt statement and I know Sonny never let on that my attitude was so repugnant. But it was real. When he died, the realization of how I had felt about him crushed me. It took a long time to understand that, although not perfect by a country mile, Sonny was the most normal person in my family. He lived right up until he died. March 3, 1981.
He was on the USS Belleau Wood, steaming towards the Philippines, south of Guam, tethered in the back of a helicopter, moving around, working and making a difference in his world when the ship rolled and the wind blew and the blades ripped into the catwalk and the ocean took him without a trace. My brother left me in the dust with his work ethic. He was a full grown man when he was on the clock. On his own time, he was a child of wonder and slipped easily into his timeless imagination. He was securely tethered when he died, both to the casket like hold of a marine helicopter and to the points of his life that grounded him in this world. But make no mistake, all but one tether was long and, in the end, all allowed him to soar. I’m sure, in the flash of a few moments, there was recognition, denial, terror, acknowledgment, panic, pain, and release. I can only take comfort in the fact that it was over before I knew about it. I have never suffered in that moment with him because I know he would not want me there. He was my big brother. He looked out for me when he could. His remains lie buried in the dark depths of the Pacific Ocean. Yet I take comfort that, before the wreckage could come to rest, my brother was soaring, un-tethered.
I can see him beyond the rainclouds that he used to point to when he declared the need to bag his papers when the rest of us boys would bet on sunshine in order to avoid the extra time, effort, and expense of bagging. He wasn’t a pessimist. Sonny wanted to make sure his customers got a dry paper. We teased him and called him “Chief Rain Cloud”. Ironic, since it was the rest of us who were doing the dancing and hoping. Sonny just bagged ‘em and delivered ‘em, come what may. His customers loved him. It took me decades to match his work ethic, his desire and willingness to deliver beyond what was required. I struggle to match his desire and willingness to live, loosely tethered and soaring. I aspire still and always to be like my brother, Chief Rain Cloud, come what may.
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
25 RANDOM THINGS ABOUT ME. A SHAMELESS FACEBOOK RETREAD...
1. I just lost over 200 pounds! (I sold my weights today.)
2. I live near Greenville, SC. I’m divorced (twice). I have two children, Grant (14) and Lizzy (11). They keep me here. Sometimes against my will.
3. I am am a salesman/project manager for a specialty contractor that designs, manufactures, installs, and maintains corrosion ressistant linings in process vessels in the paper, chemical, and power industries. It’s not what I am. It’s what I do. I’m still trying to figure out what I want to be when I grow up. In the mean time, I sell and manage.
4. I am a Tiger twice. Graduated from Auburn and from Clemson. Paw power helps with the locals but there is only one battle cry that stirs my spirit. War Eagle!
5. After learning that a classmate from my acting classes at Auburn was a regular on Johnny Carson and a cast member on Saturday Night Live (Victoria Jackson), I managed to get myself fired from my first post-college job and I ran away to Hollywood, CA. I stayed 24 hours. I was not discovered.
6. God is real. I’m not so sure about us.
7. I want to own and operate a 100 acre worm farm.
8. I just learned that there are no frog farms in the United States and that the US is the second largest importer of frog legs in the world. Hmmm. Is this not a country of opportunities or what?! Ribbit!
9. I recently finished an improvisation class at a local theatre. Fun!
10. I am officially an unemployed actor with no experience and no prospects. I have arrived. Life is good!
11. I think my sister is the coolest chick I know.
12. I still get people telling me (albeit rarely now) that my election speech for student council president, way back in 1977, was one of the funniest things they had ever seen. I like that because the coolest sound that I have ever heard was seven or eight hundred kids laughing all at once.
13. People say nice things to me sometimes. I’m finally starting to believe them.
14. I’ve been accepted to the PhD program in Technology Management (Construction) at Indiana State University. It’s a distance learning program and I’m scheduled to start in the fall. I’m still thinking about whether or not I’m up to it. I still harbor this fantasy about teaching as a working retirement.
15. I love being southern!
16. I miss my brother, Sonny. Lost at sea in a helicopter crash March 3, 1981. Life changed fundamentally from that moment on. Those of us who have lost a loved one in service to this country, whether in war or in preparation for it, understand the true cost of defending our freedom and security. I am radically, unapologetically pro-America. God bless this great country and her citizens. Semper Fidelis.
17. I can’t help myself, I love being irreverent.
18. I want to live in a motorhome and move from place to place at the drop of a hat.
19. I love speed and competition. I want get and race a 600 Racing Thunder Roadster.
20. If I had been raised Catholic (instead of converting in my 30’s) and had known about contemplative (centering) prayer before I had any children, I would have joined a monastery. Yeah, really.
21. If I had joined a monastery, I would have been kicked out for my inability to stifle irreverent remarks and my lifelong commitment to the belief that the only mistake Jesus ever made was to leave it up to his disciples to get it right for posterity. The Truth is what transcends the packaging and posturing. Very little tolerance out there for heresy within the Christian culture. Makes for some lonely Sundays.
22. Deep inside, I am such a hippie.
23. I have a pilot’s license (not current). When things got tough, I formulated a plan to rent a plane, head it towards the gulf on autopilot, parachute out over Harpersville, get my motorcycle out of the 280 storage shed, and head off into the sunset to start a new life. But then I found out it has already been done…
24. I wish I had a trade.
25. I want to ride a motorcycle to the tip of South America and back.
26. I miss Ronald Reagan (and the rest of his great generation).
27. Depression kills. I’ve been through it. I understand it. I don’t know the details of the recent suicide of a high school friend. I had not seen her since high school but I thought she was an awesome human being. The news struck me like a hammer to the head. Let me make this clear. If any of you people ever feel like you are ready to kill yourself, CALL ME, 24/7, 864-414-5219. Find me if I’ve changed numbers. I don’t’ care if we haven’t seen each other in 50 years or if we barely ever knew one another. I’ll come get you no matter where you are. I promise. There will be another sunrise, in more ways than one, you can rest assured of that. Many of us share a common history. It is there for a reason, to give us meaning, perspective, and support. Use it.
28. I have inertia. I am slowww to get going but, once in motion, difficult to stop. (No charge for the extra 3.)
2. I live near Greenville, SC. I’m divorced (twice). I have two children, Grant (14) and Lizzy (11). They keep me here. Sometimes against my will.
3. I am am a salesman/project manager for a specialty contractor that designs, manufactures, installs, and maintains corrosion ressistant linings in process vessels in the paper, chemical, and power industries. It’s not what I am. It’s what I do. I’m still trying to figure out what I want to be when I grow up. In the mean time, I sell and manage.
4. I am a Tiger twice. Graduated from Auburn and from Clemson. Paw power helps with the locals but there is only one battle cry that stirs my spirit. War Eagle!
5. After learning that a classmate from my acting classes at Auburn was a regular on Johnny Carson and a cast member on Saturday Night Live (Victoria Jackson), I managed to get myself fired from my first post-college job and I ran away to Hollywood, CA. I stayed 24 hours. I was not discovered.
6. God is real. I’m not so sure about us.
7. I want to own and operate a 100 acre worm farm.
8. I just learned that there are no frog farms in the United States and that the US is the second largest importer of frog legs in the world. Hmmm. Is this not a country of opportunities or what?! Ribbit!
9. I recently finished an improvisation class at a local theatre. Fun!
10. I am officially an unemployed actor with no experience and no prospects. I have arrived. Life is good!
11. I think my sister is the coolest chick I know.
12. I still get people telling me (albeit rarely now) that my election speech for student council president, way back in 1977, was one of the funniest things they had ever seen. I like that because the coolest sound that I have ever heard was seven or eight hundred kids laughing all at once.
13. People say nice things to me sometimes. I’m finally starting to believe them.
14. I’ve been accepted to the PhD program in Technology Management (Construction) at Indiana State University. It’s a distance learning program and I’m scheduled to start in the fall. I’m still thinking about whether or not I’m up to it. I still harbor this fantasy about teaching as a working retirement.
15. I love being southern!
16. I miss my brother, Sonny. Lost at sea in a helicopter crash March 3, 1981. Life changed fundamentally from that moment on. Those of us who have lost a loved one in service to this country, whether in war or in preparation for it, understand the true cost of defending our freedom and security. I am radically, unapologetically pro-America. God bless this great country and her citizens. Semper Fidelis.
17. I can’t help myself, I love being irreverent.
18. I want to live in a motorhome and move from place to place at the drop of a hat.
19. I love speed and competition. I want get and race a 600 Racing Thunder Roadster.
20. If I had been raised Catholic (instead of converting in my 30’s) and had known about contemplative (centering) prayer before I had any children, I would have joined a monastery. Yeah, really.
21. If I had joined a monastery, I would have been kicked out for my inability to stifle irreverent remarks and my lifelong commitment to the belief that the only mistake Jesus ever made was to leave it up to his disciples to get it right for posterity. The Truth is what transcends the packaging and posturing. Very little tolerance out there for heresy within the Christian culture. Makes for some lonely Sundays.
22. Deep inside, I am such a hippie.
23. I have a pilot’s license (not current). When things got tough, I formulated a plan to rent a plane, head it towards the gulf on autopilot, parachute out over Harpersville, get my motorcycle out of the 280 storage shed, and head off into the sunset to start a new life. But then I found out it has already been done…
24. I wish I had a trade.
25. I want to ride a motorcycle to the tip of South America and back.
26. I miss Ronald Reagan (and the rest of his great generation).
27. Depression kills. I’ve been through it. I understand it. I don’t know the details of the recent suicide of a high school friend. I had not seen her since high school but I thought she was an awesome human being. The news struck me like a hammer to the head. Let me make this clear. If any of you people ever feel like you are ready to kill yourself, CALL ME, 24/7, 864-414-5219. Find me if I’ve changed numbers. I don’t’ care if we haven’t seen each other in 50 years or if we barely ever knew one another. I’ll come get you no matter where you are. I promise. There will be another sunrise, in more ways than one, you can rest assured of that. Many of us share a common history. It is there for a reason, to give us meaning, perspective, and support. Use it.
28. I have inertia. I am slowww to get going but, once in motion, difficult to stop. (No charge for the extra 3.)
Sunday, April 26, 2009
MORNING IN MAYBERRY...
It is morning. I am sitting in a small room at the 27 room Mayberry Motor Inn in Mount Airy, NC with a coffee from the nearby McDonald’s 24 hr drive through. No coffeemaker in the room. The motel looks to have been built in the early 1960’s. It is clean and well maintained by Alma Venable, whom I would assume to be the owner. It is a clean, functional, safe place to sleep, bathe, and prepare for the new day at a fair price. In any other town, it is the type of motel that I would have driven by on the way to a chain brand where, for 50% more, I would have the reasonable assurance that there would be a coffee maker in the room and twice the floor space. Here, however, I sit in this tiny little room fully aware of the fact that it is everything I need and, in this context, everything I want. Yet I know I am just visiting a place in time, a level of expectations and acceptability, which will shift towards bigger, newer, larger, and “better” when I drive out of town today. I wish it wouldn’t.
For today, however, I am in The Andy Griffith Show and Mayberry R.F.D and I settle that annoying little precursor of discontent in my gut with the idea that I am Barney Fife and I am spending some adventure time in a simple room away from home at the Mount Pilot YMCA where there is a twin sized bed, no phone, and the shared bathroom is down the hall. I am Barney, sitting on the side of the bed looking out the window as the sun rises and I am thinking to myself that this is a great day to be alive in the metropolis of Mount Pilot where there is so much to see and do. I am Barney, reaching for a pen to scribble a line on the postcard that I bought at the front desk so I can send it to Andy to tell him what a swell time I am going to have, feeling the need to get it in the mail quickly so as not to beat the delivery of it back to Mayberry. I figure that it should be there in three days and I (Barney) am staying in Mount Pilot for four, a day longer than originally planned, insuring that it will be in Andy's hands before I get back to Mayberry. Barney and I smile at the idea of Andy holding the card and imagining us having such a fine time. We wonder if it might not be better to be there when he gets it so we can enjoy watching him read it for the first time. It sho' does feel gooood thinkin' 'bout gettin' thought about...
Yep, I think the office is open now. Think I’ll stroll past the replica of the Mayberry squad car and Emmett’s Repair Shop truck on the way and get me another cup of coffee. Alma has an “Aunt Bee” room in the office, too, with all kinds of memorabilia from Frances Bavier’s estate, including some items from the show. If she’s up and moving around I might get her to tell me a little bit about when she was Andy Griffith’s mother’s hair dresser back in the day. I told her when I checked in that I was born and raised in Sylacauga, AL but I had never met Jim Nabors (Gomer Pyle) though I knew people who knew him personally or were kin to him. Alma told me that she had been invited down to Jim’s induction into some Hall of Fame in Alabama but she didn’t go. I don’t know if that coincided with the big Jim Nabors Day event that was held in Sylacauga years ago. I was out of town at the time. In any case, I was curious about the importance of having Jim’s friend Andy Griffith’s mother’s hair dresser on the invitation list but, hey, it’s a small town. It would have been rude not to invite her. Nooo. Uh-uh. It just wouldn’t do to be thought of as rude. No, siree, sir...
Yep. Think I’ll mosey on over there and get me that cup o’ joe…
For today, however, I am in The Andy Griffith Show and Mayberry R.F.D and I settle that annoying little precursor of discontent in my gut with the idea that I am Barney Fife and I am spending some adventure time in a simple room away from home at the Mount Pilot YMCA where there is a twin sized bed, no phone, and the shared bathroom is down the hall. I am Barney, sitting on the side of the bed looking out the window as the sun rises and I am thinking to myself that this is a great day to be alive in the metropolis of Mount Pilot where there is so much to see and do. I am Barney, reaching for a pen to scribble a line on the postcard that I bought at the front desk so I can send it to Andy to tell him what a swell time I am going to have, feeling the need to get it in the mail quickly so as not to beat the delivery of it back to Mayberry. I figure that it should be there in three days and I (Barney) am staying in Mount Pilot for four, a day longer than originally planned, insuring that it will be in Andy's hands before I get back to Mayberry. Barney and I smile at the idea of Andy holding the card and imagining us having such a fine time. We wonder if it might not be better to be there when he gets it so we can enjoy watching him read it for the first time. It sho' does feel gooood thinkin' 'bout gettin' thought about...
Yep, I think the office is open now. Think I’ll stroll past the replica of the Mayberry squad car and Emmett’s Repair Shop truck on the way and get me another cup of coffee. Alma has an “Aunt Bee” room in the office, too, with all kinds of memorabilia from Frances Bavier’s estate, including some items from the show. If she’s up and moving around I might get her to tell me a little bit about when she was Andy Griffith’s mother’s hair dresser back in the day. I told her when I checked in that I was born and raised in Sylacauga, AL but I had never met Jim Nabors (Gomer Pyle) though I knew people who knew him personally or were kin to him. Alma told me that she had been invited down to Jim’s induction into some Hall of Fame in Alabama but she didn’t go. I don’t know if that coincided with the big Jim Nabors Day event that was held in Sylacauga years ago. I was out of town at the time. In any case, I was curious about the importance of having Jim’s friend Andy Griffith’s mother’s hair dresser on the invitation list but, hey, it’s a small town. It would have been rude not to invite her. Nooo. Uh-uh. It just wouldn’t do to be thought of as rude. No, siree, sir...
Yep. Think I’ll mosey on over there and get me that cup o’ joe…
Sunday, April 19, 2009
A BEGINNING...
These are my first ever “published” words. The first that I can recall ever having written for a general audience, placed in a public way to allow access for whatever purpose that motivates the reader. While I might subconsciously harbor hopes for the literary equivalent of Susan Boyle sweeping millions of unsuspecting audience members off their feet, I am a reasonable man with reasonable expectations motivated by reasonable rewards. Like Susan Boyle, I have lived long enough to have experienced half (I hope!) a lifetime, seen and heard millions or trillions of bits of information observed from a particular perspective, and developed opinions that I can now send back out to the world to be integrated in varying degrees into the experiences, observations, and opinions of others who journey through life. That is an exhilarating thought! The technological development of the internet as a delivery system provides everyone with a potential to be heard on a worldwide scale. Unlike Susan Boyle, I expect a soft start and a modest response. Frankly, I’m very cool with that. Unlike Susan Boyle, I will be spending some time searching around for my voice. But I am confident that it will, over time, resound clearly and on key, the experiences, observations, and opinions that I can share with others. I do hope to eventually surprise and, perhaps, delight a few folks along the way and to do my part to show the world that we frumpy, middle aged crooners of life’s sensibilities have existed all along. That the delight and shock accompanying the revelation of our existence is just the dawning of awareness in the masses of the uninitiated that, perhaps, they (we) all should have been listening a little better to the gifts of “ordinary” human beings all along…
So, to those who survived my first paragraph, I thank you. I especially want to thank those who have told me over the years “you should write” and, particularly those who have delivered the same unsolicited encouragement over the past few months on Facebook.com. There were enough people from unrelated threads providing unsolicited encouragement to do so that I finally realized that their assessments of my “stuff” was not related to just one small group interacting nor to just one particular piece that I wrote. At 48, it finally occurred to me that writing stuff is not just something that I can do but something that I should do. So, here, I’m writing. And I, to be honest, like it. I hope you will, too. I won’t go on and on thanking people because I know that I will forget to mention someone and every kind word has been so important to me that I don’t want to even risk not getting it right. Thank you. You know who you are.
Be sure to sign up for the RSS. I’m not sure how that works exactly, but it is similar to getting an automatic email when there is a new post. I promise, you won’t be getting covered up from my posts they way you do from some of the others.
Now, I’m off to Covington, VA for a short project (called a shutdown) at a paper mill. The day job requires it and, besides, I like to go places. I’m looking forward to going to the tops of the bleach towers and, maybe riding a bosun’s chair up a 100’ tube. That’ll help me get acclimated to heights again. Something I’ll need this summer when I launch off Look Out Mountain for the first time on a hang glider. And then there’s finally getting around to climbing El Capitan…
So, to those who survived my first paragraph, I thank you. I especially want to thank those who have told me over the years “you should write” and, particularly those who have delivered the same unsolicited encouragement over the past few months on Facebook.com. There were enough people from unrelated threads providing unsolicited encouragement to do so that I finally realized that their assessments of my “stuff” was not related to just one small group interacting nor to just one particular piece that I wrote. At 48, it finally occurred to me that writing stuff is not just something that I can do but something that I should do. So, here, I’m writing. And I, to be honest, like it. I hope you will, too. I won’t go on and on thanking people because I know that I will forget to mention someone and every kind word has been so important to me that I don’t want to even risk not getting it right. Thank you. You know who you are.
Be sure to sign up for the RSS. I’m not sure how that works exactly, but it is similar to getting an automatic email when there is a new post. I promise, you won’t be getting covered up from my posts they way you do from some of the others.
Now, I’m off to Covington, VA for a short project (called a shutdown) at a paper mill. The day job requires it and, besides, I like to go places. I’m looking forward to going to the tops of the bleach towers and, maybe riding a bosun’s chair up a 100’ tube. That’ll help me get acclimated to heights again. Something I’ll need this summer when I launch off Look Out Mountain for the first time on a hang glider. And then there’s finally getting around to climbing El Capitan…
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