Stories - FD Thornton

Another summer morning babysitting George again. All the swelling in my belly has my back hurting, so I pulled out my daughter’s back massager working on that. George is pouting, because I won’t let him finish chewing up the plastic he pulled out of his toy. I thought I had quit raising youngins years ago…I guess I was wrong. At least he’s quit brooding now, because he’s back over here now laying across my feet. It is so deadly silent in this house. At home Lisa or someone has the TV or something going all the time. At the moment all I can hear is the massage pad humming and George sighing because he’s bored. But, I kinda like bored. It’s beats the alternative of hearing nothing but noise. Now don’t get me wrong, I love and appreciate my family. But every once in a while, it would be nice to not have someone barge through my door while I’m working. Apparently, they missed the class on knocking.   But for some people they live for the noise, they can’t stand the silenc

Worry and fear have taken over my mind of late. My usual escapes music, reading, and mindfulness; don’t seem to be helping. So I get my rest where I can, in naps and mindless web surfing. But in those silent hours of the night, I find myself awake and exhausted, just like the “good old days”. I’m afforded a lot of free time due to my physical and mental condition. But the exhaustion and fatigue are still real. I’m a pretty good actor when it comes to putting up a front and being “happy-go-lucky”. But the mental strain is still very real and getting harder and harder to disguise. I write this for all of you that understand. Who live each day in dread of the next. Hope can sound very empty when the lights are out and you’re all alone. Still it’s funny, knowing all the answers and all the snap out of it cures. But all that feels so meaningless when the clouds overhead show nothing but rain.  

It’s 5:19 in the morning, I’ve been up a little less than an hour. I slept well considering the problems I’ve had lately. Getting use to the new found reality of lacking a body part is tedious at best. But we muddle through. It’s seems the surgery team spend a great deal of time preparing for the surgery.  But precious little time with the true after effects. My gastroenterologist hasn’t called or set-up a follow up for after the procedure. I sort of get the impression they are done with me. I mean I like the team alright, but they are the worst jugglers I’ve ever seen. Never able to keep more than one ball in the air. But a long time ago, I learned you got to keep up with your own shit, when it comes to your health. So I check my own vitals, take my medications, and back up all my own medical records with peer-reviewed research. Yes, I’m one of those patients.   I know this sounds rather boring and I’m sure you give up looking for inspiration after the first paragrap

(Buffy, our three year old Calico rescue) It’s nearly four in the afternoon and I’m just getting a chance to sit outside. Since six this morning I’ve been prepping the house for my upcoming surgery. It’s basically a day surgery where I pop in and pop out the same day. But I do have my particular precautions due to my heart situation and the medications I take. I can’t say I’m excited, but the doctors are sure that this procedure will help more than it hurts.   So I’m giving the house an extra cleaning, keeping the dishes and laundry caught up and cleaned. I got my meal planning done for the week. Went to the store and stocked up on pantry items. Went and took care of George, and gassed up the Kia. Basically, making plans for a weekend of quiet recovery. So I’m sitting here in my outdoor rocker. Enjoying a very pleasant warm breeze. The grass just got mowed, so I got the smell of fresh cut grass surrounding me. Any other day, I’d probably be super duper happy. But all

It’s hard to dream of ambition or freedom, when shackles are chained to your feet. When freewill is given to others and peace of mind is dependent what someone else feels. It’s a Godforsaken duality when on one hand your praised as a saint, yet you feel inwardly selfish.  Love, honor, and charity are not given consideration in a world of selfish intent. I often feel like I walk a tightrope between the world of the giving and a drunken dance of my own appetites. Is there such a thing as balance? I certainly don’t feel balanced. I’m not on a team, and I’m definitely not on my own. Yet I’m surrounded by others with agendas all their own.  If you were to ask me, what the hell are you talking about? I don’t know if I could give you an answer. Because I have dreams of my own, yet I feel trapped in a perpetual loop of being in charge of another life. I guess I could pen this as just another story of guilt and entrapment. One I’m sure you’re tired of hearing. But it still gives me

It’s getting hard to focus anymore, I’m just starved for a little silly conversation. I’m just tired of talking about whatever ailment I have today. But after a light shower just passed through, I did rehang some laundry that hadn’t dried yet. There’s a breeze is light blowing from of the south, but it is strong enough to shoo away any gnats. I went over to the convenience store to get me and the cat Jim Slim and a fountain drink. Lisa and I had just come back from seeing the grandyoungins. But they were far too busy in building a blanket fort to worry about us. I’d put up a picture, but my daughter would get mad for putting up another pic of her messy house. But just to hear them giggling and laughing was well worth the trip. After we left, we want to the local grocery store. Now mind you, I live in the country, 27 miles from the nearest Wal-Jacks. Yet this country store doesn’t have one bag of dry beans. I’ve had a hankering for some slow cooked baby Lima beans. Looks

Again, that little flashing line is taunting me, daring me write something profound. But sadly, I’ve sent the last few days without much to say. Oh, when I’m out and about I put on my little show. You know nothing much to see, just a happy go lucky jester, putting out what the world wants to see. An interesting turn of the phase, what the world wants to see. Telling me what I’m really feeling isn’t worth their time. Still the make-up is applied and the lines well-rehearsed. For no one wants to see a reflection, they only want to see perfection. Something they can’t see in themselves. But I am spent, and I am tried. But I have no place to run. Too many depend on me with their burdens left undone. But beneath this façade of what’s to be expected and what they want to get. Lies a broken man, dried up of any potential there might have been left. So don’t try to read too much into this. For there’s not much left to tell. Less and less pours out of this old mind. So when it

Not that I’m feeling particularly inspired this morning. I thought I’d just lay here and jot down a few lines, just to see where they take me. A while back I had a doctor tell me I must have a high tolerance for pain, considering the procedure he was doing to me. Well, I don’t know about that, because yesterday I was going through a fair amount of pain and embarrassment. The part l hate the most about being sick is constant control it has over my life. I mean we all have our inconveniences with illness from time to time. It just seems like for the last 20 years; I’ve been bouncing from one illness to another like a ping pong ball in a lottery machine. Between mental and physical illnesses, I can’t seem to catch a break. And yes, I know. Everyone says to, “Hang in there baby”. But there are times when I’m just tired of hanging there. Besides, you ever wonder how many times that poor kitten got put up in that tree just to get that shot? So what’s the moral or hidden gem

It’s late in the afternoon, 7:53 to be exact. Against my own laziness, I decided to come back outside. We had fried chicken, mash potatoes and gravy for supper. Not exactly a healthy meal, but least the chicken was prepared in an air fryer. I had one piece of chicken and a single serving of potatoes and gravy, no margarine. The little old lady from down the street is taking the kids she watches around the block trying to wear them out. All while I sip lemon tea and watch the sun disappear. It’s not much to write home about, but my Grandma Thornton would send letters to my Dad with similar sentiments. The art of the tale doesn’t always have to have any direct meaning. But thousands of years of storytelling always makes for a good evening. I don’t have any friends left to hang around the fire. Most of my family is just so far away my tired bones can’t handle the strain. So I sit in my isolation with the birds, the sycamores, and the occasional cat keeping me company. A

On & Off I can pretty much deal the rapid changes that occur within myself. The loss of balance, bodily function, and stamina. I take each of these in stride. If I can say nothing of some of my past medications, it would be that they taught me to not look at things so emotionally. Even after changing over to more tolerant meds. I can still turn a switch on and off, that allows me to distance myself from my overactive emotions.  As the sounds of Stanley Clark radiate through my headphones. I’ve learned to recapture the passions of music and life I thought I had lost. Life has a certain rhythm that we each move to. Mine seems to move towards the syncopated beat, never knowing where it’s going. The freedom of that pulls my mind and emotions to more tolerant places.  Troubles cover our souls more often than not. The introduction of social media and the rapid movement of information, can create an overload of the senses. Looking back at my initial mental health breakdown, I

Draw Back the Flame Where do we come from? The embers of our existence or the flame in which we are formed. Life is a series of survival skills with sprinklings of joy scattered throughout. Spinning out of control, often with no rhyme or reason. So we brand purpose to ourselves following the herd to slaughter. My life is made up of the simple needs of love and acceptance. Often giving up my own will to obtain it. But is love supposed to work that way? Are we simply a vessel which multitudes are allowed to drank? Left drained like an empty glass with nothing to give. My religious upbringing would call me weak and un-giving. But my heart demands more. From this point I feel your heart and you identify with my story. Chained to walls which we will never break free. Listening to the cries of gratitude, only to be left cold as stone. We draw life from the embers of existence. Only wishing to feel the flames of love once again. But are those things too late for us? Are th

The fragrant smell of petunias fills the air this early morn. Birds overhead singing their same old song, while a woodpecker knocks on ever door trying to find a home. I got my rocking chair turned with my back towards the sun. I already prepped tonight’s supper, slow cooked black-eyed peas with ham hocks. So hopefully I’m left with the rest of the day to myself. Outside my little bubble the world can seem like a cold and heartless place. With so many different cultures with so many different rules. Some seem so offensive and repressive, while others just seem to play loose with the rules. Most surprising of them all is the way criticism and distain has flourished between tribes. While that has gone on for thousands of years, I suppose one would hope we’d evolved beyond that. Speaking to my family on social media is like spending time listening the complaint department of an ultra-conservative news outlet. While sitting in with most of my liberal friends is like liste

Just got back from my daughter’s, George is fine BTW. The clothes on the line are pretty much dry, I cranked the Ranger up to clean out the fuel lines, and the cats are lining up to get in my lap like I’m a mall Santa Claus. Just another day in South Central Georgia. Not that I’m complaining, I mean I wish I could be still be working, talking to clients across the world at three in the morning. Overseeing projects and writing systems plans. But fate or poor genetics or both landed me here; not so much kicking, but at least I’m breathing. Gratitude runs in all kinds of directions. I mean, you can be grateful for 100 billion dollars you’re not paying taxes on. Or you’re grateful to simply be able to put food on the table. Me, I’m somewhere in-between. Not very rich, but with food in the garden. At the moment, I’m just happy to just be typing. Because after my chores and cat rubbing were done, my heart started skipping a few beats, leaving me a litt

Today started out pretty good, got some editing done on my book in the early morning. But then I decided to go for a short hike in the park before checking on George. I took a trail I hadn’t been on in a while. It has a lot of elevation changes for short trail, but I enjoy the twist and the scenery. That’s until I noticed I was getting a bit light-headed. I had my cane with me, so I kept my balance without falling. I made to the halfway point and headed back, sat in the Kia for a little bit, and drove to my daughter’s. After checking on George, I had to run over to the grocery store. But again, while pushing the buggy around, I started getting light-headed again. It’s kinda weird to describe, it feels like you’re about to faint as the blood drains from your head. I’ve mentioned this to my PCP and cardiologist. They’ve told me it might happen if I get up too quickly or turn my head suddenly. That is mostly due to keeping my blood pressure low because of my broken heart

I’m sitting here underneath the shade the fig bush and a sycamore tree. Yet all I can think about is now sleepy I am. I mean, I could go back in the house and take a nap. But then I would miss all this wonderful shade and cool western breeze. Lisa’s got a few clothes hanging on the line, Boots is behind me trying to catch a squirrel, and I’m still here fighting the temptation to sleep. I don’t know what to write about or if I should write at all. Sometimes moments are just meant to be moments. I excuse myself by lowering my head and closing my eyes. Just to give myself a spark of inspiration. But it only seems to produce a snore. I lower my head again to the nature around me. But who do I think I’m fooling, because I’m only going to snore again. If you stayed here this long, you might as well ride it out. I do enjoy lazy afternoons, even if it’s only a Thursday. Still, I miss my river, the white sand between my toes. An obnoxious little teenager who wanting to get dra

I would like to think that the power love has over me, has waned over the years. Yet when I stare at the scars of time and loss, I can’t forget when I called love my own. But the insecurity and impatience of youth lend me astray. Questioning true love, looking the other way for an equal, only to find fool’s gold. The product of a lost generation, I searched. Finding moments of passion but never fuel for my soul. Drained near depletion I saw your face again. Aged like mine, forever wondering, forever asking, why? So we tiptoe around the politics and red meat of it, teasing ourselves in lite banter. But who are we fooling, certainly not ourselves. Maybe the few that couldn’t see past their own prejudice. Thinking that we never deserved true love. For you do not own me, nor do I own you. We choose to feel this way. To drop the armor, to reveal our scars, and accept what we see. We leave things unsaid, for we already know. The struggles we have letting others inside. For

 It’s funny, it’s feels as if the day hasn’t really started, yet it’s 3:50 in the afternoon. Lisa and I have been up since 7 am, me getting her pills divided up for the week, while she put on a load of laundry. Well three loads of laundry, a grocery store run, spring cleaning the office and bedroom, and here it is 3:55 pm.  I guess busies what you make of it. For some reason the whole day hasn’t felt busy, it just needed to get done. So I took each task as it came, divided it up and got my ass to work. Of late I’ve felt very lethargic, I can often trace this back to my health issues. But recently it’s been deeper than that, going back to my mental health issues. No energy to complete anything, mental fatigue, and just plain sitting around for hours doing nothing.  My moods often ebb and flow like the tide. It just seems this time around it bothered my conscious more than usual. Who knows what tomorrow’s going to feel like? Will it be pumped like today? Or another slow ride on the “Debb

Let’s forgo any of the usual foreplay. I was awakened by a savage dream. One rooted in the past, reminding me of one of my many inadequacies. Awaken by my chest pounding, feeling many of the feelings the actual event brought on. I suppose I could get into more detail, but what would be the point. We’ve all lived through similar moments. Regaining my composure, I slip back into my role as the stoic one, the logical one with ease. I suppose it’s only human nature to be this way. The hierarchical nature of tribe caste us to our roles. Moving us up, moving us down, but never changing who we are labeled to be. Life turns ever so slightly, through education and deeper thought. But seldom does the pendulum sway others opinion. That my friend requires a total reevaluation of the whole damn system. Yes, we are the sum of your parts. It is ingenuity and evolution, that has long given us the tools to be better. And while the past can often lay waste to our dreams. That does not

I know you got to be tired of hearing me talk about the same shit all the time. The sleepless nights, the endless bouts with depression, not to mention my never-ending physical issues. I honestly wish I had something more interesting to talk about. Like maybe an exotic vacation or a fabulous night on the town. But hey, all that ended for me long before the internet and social media even started. Lost somewhere in a faded memory, there were days when life was just boundless energy. When friends would gather on the weekend to ride Clyde, Jr. down the highways to play gigs and believing we were making a difference. Moments when life had a greater purpose than just the nine to five. Where friends were family and dreams were more than empty calories from a store-bought birthday cake. Maybe my mind is just romanticizing moments from long ago. Maybe I’m just wishing for things that were never really to come true. But they are my moments and they are my dreams. Our lives are

It’s all quiet within, I feel no stress other than fatigue. A wary traveler seeking solace where ever I can. Putting life back into the economy of a devastated industry. I watch as the waves pull away, while children scream and slash with joy. Seagulls circle for a handout, as a precious few brave the cloudless sky. With phone in hand, I click away at moments that will never happen again. For me photography is meditative, a sort of ritual, were I breathe in and click. I look for no particular scene, just whatever appears in front of me. I take each step mindfully hearing the crackle of tiny shells underneath my feet. I catch reflections from small tidal pools. I see ripples in sand like dry waves of the ocean. How else can I explain my draw to this place. Is it it’s connection to my youth, the quiet beaches, the twisted oaks, or the Spanish moss. Or is it the memories of a distant pass, when nothing really mattered. And so little remains.   #poetry 

Looking at the springtime from the comfort of my room, I suppose it has perks. For one: temperature control, two: my heating pad, and three: a soft bed to fall back on. There are days when I get so tired of being tired. Thinking back, it was nothing for me to work all day, go home, shower, then play all night. Now just walking the aisles of Wal Jack’s makes me light-headed. But as I often like to say, it is what it is. No matter how put together we like to think we are. Inside there’s always something broken. My parents and grandparents often said, “tough it out and stuff it down”. And for a really long time that’s just what I did, stuff, stuff, and stuff some more. Until the box was overflowing. From that moment on, I was a walking time bomb just waiting to go off. It’s taken me the better part of 20 years to unpack that box. And sadly enough, I still got a lot more unpacking to do. I don’t assume to till you I’m cured of anything. I still have bouts of panic and depre

I had a really strenuous morning, my oldest purchased a washer and dryer for her home. But apparently no one planned on how to get them into the house. Like any good parent, I woke up my night owl of a youngest son to help me out. I was a little apprehensive about tickling this job. It wasn’t going to be an easy task, the washer and dryer had to be taken up some steps and through two narrow doorways to get to the laundry room. It’s been a few hours since the job and so far, only my lower back and left shoulder are a little sore. At the moment, I’m having no more ill effects. My hearts not racing, my bowels haven’t gone on a rampage, and I’m having no shortness of breath. I know, I know my son was keeping a sharp eye on me. And if my PCP catches wind of this, there will be hell to pay. I’m grateful for my son’s help, grateful my daughter keeping her texting to a minimum, and yes I know my son and daughter were texting each other about me. So I guess I should be gratefu

The pollen from the trees is giving my eyes a fit. The burning and itching wake me up almost as much as my churning gut. At the moment Momma Cat is demanding all my attention. Because she is literally pushing the phone away from my face. Despite all the lessons Mother Nature has taught me, I still find myself doing the night owl thing, while my wife is still in a deep sleep. I may never understand why I carry this burden of restlessness. Thinking back to my working years, I woke up a many a night solving problems that plagued my days. I suppose old habits die hard and trying to change now is simply a moot point. Still, we go about our days complaining about the things we’d love to change. But as time rolls on, the habits that have become second nature, only tighten their grip. We each have our burdens I suppose. So I’ve adapted my life to work accordingly. Some of my “positive energy” friends may view that as a cop out. But I prefer to think of it as compromises with

After a several years of speaking my mind, I feel myself closing back in. Like maybe there’s nothing more left to say. I see friends across social media moving on with their lives. Yet I feel awkwardly stagnant, sorta like that U2 song “stuck in a moment”. So I lay here hungry, but not passionate for anything. Just here, unsatisfied with whatever I see. Mood swings are all a part of my routine. Panic Disorder leaves me yearning for sameness, while my physical condition limits my reach. Expectations I placed on myself have slowly eroded to vague fantasies of some wishful grandeur. But I’ve learned better by staring into the blackness of 4am. I suppose I should end this pity party on a bit of a “high note”. I guess being honest with yourself is a lot better than lying to the world. And that silence is often your hearts way regrouping after a bad day. So I guess I’ll just continue to breathe and type my unfocused non-sense. For anyone that still has the patience to read.

The alarm just went off, time for my 7:00 medicine. It’s a routine I repeat four times a day. 14 pills in the morning, 2 pills at 3:00pm, 5 pills at 7pm, and for a nightcap 2 more pills. 23 pills in all, all created to keep me alive and hopefully keep me sane. I don’t mention any of this to brag or to garner any sympathy. It is what it is, me paying penance for my sins. Listen don’t be so melodramatic with your replies. It’s all just “tongue in cheek” around here. The fact is most of our troubles point straight back at ourselves. Oh I know some things aren’t are fault, but eventually we are the only ones that can correct it. I’m a survivor, I’m not planning on dying anytime soon. So I fight. I listen to my doctors, I listen to my therapist, I listen to myself. And none of these individuals want me to die. So I pop my pills. Oh I complain and I whine about it, but it is a fact of life. I think the thing that weirds me out the most, is watching someone die by a thousa

Being out at the beach on such a grey blustery cold day, reminds me of the winters we would come here. Just the two of us and a rowdy pack of Canadians taking over the hotel. Sitting out in the freezing cold smoking cigarettes and our pipe around the pool. Plotting how we could snuggle cigarettes across the Canadian border and make a killing. All the while watching the snowbirds drive into and out of the frigid pool water. The sun’s finally broke through for a little bit, warming my bones. Lisa’s out on the beach picking up washed seashells from yesterday’s storm. There’s still a wind and rip current advisory out, so most everyone’s power walking or fishing. I can’t do any of that as much as I used to. Between the driving, walking, climbing stairs, and need for a nearby bathroom. I’m limited to just people watching and taking a few pics. But that’s okay, because I’m back home, on an island that I have been coming to since I was a baby. Sitting here looking out at the gr

I’m currently abusing my daughter’s massage chair. Trying to ease my sore back and even sorer mind. I just got off the phone with my favorite government agency. Needless to say, I wished I hadn’t called at all. But with certain organizations you often have to stay on their asses in order to get anything done. I always thought of myself as a pretty fair and efficient boss. At least that’s what my evaluations would say. But the inefficiency of this particular bureaucracy staggers the mind. So I’m sitting here, the door closed, George at my feet, listening to the dull hum of these warm magic fingers. Hopefully easing away the droning voices of our governments finest. As everyone around me knows, I’m sick with allergies. Normally this only happens at the peak of the season. But this has been going on since February. I wrote recently about forgiveness and living in the moment. But what I want to speak of today is reality as compared to our dream ideals. From the bay window

“Bearing scars from battles we’ve won and lost. We carry the pain of abuse we’d rather not discuss. Yet here we are, nothing like the innocence, but still carrying the flame.” Those are words I’ve written to a friend, a lover, and a sister. Someone bearing a load I cannot carry. But over the decades I’ve seen this woman beat the odds. Fight for family, listening to taunts and abuse no one should hear. I’ve watched time and disregard take away the beauty. Yet I still see the fire in those blue/green eyes. Only a handful ever understood she and I, but that’s okay. We moved far beyond those questions so long ago. This is just a word of encouragement. The only thing I’m any good at. Just reminding her, reminding you. That you will make it. Strength isn’t measured by wealth you accumulate, but in the love, we give to one another.

Anything else to Say? Is there really anything else to say? We spend moments, hours, decades dreaming of a better life. Yet despite our best made plans, we’re left right back where we started. I mean, I could lay on a big fat helping of gooey, sweet affirmations. But what good would that do; when you’re all alone facing your worst fears, without ever working on yourself? For a really long time, I schemed and made plans for my eventual success. But a great deal of those goals turned into nothing more than dusty bookshelves of positive affirmations. In my fragile mental state, I grabbed for any magic potion to make me feel better. But end the end, all I could see was failure and disappointment. That is until I learned to simply let go. While laying on a hospital gurney in an ER, my eyes began to open. For a number of years, I had practiced mindful meditation to relieve my Panic Disorder. I listened to the teachings of Thich Nhat Hanh, but until then hadn’t grasped what he was

Not feeling particularly “oomph loomph” today, the skies are clouding up in anticipation of the rain. Sitting in my rocker, I watch the pollen fall on my phone screen. As the northern hemisphere awakens from its winter’s slumber. Spring is a few days away, and so too is the driving itch of renewal and rebirth. The kittens rest quietly under an old dresser drawer, while my wife keeps an eye on Momma Cat before she goes into heat yet again. I smell the burning of under bush in anticipation of another dry summer. In my own heart I also feel the need to purge myself of choking under growth. Partially forced, I’m pulling on the reins of my own ccreativit to devote myself to working on my collaborator ion her work. I’ve never been comfortable crowing about my own creation. Instead I’d rather let each piece speak for itself, giving it up to each viewers interpretation. This keeps me in my comfort zone. Relieving me of the pressure to outdo myself. Audiences are often a fickl

My wife and I paid a visit to my hometown of Savannah Georgia yesterday. We spent the day at a friend’s house catching up on the year we had missed. On the ride back home, I couldn’t help but reflect on my life, comparing who I was then and who I am now. In many ways things are much better, but in some ways, still dealing with regrets and pain. Like decisions I had made, the bridges that I had burned, and the moments that I missed. I often tell you guys, not to dwell on the past but to instead live in the moment. But actually, that is only part of the story. In order to move into the present, we often have to face our past. Before leaving Savannah, I burned a lot of bridges. I ended relationships and I cut off true friends, I had grown up with. All of this came from petty feuds and issues that I’ve carried since childhood. It’s easy to see these things now that I follow a more mindful path. But not so long ago I had to learn things the hard way. Near the death of a fa

It’s almost 6pm and I’m finally going outside. Mind you, it’s been a perfectly fine day. But as usual my weekends are spent catching up paperwork, doing chores, and managing a house I can’t manage during the week. I had nearly forgotten how to work outside the home. The wasted time, the playing “phone tag” with people you need to get ahold of, and making sure the two special needs people you are responsible for are safe. But those reflexes have been kicking back in, much like babysitting George a perpetual two-year-old. I’m not complaining, but honestly, I am. I had a sweet set-up going, working from home, making sure everything’s taken care of, and having my freedom. Sweet freedom. Still it’s a pregnant feral cat, that reminded me it’s time to put the phone down, and just be. Like I said this cat took to me like a duck to water. Always jumping in my lap, waiting my attention, and making damn sure she got between me and my phone. And this evening was no different, whi

Love is such an ugly mess sometimes. Rather through happiness or pain, love either heals the sick or ruins the mind. It seems to have no in-between, but in reflection, love often ebbs and flows with various degrees of comfort and stability. In my own life, love was never a comfortable thing. Growing up in a home where signs of outward affection were a bit taboo; you just assumed love was there. Rather through being provided a roof over your head and three-square meals, love had its own solemn form of display. Growing up that way, I practiced what I was taught. Assuming what I did to provide was my sign of affection. But when hard times came and they did. You’re left with the aching inadequacies that you have failed. My adult children often reflect on their childhood that way. Yet each one is thriving in their own way, achieving goals I never obtained. But this is about love, the vulnerability and faith of it. I see myself not torn, but divided by what I need from lo

I’m trying to make this a positive day, even though it’s turning into a shitty day. I know, I should remain positive. I mean hell, it is only 10 o’clock in the morning after all. But so far, I have been let down by one thing after another. For one my guts been giving me a fit for two solid days. A particular government agency I deal with nearly monthly won’t return my calls. And I can’t get a doctor to change an appointment I can’t make. I know, it’s all pretty “minor league” stuff, but I’m all so damn inconvenienced. While I may have a real pet peeve with people that “drop the ball” when they say they’ll get it done. I shouldn’t let it surprise me. I mean we all believe we are entitled to certain rights and privileges when it’s convenient for us. We all get extremely impatient when it comes to our demands and right’s. Hell we look at others that are different then us and consider them undeserving. Somewhere inside of us have this built-in prejudice that people differen

Can you ever gather back lost moments, while you were living out other plans? I left my former life some 27 years ago. Across the river was not only my history, family, and friends, but also a big piece of my personality. I left it all determined to make my mark, to be somebody. But after 10 years of bashing my head against the wall, something cracked. So I ended up achieving nothing, with four hungry mouths to feed. It took me another 10 years to feel like my head was back on straight, then I had my physical collapse. So here I am, a little wiser, a lot older, and a much weaker man than I used to be. Instead of amassing that fortune I’d promised myself, I’m poorer (money wise) now than when I first started. Writing that sentence, kinda makes me laugh. Not in any cynical way, but because of the irony of it. That’s because I discovered money and fame are nice, but they are also fleeting. That real satisfaction can only be achieved through hard work and focus on what’s re

I suppose I could start this story off with how crappy my weekend was and how physically and mentally spent I feel. But what point would that serve other than to find someone to commiserate my misery. Troubles are things we all go through. The difference maker is how you choose to get through them. Not trying to sound too cliché, but all you can do is the best you can to ride them through. Like I said it was an exhausting weekend, that seems to have stretched into my Monday. But what can you do? The choices that were made were either good nor bad. They were just choices. Now that things have settled a bit, I’m sitting here with a little jazz playing over the Google Dot. Waiting for the garage to give me a call on the tire situation. Till then life is moving at its usual pace either anxious or dull. Leaving me here with my own emotion baggage to deal with. I often wonder if it’s the psychiatric medication or the years living with such a heightened sense of anxiety, tha

In the quiet, rain falls outside the bedroom window. On yet, another evening of relentless rain and raising water. I find myself tired but restless under this patchwork of blankets and throws. Waiting on a dawn I will not get to see. Beside me, my bride comforts me with the occasional snort or murmur of words. Assuring me if nothing else, that she rests in peaceful slumber. I for one can’t afford such luxuries, for what amounts to a lifetime, I alone carry the burdens of living. In perfect candor rest seems a distance dream. Sleep that was once my friend, now has left me as well. But I don’t beg, I don’t complain; for burdens are but the extensions of one’s own fear. Fear that we are left to carry through time and beyond.

I’m currently sitting in my daughter’s massage chair. Me and George spent the last 45 minutes raking leaves and dog shit, both which we have in abundant supply. I quit taking after noticing a blister on my hand, that had already popped. So I came inside, washed my hands and got a band aid. I know this doesn’t sound like much of a day, but it’s getting things done. If you think about it, life is never about a big series of events. It’s about the tedious and the mundane things that make real special events…special. As much as I like to say “just let it go”, there still have to be moments of planning and work. Without working on my mental health issues, I’d still be balled up in a corner of a room somewhere. Without work and routine, I’d still be laying in a bed not growing any stronger after my heart issues. You see despite what we may wish for, nothing ever improves without planning and action. Even in the depth of Zen philosophy, things have to be done. As much as I l

At my most impressionable years were spent at end of the hippie movement in the early '70's. While there weren’t too many hippies in Bloomingdale, we did have a ton of big brothers and uncles over in Vietnam. So every night I’d either sit in front of Cronkite or Huntley and Brinkley, and listen the nearly live reports from the front lines. I had four uncles that were Vietnam era veterans, two serving in country. The war was never far from my family’s mind. I grew up a pacifist, my Dad a Korean era draftee never cared for me to carry on his military legacy. He much preferred I become a company man like himself. Working for a company that couldn’t care less about him. Sitting here enjoying a little morning sunlight, I’m reminded of spring mornings hopping on my bike and riding for literally hours at the time. The dirt roads of my hometown were perfect for all kinds of adventures. I think about that now, and I feel sad for the locked down children of today. It seem

I listen to my heart. I also listen to my head. The two aren’t always in sync, but they’re the closest thing I got to a conscious. So what do you do? Other than feeling like I should be dragged away by a lab coat. I find that venting my emotions really clears me out. Offers me a different perspective or at least a new angle to view. Old George is laying at my feet, while I peck away at this tiny keypad. Pushing out homogenized pearls of wisdom, no one but myself cares to hear. I wish I had a more glamorous style, but hell, I jumped off the style train damn near 40 years ago. So your stuck with this, a broken soul and a half-ass body held together with SRS meds and heart medicine. It’s sad I know. But I learned my lessons along the riverbanks and the abusive relationships I fell into. I resist anyone feeling bad for me. But when you walked a tightrope alone for so long, the calluses form in just the right places. Preferring my own company, I wallow in self-pity when it

Why do I crave the sky? Always looking beyond what’s in front of me? I push the agenda of the here and now. But it doesn’t explain my desire for tomorrow. The leap of joy and the optimism can bring. The here and now is about awareness, presence, and focus. But it’s dreams that carry us, advance us to better tomorrows. I often look up, mostly because my linear vision is so limited. But when I look up, I see unlimited possibilities. I see potential beyond my sight. So as the clouds build for yet another rainy tomorrow. I take in these last few moments of light, to appreciate not only the now, but the future as well. 

I know I shouldn’t complain, I mean it’s 32°, and not like it’s twenty below. But I’m sandwiched between a mattress, two sheets, two blankets, a comforter, and a couple of throw covers. I can see my breath while I breathe and fingers are peeking out from under the covers just so I can type. Not sure what the temperature is in this house. But as soon as the sun gets a little higher, I’ll be outside with the warm sun to my back. I don’t wear my poverty as some badge of honor, no more than any of the other billions of people do. It’s just simply a fact. Watching those folks in Texas this week was a reminder that someone’s always got it worse than you. But to sit and judge a person’s worth by how tough and independent they are is fool hearty. Proud after all was the original sin (Isaiah 14:12-17). I heard someone recently rail against “big government” bailouts and oversight. Making the same old claims about big brother and the loss of “freedom”. Honey, I hate to hurt your

I don’t know rather you noticed it or not, but I’m in my own backyard. Not much of a view, but it bets living packed like a sardine with a six-foot fence blocking the view. Hadn’t had much to say lately, but maybe that’s a good thing. Been under the covers most of the day, I suppose I should have taken advantage of the sunshine. But my head and gut had other plans. I noticed that happening more and more lately. Maybe it’s because of the new routine, maybe it’s just a phase I’m going through, or maybe it’s some new kinda blues. Whatever it is I don’t like it. It’s pulling me out of my comfort zone and not in a good way. I don’t mind life handing me some funk every now and then. But this shit been going on far too long. Funny how you can make plans and dream dreams, but there’s only so much disappointment one can take. I wish I could be a bit more “cheerier” about this. But the cold wind blowing across my hands drains the optimism I usually feel in

I’m obsessing. Yes, I admit it I’m obsessing. I know good and damn well I shouldn’t let things out of my control bother me. Yet, here I am worrying and planning my next move. This shouldn’t come as no surprise to anyone because I ky you all do it too. To going into any detail of the situation is a moot point. It’s just that I know better than to let this thing disturb my thinking, my sleep, and frankly my well-being. But what can I say? I’m doing it anyway. For most of my life I allowed obsession to turn into worry, then later turn into panic. At first my panic was just internal, then it manifested itself into a living physical thing. Not only paralyzing my judgement, but my actual physical presents. Creating fear, anxiety, and paralysis. It’s funny, as if the past year wasn’t enough to raise the anxiety stakes. Now my very freedom of getting around has been taken. Leaving me with even less control over my life. It’s easy to say, “I’m just going to let go”, when you hav