Just In Case

I only had 243 emails waiting for me.  Yes, I’m a light weight, I know some of you can do that in a day.  It only took a couple hours to go through them all, and it allowed me to put Creme off until the afternoon.  He was very excited to see me and wanted to tell me all about the week he endured without me.  We finally sat down at two in the afternoon.  I was so mellow from my vacation that it was no problem being nice to him.  I even let him show me a picture of him with Clyde Frazier taken when he was a lad of ten and tell me how Clyde got his nickname.  I forge how this came up but he tends to be free associational so it’s very easy to end up just about anywhere.  I will admit in all this that we have hit a working stride he and I.  I am getting the things done we need to, as well we can, and he remains convinced we are bff’s. 

Border and I caught up too.  Apparently our division of the company is not doing so well.  Our group in Valhalla is doing better than they are but we are still a bit behind plan.  They are way behind plan.  She shared with me that it is a very real possibility that they would shut us all down, but that it was also likely that we, the Valhalla group, would continue to live, and it’s the SF group that would get the axe.  Now this is a juicy rumor that almost defies credibility, and even I would doubt it but I have seen it happen before.  You may have too.  This would of course be unfortunate but I’ve been there remember?  This time of course I would get unemployment, if it came to that.  I’m really not worried though,  tonight I’m floating my resume, just in case.

The Zen of Vacations

Listening to: Rock and Roll from the album “Led Zeppelin Box Set II” by Led Zeppelin

Andante Coffee is packed t 10:30 a.m. this Saturday morning.  The population here trends to the older 60+ crowd but there is a good sprinkling of the twenty somethings too.  This is in stark contrast to Starbucks where I would see a predominantly thirty to forty something’s dragging their children in.  Music is playing in the background and I had to get a seat too close to the speakers but strangely it is not bothering me at all.  That’s probably because the ambient noise is a bit high with all the people talking, that and the music suits my tastes just now.  Three dogs are parked just outside the windows while their owners do their thing in here.  If I lived here on the island they would know me by name here after a bit. 

This is my last day here.  Tomorrow morning I rise and begin the journey back to the New York metro area.  It is a different country that I am going to.  That fact alone makes me savor this last day.  Life is faster in NYC, and not near as kind.  The food is different, the people are different, everything is different.  This used to be home.  Now NYC is home.  Isn’t it funny how you can get used to just about anything?Nothing special is planned today.  I got up and said good bye to dad after I flopped with him for an hour or two, him in his chair and me on the couch.  He was feeling better but still had not enough energy to fart above a whisper.  After doing the morning routine here at Andante I’m going to spend the rest of the day with mom.  We have nothing special planned today except going out for dinner tonight.  So, for now, I’m just savoring the feeling of no stress and being fully present in my life again.  It is a Zen moment.  It’s all gone and that is something.  I of course experienced this when I was between jobs last year.  That was on my dime.  This time, I got the same feeling and was paid for the pleasure.  Nice.

Tango Alpha

Listening to: Drummer’s Dinner Call from the album “Second to None” by The Royal Scots Dragoon Guards

Dad mentioned pointedly that he had had ten operations.  I’m not sure from when to when but it’s not covering his lifetime, it’s the last ten years at most, probably less.  All this has left him in poor health.  He has very little strength or stamina and he has to endure a fair amount of pain.  Like many older people he takes a fair number of pills every day just to keep things going.  A good portion of my visit with him has been spent with him flopped out in his chair.  Still with all that, he has exerted himself quite well in my behalf.

Today we flopped until noon or so, gathering up our strength, then we went to Apex airport.  Apex is where tango alpha is hangared.  You can see her in the picture above.  Dad has had her for twenty years now.  He started on flight simulators on his Apple IIe when Bergsteiger was a pup and quite enjoyed the experience.  After a while he figured the real thing would be even more fun.  The rest as they say is history.  Tango Alpha is a 1959 Cessna 172 and is in mint condition.  Everything dad does he does to the max.  He is the ultimate fan boy and yeah, I’m proud to say I inherited it from him.  There is nothing you could do to this Cessna that has not been done.  It is dad’s pride and joy.  He loves to fly that thing and I hope he does until the day he dies.  Everyone at the field is hoping he will sell it to them when he finally gets too old to fly it.  When he does finally get too old to fly though, it’s mine.  I got my pilot’s license ten or fifteen years after he did.

So we went up sight seeing this afternoon.  We flew up to the San Juan islands and back down the Skagit valley.  The weather got better as we were up, and It was really rather fun.  Flying is one of the things we both do and can enjoy together.  Flying is cool because it demands all your attention.  If you’ve had a bad week, go up and fly around a bit and you’ll forget all about it because when you’re up flying you can’t be thinking of anything else.  That’s just one of the things about it that is cool.

The really cool thing here though is spending time with dad.  For all that has passed, and trust me whatever stories you think you have of what things were like for you back then I can beat you, what I am left with, what I see when I spend time with him now, is someone who has traveled a far distance down his path.  Rather than ponder if he really has in fact traveled  this far, or catalog what has not happened, all I can do is see what has changed.  This in turn makes me ponder just where I am at and how far I have to go.

Gathering of Men

Something To Talk About from the album “Road Tested [Disc 1]” by Bonnie Raitt

They meet every Thursday morning, dad, Bob, and Dick.  Bob is two years older than dad, who is eighty and I’m not sure how old Dick is but he looks the same age.  It surprises me that dad participates in this kind of thing.  My memories of him very much cast him as the lone wolf, so to think of him as getting together with friends once a week just to chat is incongruous to say the least.  The meeting this week, and I’m sure all weeks is at Bob’s place.  Bob has a net worth of somewhere between five and six million dollars and now that I think about it I can kick myself for not snapping a quick picture of his place.  It’s a small farm house with just a, kitchen, living room, bedroom, bathroom.  I don’t think I saw much more than that.  Dad said they got their money from her dad who was in state politics.  Bob and dad both worked on the ferry boats and have known each other for years.  Dick was a skipper on a tug boat.

When I showed up at dad’s yesterday he mentioned they have this group that meets every Thursday and he tried to get out of it but Bob just suggested that I come along.  He asked if I was ok with this, expecting me to back out and knowing that he would still be on the hook.  Are you kidding?  The chance to sit and listen to a gathering of men talk about the old times.  Yeah, I’m all over this.  I just wish I could have tape recorded the whole thing.

Conversation ranged from experiences on the ferries years ago, WWII all these guys are part of the greatest generation, life on the Island years ago, and just some wonderful old stories.  I learned how to make blackberry wine, and mostly enjoyed listening.  At one point Bob said something like, “You know when you’ve reached our age, there is a certain comfort in being able to remember and share old stories that make you laugh.  At the time they may not have been funny to us or those around us, but now, well it’s a real comfort.  He was a real gentleman in the true sense of the word.  I’m glad Bob continues to cajole dad into coming.  There is a certain brilliance that I witnessed today that belies mere words in this blog.  They help and strengthen and support each other.  If you reach that age and your not married, hell even if you are, such a gathering would be a very good thing.  I hope I have something as good as this. 

I’m blogging this back at the house now.  The outing this morning wore dad out and he’s having a nap.

Mom

Listening to: Fly Like an Eagle from the album “Greatest Hits: 1974-1978″ by Steve Miller Band
She went online, set up her iTunes account, purchased and downloaded an album, and then burned it to a CD so she could play it on her Bose.  I sat and watched.  Show me another depression era child that can do that!

Time Is An Open Field

Listening to: The Gael from the album “Parallel Tracks” by The Royal Scots Dragoon Guards

If I’m not careful I will fall through the cracks and be there in the past and if that happens I’m not so sure I’ll be able to get back.  It overwhelms me, engulfs me and even though I’m standing in the middle of a parking lot I’m in the empty lot across from the Standard station where we would stop to put air in our bike tires, which was just down from the bowling alley where we would spend our fifty cents a week allowance on the pinball machines, and look over at the old congregational church where we went for my great grandma’s funeral.  She was 91 when she died and I was perhaps ten or eleven.  I remember my brother punching me for not crying, he was in tears of course.  I don’t know why the tears would not come but at ten they weren’t their.  My brother could always be much more emotional than I.  Perhaps it was groomed out of me in a childhood where such outbursts were punished.  Perhaps it is just my nature to be quiet, observant.

It all blends together in this moment though and I can’t know.  As I said yesterday time has changed and it is now an open field for me to walk in.  It’s all here and now here.  I can walk across it and see the little five year old boy sent home because he was too shy to raise his hand to go to the bathroom and therefore met the punishment that awaited him at home.  He is not that far from the boy of sixteen that got his first kiss from Debby Thomas.  He thought he was the luckiest guy alive.  She was beautiful and she liked him, and what were the chances of that happening, but it did so he went with it. 

It really is quite overwhelming and I have to struggle to keep a foot in the here and now.  If I do though I can get a glimpse, I can almost discern the boundary between what I was before I was, and what was given to me, thrust upon me in this place all those years ago.  I can feel the synergy between the two.  This island is fast on it’s way to becoming very very prime real estate.  When I’m here though, it’s just a sleepy rural community where nobody had much money and entertainment was something kids had to work at because your parents were too busy with other things and if you didn’t go out into the woods and make a fort you would die of boredom.  Pine cone fights, the tree house I made with Bill Hanson, the rope swing in our back yard, and the big oil drum where we burned our paper trash every Saturday.  It’s all here, threatening to pull me in.

Reminded

Listening To: Piano Man from the album “Piano Man” by Billy Joel

So much has changed that there is almost not enough left that remains from what was to remind me, to allow me to conjure the memories and bring them to life.  The spirit is here though, it has seeped so deeply into the ground and the trees that even if this were a metropolis I would be able to feel it.  It calls to me and all I have to do is look at a tree, like the one that was in our old front yard on Knechtel Way and I am back (Yeah, that’s it in the picture.  Ask me again why I hate Fir trees).  I’m not just talking remembering either,  a part of what was then is with me, haunting me, calling to me, whispering, reminding me that everything I am has it’s roots here.  This is heady stuff for me, intoxicating for one of such an introspective bent.  The voices from the memories are all around me and time has changed from it’s normally linear nature to something far different.
I did my writing in another coffee shop this morning, Pegasus Coffee.  It is in the same location where Mac’s Tavern was, The Bloody Bucket.  It was the setting for the Ridge Walker Story from which this Blog takes it’s name.  This morning I stood where Jimbo stood when he first saw a Ridge Walker.  It is the same location which my brother and I used to go fishing off the pier.  I didn’t particularly like fishing, but my brother?  Well he loved it, and since he was bigger than I by more than a little, and he wanted company, I always went with him.  We would first go under the pier if it was low tide and get our bait from the pilings.  I was young enough to be squeamish, a fact which my brother delighted in exploiting.  Once we got our bait we would go up and out on the pier and drop our lines.  Usually we caught a flounder, one time though we caught a very nice steelhead.  The pier is gone now and in it’s place a marina.  I still saw that pier though and I remembered my brother and what we were to each other.  There was a great deal of conflict of course, sibling rivalry, but everything we passed through together as children served as a preface to allow us to lean on each other when there was no one else.  Fishing on Saturday mornings was a part of that.
In the distance, down the beach a bit I saw that the old Madrona reaching over the water was still there.  I remember going swimming there in Eagle Harbor when we were kids.  We would ride our bikes down with inner tubes, from car tires around us and float in the harbor on a hot summer day.  No one would dare do that now, it’s no doubt too polluted.  They would go to the pool.  I pity them for what they have lost.  It is still with me though, and today I was reminded. 

Not For Landscaping

Why I hate fir trees
Over a hundred feet tall
Not in my back yard

When Time Stops

Listening to: Don’t Take Your Guns to Town from the album “16 Biggest Hits: Johnny Cash” by Johnny Cash

It’s just starting to sink in that time has stopped for the next week.  There are of course a lot of clues around me, but even so most of me seems reluctant to accept the fact that I have no other obligations than to pay homage to my parents for the next week, enjoy the company of the only two people that have known me from the moment I came into the world, and share in the comfort of talking with two who have shared part of their paths with me.  Reminiscing is one of life’s great gifts.

This means more to me now than it would have in the past.  I think this is so because I am starting, just starting mind you, to see life as a whole, and not as the overwhelming immediacy of the moment.  Perhaps too it is because we all sense that their journey begins to draw to its close and the last moments shared can be the sweetest of all.  Perhaps it is because I recognize finally, that wisdom and age have that same association as patience and faith and I am interested in learning just a bit, if it’s even possible for one to do so, from them before it’s too late.  Then again, I am conscious too that the love of parents for their children can be another of life’s great gifts.  If you have a parent that loves you count yourself fortunate.  If you have children, do all you can to give them this gift, their children will one day thank you.

It is interesting too, to come ‘home’.  I grew up on Bainbridge Island and while it has changed so much that I barely recognize it I have seen views that are portals into the past.  The back way to the Village was a narrow dirt road we walked to spend our fifty cents a week allowance.  It is paved now with office buildings on both sides.  The strawberry fields owned by the Moji’s are filled with apartment buildings.  I haven’t driven down the street where the haunted house was yet, but I will.  No, I am here and I remember being a child.  The memories hold no pain anymore, but I do sense the distance that has been traveled.  I can  look back and draw a line from then till now and see how each experience has served to bring me to where I am. 

I can easily conjure the past here too, and anyone from then.  At home in NYC I have to work far too hard at this, but here?  Here my brother, who passed away in 93 is with me, all around me.  I can feel the pain that surrounded him in his final years and his infectious ability to enlist anyone he met to join with him in whatever he wanted them too.  You would have liked him.  You wouldn’t have been able to help yourself really.  It was life’s gift to him, an attempt to make up for everything else it did to him.

I feel magic here, or maybe even magical.  Perhaps here is the one place on this sphere where I can be a mage, an enchanter, and work true magic.  Is it me, or this location, or some blending of both.  I’m not sure but I feel it and for this week I wear the robes of a high level Enchanter.  Fear Me.  This is so strong that I think I want to write my next book here, or perhaps at least start it.

Time has now stopped and I hold the past and present in my hand. 

The Eagle Has Landed, The Fat Man Walks Alone

What a long long day
Spent all day on an airplane
I’m going to bed

How I Found My Next Bike

Listening to: Requiem in D Minor, K.626: 8.Communio: Lux Aeterna from the album “Mozart: Requiem” by Helmuth Froschauer, Herbert von Karajan, Wiener Philharmoniker & Wiener Singverein

I took my 1999 BMW K1200RS in for servicing today.  It has 72,000 miles on it.  I was talking with Brian, the head mechanic, after the paper work was filled out.  We talked about new bikes which were lined up in front of us like pretty girls waiting to be asked to dance.  When I got mine at 130hp it was a monster.  Now it is a light weight.  For $70K you can get a Ducati well over 200hp.  I told Brian I’d be happy with the BMW K1200S which is the ‘new’ version of my bike which comes in at 167hp.  If this doesn’t sound like much to you because your car has 225hp or whatever just remember these bikes top out at only 500lbs, a fraction of what your car weighs.  The horse power to weight ratio of a bike this size is just insane.  They are all rockets.  Crotch rockets.  If you haven’t been on one you can’t believe how fast they really are.  Dad used to call them, “God damned death machines.”  He probably still does and not without reason.

Anyway, back to the bikes.  I said I would consider this bike but the riding posture is too aggressive and it has caused some not minor pain to the huevos, if you catch my drift. 

Brian walks me over to the K1200GS.  “This is your bike Ridge Walker”, he says.  The riding posture is straight up.  I tell him I’m not sure I like the lines on it so much but tell me what kind of performance it has. 

He replies, “Ridge Walker, it comes in at 155hp, well over what your K1200RS does. 

I ask if I can get on it.  He lets me.  It feels  good.  Real good.  Damned fine in fact.  In that moment I know that I have found my next bike.  I don’t know when I will get it, but I know that I will.  I know this the same way I know anything of importance.  I feel it deep within. 

I’m just saying.

Metropolis

Listening to: Victim Of Love from the album “The Complete Greatest Hits [Disc 2]” by The Eagles

I rode in with the Chef on the train to NYC today.  I came in to talk with David about his comments on my MRD (Marketing Requirements Document) so I can get his approval and finalize the thing before I leave on vacation at the end of this week.  Yes, perhaps I could have done this over the phone, but seeing David is a good thing as he knows our clients better than anyone.  I think I mentioned before I’m making him my new bff.  Too, I got to ride in on the train with the Chef.  Sometime this afternoon she hops on a plane to Orlando to take a sugar class. 

What’s that you ask?  It is a class, for Pastry Chefs to learn and perfect the art of sculpting works of art out of sugar.  Think of the hard candies you used to see in the drug store when you were a kid and you’ll have the general idea of what I mean by sugar (I just lost the under thirty crowd.  Too bad).  This will help her in her competitions she entering.  She knows the instructor, who is a world class person, and he will probably at least recognize her as someone he has met in the past.  Last night she was lamenting that she may not have the anonymity she craves when going to such things. 

I leave for vacation, my company calls it PTO or paid time off, on Friday.  Yes, I’m going to see mom and dad in Seattle.  This means I won’t see the Chef again until the 11th.  Mom is fully plugged in.  She has a high speed connection and a very nice iMac.  I will have no problem blogging when I’m staying with mom.  Dad?  The last personal computer dad had was an Apple IIe.  He has never experienced the internet.  Yeah, let that sink in for a minute.  He does have a very nice TV though which gets a great deal of use.  When I’m at dad’s I may not be able to blog unless one of his neighbors happens to have an unsecured wireless connection available for my use.  I’m ready for this vacation.

My Levenger Card Bleachers

Listening to: New York, New York (featuring Debbie Harry) from the album “Go - The Very Best of Moby” by Moby

I got my Levenger card bleachers last night and was as happy as a kid at Christmas.  I have looked at this thing forever.  I have thought about it, lusted over it, and almost purchased it several times.  Last week I finally crossed the line and clicked on the order.  I did this because I have finally settled in, I think, on my organizational system for the next while.  Yes, as you can tell from the picture it is the humble three by five card, upended and heavily modded.

I have been through countless systems for organizational management.  I started way back when DayTimer was state of the art and since then have been through way too many paper and online systems.  For me the 3 by 5 system works because it is simple.  I can carry it in my shirt pocket, and it doesn’t need batteries, charging, or backing up.  I can spread it out as you can see from the picture and see every thing at a glance.  It just works.  It is loosely based on the GTD system, which I can also recommend without hesitation.  The card templates come from Doug Johnsons DIY site.

The only problem I have with this bleacher, which is a typical well made item from Levenger, is that now that I have it I want more!  I think I need one for my home office too.  If the kids were still at home I would be using this thing as a message center, and that would make three.  Everyone would have their own row.  This thing is cooler than fresh tomatoes from the garden.  In fact it’s easy to overlook just how brilliant it is because it has that unique ability to disappear when you’re using it.  I found myself today glancing at my cards, pulling them out, writing on them and putting them back.  The card bleacher was invisible, serving its purpose without calling attention to itself, and that my friends is brilliant design at work.

About Nothing

I was going to blog this morning, but nothing came, and besides I knew I could blog this evening.  The Chef was going to be at work late for an alumni party so I knew I would have all the time I needed.  I left work at 3 p.m. (I get to work at 6 a.m. remember) and the Chef called.  She had decided to come home as she hasn’t been feeling well. 

I contemplated stopping off at Starbucks so I could write, but decided to come home.  If she’s not feeling well she will probably want to lie down, and I will have the house to myself.  I come in before 4:30 having made nice time even in the rain.  The house is empty, but not for long.  The Chef and Faerie Princess come in from a trip to the thrift store.  It is FP’s favorite place to buy clothes now.  $20 will buy you an amazing amount of clothes.  She leaves and the Chef tells me all the reason why she’s not feeling well.  I offer what sympathy I can.  Her tale ends with how I’m coming with her to Trader Joe’s so she can get some things for her trip to Orlando on Wednesday.  This is compassionate service which I am only too happy to offer.

Of course I accept.  Trader Joe’s is fun.  Being with the Chef is fun.  It means though that I’m forced to dash this off while dinner heats in the oven and the Chef soaks in the tub.  I’ll post this, eat, and go to bed.  Such is my life during the week.  The price of leaving at 3:30 is going to bed by 9 p.m. or so.  Pity me.  I promise I’ll do better tomorrow.

The Write Thing

Listening to: In A Sentimental Mood from the album “Coltrane For Lovers” by John Coltrane

I rode my bike to Starbucks in the rain this morning.  Well to be completely accurate it was only very lightly falling, not enough to even get my pants wet in the brief four mile ride here.  Even so Kathy gave me manhood points.  “Why did you ride your bike in the rain,” she asked incredulously?  I could have responded, “Because I am a man, and this is what real men do!”  Instead I opted for the more humble, “Forty miles a gallon, and the rain is supposed to quit in an hour or so,” besides, the other was a given.  I usually don’t hit Starbucks on Sunday because church starts early but this week something different is going on so I am enjoying a bit of luxury.

I will admit too that the rain gives this place an increased measure of comfort on this Sunday morning.  You sit here in the relative warmth  of your fluffy chair, sipping your hot beverage and watching the dark clouds move by overhead dumping their measure of rain.  It is an atmosphere that invites you to linger a bit longer, perhaps get a refill and spend time working over some character sketches for your next book.  If I were of the sort this would be the perfect morning to spend with the Sunday New York Times.  If you were here with me it would be absolute perfection.

The Chef is feeling a bit under the weather this weekend so I know I have the choice of staying here in a very selfish pursuit of that which does it for me, writing, or do the, ‘right’ thing and go home, see if the Chef is feeling any better, which is unlikely, and then going off to Sunday services on my own.  At right around nine a.m. with just enough time to make things work I reluctantly pack up and walk out to the bike.  It is still raining very lightly and I know that before the hour is over I will be sitting by myself in church.  I take some small comfort though in knowing I did the right thing, and not the write thing.

Happily Ever After

Listening to: In Private from the album “Memory Almost Full (Double Disc Version)” by Paul McCartney

It has occurred to me that because I am a writer I can leave you with whatever impression I choose.  For the most part I try and paint an accurate picture but by the very nature of things I can only give you a scene at a time.  As I choose the scenes and my point of view is only mine, and as I have said, I am a writer, you are only seeing what I want you to see.  Only those of you who know me personally can judge if the view I portray approaches that which you think of as reality.

I mention this because  I think my relationship with the Chef is varied and complex.  I wonder if any long term relationship could be anything but, right?  I of course lack perspective to answer this.  This is a set up for our conversation last night as we were enjoying the beginning of the weekend.  We had ordered a pizza and were sitting on the couch and had just started an AppleTV movie, “We Own The Night.”

The Chef says, “Oh, I need to get a new gasser.  I’m going to Orlando on Wednesday.”  She lost hers on her last trip to SLC to visit Paladin and the two Page’s.

“No problem,” I reply, “We can go to the Apple store in the mall tomorrow and pick one up.”

“Yeah,” she continues, “We’ll just walk in and say, Hey do you have any gassers?  I need one for my MacBook cause I lost mine.”

We both laughed at this.  The humor we share with each other is silly.  You would probably roll your eyes at it, or if you were in our presence smile out of kindness and think to yourself, “Now I know why the Ridge Walkers favorite movie of all time is Baby’s Day Out.”

The gasser thing started when we were sitting on the couch one evening and the Chef and I were MacBooking side by side.  She looked at her battery indicator and said, “Uh oh, I’m almost out of gas.”

I naturally replied, “Would you like the gasser?”  We have mine plugged into the wall at the couch for just such occasions.

It took us a long time to get to silly.  The Chef was not always this way, and I’m not sure I was either.  The years together, all the things we have been through, have served to polish away that which did not belong and this is one of the things we are left with.  The price we paid for silly was dear and worth every penny.  It’s one of the things that make the evenings together something to look forward to.

I could end here and this would be a nice post.  I’m going to balance it out though and just mention that we also, after all these years together still have our moments of friction.  I suppose this is normal too.  Again though, I can’t say, this is the only long term relationship I’ve ever been in, or plan on being in.  Somedays I think I’m quite the lucky guy to be married to the Chef.  Other days I think I will have to work at this the rest of my life and never quite reach that state of bliss that you are taught with the wonderful phrase, “and they lived happily ever after.”  If I reflect too long I will remember this is why I cry at Weddings.  I look at the couple and see everything they will have to go through together and I just about tremble at the cost they have no idea they will be called on to pay if they have the courage to never part.  Maybe that’s just my cost though.  Maybe happily ever after exists for some of you.  I will admit I am skeptical though.

Still, I always come back to those moments when we can make each other smile, and the rest of the day or week fades away.  In those moments I think to myself that perhaps this is the happily ever after that I heard about.

What To Read

Listening to: El Paso from the album “Marty Robbins All Time Greatest Hits” by Marty Robbins

I was checking the Blogs I read this morning and I saw Stupid Tom in his blog today mentioned something about his, “Once it’s laid it’s played.” rule.  Now I have to say I admire that kind of fortitude.  I have spent much of my life second guessing myself and like to think I am finally over that kind of thing.  I have no issues with laying my cards on the table and being bold in just about any situation.  Just two days ago though after posting my blog for the day I went and, “edited,” the last two paragraphs out.  Yeah, you weren’t ready for them.  That’s not it of all of course, it was just me sitting on the fence, “Maybe I shouldn’t post this after all”.  This is to say the once laid played rule has a certain appeal to the Ridge Walker.  For him it would be like crossing the Rubicon.  It would be stepping across Col. Travis’ line in the sand.  It would mark the death of that tentative oh so cautious shadow from my past.  Do I have that kind of courage?  Well, if Stupid Tom can lay them out and not retract then maybe I can too.  No more post editing, unless it’s for grammar or readability.  You do allow that don’t you ST?

On another blog, “The Write Tools,” which is very much worth checking out even if you don’t consider yourself a writer, Amie is starting something that I can’t hardly resist.  She is hosting a collaborative fiction blog.  If you think this sounds pretty cool, and I do, check her site out.  She has laid out the plot at a very high level, and is looking for writers to help flesh it out and write a chapter or two.  As you know Bergsteiger are doing this over at Beinn and it is mad fun.  It is a highly creative thing to do if only because you never quite know how things are going to go.

The $#it List

I tried calling dad yesterday.  It was the second time in a week.  I pretty much have given up even trying to call him because he never answers the phone and rarely returns calls.  I just did it this week as I’m going out there on vacation in May and want to make sure he’s going to be around and will be expecting me.  Part of me thinks I’m on his shit list, but most of me knows it’s probably just him.  It’s always eerie  calling him too because of the answering machine he has.  The routine goes something like this:

Dial his number

Hear ringing followed by the sound of the phone being answered.

“You have reached a number that is on the national do not call list.  If you are a telemarketer please make note of this number and hang up.  If you are a regular caller stay on the line or press one.”

About five seconds of silence.

“Thank you.  I’m connecting your call.”

Ringing.

A digital female voice answers

“I can’t take your call right now.  Please leave your name and a brief message and I will return your call as soon as I can.”

So I leave a message pretty sure it’s dad’s phone, but as I didn’t hear his voice on the answering machine I’m not completely sure.  Bergsteiger thinks he just got tired of recording the greeting every time the power went out so he just leaves it with the system greeting.  Yeah, that’s probably it.

He’s at the age too, where forgive me, he could go any time.  If he doesn’t return my call in a day or two I have a vision in my mind of him taking that, “final nap,” in his easy chair, and we’re either going to have to bury him in it, or break his bones to get him out of it and lying flat.  Of course as I mentioned, it’s just as likely that he doesn’t want to be bothered with fiddling with the answering machine, or returning calls.  Maybe he’s thinking, “If you don’t call when I’m here and in the mood to answer the phone, and close to it, then that’s just too damned bad.”  The point is, I don’t know.

So last night I called Bergsteiger and asked him if he had talked to Dad lately.  No.  He left him a message too and suggested if he didn’t call one of us back in a day or two we have someone drive over to his place.  I agreed.

This morning he texted me, “He is fine.  He will call you tomorrow.”

I texted back, “Nice.  Thanks.  So, he called you and not me.  Do you think I’ve pissed him off in some way?”

He comes back with, “Nope.  He talked abt 1 or 2 min then said he just got in and had to go and that he would call you today.  So he blew me off and wants the long conversation with you.”

Perhaps.  I choose to think though that we’re both on his shit list.

Worth The Price Paid

I started writing and this blog so I could put some discipline to my main mission of uncovering pixels in the picture.  The Picture.  Or is it discovering them, I’m not sure.  The original intent was that as I realized some epiphany (I can say that because Bergsteiger doesn’t read my blog anymore) I would blog it.  The writing provided the means for me to think things through and express myself as best I could.  At some point this changed though and it became that, and writing every day.  The act of writing daily, forced me to improve my ability to express myself.  I began to place a high value on this.  It changed again when I started writing stories.  I realized I can say some things better in a story than I ever could in an essay.  It changed further still when I started blogging about the every  day events in my life, and the lives of those around me.  I did this because I realized the pixels are everywhere.  They are contained in the exchanges between Creme, and Border, and you and I.  The blogging was every bit as important as the writing because your comments reflect back things that I could never see on my own.  Writing is no casual thing for me.  It’s a means to an end.

I don’t think I will ever quite let go of this writing thing though.  It’s too much a part of me now.  It sends a thrill right through me every time I plop this MacBook down on my lap and look at the white bull.  

Battle Scars

Boss: “Hey Ridge Walker, how are things in Valhalla?”

Ridge Walker: “Not bad boss.”  We talk for a few minutes, just warming each other up.

Boss: “So, Ridge Walker, I have something to talk to you about.”

Ridge Walker: “OK.”  I have no idea what this could be, but I’m not worried because I am currently a rising star at this place.  Don’t take that as anything other than I am well liked and respected though. 

Boss: “Apparently Odin has engaged an outside consultant to work with Creme Puff.  I can’t remember her name though”

Ridge Walker: “Yes, Terry.”

Boss: “That’s it!  Anyway Odin is not at all pleased about this.  He is very concerned about the problems Creme is causing and has told Ed to do what ever it takes to get Creme in line.”

Now I knew this was going to happen because I wrote the email for Border that she sent to Odin asking for him to do this.  Any feelings I have in regards to Creme pale in comparison to what Border feels towards him.  The phrase, ‘Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned’ comes to mind only this has nothing to do with scorn, and everything to do with hatred, lack of respect, and so on.  I wrote the email because I am a writer, right?  Border wanted this one to hit the target, so she called in her speech writer, me.

Boss: “Odin also told me to make sure none of this has any impact whatsoever on your happiness and well being, so tell me Ridge Walker how is this situation with Creme affecting you?”

We then have a very nice conversation in which I corroborate Creme’s current performance and lack thereof.  It covers my intent to start looking for my next adventure in July if this isn’t resolved satisfactorily and from there discuss options that include salary treatment and so on.  I’m comfortable doing this because the situation dropped in my lap I didn’t bring it up, I am well regarded, and this company has a strong history of making sure, by offering monetary compensation, that talent they value does not leave.  The conversation ends with us giving each other a virtual hug over the phone.

This may all seem a bit amoral of me.  I said things about Creme that were not nice.  They provided evidence that he was not the right person for this job.  I believe the things I said to be true though.  He may get terminated, and he may not.  If he does I will have played no small role in it.  I’m ok with this all too.  Yes, he has a family, and yes they will all suffer in the short term.  If he learns from the experience though he will end up in a better place.  I believe this to be true.  I believe it because I have been there.  We all walk the low road, and each one of us must learn how to do so.  I believe it is the battle scars from such experiences as this that are of the most worth to us.