An unveiling of artifacts

The Tale of the Librarian's Fifth Wife is collection of moments, an assemblage of events, a bread basket of words, a swap meet of scraps left behind from a beautiful romance that will help clue you in to the real deal, to the life of two star crossed lovers that has already been lived and left behind. For the moment, anyway.


Our lives lie scattered over several states and a half a case worth of decades. It's not so much a want as a need to do this, to gather together the splinters and the shards of our times and share them here with you. Those bits and pieces of flotsam and jetsam found below in this winsome log are the bits and pieces of our times, a smattering of the trinkets of the love that Jane and I gathered up over the course of five long hard years. How they come to you now is in a story of sorts, a type of autobiographical fiction, with images cadged from places other than our satchel. Give it time, photos, sepia, wrinkled, pocket worn, are yet to come.


So, what else is there to do but get out that cobbled together blanket of dreams from the back of the car, spread it out under the branches of our favorite green and noble Oregon Maple tree that we both loved and share these words and tales of those long ago times with you. It was a wonderful time. Sit a spell, grab your spectacles and come ride along with us for awhile.

Love, Jane, the Professora and Roger, the Wild Half Mexican Boy



Thursday, February 10, 2011

Endless, relentless, gladhearted



I wake, stretch, say good morning to you and realize every day that, baby, we're not in Port Orchard anymore.


A new town, a new place, new faces, new streets, new everything it seems at times. I asked for renewal, reinvention in my old stomping grounds a year or so ago and what I got was a sort of stranger in a strange land experience instead. Years ago my mom tried to throw a bit of home spun philosophy my way, something to the effect of wherever you go there you are. She mentioned baggage, of taking yourself along for the ride, but somehow, while the exact words have since took flight the sentiment remains. Here I am and for all intents and purposes I am home.


Home is now here in Boise and life, sweet life, has resumed and has made a sort of pact with me and my previous existance. Life here has allowed for a sort of truce with the past. All those things I held dear...the house, my belongings, my view, all the old things and people that anchored me so firmly to the world that I knew there in the Kitsap...is now a sort of kryptonite zone. I have put off taking two trips over the past three months and still have to wonder when I'll make that drive. I don't need any of the thingsI have packed away in storage, the rent from the houses gets sent to me promptly, I have plenty of things to do here in the Treasure Valley, my kids are within hailing distance at long last and I am cautiously, casually, easily making new acquaintances and friends. Romance I will hold off on for now, plenty of time for that later on.


I do like what I see here and think, in my heart of high desert lovin' hearts, that I will stay, not just a while, but for as many years as this place truly suits me. I have a sweetheart of an apartment in the North End of town. I live within walking minutes of a health food co-op, my parish cathedral, a couple of historic districts, the state capital, a major university, a thriving downtown, a very nice art house, a bevy of incredible hiking trails, a lot of cool old homes, a ton of charm, grand old trees and a lot of very nice people. I work for a decent library system, make a salary that pays the rent and I will, within a few days, finally take that plunge and get an Idaho drivers licence. I truly mean to stay and to make this not only my official residence but my home as well.


All the things I loved about my old home town I can do and find here. Great second hands, a track or two to walk, lots of great Mexican food, wonderful places to shop, a great city library and magnificent views. I am six hours from Portland, which is three hours or so further than I was before but I am also within five hours of an In-N-Out burger joint (all I have to do is make my way to Utah!) I think that when I feared selling my home last spring I forgot that I wasn't really leaving anything behind, that everything that I loved and appreciated there was really out there all along. I just had to be open to it. I can finally say that I am, and for that I am thankful.


Face it, the thing I was most reluctant to leave behind were my old dreams. Dreams die hard, buddy, but eventually you find your way back to that sweet dream state that allowed you to thrive and dream happily in the first place. This a place that I can see right now is filled to the brim with bright and happy new dreams, healthy ones, energetic ones. Where they plan on leading me I cannot tell from here but it should be someplace that even the old M and W would appreciate.


So my kids are here, a land of sunshine is here and a wonderful sense of adventure is here as well. I am not dating, per se, but doing coffee and taking walks and meeting folks, something to help the healing process along, something to make this place one that is peopled with real life, living and breathing human beings, not ghosts. Everywhere I went, everyone I met in the Kitsap was a living reminder of a sad and sometimes bitter past. Here the sun is shining and I am master of a new prairie schooner, making trails into unchartered territory.


You, my love, are there, then, living a life that you chose, and me, well, I rode off into an uncertain sunrise and, after a hard stumble, landed on my feet. I think you would be both happy and proud to see where and how I landed. I know that I am.


More stories later on, my dear, as life continues to unfold.


Love always,


Your Wild Half Mexican Boy

Red, pink construction paper...

and a fistful of doilies, too. Not quite a card or the sentimental letter you may have wished for, but a very happy and heartfelt St Valentines day to you...