Toy Soldiers

I went to pick up the kids this morning, help get them ready and on their way to school. Some days they all make the bus but other days, well, they have strange sleep schedules there in that house of theirs. Always have.

So this morning it was my middle schooler's turn to miss his ride. No big deal, we never have enough time together as it stands, so any little excuse to play or chat or run him around to the homes of his pals or to school is okay by me. So we talked of classes, girls, old times. Toy soldiers, the extreme amounts of monies we used to throw down for personal collections and business stock.

He and I were "partners" in the business for a time. He was my own personal product tester, the kid who always called out to play when I walked through the door. But life unspooled like that Harry Chapin song, we never seemed to have enough time to get on the floor and do justice to that collection of ours. It was always tomorrow, mijito. Baby, tomorrow never comes.

So we chatted and made plans to get those boxes and storage bins back to Idaho, not so much for him but for his brother, who is now the age that he was when all that mess started years ago. I am excited for the youngest of the brood, for that wealth of loot will soon be at his disposal.

But toy soldiers are just part of the larger story. The fated marriage, the toys, the business, the house that stored them all, the plastic that was heavily leveraged to buy them, the spouse who encouraged, and then, at the birth of the aforementioned youngest, put paid to it all. Somehow it was all too much, too much time spent devoted to what was considered the family business, too much time spent apart second handing developing "cobble kits" for kids who couldn't afford the big priced items at the shows. We were excited, that middle schooler and me, back in the day when he was 10 and the world revolved around toys, playmates and his papa. We still have the goods but the lines are now prominent on my face.

TEO. The Estranged One. What a character she has become. She wants for me to bring those soldiers back from Washington, store them in her house, as if all those things were her property to control. I can already see where that whole story is going. The house, as it stands, is huge and custom built but is always a mess, always a challenge to navigate. I can see what will unfold once those boxes and bins of plastic start to unload onto the floor. Chaos.

The youngers have already laid claim to the floor of a master closet and bath just for Lego play. The living room is always strewn with paperwork, pillows cast aside from couches, shoes and clothes from yesteday's sports. How can it support plastic figures from a dozen or more eras? How can the mess that is compounded daily take on yet another hit? It could, I suppose, at the expense of all that plastic. Once underfoot it goes, bit by bit, unsalvageable, always prone to breakage, tossage, mediocrity.

TEO was a booster of all that plastic mayhem at one time, now she is just a bit mad. Too much responsibility to assume, too much baggage to endure, too many duties to perform, too many folks to blame for her situation. I am a man apart and that bugs her to know end. I am here to shuttle, to take on the kids, to help with with the sweeping, to make things go forward. I am the diplomat, an envoy from across time and space, the ambassador from the North End, a quiet reminder that all our plans, hopes, wishes and dreams can sometime go astray, fall apart, blow the fuck up.

I look at her and know that at one time I was willing to let the world fall apart just for the right to possess her. I left a life, a house, a wife, a job, a kid, a state, a reputation, a career, a history, all behind for her. Funny how the gods really don't go for that kind of stuff. Karmic justice was dealt out to me and baby, I am good with it.

Since then I have tried the "brave like me" gig and it didn't work. I went the extra mile to try to repair the damage and the ship went down anyway. But, I still have my heart, my health, my smile, my mind. The love of my kids. A basement full of toy soldiers and a place on the North End to splay all that stuff around in. I have my happiness and it has nothing to do with a woman. For the first time in my life.

Right now it's all about me. The kids. Life. And M, life is good. With or without you or TEO.

Kisses, mi amor,

Your Wild Half Mexican Man

Downfall and rebirth

It was a little over three years ago that I stood with a small select group of colleagues at the main branch of library system that I once worked for. We were there to celebrate the end of a quasi-mandatory 2 point Oh training session, one that purportedly thrust us into the contemporary future and coolness of all things social networky. I found that of all the weekly tasks we had to perform, learn, jump through and analyze that I loved my blogging time the best. For some reason it really appealed to me, allowed for me to share all my thoughts and then play large with images, games and postings from all sorts of souces. Most of all I kept it real, even if that reality strayed off course of the lesson plan.

Once we got past the mandatory programming of the course the blog took off and became a vehicle of my own devising. It was my bully pulpit, my open diary, my house party of thoughts, ideas, dreams and wishes. And, towards the end, a place where I shared an awful lot of thoughts about you.

To the point where my good friend the Snake Lady called me on it. It was then that I shifted over to this place, began to empty out the satchel, used each piece in the bag to tell a story with. I never thought that it would cause me so much grief, that one stray missent post would get me cooked with that old draconian system of mine. But in the end that was okay. I found out the hard way who my friends were and where they dwelled. I went, frankly, crazy, that summer, waiting to find out what sort of punishment these tired old letters from heart would yield.

Well, they turned into a sort of early retirement, a layoff, a summary court martial, what have you. I went into fall optimistic that my chances for gainful employment were good. I started peppered the library world with resumes and then sat back and waited for the offers to come in. Never in my wildest imaginings did I think that my downfall would coincide with the greatest economic downturn since the Great Depression.

So, instead of getting depressed about it I gathered my friends about me, volunteered out in the community and drank a lot of wine, watched a lot of movies and cooked a lot really rich food. It was a merry old time, sometimes bordering on desparation but then that's what road trips were good for. I renewed my relationship with my kids, got to know Boise a bit better and without knowing it began to map out my future here in the Treasure Valley.

It took almost a year and a half but I landed a job here in the Boise proper. I am happy for the challenges that these posts brought into my life, that you helped bring into my life. I think of that one note you sent me a long time ago, asking me to brave like you. At the time I couldn't even imagine it. I tried several variations on the theme of it and now I think I have discovered my own form of grace.

I may not be living with my kids but I am there with them. I may not have you in my life but you color it daily. I may not have landed exactly where I thought I was going to land but in the end I am exactly where I needed to be. When our adventure began almost six years ago Boise was a place where I went to attend a library conference, a region where my in-laws bought a mess of property to rent out and retire with. In the end it was the place where TEO went with the kids on a supposed vacation and in the end enrolled them here in school, instead, just to "try it out".

Now Boise is a place that I am trying out, that, after years of making the drive over the Blues to keep my heart and mind intact, I can now call home. I will be making that drive again to the Puget Sound here in a couple weeks, this time to empty out a basement, to see old friends, to trip a bit of the light fantastic around my old town. But this time, when the car is full and my sights are set on the east, I will be heading home. I am more than happy about it.

This place, these words to you, were once the source of my downfall. But like the phoenix rising, I have risen out of the ashes of doubt, sadness and a hurtful sort of pride. These words, this place, now finds me soaring and I am happy. Happy to have met you, loved you and to left that place where your ghost still dwells.

Peace, my dear M.

Your Wild Half Mexican Boy