A stumbling upon you

One of the things I always wished for you has happened, it seems. You are now a librarian, as these things seem to go for places like schools that have a need for someone to run their libraries. You got the title, got to avoid that schooling, get to be in a place that offers summers off, that is safe and I am sure, sanctioned. Very cool, happy for you, all that.

Stumbled upon you and your title on Google. Just typed your name and there you were. It would have taken a bit of time ferreting out the real you had I not been specific, but then again, that’s what a real librarian does. Takes a question and then seeks out an answer.

So, I sent you a ten word message, wishing you well, sending hopes for a fine summer. I will leave it at that, not go further, letting the dogs that have been snoozing lie. I am sure it will be enough just to see my name show up in your email box unbidden. No matter, that’s what a delete key is for. I have no expectations, no desires, no wishes to hear from you, converse further. Just the process of sending off that simple salutation cleansed my bowels. A man can only stand to lose so much while doing duty on the bus.

But the stories I could tell, my dear, are long and immediate in their telling. I could tell you that I applied to, phone interviewed with and have been requested to come hither to talk some more by the Mendocino County Library. It seems I am in the running for branch manager in Fort Bragg. An interesting thing.

Then there is my oldest. His first year of college is done and over with. Good grades, a good experience, three or four more to go. Nate got his ears pierced, caused havoc but that seems to have passed. Sophia had a stellar time at her dance recital. Thomas is advancing in Tae Kwon Do and is doing just fabulous in school. The Estranged one was diagnosed with cancer and we are on the edge of our seats waiting to hear how we will be dealing with it.

I study that phrase of yours, “be brave like me”, almost every day, and every day I find new applications for it. I thought at first that it just applied to going back home, to being with the family, with sacrificing love for the greater good. I attempted that years ago and it didn’t work then, least ways not in the way that your approach to the task did. I was brave, but took a different tack. I went head to head with love, with the Estranged One, with the powers that be and was found wanting. I lost a house, a job, a wife, time, but I somehow managed to keep my body and soul together and find my way back to sane, to gainful employment, to a form of détente that has allowed for me and TEO to find a way to talk, to live, to deal with the kids together. And while it may not be love under the same roof we are a team, an across town team, mind you, but two folks who respect and admire each other.

Somehow I found bravery in good deeds, in being present, in allowing for grace and goodness to lead the dance. Instead of fighting I have found that diplomacy rules. Instead of seeking my own way in the world I have decided that just being here in good enough. Instead of finding a replacement for you I found that I am good learning to live on my own, and in turn, finding that being alone is not lonely, just another state of being. 

For the first time I am good with it and with that I have found that I am less prone to moodiness, loneliness and bother. I like leaving the bother behind.

I wrote you today, not to worry you, to make you sad, to turn you life upside down but to let you know that I am alive. I couldn’t say anything more and frankly, I don’t want to know much more than that about you. 

Let me know if you are well, kiddo, that’s all I want. That and for you and yours to continue to have a good life.

Be good, have a great summer and may happiness color your world.

Your WHMB

The happy (birthday) road taken

Sunday was sublime.

Maybe it was because I opened the house to family in an unexpected way. What helped, too, was that I was out of the loop, not made privy to more unsettled and unsettling things happening between the Estranged One and Nathan that otherwise might not have allowed that happiness to hit the height that it did.

But, all that aside (and yes, that business mentioned had to do with kids and respect or rather, a lack thereof...) the day, the weekend, went over wonderfully. Maybe it had to do with getting over a cold, getting enough sleep, making sure my youngest got enough sleep, too. He's less edgy, much happier, brighter, when he's rested and thanks to that we had a good overnighter. Thanks to that rest we both appreciated the easy work details, the errands that needed to be run, the tons of toy soldier floor time, the sweet, good moments shared between us. First time in ages he's had me all to himself and that pleased him greatly, too.

But I think more than anything my happiness had to do with having the house filled with people, people who, had we gone on our merry way, would have never been able to join together to break bread the way we did yesterday. The Estranged One, Will and Sophia had just gotten off the road from a trip to Utah. There was a dance competition in Ogden that the girl had to attend and it went over big. Lots of awards, accolades, prizes. That certainly needed to be recognized and celebrated. When the weekend started I knew I couldn't go for the ride but that was just as well. Nate needed someone to ride herd on him and Thomas needed a place to go. All to the good.

But more than that it was also the Estranged One's birthday Friday. She was on the road that day and I wanted to be sure that we all celebrated it together as a family when she got back. So I made her a cheesecake, pulled off a pot of split pea soup, a bunch of loaves of homemade bread and a delish mussel dish out of the Times. I topped all that off by calling up her peeps and inviting them over to join in on the celebration. So in the end we all gathered together in the late afternoon in that tiny place of mine to eat, make merry, drink wine and sing the birthday song. Fabulous.

You know that I know how to pull off birthday parties, M. Doing all that for C yesterday made me realize that making your birthday a happy one wasn't a fluke. I know how to do it well, know how to make someone's day a special one. Waking up this morning with a pleasant buzz on made me realize that had we decamped and made this life our own I still would be pulling off birthday parties for other folks, but events like the one I pulled off yesterday could of never happened with that crowd again, least ways, not with the sense of lightness, happiness, joviality that permeated the house the way it did.

Nibbling on a piece of cheesecake this morning made me smile, think of you and reflect on our times. We walked a sweet and interesting path together years ago, you and I, and then, when that path got rocky, well, we each took, out of necessity, a separate and unknown lane. Mine was dark and hairy for long while there but since WA life has been good to me. Yeah, Boise has been very good to me, my dear. Been here has opened my eyes to what a pain the ass I was. It's chased away the darkness, banished the sadness, brought my children back into my life but more than that h as brought the sheer joy of living back into my life. I know that my adventure here has been exactly what I needed it to be and I hope that yours there has been good for you, too. If not the whole thing, well, let me just say that I hope your Sunday was stellar, too, my old love.

Always, your WHMB

"Calcopo is dead, long live Calcopo!"

I had the youngest over last night and will have him over again this evening, a good thing, indeed. Usually when Thomas is over his sister comes to spend the night, too. Something about those two together in the apartment brings me comfort, helps me feel like their childhood hasn’t been lost to me. A different experience altogether than when Will is there, shambling about in his college duds, ideas and philosophies and a sense of expectation and wonder dripping off of him like water cascading from the trees outside the building after a thunderstorm. And then a completely different kind of time than when Nathan deigns to give me time. When he is around I feel the wrestling going on, a sort of technical/parental smackdown to see which gets more time that time around. Whenever we can get through a movie or a meal without texting coming into play I feel like a pretty lucky kind of guy. A stage, I tell myself.

So, there it is, my redemption: sleepovers. I look at life and what it’s doling out right now and I feel pretty lucky that, for the moment, I can see clearly what is before me but more, know that the decisions I make right now…socially, economically, professionally….will all have weight on the outcome of the last  years of my parenthood and consequentially, their childhood. I had applications flying around as recently as last month, the latest batch up and down the West coast. Day before yesterday I found an envelope in the mailbox from Mendicino County. I thought, okay, another rejection letter. Instead it was an invitation to participate in the interview process for a branch manager position in Fort Bragg, right on the coast, three hours outside of San Francisco, right smack dab in the middle of the Mendicino appellation.

Something about my time with Thomas yesterday gave me pause. Maybe it was watching him play soccer on the Heroes Park field at sunset that gave me a slight bit of insight into your words “be brave like me”. Maybe, too, it was getting multiple hugs from Sophia the other night when I brought by snacks for her and the rest of the crew for their trip to Utah this weekend. Maybe, too, it was sitting on the couch in the living the other morning, cup of coffee in hand, watching that lug of a college student of mine sleep the last of the morning away, knowing that if he knew I had sat there watching him he would have thought “yeah, that’s my strange Papa”.

Six years ago today we came off the road from a mighty fine day out and about. We trucked the light fantastic that afternoon, all about Tacoma and the region, all in the name of love and duty for the California/Colorado/Port Orchard Forest-to-the-Sea Book Club, membership two, our all too exclusive and wonderous kind of club, always on the cutting edge of good read, excellent meals out and inclusive “members only” benefits within. Today I will not be sending off a message to you as I have in the past because the talks that began for you that evening upon your return home are not something I will celebrate anymore. Maybe I never really celebrated them but somehow I knew that they were important to you and yours. Somehow that particular day, that moment when you entered your house, carrying that bag of Traders Joes products before you like a shield, was the last time that Calcopo was ever going to fly, least ways, the way it did that day. Once your talks began the jig was up. Life changed that day, not necessarily for the better, it just did.

Maybe that’s where I am wrong. Maybe it was for the better, amiga. Somehow that day with all its repercussions saved you. It may have changed your reading habits but it put you back into the orbit of your life, your family, friends, children and that of the Detective. Somehow if we had done anything differently I would missed those moments this last year that I feel have gone the mile to saving me, to helping me be a better man. I would have missed that hug from Thomas in the kitchen this morning, I would have missed those smiles at the door the other night and I would have never been able to do a two day round trip to the Port Orchard house with the Estranged One and had a good time with it as well had we made our way into the world. If we had put Calcopo and that exclusive membership before all else nothing that is happening right now…dance lessons, summers in the Nanatorium, walks in the foothills, holidays at the park…none of that would have happened. I suppose, then, I can be thankful for your bravery, for all that you did, for your sacrifice, your heartfelt unassing of our sacred duo. You just didn’t give up love you changed our destinies. 

What a wild and existential bit of insight that was. And baby, God had nothing to do with it.

It was bravery all the way.

“Be brave like me”. I have been and I shall be.

Calcopo is dead, long live Calcopo!

Love, your WHMB

Losing flint

It’s been sobering to go over all these old blog posts today. It seems that Blogger has a new look, a slightly different format and that alone made the stop today worthwhile. It seems that by going away, not only from my blog writing but from Port Orchard as well, has made my life that much better. Why, you may ask, considering all that I’ve written here that might read contrary-wise. Well, I think it has to do a lot with having been able to step back, observe, defuse, detoxify, let go of all the junk and bitterness and ghosts and well worn crap that was holding me down, keeping me back and stopping me from moving forward. Being away from here, from our old haunts,  has helped drain the swamp, per se, and I forever thankful for it.

Now, that insight could only be seen by looking at my writing today, I have to tell you. I went deep into the blog, dived into my old notes to you, and baby, I’ll have to keep them here as a reminder of how powerful an influence you were to me there in PO, no matter how biter or harsh they may seem to be. I am a year and a half into this place, into my stay here in the Treasure Valley, and I must tell you, it’s all to the good. I suffered a hard blow to the heart when I went east to New York and Cleveland last fall but my latest trip to Washington helped put that travel jones all in perspective. And for awhile I kept thinking, too, that if I involved myself with someone I would somehow find the magic again, find a way to live life in the way that I was living it with you. Somedays it just doesn’t pay to think.

Somehow time and space and distance and hard work and kids, all of it, has had its way with me, softened me, given me some perspective, taken a big bite out of that hardness and in turn, replaced that bite with a new kind of skin, one less flinty, one more akin to lamb’s wool or baby’s breath. I feel better, less hostile, less beat up, less flighty, now that time has passed. I feel more rounded and less inclined to fight. I feel that being there in Port Orchard, so long after the kids left, so long after we split, was the thing that both made me and broke me all at the same time. Being away from the Kitsap house, coming here to Boise, doing all those side trips to Kitsap County, have all sharpened me up, gone the distance towards healing me, making me see things differently and working some kind of juju that say’s to me “live, man”. And I have to tell you, I have been, in spades.

So, in keeping with the rest of these posts I will close with what I said to you years ago and will say to you always:

“I love you, M, to within an inch of my life and possibly closer. You are still my friend now and will always be. My door is always open to you and my heart will be forever yours. See me now, later or over the rainbow and I’ll tell you no different.”

Come as you are, kiddo, I’ll be waiting for you at sunset.

WHMB

"Look at the moon!"

Japan sorjourn

Was riding down Fairview the other night, on my way home to the cat when off to the side of the road I spied a message on a marquee; "have you ever been to Japan?" It was part of Flying Pie Pizzaria's regular "it's your day" promotion, an opportunity (my first) to make a pizza in their kitchen. So I did a u-turn, pulled into the lot and walked in. Saw the manager and told him my tale of five years in the fleet, albeit a truncated one, and with that was given a list to mark up, to let the staff behind the counter know what I would be wanting to put on my pie.

It was while I was there, settled down behind a pint of pear cider, that I got to thinking, once again, of you. One of our first emails chronicled those Japan trips of ours. I remember your mention of a good smelling sumo wrestler, of riding the commuter trains, of tatami mats and cherry blossoms. It was one of those things that we shared right off the bat.

That night as I waited for my pizza to arrive I saw Japanese exchange students and thought about you, freshly minted college student, heading off to an unknown world. It's a funny place, this world, the way that we can go on our separate ways and still think, yes, there are places where we can go, inside our hearts or out into the wilds of the world, and still run into each other.

And just so you know, that pizza had pesto sauce, was covered with veggies, Italian sausage, chili flakes and whole roasted garlic. I had enough left over to take back home for lunch and The Boy. He was as appreciative as I was for that time I spent in Japan. Thinking of you, well, that time in the fleet was made an even better thing. One more bit of life that you and I shared, if not together, at least across space and time.

Love, your WHMB

I Walk the Line redux

Sixtieth anniversary of Sun Records this year. Found a boxless copy of a BMG reissue of their greatest hits at a local Goodwill earlier last month. Didn't know anything about the anniversary until Saturday when I decided to play it. It was a nice departure from the standard jazz/classical/world beat that I usually spin here on the bookmobile. I never hear anything bad about the music selections I choose, in fact, most folks think having music playing in a library setting is pretty way out there. I like to keep that offbeat feeling to the bus and what we offer the public. If I ran a "real" branch things would be different, that's for sure. For starters I wouldn't have a clerk for a boss....

So, Johnny Cash and his I Walk the Line has been playing over and over and everytime it spins I think, okay, there she is again. What is it about that song that brings you in? The fact that it's old country? That the lyrics are soft, hard and real? That somehow, way deep down inside, I listen to those words and know that that's how I live?

It's way past time for anything other than real in my life. I have applications out there but I told myself that I will draw the line on sending them out after the 1st of April, and then, if I should decide to let that restriction slide then it has to be for a library on the coast, and that's west coast only. I figure for the time being it's important for me to love the place where I'm at. For instance this morning I sent off a note to my contact at the Idaho Shakespeare Fest to set in motion yet another summer's worth of volunteer duties. Work a bit, watch a play, all to the good, wouldn't you say?

Summer here is pretty boss. My little outing with the kids to the Y pool the other day has me looking forward to another summer's worth of weekends at the Nanatorium pool. I remember how much fun walking to fireworks at Julia Davis park was last summer and I'm sure, with a bit more planning, that this summer could be just as much of a blast. I know that last year's festivities, and the success stories behind them, were all about being present, being in the moment, being content. I think that should be the template for a successful summer this coming year as well.

So, M, I walk the line. A fine line sometimes between happy and less than happy but that's the way it is. April arrived Sunday and I celebrated the 1st in a way that allowed for me to vindicate all the foolish moves and actions of my past. Once a year I get to celebrate being the fool. I revelled in those crazy ways and offbeat decisions and absolutely fabulous happenings of my past, ones that were, at the time, both fraught with peril and delicious in their life coloring ways. I am happy knowing that April is filled with genuinely crazy days as far as our times are concerned but even more knowing that this month, one filled with wild weather, impetuous decision making and wonderful times, is always fresh and forever changing. Life is that way, forever changing, and I am good with that. Hope you are, too.

So, to that end, I dropped my contacts on the online dating sites, narrowed down my friends to those who leave drama at the door and only add good stuff to my life. I still walk a fine line with my heart, my dear, but if I don't watch over it nobody will. I think that I am done playing fast and loose with it for awhile. The need to let it rest and let life unfold naturally is high on my list of things to do these days. The days are not so much balmy but wicked in their promise of warmer weather, more stable skies and plenty of blossoming trees to come. I see them and know in my heart of hearts that those same blossoms are blooming for you as well.

May those flowers continue to bloom under your feet and in your heart, M.

Cheers, my dear, and a happy April to you.

Your WHMB

In from the coast

Woke up to cloud cover, a bit of rain, all of it coming in from a big Pacific storm that has already done it's best to soak the Cascades, the California Coastal Range, the Sierra Nevadas and most of western Washington and Oregon. The tail end ended up here and is making it's way east. No doubt we could use it as it was a pretty mild winter. It felt more like spring from February on. It's been a happy sort of rain and it's all mighty fine seen through the eyes of a man who has lived a big chunk of his life in the shadows of the Olympic range.

So, there you were again, M, loud and clear in my dreams. I wish I had more details but somehow it was a good thing. Somewhere out there you made a connection again, made your way, alot like that storm, from the wilds of the Pacific Northwest to a quiet urban neighborhood, in the middle of the night. Somehow, too, it was good enough to wake me up, to take me out of the dream and back into reality. It was the strange, sideways kiss we shared, the hand holding, the tete-a-tete. It felt real, as dreams go, but yet, it was strange. I woke asking, who is that woman and why is she still bothering me? And yet, there we were.

I still seem to see you here and there and I have to wonder if the spirit, the essence of you, was carried my way by the same jet stream that moved those clouds over the mountains and into the valley. I have no idea how you are doing or what you are up to. In fact, thanks to these devices, to the everlasting nature of the internet, it's only here that you'll ever know that I thought of you. Think of these words like rain, rain that falls, runs it's course, and then, when you think of it as spent, trickles down through the soil and rock and various stratas and in the end finds itself in some deep, subterrainean pool. Think of these words, those thought and emotions as a sort of deep seated and far away kind of resource, joy, wildness, that can be pumped up, delivered to your emotional doorstep, years after your life has taken you places where you in your wildest dreams, would think to find me.

Think of those raindrops that coursing their way down your roof and into the gutters of your Wildcat Lake home as a sort of messenger to you, one that says, yes, your dreams are my dreams, that our time, once furtile and active and effervescent long ago, still lives, quietely, silently, deep in the recesses of our hearts, hope and dreams.

See you, Melissa, the next time the rain decides to fall, both here and there.

Love, your WHMB

Springtime in my heart

Springtime is blossoming, and for me it’s a treat. Winter never really ever seemed to go away there in the Puget Sound, least ways, not until after the 4^th of July. Here it seems that winter never really took hold, least ways, this year it didn't, anyhow. Most folks seem satisfied with that and it shows in the exposed white arms and the too tight peddle pushers that have sprung out of old wardrobes much too quickly for the season.

Nationally I read it was much of the same, a mild winter the result of sloppy jet streams and light precipitation. Even though it was wimpy folks seemed happier wishing all through the sunny days and cool nights for winter to go away completely. Now spring is here and the visible signs are all around us. Bulbs buried long ago in the ground and in the memory are pushing up out garden beds. Trees are beginning to bud and the waters of the Boise are starting to rise. All’s well in the world once again. Hope things are blossoming and blooming in your life and heart as well, M.

Cheers,

your WHMB

Everything is Hunky Dory

It's been awhile and that's the point, I suppose. Been awhile since I've dropped words here but that's only because, like a good poker player, I've been playing those words close to my chest. Keeping them in my heart. No speaking them to anyone, rarely even talking out loud to myself. I suppose in many ways it was inevitable that I would get to this valuable space, to this point of peace, of resolution, of quietude. A good thing, I suppose, since the only feelings I have about anything when it comes to you is a kind of quiet whisper with ghosts. I am good with that.

Then all that blows away. That quiet, that peace. Maybe it's only for a moment but I popped in Bowie's Hunky Dory last night waiting for The Boy to finish up a class. It was late, the night lit by streetlamp and a Cheshire Cat moon. It finally came to me a week or so ago, an album that I put in an order for at a local used record house. It was familiar, a welcome addition to my burgeoning collection here in Boise. I know I had a copy of it in storage but I needed to have it here.

So I popped it in and suddenly it was no longer a cold night off of Overland Blvd. It was a hot August night in 2005. We had already exchanged emails about that day we shared. The seal off in the Sound, the rugs at Ikea, the leaves of the Oregon Maple spread above us in Loyalty Park. We were in separate quarters and miserable and the evening was hot and I had two pieces in the cassette deck, both set on endless play, forever looping, one sound track into the other, fueling desire at the end of that priceless, perfect day.

We can always look back into the grandest moments of our lives with just the right scent, just the slightest snippets of sound, serving as vehicles of transport. Last night the tinkling of pianos, the warbling of voices, the strumming of guitars, took me to a sweaty evening, flat on my back on a leather couch in front of a window that providing little breeze, providing little relief to the fire that raging in my heart that night.

Somehow I know, no matter how far away I get from that evening, that that fire in my heart will never quite go out.

May you find that bit of music someplace, sometime in your life, that will take you back there, to that place, to that moment you sent me that email, telling me to tell you what to listen to. You said you'd listen to anything that night.

Listen to this:

I miss you still.

Spin some Bowie. It will take you there.

Your WHMB