Thistlepricks

Aren't you glad?

2011-09-09T10:16:00.000-07:00

I love technology and I thrive with the wonderful and various ways we can communicate in our world. Years ago when I was dispatching at a local police department, if an officer requested a vehicle registration request, we would write the plate number down, pull out "The Book" - a wide-carriage printout of all the vehicles in the state. One book for cars and one book for motorcycles and pick-up trucks. Then, we'd look up the plate (numerical order) and highlight it, take "The Book" to the radio and give the officer his information.

Sometimes, this would take a few minutes, sometimes not as many. Now, most officers have a laptop or other wireless device and gets the information almost immediately, but certainly in just a few seconds. Most officers don't remember a time when the data wasn't computerized. (With that comment I am dating myself, but you still have to count the years yourself...)

Personal communications is something else and right in line with this. Cell phones were once the size of a large brick (and called thus) and now are about the size of a playing card, and not a whole lot thicker! We went from "hearing" about computers to having ONE in the house, to having one per person in the house, sometimes more. Even our youngest children seem to have a need for the own computer and cell phone. And now we arrive at the point of this story.

Last night, I'd gone to some strange kid's soccer game and got home about quarter to eight. I had stopped and bought a fast-food burrito on the way home and ate it while trying to go through some email. (and Twitter, and Facebook, and, well, you get the idea.) I'd been home about 90 minutes and noticed I had missed some text messages on my phone. Three from "Chase". They read as follows:

801*******: Hi there

801*******: Are you there? It's me Chase

801*******: You alive?

Not having a clue who Chase was, but figuring I'd try to at least find out if I was missing something, I sent my reply:

Me: I'm here. But I think you have the wrong #

And then the magic started. The magic of instant communication plus accessibility and multiplied by confusion.

801******: No, I was just at your house.

Me: Well, I've been home alone tonight. What is the name of the person you are trying to talk to?

801*******: Chase. I told you Chase

801*******: Why are you home alone?

Me: Because nobody else is here. I still think you have the wrong #

801*******: No it was my drother

801*******: brother

Me: What is my name?

801*******: It's okay if you don't want to chatting

Me: I'm not against chatting, but I think you are looking for someone else. What is the name of the person you think I am.

801*******: What's your name?

Me: What do YOU think it is?

801*******: Yes

At this point, I could see that communication while present, wasn't firing on all eight cylinders. I took a picture of myself, just a face shot, nothing major but something so "Chase" could see who he was talking to. I added the text "Does this look like the person you think you are talking to?"

My new found friend's response was:

801*******: I have to go to bed now. I am only 11.

Maybe I should have been clued in by the context and spelling of the texts, but most people do that in text messages.

Also, I'm not sure what it says about me, but someone then asked me if I was glad I didn't send him a picture of my penis. Okay, NOT that I am in the habit of sending out pictures of my penis, but it kind of makes me wonder why THAT question came up...

Friends, networking, and helping

2011-07-10T19:44:00.000-07:00

Every once in a while, I will I will post on Twitter or Facebook something about "It's all about networking". I have truly been blessed to reach out and find old friends, family and new friends. Some of these people I see weekly, some I haven't seen for years and decades, and others I have never met. I am so grateful for these friends.

Some of the postings are funny, some are sad, some are angry and some are cries for help. The networking is a good thing; you can get and give suggestions for places to eat, services needed, or even make connections to run races together, go shopping or ride motorcycles. We can share pictures and videos, jokes and concerts.

Sometimes the jokes don't make sense, at least not to me, and sometimes an opinion gets shared that you don't agree with, or someone doesn't agree with yours. It's all good - it's LIFE!

Sometimes the mean people or haters come out. Most often the haters are people that have a voice simply because they have a venue to use. They validate their opinions and denigrate yours they same way they would control an in person conversation - they "shout" (all caps) and they repeat their words to overwhelm you with their own logic. The worst ones that I've dealt with are the ones demanding some kind of tolerance for their particular "whatever" but refuse to to allow you your own opinion.

Really? I have to accept and even approve of your ideal but you get to sit there and tell me mine is just wrong?

Every once in a while, I have been lucky to converse with someone who decides to be brave enough to share something personal with me. Sometimes funny, sometimes angry and sometimes pain. A handful of days ago I was blessed to be able to talk with someone about some pain they were holding. I hope I helped. I hope that I was able to provide some sort of relief and comfort.

I know I would like to thank them for trusting me enough to share something personal.

I'm not going to user her name, suffice to say they she falls into the category of "known her for decades, haven't talked for years". I can say that I've got some kindred feelings with her. She'd been hurt by someone in her family previously and was the unfortunate recipient of continued pain from the mistreatment by this person. I went through the same thing, but I've already written about that in another blog. Read it there if you want, I'd prefer that the focus here is on my friend.

She reached out one night with a post on Facebook. I misunderstood what she posted initially, I blame it on being tired, could be I'm a little slow. We posted comments for a few minutes then went private to have a more personal conversation. As she spoke about what was really going on, I offered what small comfort I could, commiserated with her, and was just there for her. Well, electronically there for her.

I'd like to think that she got something more out of it than just typing late one night. And if you're reading this now, know that I still offer an ear, a shoulder, or even just yell at me to vent.

I'd also like to ask anybody that DOES read this to please watch, please be aware that sometimes what people post on Facebook and Twitter is an attempt to say that they are hurting. Maybe they are just lonely, maybe they are just dealing with a moment of stress. Maybe, as with the other night, they are venting to release some pain.

I firmly believe that we are charged with serving one another, helping as we can, and offering what we are able to. We volunteer for things that are important to us. Please, when you find yourself in a position to offer, volunteer to help a friend.

And, to my friend, I care. I hope you are finding a way to heal. I hope I helped.

He was no friend of mine

2011-04-04T16:24:00.000-07:00

Part One
Definitions of bully on the Web:

· Strong-arm: be bossy towards; "Her big brother always bullied her when she was young"
· A cruel and brutal fellow
· browbeat: discourage or frighten with threats or a domineering manner; intimidate
· A hired thug
· A person who is habitually cruel or overbearing, especially to smaller or weaker people
· A hired ruffian; a thug
· A person who hurts, persecutes, or intimidates weaker people
· A blustering, quarrelsome, overbearing person who habitually badgers and intimidates smaller or weaker people

Some bullies are looking for attention. They might think bullying is a way to be popular or to get what they want. Most bullies are trying to make themselves feel more important. When they pick on someone else, it can make them feel big and powerful.

Bullies often pick on someone they think they can have power over. They might pick on kids who get upset easily or who have trouble sticking up for themselves. Getting a big reaction out of someone can make bullies feel like they have the power they want. Sometimes bullies pick on someone who is smarter than they are or different from them in some way. Sometimes bullies just pick on a kid for no reason at all.

How to deal with a bully:

Don't give the bully a chance. As much as you can, avoid the bully. You can't go into hiding or skip class, of course. But if you can take a different route and avoid him or her, do so.

Stand tall and be brave. When you're scared of another person, you're probably not feeling your bravest. But sometimes just acting brave is enough to stop a bully. How does a brave person look and act? Stand tall and you'll send the message: "Don't mess with me." It's easier to feel brave when you feel good about yourself. See the next tip!

Ignore the bully. If you can, try your best to ignore the bully's threats. Pretend you don't hear them and walk away quickly to a place of safety. Bullies want a big reaction to their teasing and meanness. Acting as if you don't notice and don't care is like giving no reaction at all, and this just might stop a bully's behavior.

Stand up for yourself. Pretend to feel really brave and confident. Tell the bully "No! Stop it!" in a loud voice. Then walk away, or run if you have to. Kids also can stand up for each other by telling a bully to stop teasing or scaring someone else, and then walk away together. If a bully wants you to do something that you don't want to do — say "no!" and walk away. If you do what a bully says to do, they will likely keep bullying you. Bullies tend to bully kids who don't stick up for themselves.

Don't bully back. Don't hit, kick, or push back to deal with someone bullying you or your friends. Fighting back just satisfies a bully and it's dangerous, too, because someone could get hurt. You're also likely to get in trouble. It's best to stay with others, stay safe, and get help from an adult.

Don't show your feelings. Plan ahead. How can you stop yourself from getting angry or showing you're upset? Try distracting yourself (counting backwards from 100, spelling the word 'turtle' backwards, etc.) to keep your mind occupied until you are out of the situation and somewhere safe where you can show your feelings.

It’s not your fault! As the victim of a bully you must remember that the way you are treated is not your fault. Unless you did something specifically to provoke the bully, you are being targeted for any number of reasons, none of which you have any control over.

Part Two

I dealt with a bully for many, many years. Nothing really physical, nothing really overt, but it was there every single time I saw him. Within minutes of seeing each other he began to throw out taunts and jabs, verbal assaults that were meant to hurt – there was no joking about any of this. The only time that he had any civility in his mouth for me was if he wanted something from me. And even then if it seemed like I was going to deny him what eh wanted the bullying would start. First, the chivying and heavy-handed demands, and then ending with derogatory and demeaning comments when I stood my ground and didn’t just give in to his demands. He was no friend of mine.

As I said, it was nothing really physical, and I’m pretty sure I would have come out on top if it had come to that, especially in the later years. Maybe not so much when I was younger or early teens, but I grew up and was physically more than a match for him had it turned that route. I am glad that it didn’t, however, for many reasons. He was no friend of mine.

Later in life, as the years went by, I learned a lot more about this bully and picked up a lot about what drove him and his actions. Verbally abusive and persuasive as he could be, even he avoided physical conflict. The demons that drove him were mostly his own private demons that he would inflict on others when he felt the pain of their existence. He was no friend of mine.

He wasn’t above being vindictive and I think he went there more so when he was feeling particularly foul. His moods would change like lightning, Affable and grandiose one minute, everybody’s friend – especially yours if he wanted something. A small, bitter man when he didn’t get his way, pouting and hurtful. If he had no direct offense he could draw on, he would create one or make derisive comments about your looks or how you dressed. He would make judgments about your hair, your weight, or whatever he could to make you feel smaller-than and to make him feel larger-than. He was no friend of mine.

Towards the end, in my defense and disgust, I did what I could to simply avoid him. That wasn’t always possible and at times I was merely civil, but I am proud that I never provoked him, neither did I cower and simply accept his derision. I could see when he was around me he had learned that maybe he ought to just leave me alone. He wasn’t getting the pleasure of direct assault, but from the comments he made to other people I deduced that he had decided a behind-the-back attack was the method to choose. As most bullies, when facing confrontation that they can neither control nor win, they go behind you and start with a smear campaign, making comments to others on “his” side, or at least not on your side. I doubt that unless he was fueled by the intoxicant of his choice, he would not have attempted to direct attack. And I suspect that even then, as vile as his comments, he would have held short of a physical assault. He was no friend of mine.

Oddly, in the beginning, I dreamed of being his friend. I really WANTED him to like me, to accept me. I thought well enough about him that I bragged about him to my friends. I admired him and attached myself to at least the image that I thought he was It wasn’t until later that I started to catch on to things he said. By then, I was growing into one of the versions of me that was maybe a little more aware of life. For years I still liked him, and wondered if he really meant what he was saying, more likely convincing myself that it was a joke. All things considered, he was no friend of mine.

He died recently. His life of excesses and the pollutants that he ingested caught up with him. He had years of self-induced health issues and regardless of whatever stories he told, whatever demons he created or fought, the issues he had to deal with were none of my creating. I can say that while I wasn’t his biggest fan, I wished him no ill. He had my pity, but nothing more. He wasn’t a target of mine; he wasn’t someone I hated. He was no friend of mine.

I spoke with his daughter via messaging after he passed and was only somewhat surprised to find that she was deeply offended that I couldn’t offer more than I could at his passing. She promptly lit into me with how he had dealt with things from his childhood that “haunted” him and that “it is no surprise that he had the troubles he had” from what he had to endure. Although she only mentioned one thing specifically, I suspect that he may have created others as well. And it’s amazing that he supposedly carried the grief of that one event through all the years, even when dealing face to face with that person that committed this supposed insult. The event of which I speak happened, quite literally. Years before I was even born! I had nothing to do with it but from our conversation I was given to understand that this catalyst was what drove this bully to bear down on me throughout the years. He was no friend of mine.

I have thought about this conversation for a couple of weeks now and still cannot see the connection wherein the fault lays at my feet. Were I to see this, I’m pretty sure I’d walk up to it, I have a tendency to take blame well and see no reason to hide from what I did, for good or ill. I am also pretty quick to admit that I am far from perfect, but my perfection, or lack thereof, is between God and me. No man gets to judge me least of all a bully. He was no friend of mine.

He was no friend of mine. He was my own brother. My family. For years I loved him. I loved him enough to use his name when I named my own son. And about that time was when I came to see that what I thought saw as humor was hate; what I thought I saw as acceptance was derision. What I thought I saw as love was loathing. He was no friend of mine.

I did not wish him ill, and merely avoided him as he did me in the later years. His daughter was unable to tell me exactly what I did to him to cause this hatred, what I didn’t do to alleviate his pain. She apparently has decided to pick up his torch and treat me with the same disdain he did all those years. Well, I didn’t cause her pain or create her demons either. I don’t judge either one of them but I also won’t purchase that particular piece of emotional baggage that I caused any of their pain.

I’ve created enough of my own, but I will deal with that on my own as well.

Is it entitlement or what?

2011-01-17T20:47:00.000-08:00

Is it entitlement or what?

What is it with people lately? I am a volunteer instructor teaching classes that have a variety of students – different ages, from 9-10 year olds to adults of almost any age, male and female, and even physically challenged. My latest class has a couple of students that apparently have nut allergies. A applaud their mother who approached me prior to the start of class, except she took it too far. She proceeded to tell me that it was required of me to tell the rest of the class that nobody could eat any snacks in the classroom and would need to exit to the sales floor of the business which has been gracious enough to let me user their facility. I reminded her that this was a business and that I was not going to have the students take their breaks on a sales floor while they were trying to conduct business. She proceeded to tell me that it was required because of the severity of the allergy for her two children. I tried to mollify her by telling her that I would explain the situation to the class. I was in no way accepting the responsibility of her own children eating something they are allergic to.

I finally got the class underway and in the midst of the opening I observed this mother standing in the doorway and slowly sliding into the class. After she had sufficiently interrupted the class, I asked her if she had something to say and she stated “Well, I wasn’t going to interrupt, but since you offered…” and proceeded to instruct the class on how there were two “special” students with allergies severe enough that they had epi-pens with them at all times and that it was the “responsibility” of the rest of the students to protect her children.

Seriously?!?

I mean this lady was telling the class what the ingredients were in the snack machine and telling them what they could and could not eat. She was telling 34 other people to babysit her two children.

Personally, I would have thought her time would have been put to better use by teaching her two kids how to avoid the fending nuts in the first place and to behave under their own control rather than rely on strangers to mete out a little self control.

BTW, throughout the class people were eating peanut butter sandwiches, chips and cookies and neither child had an event. Neither did they attempt to eat someone else’s food.

I understand the concern. I can sympathize with the fear of the possible reaction. I don’t understand trying to put the onus of responsibility on complete strangers.
Additionally, why is it that friends and family decide that the only times they need to contact you are only if they need something or feel obligated to?

I had a pretty close friend several years ago. Close enough that most people knew that if they couldn’t find one of us, if they called the other we were probably together. We spent enough time together that we would practically finish each other’s sentences. We camped, hunted and fished together. We taught together and we were involved in Scouting together. We had fun.

A few years ago he stopped calling. Or rather, he stopped calling unless he needed something. He also stopped returning calls. I still hear from him or get text messages from him if he needs some information I can provide or if I can do something for him, but that’s about it.

Family?

It seems as though I’ve fallen into the same situation there. Lately, unless they feel obligated or need something, they all act the same way. And heaven forbid we should say no to something or not be able to just jump to perform. Plan a dinner and invite family and friends and the night before be told that everybody’s plans have changed. “No, we didn’t know how to tell you.”

And heaven forbid you should live farther away than other family. I mean, it might take five more minutes to drive to your house and that just isn’t convenient. Not even once a month, like we asked.

And somehow, I feel responsible for the whole thing. I’m not exactly sure what I have done to offend people en masse, but apparently I am damn good at it. If I post on a Twitter or Facebook thread, they die. Friends stop calling and family treat me like a pariah.

I guess this is where I am supposed to apologize, so here you go: I apologize. Whatever I did, I am sorry. I’m sorry you don’t like my convictions or where I stand on things or that I moved too far for your convenience.
Or that your kid has allergies.

That being said, Thanks for treating me like shit.

For those few who still aren't offended, thanks for being there when I needed it.

2011-01-04T15:10:00.000-08:00

I can remember it all so vividly. I remember the smells, the sounds and the taste.

We rounded some rocks and splashed into water that was deeper than we anticipated, sliding into the marshy ground as we attempted to stay on the high side of firmer ground. As I looked out the doorway to my right I could see where previous vehicles had taken a drier route to get where we were heading. As we slid to a stop we could hear the impacts of bullets hitting our transport. Looking, too late, to our left I could see the heads of the three people doing their best to stop us. As our vehicle groaned to a stop I slithered out my door into the cold water and pretended I was part of the vegetation, as I played “You-Don’t-See-Me” with the shooters.

They weren’t on the high ground but neither were we. They had more solid cover, but ours allowed us more movement. This was going to take some skill to get out of. Skills I knew I had and training I knew I could call on. Long, smart shots were the ones I liked. And once I had the distance and sights dialed in, I knew I could do what needed to be done. I was removing the threat against our lives.

They were either better supplied or more reckless with their ammunition as I could hear shots slapping at the mud on the dike in front of us. I knew we had friendlies coming up behind us but I remember wondering how long it would take for them to find us. I also remembered that I didn’t want them to come up into an ambush and, quite selfishly, I wanted to be the one to put a stop to the mayhem. Larry was about 3 meters to my left and Toby was within reaching distance to my right. Pulling a magazine out I checked it before loading it into the rifle and saw that two rounds were standing rather than stacked and wouldn’t feed. I tapped Toby’s arm and told him to make sure he checked his own, then slapped another magazine into the stock.

Knowing that the ammunition supply was critical, and knowing that the only shots I could make were, of necessity, critical in timing and placement, the thought raced through my head. Watch the windage. Watch the elevation. Lead on moving targets. Even now I can feel the stock of my rifle caress my cheek and the trigger under my finger. Most of a head and the top of a shoulder were all I could see, but I had identified my target before he managed to duck behind the cover after he fired his last shots, a broad swath that wasn’t really aimed but was more to make us keep down, which works by the way.

Cleansing breath. Second breath. Site picture. Start to squeeze. I feel nothing except the trigger. Slowly, mechanically, it draws back. My entire focus is on my target.

And then I roll over, look at the clock and realize that my alarm didn’t go off and I slept in making me late for work.

Dreams are funny.

2011-01-04T10:00:00.001-08:00

Sometimes, just sometimes, technology is a scary frontier. It's amazing what we can do these days that was fodder for comic books when we were kids.

Patience is a virtue.

2010-10-03T17:10:00.000-07:00

I am a patient man.

I. Am. A. Patient. Man.

Do not think for an instant that because I don't jump to defend myself that what you are doing is correct or right, or that you are getting away with your actions. I will, however, defend others that you are attacking, especially those that deserve my protection, those to whom I owe this protection.

Over the next few days, I expect that some things will transpire that will bring some of your own activities to light. When that happens, I will not gloat. I won't be elated neither will I feel any form of deep satisfaction. I hope to feel relief. As a matter of fact, I expect that I will be the first person blamed for any form or corrective action that you receive. I have no doubt that you will have enough friends believing that some how I did this to you. Luckily, there are those that will know the truth.

There are still enough people around that remember what you tried to do last time we dealt with this. I'm pretty sure that the memories won't help your argument.

Can I ask one thing - why do you hate me so? Why do you feel so much anger towards me? Is it merely insecurity? Have I ever said one thing to make you feel this way? Is it really me or do you hate someone else that I represent? Is it my hair color, my weight, or simply because I am male? What drives you to feel like this?

Sadly, I have even looked at it as if I might really be at fault. Maybe it was something I said or did that brought these feelings on. But there have been a lot of years go by that you have acted this way and maybe your life would benefit if you matured enough to act like an adult about whatever it is.

This being said, tomorrow begins the next (and last, I hope) chapter of this face-off. Something has to change. Something has to be done to improve the situation.

Phases and Stages

2010-09-30T19:09:00.000-07:00

I've been watching the leaves since they began changing a few weeks ago. The view from my back door allows me to see across a small hollow and the trees and bushes are are all flaunting their finery. Apparently, the local fauna have decided that it's time to make an appearance as well. There have been V formations of geese flying and circling overhead and the other night there were three yearling does from the local deer herd that stopped and stared as I drove past them on a street below my house. Another sign is that I have what appears to be millions of acorns in my driveway. Supposedly, some acorns are edible, but I don't know if the ones off my trees are the kind that are and I'm not so adventuresome that I want to use my own self for testing. I do have some candidates in mind, however.

I also have seen some changes and alterations in friendships. I've reconnected with some friends lately that I haven't spoken with for a while and I'd like to think they are enjoying it as much as I. One friend, Kathy, grew up just down the street and started being more a friend of my sister, then we phased into school friends which was followed by morphing into acquaintances. I recently asked friends if social networking friends were "real" or just "tech" friends and was pleased to hear form Kathy that she felt we are "real" friends while another friend was truthful enough to admit that they felt that these friendships were "light compared to "in-person" friendships. I'm glad that Kathy and I have progressed to that stage. And I also wonder if maybe the anonymity of social media allows us to maybe be more forthcoming with personal "stuff" (technical term...) in turn getting us electronically closer to each other.

Another phase currently in change is happening at work. A few years ago there were things going on that were less than ideal. Things were happening that were making my life, and a few others as well, pretty miserable. I was patient, and I worked things through and was able to use channels to fix the problem without a lot of cost and without a lot of hurt feelings. Some hurt feelings, but not a lot. Things got better and then even better. Phases and stages.

Recently, however, some things are going on that are reminding me of a darker time. A time that I was hoping not to go back to. Things that are escalating to an almost insane level. Circles and cycles.

But I am a patient man. And, being a patient man, I know that there will soon come a time when things will improve. Possibly drastically. Maybe, if I am lucky, dramatically. But I am also thinking permanently.

My friends, I want to thank you being, well, my friends. I want to thank you for being there, and for sharing a little of your lives with me. You have helped to make some dark parts of my own existence a little less daunting, and a lot more warm.

Thank you once again, with all my heart.

"Tech" friends vs. "Real" friends

2010-09-19T14:00:00.000-07:00

Technology is an amazing thing. Each new development makes the world smaller. Radio, gave people a means to reach out to others, a way to share ideas. Radio operators on ships and in the armed forces would take the opportunities to "meet" friends and exchange news, play chess and share recipes.

15 years ago email was in its infancy. Computers were nowhere near as available as they are now. Cell phones were called "bricks" and we all clamored for them, we all were reaching out. User groups and forums were starting. The Internet was building momentum and "networking" was becoming vogue.

AOL and other applications were becoming more and more popular. People were, again, reaching out just as they did in every community they ever lived in. From villages and farmsteads, to townships and on up the food chain, people have always looked to their neighbors, looked beyond their boundaries. Technology has given us more and more opportunities to do so more conveniently than ever before.

Through Facebook and other networking sites (AOL, MySpace, Twitter, Linkd) people are finding it possible to connect, reconnect and create relationships with people from all over the world. Through one group I've been able to reunite with friends from the small town where I grew up, friends from school and even family members from all around the country.

With another forum I attend online, I've made friends literally around the world. It's a group of motorcycle riders that has become a virtual family. We reach out through pain and sorrow, through illness and death, and through life, through love and through happiness. This family, most of whom have never met face to face, has come together to help make repairs of homes, computers and bikes; come together when one was in a crash and nearly died, when one lost a spouse to cancer, and when some have lost pets.

One example is that when one of the group had a bike that was his only source of transportation stolen and didn't know what to do, we all came together and chipped in and bought him another bike. Not a new one, but one that was 100%. A motorcycle. A Goldwing motorcycle. Not all friends will do that. Not all family will do that.

The kids I went to high school with? We can't even seem to get together for lunch one day, let alone go out of our way to make a major difference in our lives. I drove from Layton to SLC to pick up a motorcycle part, then delivered it to Pocatello with a "thank you" as my reward. It was enough.

On another side, I have a twin sister and we went for about 16 years without speaking. No cards, no calls, no contact. Not a lot of friendship. I know that my family isn't typical, but neither are my friends.

Then again, with the changes in technology, maybe they are.

Remembering

2010-09-11T20:50:00.000-07:00

What an odd day. I've wanted to post something here about remembering that day not so many years ago when we were jolted from our security. Do you remember where you were? Are we going to play this game that was played with the Kennedy assassinations or John Lennon's murder? Of course we are, it's human nature to relate an event or a time or memory, to associate it with something and personalize it to set it in memory.

I remember where I was. I was teaching a Baseline Class at work. Bill, a friend of mine, was attending. Two co-workers, Joyce and Ed, were watching things transpire on a TV in a conference room and we kept turning the TV in the training room on during breaks. What a long, long day. After work I helped another friend, Ken, with a class at a shooting range.

Driving home I saw a most heart-rending site - a lone figure was standing on one of the freeway overpasses in Morgan holding a US flag. Simply, heartbreakingly and peacefully, standing there, silhouetted in the sunset.

All day long I had felt anger and frustration. All day long I wanted to strike back, to exact my own toll against those who perpetrated this upon our soil. But seeing that lone flag bearer, lighted from behind with the the dying rays of the days sun, I suddenly was more focused and more my anger was tempered with sorrow. Anger would return, but just then I felt sorrow for those many people who lost friends and family in this tragedy.

While I lost no family of mine, I did lose some acquaintances and people with whom I worked. This was driven home later while at a conference and talking about this attack with some FBI trainers. They were commenting on one of the assignments they had in New York following the attack and mentioned one of the men working on the phones and communications lines they used. They stated that he was always there. He was there in the morning and there at night and never seemed to go home.

When he was asked about it, he bluntly stated that he was the only person in his office in the North Tower that wasn't killed in the attack. Some happenstance had kept him delayed from getting to the office on time that morning and his entire floor was destroyed killing every other person in his office. He alone survived and the guilt that he felt for that drove him to service. He needed to work, he needed to expiate this guilt for not dying with his co-workers by serving those who worked to investigate this tragedy.

This was something that was seen all across our country. Suddenly, people were coming out to enlist. Our military experienced a growth curve as did our police and fire departments. People, just everyday, ordinary people where volunteering to help others. The crime rate dropped, violence dropped, and people cared for each other again. I hadn't seen people care like this since the early '70s. People simply cared.

Since that time, however, there has been a slow decline back to the status of pre-9/11. People have returned to the "what's-in-it-for-me" attitude, the feeling of watching out solely for one's self rather than a "we're-all-in-this-together" attitude.

I beg, I implore, I seek or WHATEVER works with you, care for others. Care for each other. Care for yourself and your family, certainly, and care for your friends. But care also for those in need. Care for those that are alone. Don't be afraid to take a minute and remember those who serve and protect the freedoms we so freely enjoy.

Remember the men and women in our armed services, those who fight daily in their police, fire and EMS duties to protect and provide these freedoms for us. Don't forget the police, fire and EMS workers that rushed in while others were rushing out. The ones that knew they weren't coming out yet still sacrificed in an attempt to save as many people as they could.

And while you're busy not forgetting, how about we not forget to offer them our thanks when we get the chance. Sadly, I don't think that we're through with this battle, I am afraid that we will once again have visited upon our land another attack on this great country. I hope we're ready this next time.

And I hope we learn from these attacks that we truly are a great people living in a great land.

Family reunion

2010-08-29T19:34:00.000-07:00

This afternoon I went to a family reunion. It was an interesting event - unscheduled and unplanned, I wasn't even expecting to be there. I got to talk with my dad and we were talking about some email we had exchanged. Mom was there but didn't say much, just kind of quiet and smiling. Uncle Ron, mom's brother, was there laughing his huge laugh that I remember so well and holding hands with Aunt Geneil (dad's sister) who was laughing with him.

My sister Sam was around, but again, most of what I remember is her laughter. It's such a good thing that most of my family memories are full of laughter. She chuckled as she walked past, scratching my dog under the chin and teasing me for holding him so close and tight. I was watching my daughter's children as she was playing with them over by the window. Doug and Emma were in some kind of battle which isn't new. DJ was building something.

I can remember the smells of the food - our family events always had laughter and food. I remember wondering where Jeff was because I could hear him somewhere. I always wanted to have Jeff as a brother as I didn't always get along with my two sisters. Jeff and I didn't always get along either, but it we always had fun together.

Javert, my dog, put his head on my shoulder and I remember hearing some kind of beeping or horn and thinking that it sounded odd, like it didn't belong. Then the electronic sound of something like coins dropping into a glass, maybe ice cubes? Then I recognized it as Kerry playing some game on her computer and slowly realization started to slip in.

As wonderful as my reunion was, I began to realize that it was just a dream. Dad died in '89, mom last year. Sam several years ago and Geneil back in the early '80s. I'm not sure what it means that I had both family that has passed away already and family still living with me.

I don't read much into dreams, although I love to have them. I usually dream very vividly, very graphically. I tend to smell scents and odors and can feel and touch in my dreams. And as I rose from the bliss of sleep and dreams, the smells of the food waning and the sounds fading, the laughter slowly growing quiet, I was left with the feeling of peace and warmth as the last of the dream left to me.

I miss them all, each of them. I am thankful for the memories that I have and remorseful of those that I missed. I wish I had been able to spend more time with the family although it seems like this family has a hard time getting together. Everybody wants to, but these plans never seem to come to fruition. I'm as bad as any other.

I am thankful for the opportunity that I have had the past couple of years to re-unite with some of my extended family, and friends as well, and have been blessed with renewing these relations. I can only hope that I provide something in kind back to each of them.

Opinions

2010-08-22T19:00:00.000-07:00

o·pin·ion /əˈpɪnyən/ –noun
1. a belief or judgment that rests on grounds insufficient to produce complete certainty.
2. a personal view, attitude, or appraisal.
3. the formal expression of a professional judgment: to ask for a second Medical opinion.

Oh? You have an opinion? You do realize that having an opinion doesn't set you apart from anybody else, right? You know that everybody has one, right?

Oh, okay, yours is different. Yours is right.

Wait, uh, wait a minute.

May I ask you a small question? Just a simple questions, really, just a little insight for me own personal edification?

WHAT THE CAST-IRON, FLYING BLUE FUDGE SUCKING BITTERSWEET BLAZES MAKES YOUR OPINION ANY DIFFERENT FROM MINE?!?

The other day a mutual friend of ours apologized to me because of the comments that you made. It was on her dime, it was her thread and you interjected your own criticism, condemning a whole group of people for simply having the audacity to have their own opinion that was (GASP!) not yours! How dare they? Don't they know that YOURS is the official, one-and-only opinion allowed?

I declined to let her even think that she had any reason to apologize. I refused to let her take responsibility for the vitriol that you vented. She is much to nice of a lady to saddle with that responsibility. And you, coward that you are, should have never put a lady in that position. If you want to vacate your spleen, do it on your own time. Own up to it. Stop hiding behind someone else.

I do have one other question: What exactly does make you think that yours is the RIGHT opinion? What exactly sets you apart and grants to you the insight and wisdom to so blatantly and rudely impart your precious pearls upon the world?

Is it geography? Does that fact that you live where you do give you this authority? Is the state in which you reside the ONLY state that is allowed to hold value of opinion? Is it something in the water? Is it the lower altitude that grants you an oxygen-rich environment so you think more clearly than the rest of the world?

Or is it that you have a captive audience with low cost since you manage to post on social networking sites? Since you don't have to invest the cost of a stamp, let alone the time to write a letter, place it in an envelope and mail it to the editor of the paper; has technology and the fact that any 11 year old with an Internet connection who can type can post their glowing words of praise or degenerate and perverse vituperation bestowed supreme opinion status on your glowing and golden brow?

Save your castigation and condemnation of me just because my opinion is not yours. I am every bit as educated as are you. You have your values and standards as do I. However, just because my social mores and the values I have are not those you would embrace, don't you dare for one instant believe that yours have any greater value than mine.

I don't expect you to agree with me, I rather expect that you will NOT agree with me on many items. But I refuse, as a matter of fact I demand that you will respect my opinion for the value that it has, regardless of whether it has any semblance of your opinion. I didn't assault your values and your opinion, neither did I denigrate your worth as a person, as a human being, just because your values are not mine. Neither are you allowed to do that to me.

You, no question or doubt, owe Patricia an apology.

Memories of corn

2010-08-07T21:37:00.000-07:00

About a week ago someone left a package on my porch. this being zucchini season, I was just a little bit leery, but it wasn't squash this time, but it was a half-dozen ears of fresh sweet corn.

Guess what dinner was...

Later, as I was shucking the corn, I commented that I hate shucking corn, then stopped to think why I hate shucking corn. Suddenly, with all the clarity and impact of an Alfred Eisenstaedt photograph, I remembered the catalyst for my dread of corn silk and husk. I don't remember how old I was at the time, maybe eight or ten years old, but my mother and her best friend Barbara Cartwright had decided that they were going to can corn to preserve it for later use. That was back in the day when most households preserved fruit and vegetables to save money and add variety to the diet during the winter months.

Mom and Barbara bought a load of corn. In my mind, for years, I would swear that it was a dump-truck load, but I'm sure it was just a pickup truck. The image of that mountain of corn, green and bright and smelling like, well, corn, is burned into my mind's eye.

At any rate, they had the corn delivered to our driveway and then mom and Barbara went to work. They also recruited help, and since they were saving money, they didn't pay the help. What they did was use indentured labor - i.e., their kids. The memories of this time which I hold are of me and my sisters Sam and Chris, mom and Barbara and her boys Steve, Tracy and Perry. All of us together shucking corn, removing the husks and silk, battling the worms and earwigs (how many do YOU think we found in a million ears of corn?) and laughing.

We laughed and we talked, and talked and laughed. There were jokes and people throwing bugs and corn. Lots and LOTS of corn. And if you thought you could get away from the corn by going into the house, then you got drafted to help dad and using the cutters to take the corn off the cobs. The cutter looked like a metal U-shaped wire with what I thought was a bent saw blade rolled into a circle to slide down the cob that was impaled on a board with a nail to hold it in place. Wet, messy and smelling of corn. (I detect a theme.)

Mom is gone, and I haven't seen Barbara for way too long. Tracy I run into once in a while and Steve and Perry are still out there. Sam was taken a few years ago and Chris is another story altogether. I can still hear the laughter. I can still feel the heat of summer in Logan and hear the crickets as we worked way into the night.

I still like to eat corn, I just hate to shuck it. But I love the memories of the friends and families that I miss.

Friends - part II

2010-07-22T20:50:00.000-07:00

I've mentioned previously that I belong to a web forum for motorcycle riders and I want to share with you what a fantastic group of guys they are. Patrick, one of the members, has been working on an older bike and had been making progress with the repairs and took his bike for a ride. While riding, he noticed fire "dripping" from the bike. He got stopped, tried to put the fire out but sadly, a beautiful piece of machinery was destroyed. Thankfully, Patrick wasn't seriously injured other than some burns to his hands.

His reaction was typical following a loss such as this, Patrick was ready to throw in the towel as he knew he couldn't replace the bike. He was even considering dropping from the forum. The first replies were typical condolences but the thing that drew my attention was that almost immediately, post number seven to be exact, someone suggested that the members of the forum step up and send what they can, any amount, to help Patrick out. I don't know what the total is currently, but as of yesterday $1300 has been donated towards his replacement. Patrick is already shopping around for a new (to him) bike.

What a great group of guys. From a small beginning of a handful of riders in Ireland to a group of riders that are found all over the world, the brotherhood and friendship of this forum never fail to humble me.

And while I am not in a position to help Patrick out this time, something else will come up and maybe I will be in a better position to offer more than encouragement.

Additionally, I would encourage you to do something. Help out when you can, sometimes at a sacrifice. You will be blessed, the people you help will be bless more so. Donate blood. Donate your time. Sometimes, just giving someone a shoulder to cry on or an ear to vent in is enough. (Thank you Kathy.)

And, just in case you want to read a great tribute to some fine people, here is a link to the thread on that forum: Bike Fire

Ride safe.

New old friends

2010-07-18T18:40:00.000-07:00

I got a text message from an old friend the other night. She and I were co-workers for a while, and became friends and stayed friends after we no longer worked together. She's had a couple of hard times, both personal and professional, and we've talked through many of them. She's a true friend and I love her dearly.

She and I have managed to keep in touch via the occasional phone call, email and text messaging, however due to a couple of incidents outside of her control, she was forced to change her cell phone number. Things happen.

A couple of nights ago, I got a text message from a number I didn't recognize and my first thought was that it had been a while since we've spoken. "How are you doing?" she asked. "Good, but I miss you" was my reply. "I miss you too!" came back. We went back and forth for a bit and then she said something that just didn't sound right.

"Why did she ask THAT?" I wondered. Then it hit me and suddenly I wondered if I was really speaking with her. It was late enough and I was amused enough that I just wanted to make sure I wasn't embarrassing someone. Wrong number calls go through, so do text messages.

"I don't think I'm who you meant to text." I sent. "Sure you are" the response flew back. "I hope so" I sent back. Her reply was "You're still *** and I'm still not ***." (Yeah, just a modicum of privacy here.)

Okay, she knows that about me, maybe it is her. Then I asked her if she was sure and her reply was "Yeah, it's Lori."

Not the name I was thinking of.

Doesn't even have enough letters.

Then, I thought back to our conversation which, while not intimate or anything, was personal, and I was brought up pretty short for a minute. Parallel universe? Wrinkle in time? Diverging planes of reality? Four people, two of which are conversing, who apparently share several circumstances. Then, through the magic of technology and serendipity, two of us managed to connect in a conversation.

The next thought I had was how amazed I was that two people who didn't know each other could be friends, as it were, without the foundation of shared knowledge or experiences. In truth, without any real knowledge of each other.

Am I blessed with friends? Yeah, I'd like to think so. True friends? The kind of friend that you can call in the middle of the night if you need help? Maybe not as many now. Through social networking sites such as FaceBook and the like, I've been lucky enough to reunite with some pretty great people from my past - people who I'll call friends. Would Kathy or Darrin come to me when I called at 3:00 AM? I doubt it. Are we still friends? Yes.

The difference is that they don't have the emotional investment and there has been a lot of time and distance since we were last a part of each other's lives. We have too many other personal demands on our lives and hearts and minds to commit to the casual relationships such as ours.

My findings? First, don't be too hesitant to make a friend. Sure, you want to be cautious and careful of the investment into the friendship, and there are a multitude of levels of friendship. Don't put yourself, or what you hold dear at risk by "creating" a friendship too quickly; there is obviously a growth rate to trust someone. Once you learn that and they earn that, you can build upon the trust and develop that friendship.

The next line from my is that friendships have value. All friendships have value. Some are measured in cents and some in dollars.

Last, and probably what I wanted to say most, be quick to be a friend to someone. Look at what you can invest, look at what you can give to someone, and give what you can. I know I can use all the friends I have and then some.

The "Big Ben" minute

2010-06-27T16:14:00.000-07:00

During World War II, W. Tudor Pole, an English author, adventurer and businessman campaigned for what came to be called "The Big Ben Silent Minute." The chiming of the Big Ben clock in London at 9:00 PM took about a minute. The chimes were broadcast each night on BBC radio at the beginning of the 9:00 news. Pole suggested that the hearing of the chimes, either in person, or on the BBC should be accompanied by one minute of silent prayer for those who had been killed that day in battle as well as remembering all who had been killed in the war. Churchill supported the idea, which became known as the "Big Ben Movement."

Recently something similar has been occurring around the world. People of all faiths are taking a minute at Noon to pray for our service men and women. Praying for those who were killed or injured. And, most of all, praying for peace.

Regardless of how you feel about the war, regardless of which faith you follow, please take a minute each day and pray. Many people are setting alarms on their watches, cell phones or PDA's to remind them. Imagine the power of a few words of humble prayer coming from each of us. Please pass this along to anybody that you think would be interested.

32 Minutes or "The Bystander Effect"

2010-06-21T21:03:00.000-07:00

32 minutes.

Try something. Scream. Scream for 32 minutes. See if anybody does anything to help. Heck, see if anybody even notices. Would YOU notice if someone was screaming for help for over a 1/2 hour? Would you try to help?

Not everybody would. Time was, you couldn't get the words asking for help out of your mouth and your neighbors, your friends would be right there. You couldn't swing a dead cat by the tail without hitting someone who wanted to help you. If they couldn't help, they knew someone that could or they would at least comfort you while you dealt with your troubles. Hold your hand. Give you a hug. Shed a tear with you.

32 minutes.

How many times have you been sitting on the bus or walking at the mall or supermarket and observed someone in need? Someone dropping a too big load because they didn't grab a cart or a basket. A lady walking down the isle at Ace Hardware with one arm full of wooden stakes and the other arm trying to handle 4 eight-foot lengths of wood that have decided they want to go anywhere but with her. Did you do anything to help? Did you try to wrangle the oranges that were heading for all points of the compass rather than go home with them?

32 minutes.

Is it too easy to think that someone else will help or that you "don't want to get involved" or might get in trouble for helping? Do you want to grant them their anonymity in their trouble as you don't want to embarrass them? Because that young mother with her infant in a carrier and the requisite diaper bag, spare clothes, other sundry equipment used to raise and feed a baby might feel threatened by the big fat guy in biker leathers with the scowling face and growling voice?

Why? Why don't you help?

32 minutes.

Kitty was born in New York and moved to Connecticut as a child, but moved back to New York when she was old enough to leave home. Living on her own in a two-floor walk-up and working late nights set the stage for what happened to her. Coming home from work one night she was assaulted. Stabbed, strangled, raped, robbed and murdered. Kitty suffered a horrible fate begging for help. Begging and screaming for help. For 32 minutes Kitty was brutally attacked not once, not twice but three times. For 32 minutes Kitty Genovese died a slow, painful death. And nobody helped her.

32 minutes.

Kitty Genovese was coming home from work, walking across the parking lot from her car and was attacked. Her attacker was once scared off, but then returned to resume the attack as she tried to run for help, seeking people in a bar that had closed early. People in her apartment building and the one next to it shut their windows, closed their blinds and would yell at her killer to "leave the girl alone" but wouldn't get involved. One lady wouldn't let her husband even call the police because "someone" must have already. Scared away a second time, Kitty was able to get to a vestibule where she tried to hide from her assailant. He returned a third time and and found her, her own blood trail leading him to her, where he then cut her clothing away with a knife, stabbing and strangling her while he raped her.

32 minutes.

The talking heads tell us that this is called the "Bystander Effect". This is where nobody wants to or is afraid to help someone in need. "Someone" will help. "Someone" will call. "Someone" will do something.

Whatever they call it, it is wrong. Courtesy? Manners? Chivalry? I don't care what you call it but it is lacking in our society. Catherine "Kitty" Genovese died March 13, 1964 beginning at 3:15 in the morning. 46 years ago, this was a newsworthy, noteworthy event. Now, it is a daily event. Shame on us. We can do better. Do we teach our children to do better? Do we live as an example to our children?

32 minutes.

Take a minute and look at your child or children. Take a look at your grandchildren, your nieces or nephews. How many of those 32 minutes are you going to let them scream for help? I believe that we have a stewardship to not only our family, our friends and those we know, but I believe we also have a responsibility to help those we don't know.

Yeah, I know that there are those that would prey on the very people that would offer them help. And I wouldn't put anybody else at risk while I helped someone, and I would certainly protect myself and offer assistance warily, but I try to help.

We owe it to Kitty Genovese.

Because it feels GOOD!

2010-06-17T16:31:00.000-07:00

I belong to a web-forum of bike riders that, literally, has members from around the world. The
camaraderie, friendship, and even family that we have become is amazing. One of the members is currently teaching his son how to ride and took him for a ride one day. After a few hours they stopped for lunch and his son told him that he liked riding. When he asked him why, the only answer that he could come up with is "Because it feels good." Several forum members have chipped in with their answers and here is mine:

The alarm goes off and I groan; I'm still a little stiff and sore, but most mornings I am. As I lay there trying to wake up, I rotate my ankles and listen to them pop and snap as the bones re-align. Once they settle in, I can stand on them again. My back is stiff and pains race up and down my spine. Compressed vertebrae in my neck, healed rib fracture, and three more healed fractures in the lumbar region remind that I haven't always been nice to myself. Knees are OK so far, but I haven't tried the stairs yet. They'll remind me when I start that.

When I make fists, people can hear my tendons as they pop, the carpals and metacarpals in my hands grind audibly now. I tell myself brake- and clutch-levers are good exercise. I can usually straighten my fingers all the way on a good day. Stormy weather limits that sometimes. Some days I have to pull my fingers straight or twist the joints enough to get them to pop and unlock. Yeah, it's like that.

I slide the choke lever, turn the key on and hit the starter. The bike comes to life and I let the idle settle for a little before I twist the throttle enough to get the voltage display to start to show a charging state. She warms a little while I pack my crap into the trunk or panniers. Jacket, helmet, chin-strap, glasses and gloves. It's my starting mantra. Helps me to remember them all. By now, the bike is running smoothly and my pulse has quickened to the point that I start to feel alive again. I start to feel good again. Memories of David's Honda 125 that I really learned to ride on. The '73 Kawasaki Z1a that was my first bike. Then the Gold Wings: the 83i, 85a and now the current 90 1500.

I am settled into the saddle, now a part of something larger than I am; truthfully feeling that the sum of the two of us is greater than the whole. A reminder, to borrow a quote, "I'm not as good as I once was, but I'm as good once as I ever was." This bike, this machine, this extension of my desires and wishes, helps to make me feel better. "Because it feels good" is a great quote.

I get physically tired riding a bike, I don't get drowsy as I might in a car. Music goes with me: perhaps a Broadway soundtrack (Chicago, maybe Rent). Molly Hatchet, any of the Mussel Shoals groups, or Bob Seger can get me into trouble. Maybe I'm feeling Celtic today and it's Silly Wizard, Old Blind Dogs, Dougie McLean or the Wicked Tinkers. Could even be the Nickleback or Rush this time.

As with the ears, the nose gets a workout as well. Broken three times, I'm surprised sometimes that it stays with me, let alone lets me experience that wonderful scent of fresh mown lawn. The freshly baled hay in the field I rode past. The fall foliage assaulting my eyes at the same time that I can smell the leaf mast in the fall air. Or a sudden gust of apples ripening in the orchard, the late-night ambrosia of Honeysuckle, here and then gone.

Because it feels good says it all.

What would YOU say?

2010-06-08T19:37:00.000-07:00

What would YOU say?

Although I like to look back and share fond memories with friends and family, I’m not real big on living in the past. You can’t change things and you can drive yourself into fits of anxiety playing “What if?” A friend of mine once commented that “If is one of the biggest words in the world.” I find myself in no position to argue the point.

Earlier today I found myself thinking about a friend from high school. Really, for some odd reason I found myself missing her. We managed to grow quite close, close enough to start thinking “serious” thoughts about after high school. We didn’t make any great plans, just imagined the situation. I met her because we worked together and I really liked her because she had such a great sense of humor. (Admit it, if someone laughs at your jokes, you like them.) We dated some, and would hang out together. We learned some things together and we taught each other some things about life. Although, if I were to be truly honest, she taught me more about life than I ever taught her. Not the touchy-feely kind of things, but things that probably made me less of a social retard. (Some who know me now would argue that the lessons took hold, but just imagine what I was like then.)

Of course there was a physical attraction - we were living in a high school environment fraught with hormones and lust! But I am glad to say that we had something more than that. Intimacy in the true sense of the word, not just talking about lust and physicality.

We grew quite close and shared a lot of thoughts, wishes and dreams. I have to say that I grew to truly respect her opinions and values. She taught me more than she will ever know. At one particular point in my life, a turning point if you will, she helped me make a decision that was brutally hard. A decision that was hard in a way that I knew that things were changing in me. A door once passed through, would close behind me and thrust me into a new world, a world of unknown circumstances to me and, without trying to sound overly-dramatic, possibly cost me friends and family. I have her to thank for talking me through this decision, with no thought of what this decision might cost her one way or another.

She gave me a gift that day that I couldn’t hold or touch, I couldn’t really see or even feel it, but know that it is there. I owe her a titanic debt of thanks and I doubt she knows to this day that this is how I feel.

All right, back to “What would YOU say?” Would you tell your friend thanks? Would that thanks ever be enough? Think back to when you were 16 years old. Think of the person that you were then. Would THAT person tell their friend thanks? I wish I had.

I regret to this day not telling her even the most humble “thank you” for what she did.

Things change. One of my favorite aphorism is “Life happens.” It does. Life is what happens while you are planning it. It slips right on past you. Sometimes, it slaps you right upside the head. Been there, done that. Well, life “happened” to us. Within a few months, life happened enough that we went separate ways. Mostly gracefully, but occasionally with emotions bent and feelings hurt. One night I handled something poorly and childishly. It wasn’t a situation that called for the reaction I gave it. To put it bluntly I over-reacted and lost a friend that I wish I had had the luck to keep.

So much for not being a social retard.

We lived on. We grew up and, I’d like to think in my case, matured. She went on with her life and met and married the man that she deserves. She has lovely children and a wonderful husband; she has a family that loves her in word and actions. She looks happy and I literally, in the true sense of the words, pray to God that she is happy.

Our paths haven’t crossed much. Once by accident, a freakishly awkward moment where we both pretended to not see each other, and a second time when I tried to reach out and tell her thanks for what she did for me. It was at a time that I happened to have a particularly meaningful, spiritual awakening. Sort of a growing or learning development. However it started, whatever the cause, I wanted to tell her thanks and hopefully apologize for being who and what I was way back then. An attempt to atone for myself. I was scared. I’ve been on the wrong end of guns and knives, I’ve found myself in places where it was fight or flight more than I want to think, with flight not much of an option. That happens sometimes with the type of jobs I’ve had and the locales I’ve been to. This was worse. Worse by far.

Disaster? Not even close. Apocalypse? Getting warmer…

Apparently, my efforts were less than well received. After a short, terse telephone conversation, we disconnected with no misunderstanding whatsoever how she felt about me. I don’t blame her, not the tiniest bit. Not one iota. This is totally my own fault and maybe if I had made a more timely effort it would have been better received. I don’t know. By the time I did make the effort, I had moved several times, to other states and back, and she had moved on herself. Emotionally and physically. I regret that by the time I did try, it was too late and caused her grief. That was never my intention.

Would I try to tell her again? Most assuredly yes! However, it’s her turn to make contact. Could I find her? With the knowledge I have now, and with the resources at my beck and call, yes I could find her within minutes. Could she find me? I think so. I’m not hiding and I think that I’ve left enough tracks for anybody that wanted to find me to do so.

I don’t expect her to reach out; I doubt there will ever be the bond of friendship between us. I don’t expect her to even think about me at this point. Although, if she and I were to sit down and compare coincidences in our lives, there are too many to disregard. She won’t call or write, and I will be the poorer man for that.

Given the chance, I would tell her thank you. Most graciously, and heartfelt, thank you. Literally from the depths of my heart. You gave me something I cherish and treasure, and you helped me be a better person. Most of the people I deal with today benefit because of the things you gave me. Please accept my gratitude and my respect, and know that I miss you. What can I say, I worry.