Dark Ages

Whenever the air conditioning turns on, and the ceiling fan is spinning overhead, I feel a certain feeling. It is hard to describe. Equal parts nostalgia, comfort, and excitement. And just the right amount of cool breeze. Those were the exact conditions of my childhood whenever I would get out my LEGO and get building, and whenever I feel those physical and mental sensations, I get the urge to pull out my LEGO and get to work.

Ideas flash through my mind, I feel inspired, and I want to build once more. The trouble is: I have no LEGO. I mean, I have a few sets around the place that I have purchased; a few Ultimate Collector Series, and favorite builds from Star Wars, but no collection of LEGO bricks just laying around waiting to be built. I don’t even have the vast majority of my minifigures anymore, having sold almost the very last of them a few months ago. I saved only my childhood figures, and a very few that go with a few of the sets I still have.

I am in what most Adult Fans of LEGO (AFOL) call my Dark Ages. It is a term they use for when they left home to go to college, having been a kid that played with LEGO, and didn’t “play” or build with LEGO again until they were post collegiate adults, hence the term AFOL. Only for me, my Dark Ages came lately.

I took LEGO with me around the world to Papua New Guinea in high school, and to three colleges in the States and Lithuania. I then took them with me after university to my first home “on my own”. It was there that I first started to lose the love affair with LEGO. I sold most of my childhood LEGO when my wife left and I needed money to stay afloat. It was a very difficult decision, and one I still regret. I also sold many of the sets that I had collected in the years prior, many of which I wish I still had. Then I moved to Texas and carted LEGO from housing to housing, but sold what I had yet collected a few years later. As I said, I sold my minifigures just a few months ago.

Why?

My depression had grabbed hold and I no longer felt the joy of building. One of the last creations I built, a custom version of the Millennium Falcon, took all I had left. It was a difficult build to begin with, and never got easier. It was frustrating, never-ending, and in the end, still did not come out right. I was ready to call it quits after that. Then, I had saved several hundred minifigures for my toy photography, but it was right at that time that I had started to become enamored with six inch scale Star Wars action figures and the photography possibilities they represented. I lost the love of photographing tiny LEGO figures. These days I spend my discretionary funds on new action figures, and not LEGO.

Which makes the feelings I get in the afternoon, after work, all the more curious. Am I re-awakening long dormant feelings? Will I split my funds into LEGO and action figures? Will I build a LEGO man cave and get to construction once more with the small plastic bricks? I doubt it, at least, not now. I still remember the arduous Falcon build, and that stops me. But, there is the itching in my fingers I can’t ignore. My depression is better now, and I understand myself more than I did even a few years ago.

LEGO remains a huge, if largely sidelined, part of my life. I still consider myself an AFOL. Just…not an active one. My Dark Ages linger, and my glory days slip further away. But the encouraging thing is that life is not linear. It so often is cyclical. A “Golden Age” can become a “Silver Age” in a hurry. Things thought behind can appear on the horizon ahead.

I’m in no hurry. I feel that if I wish to pick up LEGO again it will happen when I am ready, and not before. (Honestly, right now, I don’t have the space to put into storing a bunch of LEGO.) I am content to let sleeping LEGO lie. For now. Feelings are great for keeping us inspired, energized, and comforted. They do not always need to be acted upon. Dark Ages? That term is so fraught with negative connotations. Better to call this a brick separation, and hope that one day a re-building will come. Who can say? In the build of life, we don’t get to see the entirety of the instruction booklet, just the page, and the build steps, that we are currently on. What we are even building sometimes we never know, as the construction continues beyond us. I am excited to turn the page, and see what comes next. Then I will sort out what I need, and add to what I have already assembled. It may be LEGO, it may be something else entirely! I can’t wait to find out.

An Internet Timeline

I still remember visiting my first webpage: LEGO.com. It was in 1996. Little me was nine years old, and if I remember correctly the page featured a picture of some bricks, no animation, and a little bit of information about the LEGO company. The internet, LEGO’s website, and I have come a long way.

My brother signed me onto the web then, over dialup. It was not AOL, like a lot of people had, but it was some local provider I think. We looked around for a few minutes, and then logged off, because dialup only worked over the phone lines, and meant no one could call the house. My mom, as ever, was an avid phone talker, and never wished to miss a call. It wouldn’t be until later that my dad would invest in a DSL connection for the house, allowing for (mostly) unlimited and simultaneous talking and browsing.

Around that time, I first learned about social internet use. There were these things called message boards where one could be a member of an online community and share a mutual passion for something, or many things. I found a Star Wars centered message board called BlueHarvest.net, which is now something in French and not that anymore. Back then it was where I hung out. It had been founded by a Swedish woman, and a lot of the people I met were pre-teens from Australia and Europe. We chatted and posted about Star Wars, Lord of the Rings, and wrote really bad fan fiction. Actually that was my first foray into sharing my writing, and I wrote an entire short story on BlueHarvest before I was in high school.

Now, of course, there are many social networks and message boards are, in my experience, not nearly as prevalent. There were all sorts of early social networks that I do not remember, but the big three (Facebook, Twitter, and MySpace) came out while I was attending various colleges and universities. I was never on MySpace, but Facebook I signed up for to stay in contact with a girlfriend, and Twitter was a fun thing that has since become largely toxic and stressful, though I still maintain an account there. Later I signed up for Instagram to share photos and find photos of things I enjoyed.

That, too, has changed. In an effort to monetize their networks, the overlords of social media have invited advertisers in and now do an incredible amount of work to drive views and clicks and interactions with the ads on their sites in order to feed the great demons of capitalism and profit. It has made the experience of social media much, much poorer. Half of my feeds now are so interlaced with ads, I can hardly see the posts of my friends, family, and those I follow. Facebook and Instagram in particular have become almost unusable. I despair and long for, at the risk of being an old man yelling for the kids to get off my digital lawn, the halcyon days of the internet.

But I have been made aware of a new-old green space online. Tumblr is a blogging social network where a user can post almost any kind of media they want, be it photo, video, text, or reblog someone else’s media. Tumblr was that in the early days, and it soon became full of mature content, which pushed away users who didn’t necessarily want to find that there. In a somewhat controversial move, Tumblr almost entirely killed their site by banning, or hiding, all of that content. People left in massive amounts, seeking elsewhere to post their risqué stuff. Now, in that same space made new, Tumblr has emerged as a haven for photographers that want a simpler, cleaner interface.

Lately on Instagram, which is full of reels, or short videos, which makes it difficult to see the photography that grew the site, there is a movement to exodus to Tumblr. At least for now, Tumblr promises that with rare exception, their users will only see posts from those that they follow. No suggested posts, few ads (which the user can hide with a paid subscription), and a clear focus on the content the user wants to see. It is so refreshing. I had a Tumblr from ages past, before I got started on WordPress for my blog that you are now reading. Apparently I never actually did anything with it because I had no posts and hadn’t set anything up, which I discovered when I logged on for the first time in years last night. I had simply created an account and then seemingly abandoned it. I think, if I remember correctly, that the old format of Tumblr was a bit clunky and difficult to use. Plus, the ads were atrocious and the experience was not easy or fun. Things are different now.

I’ve restarted my Tumblr, PhilRedBeard.tumblr.com, and have begun to post mostly old photos along with new photos as I take them. If it remains a platform I enjoy, and if more of the photographers I follow on Instagram sail to clearer waters, then I may (mostly) abandon Instagram altogether. I would not be sad to go. Even this morning, when I went back to Instagram to try to catch up on my feed, it felt cluttered, claustrophobic, and closed off. Tumblr, by contrast, felt open, inviting, and refreshing. And I even enjoy the process of composing each post and seeing those I follow.

I don’t know what the future of the internet, or social media, will be like. Will it be augmented or virtual reality based? Holographic? Some new technology yet to be invented? Almost certainly the latter will drive the far future, but the near future, I hope, will be better about removing toxicity, and allowing a free, safe, and fun exchange of ideas, creativity, and passion, no matter what format it takes. And also somewhat ad free. I know that hosting and maintaining a social media takes money, but I don’t think every spare pixel needs to be monetized. I hope Tumblr stays that way for a long while. It may not, and I may be compelled to migrate somewhere new, but that is getting exhausting and I just want a space to see what I want, and ignore what I don’t want. Is that too much to ask? Maybe. But for now, Tumblr doesn’t think so, and so I am happy to be there.

The Week of Hell

One of my dogs is sleeping, buried in a couch pillow next to me. The other is resting his head on the couch cushion, begging me to pet him. Occasionally, I oblige with a few rubs. My wife relaxes in the recliner, working on a crotchet project. Warm, late evening sun is making the closed blinds on the window glow with golden light. Behind me, the air conditioning whooshes cool air into the house. It is a peaceful evening that ends the week of hell.

It all started last Sunday, when a friend of our housemate came to stay with us for one night that turned into two, and was a stay fraught with stress. She turned out to be manipulative, and while I am still not sure what her endgame was, she wanted to take more than we could give her, and we ended up needing to force her out of our house. I don’t blame my housemate at all, she had no idea who this person really was. On it’s own, it was a two-day event that one could move on from, but it turned out to be only the beginning.

The next day, Tuesday, our water heater ruptured. The tank sprouted a bump on the back that began to leak whenever we used the water, despite having turned off the heater and shut off water to the tank. Cold water, as it turned out, was still circulating through and filling the tank, causing it to leak out of the rupture. Fortunately we had picked up some free puppy pads, and among other uses, they are extremely absorbent and managed to sop up the leaking water.

My wife and I didn’t have the ready money to replace the water heater, and thought we had enough of a limit on our credit card to cover a new one, though we hate having to carry such a large balance on the card. I shopped around, and eventually settled on using Home Depot. The box home store would provide and deliver not only the heater, but also the plumber to install it. All for double what our credit card balance was. When he told me the final price, my heart skipped a beat. We can’t afford that, I told him, with dread in my soul. I took a copy of the estimate, and was forced to turn him away while I stood staring at our old, slowly leaking water heater. To be clear, for what work needed to be done, the estimate wasn’t exorbitant, it was right on, but we simply didn’t have the required funds to cover it.

It wasn’t too long after this that my wife and I, and our roommate, headed to court for a hearing. A little while ago, our housemate had been talking a walk through the neighborhood when she was suddenly and viciously attacked by a pack of dogs that had broken out of their yard. They chased her down the street, biting again and again, causing grievous bodily harm. It has been a long process of healing for her, and part of that was a hearing to determine whether or not the dogs involved should be put down. My wife and I wanted to support our housemate in her hearing, but that turned out to be a multi-hour affair in which the defendant, who was representing himself, badgered our housemate with questions, argued with the judge, and made a menace of himself in the courtroom. It was altogether exhausting, upsetting, and nerve-wracking. And after turning away the plumber that morning, by the time we all got home from court, what emotional reserves we had were leaking out of our spirits like the water still dripping from the water heater.

In despair that night, my wife and I discussed what to do. None of us had showered, and we were trying to use as little water as possible for other things so as to minimize the leaking. We called family and friends, but were unable to secure any funding. Finally, our housemate came through. She has been helping us throughout her stay with rent, though there is no formal agreement between us. She has been faithful to help with the mortgage payment, and we have been as family to her. She offered to pre-pay the next several months of her contribution, through no obligation of hers, and it was exactly what we needed to offset the extra cost of the installation. I called Home Depot that minute and rescheduled.

But that day was not yet over. The man who owned the dogs, who badgered our housemate on the witness stand, who has threatened neighbors, civil servants, and been a public menace, came to our house. He was standing outside for fifteen minutes before we knew he was there, swearing and muttering to himself. We have a Ring doorbell and caught footage of the event. We retreated to a back room and called the police. While at the courthouse, we had been escorted by a Marshall to our car, even after this man left (he was free of charges, and free to recover one dog – the rest were ordered destroyed). We feared retaliation, and thought this was it. However, the man left of his own accord, though was walking down the street when the police arrived. They strongly encouraged him to leave us be, and threatened him with criminal trespassing charges should he ever be caught stepping foot on our property again. Our housemate and my wife were thoroughly shook up and frightened, though we went to bed safely.

The next morning, after trial, tribulation, and trying house guests, we finally crested the wave of difficulty. The plumber returned Thursday morning to complete the installation of a new water heater. I worked from home on my laptop while he did his job. It was the quietest, most professional work we have yet had in our journey of needful home repairs and improvements. My wife had returned to work, and our housemate went to a friend’s house to shower and study. Good news was ahead yet: while at work, the chaplain of the university at which my wife and I work, presented her with a check for the amount of money we put on the credit card to cover the water heater. Between an Emergency Fund that we didn’t know about, and our housemate’s generosity, we could buy the heater without incurring a heavy balance on our credit. With that blessing, the rest of that day passed mostly without incident – until evening.

That evening my wife and I had a spat. The tip of the moment was a small dispute, but it really was the outpouring of emotion from our week of hell. We ended up having a long, intimate talk, expelling many frustrations, fears, and feelings. It had been coming for a long time, and was a cathartic release when it finally happened.

Yesterday, Friday, was the first normal day we experience since the previous Sunday. Surprisingly, nothing terrible happened. It was quiet at work when I went in for a few hours, while my wife stayed home for some peace and tranquility with our dogs and her yarn. Today, another workman came to examine our washing machine, which has developed a nasty thumping on the spin cycle. Turns out it needs a few parts replaced, and that will happen next Tuesday afternoon. I spent the morning watching some videos on YouTube from Adam Savage, former Mythbuster turned Maker extraordinaire. I then installed a new security camera outside the house to give us further peace of mind, and evidence should our neighbor come calling again. My wife and I have spent the day quietly (I went to Home Depot for some crafting supplies) and this evening we had a nice dinner and watched a TV show.

Tomorrow, I hope for more of the same: a quiet, relaxing day. I wish to work on some diorama pieces for my toy photography, and take it easy. I hope my wife will do something that brings her joy as well. Together we may just endure whatever is over the horizon. If it be maladjusted, I trust it will be slow in coming. We could use a break from the horrible just now.

I know many people struggle, and there is much evil in the world, and shit happens, but usually you don’t get all of it in such a short period of time. I relate this week from hell, not for sympathy or pity, but for myself, to put in place what has been. It is usually said that one has survived everything that happens to them, from birth to the present moment, yet without expiration, and how true that is. Nothing has been bad enough to kill me yet, and everything past is prologue to the next day. I feel strong to confront it because of the scars and muscles I now bear. Life shouldn’t be this way. Men shouldn’t raise aggressive animals with cattle prods. Needful repairs shouldn’t cost you more money than you have. Your house and neighborhood should be safe places for you to take a walk and relax while watching a baseball game, or crotcheting, or petting your dog. But sadly that often isn’t reality, and so we endure and search for the zen where we can find it.

Maybe we will have peace for a while now. I know we will at least have hot water and squirrel’s eye view of the neighborhood around our house. And we will keep going. We can hold to the love we have for each other, my wife, myself, and our housemate, and our families and friends. And that is stronger than any evil or maliciousness that would stalk from without. And that is an encouraging thought. In time, it is the little acts of love and kindness that keeps the darkness at bay, and we have that more than a dragon has treasure.

Two Times Three

I’ve been here before.

It isn’t exactly a secret that I’ve been married before. In 2010, I married a girl I knew from high school before I’d even graduated from university. She and I had been through a lot already together, and I thought I had found the person I would love forever and grow old with.

Sadly, it was not to be. Whether because we were truly incompatible, or too young, or too afflicted with mental illness and other troubles, we soon realized that being together was driving us apart, she sooner than I, and just after our third anniversary she left. It would take another year for the divorce to be finalized, but we really didn’t make it past three years together.

Today is my (second) third anniversary. I married again in 2019, this time to a woman I had only known about a year. But it was clear from the beginning that we got on very well together. She had never been married, but had experienced enough previous relationships to know what she was looking for. Similarly, having been there before, I also had a clear idea of what marriage meant for me. Once it became obvious where we were headed, we saw no reason to wait and went over to the Justice of the Peace to make it official.

Lots of thoughts have been firing in my brain about my new third anniversary. In some real ways, it feels as if I am on the edge of a precipice. Having been through the failure of one marriage, I am in no way eager to repeat the process. I haven’t exactly been holding my breath for three years, but at the same time, I feel like I’ve been waiting for something to go terribly wrong, and for this one to end in tragedy.

That doesn’t seem to be happening. In fact, it is exactly the opposite: my wife and I enjoy a stronger marriage today than we had three years ago. We have been through many challenges, fights, and upheavals in three years (covid, anyone?) that could end and have ended other marriages. Today we are happy and ready for the future.

Obviously I don’t know what the future holds, but I trust and hope that it will be with my wife beside me, facing what it brings. I wish to reach four, five, ten, fifteen, even as many as twenty (and more!) years together. Honestly that feels an incredibly long time to be together with one person, but I am excited to see how we advance through life as a couple instead of as individual people.

I have many flaws, and still face the challenges of mental illness and other difficulties. She would be the first to tell you she hasn’t arrived at the plane of perfection either. We are works in progress, separately as well as together. The only way to is through, and marriage is hard work. Anyone who says differently either isn’t married or isn’t trying. I don’t care how much love you have for another person, or how attracted you are to them, there is work to be done to love a person at all times in all ways. Love is a verb, and it takes effort to action.

We have built something good here, and I trust it will endure. Neither of us is going anywhere separately, but have committed to going as two together. Three years. Wow, has it been that long already? I can hardly believe it, and yet it has been a good, fun, difficult at times, three years. My previous marriage was in January, and if I were to ascribe meaning in hindsight, getting married when things are at their dead-est may have been a harbinger of the doom to come. This go around, we got married in July, and while in Texas that means some truly hot weather, things are yet growing and enduring. May that be a good omen for us: when things are trying, we can thrive through them.

Some of my favorite memories with my wife are the adventures we have shared traveling to Michigan or Pennsylvania or North Carolina, and the quiet moments hanging out in our studio, she working on crochet or a painting, me taking a toy photograph or watching baseball on my iPad. That is what together-life looks like: the quiet moments with occasional adventures thrown in. It isn’t all excitement and drama and flash, thank goodness!, but it is also quiet and peace and watching a sunset.

I love my wife. I am so thankful that three-ish years ago, I mustered the nerve to send her a Facebook message asking to get to know her better. We met over the lunch line, and soon were taking walks with her quirky dogs, going to see The Lego Movie 2, and getting comfortable with each other. Three years later, we share regular lunches at work, and dinners that we cook side by side, still love on our (sometimes) ridiculous dogs, and enjoy watching The Mandalorian in the evenings while deepening our relationship. I like that I can be me in this relationship, she be her, and that is what continues to attract and draw us closer. In the end, that is what will hold us together through whatever comes next: our individual strengths blended into a strong cord that won’t break.

Three feels good. Tonight we will do our typically fancy thing: go to Red Robin for burgers, and then to the craft store. It may not be wine and high dining and exotic indulgence, but it is exactly what suits us. I can’t wait!

An Experiment on Cloud 9

I’ve only had a brand new mattress twice in my life. My brother told me, prior to my most recent mattress purchase, that I spend more time on a mattress than I do in a car. That is absolutely correct, but in the time since I bought my last brand new mattress, I have owned over 5 cars. Now, some of my cars didn’t last because of accidents, but still, I have historically paid more attention to what I drive then where I sleep.

My first new mattress was purchased from a mattress store, I forget which, in 2010. My ex and I had just moved to a new town and wanted to buy a grown up bed and mattress, and took the time to go to a store and lie down on all the mattresses available and pick one out. We also bought a very nice bed frame on which to put the mattress. It was a pillow top of some sort, and actually very comfortable from what I remember.

That mattress was sold on the second hand market three and a half years later during a divorce, as was the bed frame. In that time, until now, I have slept on whatever mattress was available at the place I lived, or a couch for a year following the divorce, and nothing was very comfortable or accommodating. But I didn’t have much ready money, and real, grown up mattresses are not cheap. I mean, cheap ones can be had, but you really do get what you pay for in this regard. It is really worth it to buy the best you can afford, without spending ridiculous money, because I don’t think quality rises, necessarily, with the price beyond a certain threshold.

Fast forward to 2020. My wife I and had been sleeping on a full size bed with corresponding mattress, and needed a bit more, ahem, space. It’s not that we don’t like each other, but we needed room to roll over without bumping into one another and disturbing sleep. My sister had a queen size bed frame that she was getting rid of to accommodate her daughter moving into her first room outside the nursery, and it came with a standard spring mattress. I had slept on it before, during a short time when I lived with my sister, and it wasn’t too bad then. So my wife and I inherited a “new” bed.

We’ve slept on it ever since, and while the frame is perfectly acceptable, the mattress was, well, not. It started to compress rather rapidly, and try as we might to adjust where we slept or how we turned the mattress, there were valleys and depressions forming. It translated into back pain for me, and discomfort for her. Plus, that mattress transferred motion like a waterbed, and any time one of us would turn or toss, it would rock the other’s dreamworld. So we needed something new.

We knew we didn’t really have much more than $1000 to spend, and didn’t really want to go to a store to get a mattress. Plus, the smart money is now in the foam mattress-in-a-box that you can get from a variety of companies. After polling my family members, who all have one of these box bed cushions, I came up with three brands: Tuft & Needle, Ghostbed, and Leesa. I researched them all. What I found that was beyond our price point, there were all sorts of options and things, and each brand had their own version of cooling layers, support foam, and what have you. However, the entry level mattresses were all remarkably similar.

This is what I expected. Innovation is where the money is, and that is where you can charge your customers more. But for a basic, entry level foam mattress that will do the job and be what someone on a budget wants, it appears you can find what you are looking for at most manufacturers. In the end, Tuft & Needle had more or less exactly what we needed, and we went with an Amazon.com listing of the entry level mattress from two years ago to save a few bucks versus buying direct from the manufacturer. As I said, the company has iterated and improved since then, but also charge more for it. I figure that what was revolutionary two years ago is still perfectly adequate for now. After cringing at the fact that we were spending a lot of money for a mattress, but with my brother’s words echoing in my ears, we made the purchase.

Said mattress was supposed to arrive on Monday. It came this Sunday morning, just after eight thirty in the morning. My wife and I woke up, removed the old and busted (which was from 2008!) mattress, and promptly hauled many pounds of vacuum sealed mattress-in-a-box up the stairs. It unrolled quickly, and then inflated even quicker once we figured out what side was up and removed the final bits of plastic. Still, the instructions said to give it 2-3 hours before we slept on it, so I went to run some errands and my wife washed the sheets. Finally, just after lunch, both sheets and mattress were ready!

Apprehension has clouded this process for me. What we spent is a lot of money to our budget, and we want to make sure, like anybody does, that we made a smart, wise purchase. I was worried about what would happen if this mattress wasn’t comfortable, didn’t suit, or for whatever reason wouldn’t work out. How do you return a queen size mattress? Would we get our money back? So. Many. Variables. So I slept on it. I needed a nap anyway, and it was the perfect way to take a trial run on the new Tuft & Needle foam mattress. It took all of five minutes. Five minutes for my back pain and discomfort to melt away while I lay there, drifting off to sleep. I woke up 45 minutes later (I wasn’t going to sleep the day away, after all) feeling very comfortable and refreshed.

Tonight will be the real thing. My wife and I will try to get a full eight hours on the mattress and should be able to tell in the morning if we need to do something different. Or not. Tuft & Needle, even through Amazon, gives 100 days to try out the mattress or return it for your money back. The info card with the mattress says to give it a week to really break in the mattress and for your body to be used to it, so there may yet be more of an adjustment period. But we will see. I am hopeful. Given what I experienced this afternoon, it seems great. I really don’t want to try to return this one and go through that hassle. I really do want a comfortable, supportive night’s sleep every night. That is what the advertising says, and I really wish that to be what we get.

I’m sure I will update later on this year with what happened during this experiment on cloud nine. For now, things are looking good on the horizontal plane of existence.

Good Morning

As I type, it is early on Saturday. I can hear birds out my windows, chirping and calling to the dawn. It is a good thing the windows are closed, as the heat and humidity outside, even at this time, is close to unbearable. Today will be another day of triple digit temperatures where I live. My weather app shows no end in sight, and no relief, from this type of weather. September will come before a cooler climate settles here. But I am unconcerned: air conditioning is a wonderful invention.

I am looking forward to a slower day today, a day of rest and relaxation. I have an appointment later this morning, but after that, not much is scheduled. Taking it easy is the name of today’s game. After all, I have been working hard on the job and at my parent’s old house for several weeks. They are moving, have mostly moved, to a new house, and at work we had a new senior staff member be hired and there was much to do for their arrival. Happy is the man that has things to do, but I am glad at the moment to have both tasks mostly behind me.

It is dark here in this room, what my wife and I call “the office” but what is really a craft slash hobby room. (We should have a better name for it, I suppose). She has a table set up for painting, and I have an easel for my painting and a table for my photography and making. There is a desk to my left, but it is covered at the moment with crochet cactus, an enduring craft hobby of my wife’s. She loves to crotchet, and currently is obsessed with making little succulents and larger saguaro type cactus. Along one wall there is an open window, where I can see trees and the brightening morning sky. Perpendicular is another, larger window that at the moment is dark. I installed mini blinds last night, and they are yet closed. Finally, the other wall has two IKEA chairs where we mostly hang out. Her crocheting or working on listing crafts online to sell. Me to watch baseball on my iPad, or write, or read, or just relax and be close to her. I love this room.

I installed blinds for several reasons: one, the window was perpetually “open” to the neighborhood, and thus we had little privacy, especially at night. This is a second floor room, but from a distance we realized anyone could gaze into the room and see our goings on. Two, the aforementioned heat. This window receives quite a bit of light, and with it the warmth of the sun. We want to be able to see out, but also block sunlight when necessary, so blinds made more sense over curtains. Three, it makes this room a little brighter at night, with the lamp light reflecting off the white blinds. We purchased cordless blinds, and I must say they are wonderful. Installation was a bit of doing, but only because I used my screwdriver instead of a drill. The process was quite easy. I am happy that my skills as a handy-man are improving, but it also seems that equipment is made to install easier. Between the two, I do ok, having managed to install a TV mount a few years ago that has yet to fall off the wall, and do a few other things around the house. Satisfaction comes with being able to do the little things for yourself, at least for me.

A dog started barking just now. I think she is the black dog that lives next door; I am uncertain of her breed. She must have woke and seen a squirrel or a stray cat. We have many of both, surprising given the predator-prey relationship between the two feral varmints, but there you go. At any rate, the dog has become a bit of a nuisance herself, lately removing herself from her yard and trotting over to ours. Our roommate was recently viciously attacked by (other) dogs, and is a bit shy of wandering canines at the moment. Spot, I believe this dog is called, is gentle, but there is still the understandable uncertainty surrounding an animal one doesn’t know. My wife was forced to call animal control as the family next door seems unconcerned about the fate of their dog. Again, that surprises me. Why would you have an animal you don’t care for? She is barking again, and another dog in the neighborhood is responding. It reminds me of the Twilight Barking from 101 Dalmatians.

My day proper will have to begin soon. My morning routine is comforting. I didn’t think I was one for the routine, but such things are like a easy chair and a quiet dog on the lap: they help to settle me down. Anxiety can often creep into my mind, and knowing what to do, and when, keeps that at bay. I check my blood sugar; I take my morning medication; I drink a protein shake, and I’m done. Easy, simple, and yes, comforting. I do what I can to take care of myself, maybe not as much as I should, but is that not true of us all? But it helps to get my morning off right. Thankfulness is mine for modern medicine that can help identify problems with my health, and at the same time, offer solutions to manage those problems. In the before times, I would worry excessively about health, and other things, but since I nearly died from Covid a while ago, I take a day at a time, and try not to worry so much. I learned then that I really have no control over death and life ultimately. Still, I take the meds and try not to eat too much sugar, but I don’t worry so much about it. It is helpful for me to routinely do what I can, and let things sort themselves out as they will.

Hopefully today will be as quiet and relaxing as I think. I need a little of that right now. I saw a movie yesterday, Thor: Love and Thunder, and that was a perfect way to spend a few hours. The movie wasn’t perfect, but the time spent in the IMAX theater was. Today I have my appointment, then maybe painting a Star Wars figure, taking a toy photograph, sitting quietly with my wife, and I don’t know what else. That part is exciting: never knowing quite what will take place. But about time to get about it, I think. Time to open the blinds, stretch, and go downstairs to begin my routine. It is a good morning.

Freedom Fighters

Another holiday. Another mass shooting. Are those fireworks or gunshots? I’m not sure I can tell the difference anymore. The freedom to keep and bear arms is infringing on other’s pursuits of life, not to mention liberty and of happiness. There is no independence here, unless it be the freedom from living. I’m so tired. In memorial to those who died north of Chicago at an Independence Day parade:

Today’s the day, kids!
Celebrate your freedom!
The tyranny of peace
Cannot hurt you now
That you’ve drowned
In your own blood,
Lying on the parade pavement
While overhead, bullets fly
Screaming like eagles,
Screeching about freedoms.

Today’s the day, kids!
Celebrate your freedom!
The tyranny of sensibility
Cannot hurt you now
That you’ve breathed
In all the gun-smoke,
Lying on the parade pavement,
While overhead, people run
To hide and cry and fear,
Forgetting about freedoms.

Today’s the day, kids!
Celebrate your freedom!
The tyranny of moderation
Cannot hurt you now
That you’ve waved
Your own little flag
Lying now on the parade pavement.
Overhead, bullet spangled banners
Snap in the breeze
Symbolizing our freedoms.

Today’s the day, kids!
Celebrate your freedom!
The tyranny of safety
Cannot hurt you now
That you’ve died
Lying on the parade pavement.
Overhead, politicians send
Thoughts and prayers
Meanwhile, your death
Fertilizes our freedoms.

Today’s the day, kids!
Celebrate your freedoms!
The tyranny of – I can’t.
I memorialized Memorial Day
With the memory of a mass shooting
And Independence Day?
Fireworks exploded like bullets exploding
From gunmetal barrels to murder
People standing on scorching parade pavement.
Maybe what’s out of control are our freedoms.

Give up your freedoms,
So that another may live,
Surrender your guns,
So that death may come aging,
Leaving the parade pavement
To be trod again.
It couldn’t hurt you now to lay aside
The tyranny of the 2nd Amendment.
Celebrate your freedom!
Today’s the day, kids!

Lessons from the Jedi

What do you do when the world is crumbling all around you, or feels like it? Is that the time to give in? Do you forsake all else and focus on survival? Or is survival meaningless without the stories we tell each other to make sense of life preserved?

I haven’t done anything creative in weeks. Personal troubles at home, tragedy with a housemate, and the deteriorating state of things has left me completed drained. I can’t shake the despair. I was doing so well, and now I feel as if I can’t win and that evil is taking over.

I can’t ignore the pain and utter hopelessness exploding around me. There’s a bit in the Star Wars: Return of the Jedi novelization in which Luke Skywalker is hiding from Darth Vader on the second Death Star, trying to shut out his thoughts of Leia, to save her from the twisted machinations of the Dark Lord. And yet, at that exact moment, she cries out in pain. The text says that Luke had

“…no way to hide what was in his mind—Leia was in pain. Her agony cried to him now, and his spirit cried with her. He tried to shut it out, to shut it up, but the cry was loud, and he couldn’t stifle it, couldn’t leave it alone, had to cradle it openly, to give it solace.”

Star Wars: Return of the Jedi by Donald F. Glut

It’s a beautiful bit written by Donald F. Glut, and it’s how I feel at the moment. People are crying out in pain and I must give their cries solace.

But I have allies in the fight. Leia had Han, and Chewie, to stand with her. Luke felt her pain, but it wasn’t his to endure. He felt it, and then had to let it go. He quickly learned that to keep Leia safe he had to lean on his faith in his friends, and focus on what was in front of him, namely, defeating the evil inside of Anakin that was Vader. For me, my fight is against my depression, the despair inside of me. When I have a handle on that fight, then I can turn to help others in their oppression.

The Jedi religion focuses on letting go, on trusting in something greater than yourself, and in taking each moment as a whole in itself. The Jedi is mindful, calm, at peace. Not unconcerned, but aware. Ready to engage, but also still and in the moment. Cognizant of the darkness around but firmly in the light.

I want to be Jedi-like in my manner, and in my expression. Able to reach out and help another at any moment, and yet centered and free to be myself. The world isn’t actually falling apart. Things are bad. It feels, at times, that the Sith are winning, that the Empire has got a choke-hold on things, but as long as there is a resistance, there is hope. And rebellions are built on hope!

In the end, Luke only persevered, saved his father, and defeated evil by surrendering. I think for me that means I must stop taking it all on myself. That’s how I win, not by fighting what I hate, but by saving what I love. It doesn’t all live and die with me. Darkness is burned away by even the littlest spark catching fire. I light those fires with my creativity, my joy, and my exuberance for life.

If you need me, I’ll be communing with the Living Force, and clearing my mind of darkness. I will be reaching out with my feelings, and lighting all the sparks that I can.

Father’s Day

I don’t much remember my early childhood with my dad. This isn’t so much a specific memory error as I don’t remember much at all anyway. But I do remember holding his hand as I walked as a young kid, or taking naps on Sunday afternoon next to him on the couch.

I remember him coaching (or was it umpiring?) the T-ball team I played on. After getting a hit, I remember fixing my gaze on him as he stood by first base. As I ran up the line, I was running towards my father. I remember how excited I would be if I beat out the play, to stand next to him while I waited for the next batter to get a hit, or the disappointment if I was out, to have to jog back to the bench and leave my dad standing there.

Much later, in my junior year of high school, he and I played on the same church softball team. I don’t remember our team being that good overall, but my dad pitched and I played infield/outfield. It was fun watching him from the center of the diamond, and knowing we were playing the game I (almost*) love together. *Softball is not baseball.

Not everything from my childhood with my dad was roses and sunshine. I also remember being terrified of my dad. “Just wait until your father comes home” was no idle threat, and if I was disobedient, my mother would say variations of that, and I would live in fear the rest of the day of what would happen when my father did arrive home from work. I would usually receive a violent spanking, maybe get yelled at, or have some other abusive punishment. I know now that he was struggling with his own mental health, tough work environments, and the stress of raising me and my brothers and sister. I don’t say this to excuse the abuse, but to put it in context. He did the best he could, even if that was sometimes horrible.

It took me a long time to understand and appreciate my dad. I certainly didn’t know about mental health and stress as a kid or teenager. I just knew my dad would often sleep a lot after work, be moody, and sometimes emotionally unavailable. He would yell, he could be violent, but that wasn’t all he was. He was, and ever is, gracious, generous, loving, ready to help out where he can, paradoxically patient (in relation to his emotional swings), and funny. He is smart, incredibly wise and understanding, and always ready for a good time.

It was from my father that I received, and am ever grateful for, my love of all things science fiction, of Isaac Asimov, of Star Trek, and many other things. We enjoy many of the same books, and films, and he was my gateway to nerd culture. Without him, I would not be who I am today, in more ways than one.

I’ve said before that as I grew up, matured, and left home, I felt like I had two dads. One that wasn’t much fun to be around, and one that I loved a lot. I viscerally hated the first, and enduringly cared for the second. It made for some complicated feelings. As a young adult, I wasn’t around my father much. He was in Papua New Guinea and I was in various colleges, universities, and my first home with my first wife. I spent much of my time nursing an overpowering rage towards my dad as I dealt with my own precipitously declining mental health. My first therapy sessions were more about him and my anger towards him than my failing marriage or anything else.

I often wonder if I had focused my attention in therapy elsewhere if I would still be married to my first wife, and if I wouldn’t know my dad as I do today. That is still an impossible choice to make, even in hindsight, but I all I knew then was an overwhelming cloud of negativity towards him that I wanted to dispel. As I got healthier, got started on medication, and talked so much about our life together, he and I, I realized we had more in common than not, and I learned to love who he is, and accept who he was.

My marriage failed spectacularly, but I regained my father. I will leave history to judge what the ultimate meaning of that is, but I’ll just say I am glad to have a relationship with my dad once again. It was still rocky over the few years following the onset of my therapy, but I am so ecstatic to say that my dad and I have a fantastic relationship now. We can talk about almost anything, we share so many things in common, and we enjoy our time together.

For me, Father’s Day was complicated. I was expected to make cards for, and show appreciate for, a man who at times abused and loved me, who frightened and delighted me, who was there and not there. It was difficult. Now I am so happy that Father’s Day is an uncomplicated time to celebrate my dad, in all his failures and successes.

I cherish and love my dad so much. I am forever grateful that I am his son. I didn’t get to chose my dad, or have much choice over how my first eighteen years played out, but I do get to choose him now. We are both so much in a better place than we were seventeen years ago, and while its been a tough journey, it’s a road we’ve walked together. I look forward to the rest of our travels, my dad and I.

I recently watched Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade with my father, and my favorite part of that film is the relationship between Indy and his father. Their interplay and rediscovery of a wounded relationship was always something I identified with. I have now what they discovered in that film: an appreciation of who my dad is, and a renewed joy in spending life together with him.

In some ways, I will always be running towards my father, following in his footsteps, trying to be the best man he was always striving to be, and didn’t know how to be. I don’t know if I’ll ever arrive where he is, but I do know we can stand together now, safe, and looking forward to what is ahead.

I love you, Dad.

Dad and Me, a few years ago

Grief Persevering

I’ve thought about Memorial Day this year, and what it usually is: a time for flag waving and troop honoring and over-the-top patriotism for America. But that thought just sickens me. America is broken. It is full of hurt and sadness and evil from a very particular, and thankfully very small, but yet strong, minority. I cannot, in good conscience, praise the troops who fight in wars I do not support with weapons I do not think should exist, when many are dying on my own front door step.

So today I offer a verse in memoriam for those who have died recently in Uvalde and in every mass shooting in my lifetime, which is way more than I care to count. It is a small token I grant, but it is the best I can do right now. 

This Memorial Day
Instead of honoring soldiers
Or cops who can’t police
Themselves, much less others,
I’m grieving insurmountable loss
Not just the loss of innocents
Children parents elders - everyone
Who falls to build another up -
Not a person but an ideal:
“A good man with a gun”
(Such a fucking filthy lie!)
But I forgot, it’s rocks and sin
That murders, not guns and men.
As if rocks could be bothered
Under the metal hail, casing
Each school and supermarket and
Synagogue and - everywhere where
Bullets fly in the face of innocence.
But if it’s sin, then repent of the evil
Of banning abortion, but not guns,
Of decrying politics, but not NRA funds
Of feigning helplessness, but ignoring a world
Where this hasn’t happened in decades
Or has America cornered the market on sin?
But if it’s sin, then repent of the evil in your heart
The evil that loves guns, killers or not.
The evil that won’t vote, to end to stop to halt
The sale of one more AR-15, the failure
To well regulate one more non-existent
Militia. We have a military now, standing still,
To defend us from all threats foreign -
But not domestic. Good guys with guns -
(That filthy fucking lie!)
Stand outside the door debating going home
While the children within will never
Go again. But tell me again how removing one gun
Wouldn’t have made any difference
to the ripped apart
So love your gun, your freedom, your self,
(For what is love but grief persevering?)
So persevere with your righteousness
While others mourn their dead
This Memorial Day.

Guns are absolutely a problem, and while yes, guns cannot do anything without a human agent to set them off, they sure do make it much, much easier. The overwhelming evidence shows that good people with guns have not stopped a single school shooting, and have failed so many other places. Police are almost useless in these cases as well. I am 100% for banning and taking guns away. They are tools of war, weapons of death, and have no place in civilian life. We, as a nation, have simply shown we lack the morality, the maturity, and the mastery to handle them responsibly and they should be taken away, as you would take a stick from a bully child who is hurting other children.

It bewilders me that some will vote for bans on abortion, or books, or whatever else, but not think for a second that banning guns will do anything to mitigate our murder problem. It has, and would again. I amazes me that we fetishize the 2nd Amendment of the Constitution of the United (hardly) States of America, and the Constitution itself as infallible, unchangeable doctrines. Who ever said that the founders got everything right, for all time? Who ever said they shouldn’t be improved upon?

Today, Memorial Day, or any day hence, I will not stand for an anthem, a pledge, or any sort of patriotic theater. That is still my right as an American. I won’t do it simply because the America represented by these displays is not an America I can support or that represents me. Unless and until that changes, I will take the metaphorical, and sometimes physical, knee. Our children are depending on us to change things and to keep them safe wherever they are or go. And right now, we are failing them so completely that it is unbearable.

We MUST do better.