What a Life

With the exception of my feelings of anger, some guilt, and loneliness, I live like a sixteen year old boy on summer vacation. I have no job, no responsibilities, a little money to spend, and no one to answer to. I wake at my leasure and go to bed when I feel like it, or not. I come and go at will, and I am rarely sure where the day will take me..... I now have the life Linda and I had decided we wanted, and worked for, but the only thing I really want is my Linda. Having the opportunity to do as I please without considering anyone else, surly must be a dream come true for someone, somewhere. I can now dedicate all my time to a new hobby, take a trip, see some sights, write, meet new people, and just generally do as I please. Except I cannot resolve the fact that all these possibilities came at the great expense of the life of the one person in the world I would gladly give it all up for, and now nothing seems like very much fun, anymore. Linda and I spent many hours contemplating our life together after the kids grew up and moved. We dreamed of a time for ourselves, well into retirement, and how we could behave like unsupervised children, free to explore, and doing what ever we pleased! We often sat hand in hand, visualizing our twilight years together. Old and saggy, the two of us walking in a park, her leaning on me for support, and me, using my cane on the dogs biting at her fat little ankles. Stopping in a colorful garden and picking flowers to give to my girl, we would guiltily look around to see if anyone saw what I did, and then giggle about getting away with it. We never considered the possibility that one of us would die so young. We just assumed that we would expire together, in the bed, holding hands, and looking into each others eyes. Simply and quietly drifting off, exactly like we did most nights when we lay down to sleep. Well, she did die in bed, looking into my eyes, while we held hands, but she went alone, leaving me here, and she was scared. She told me how frightened she was of dying, and except for uttering, "Oh lover..." I felt so impotent that I could do nothing, except look back at her! I was sitting in a chair next to her as she stared intently into my face, burning each wrinkle, blemish and crease, into her mind, so she would not forget what I looked like after she got to where she was going. She grasped my hand tightly, afraid to let go. Oh God! This is so difficult for me to recall, but I can not visit my memories of our life together without also recalling our last minutes. What a cruelty we had played on us! Twenty eight years, her and me, and we were still silly in love, and I know that she felt cheated every bit as much as I do. I torture myself at times, wondering if she is where she is, and missing me as much as I still miss her. I honestly hope not, for what kind of a life after life would that be, longing for the one who had been your lover for just under half your existence? If I was where she is now, and felt the way I do, I would rather be dead. Linda Maxine Lopez-Musson 07.14.1956--07.02.2011

In never thought I would get this old and still be this stupid

I understand all too well my own feelings and insecurity, because I deal with both on a daily basis. I can not even begin to describe the conflict that I wrestle with concerning how I once perceived the way I conducted myself. But some day, perhaps several decades in your future, or fewer, you too, will begin to re-evaluate all of your own careful life choices, including those decisions that were forced upon you. Be very careful about doing things without thinking first, there might come a time when wont be able to forget them....You will question which of your decisions affected the outcome of your life, and then play different scenarios in your head, imagining how each would have ultimately shaped you. You will spend much of your time attempting to justify the reasons you felt the way you did when you did what you did, then wonder at how it is you feel so differently now. It will also occur to you that more of your life has past than what's left, and you possibly arrive to the conclusion that you never really had any of the answers. Though you will still be convinced that you actually made some excellent choices, it will be difficult for you to resolve that sometimes things just turned out poorly, regardless. You will feel yourself blush at recalling those things you thought of at the time to be smooth moves, and again when you remember what were thinking, as you were covering your tracks. It will still surprise you when, knowing that even though you got away with something so long ago, and no one will ever discover the truth, you still can't even look yourself in the mirror while thinking about it. Then, after contemplating all those things you once thought you actually had figured out, you become less and less confidant about making any decision ever again. But you will be too stubborn to listen, or allow anyone, to try to give you their advice, because, seriously, how can you trust anybody after everything you've been through, being that you are now so unsure of yourself? The kicker? You will continue to present yourself as you always did. As if you have it all under control..............

With my Eyes

WITH MY EYES

　

Tell me, how would you see your world if you were to look through my eyes? Would the Sun shine as bright? Will seeing the flowers she loved bring you joy or sorrow? Will music sound just as sweet? Or will memories well up so strong that sometimes you cannot bear to listen or see? Do you still occasionally get up early in the morning and race to the country with hot coffee and sit on the hood to watch the sun rise? Looking at your world through my eyes, will it still be just as exciting, sitting there alone, holding no one's hand and whispering to no one about the daily miracle? Tell me if you saw your world through my eyes, would you be more, or less understanding? Seeing your world through my eyes, will you be more or less tolerant? Would you be more patient or less, could you even know for sure which was what and where was when? Will you be excited or bothered when 'friends' come by to comfort you, then steal your possessions, some that you shared with the one you will never see again? Will you be understanding of those who roll their eyes when you begin to softly cry during a movie when two people in love are holding hands and kissing? If you are looking at your world through my eyes and someone asks you "How are you doing?" Are you going to be able to keep your mouth shut and not TELL them? Or will all your thoughts and emotions just fly out of your mouth like projectile vomit, as they back away looking at you as if you have lost your mind? When seeing your world with my eyes, will you nod and smile when you see two old people laughing and holding hands in the twilight? Or be saddened because your lover was snuffed out in mid-life, and you are now alone, and it seems as if no one has the time or patience to listen to, or understand you, or to even try? Often it appears that people barely tolerate me. Are you so sure that you will close your eyes of mine and look away from that friend who just doesn't quite get it? If you don’t see, you will be as unaware as I am. Is it so difficult for you to see my world through your eyes, even for just a moment, long enough to put away your hurt feelings because I was not there for you during the time I was not there for myself? Is it so hard for you to see I am not this way by choice? How would your world look through my eyes? Would you laugh as often or at the same things as before? Will my eyes meet your world each morning with anticipation or dread? Will you close those eyes of mine at night hoping for dreams to come, or afraid that they will? When you see your world through my eyes, is each day going to be an adventure or will you wonder from moment to moment if the very next thing is going to bring you to tears, and a flood of emotions you cannot control? Will you buy things while shopping with my eyes and not have memories of those trips past that make you run from the place leaving your basket behind and racing home to bury your face until you cry yourself to sleep? I would trade my eyes with you, for another chance to see again what the world looked like before. If it only was that easy, except I do not need such a trade, as I have seen with both types of eyes, and sadly the kind that knows death, misunderstanding, hurt feelings and loneliness, is what I see with my eyes now. I did not ask for this, I don't want it; I can barely stand the constant pain, my emotions on a balance beam, the longing, and nearly everyone dismissing me because I 'just don't want to get along.'

I do not have someone to touch my forehead when I am not well. I have no one to treat nice or comfort when she is sad or sick. There is no one for me to greet at the door at the end of the day. I rarely share anything with anyone anymore. I feel as if I have outlived my usefulness, and am in the way. I have had these eyes for just under a year, yet it feels like a lifetime. When was the last time you hugged your lover? When are you going to hug them again? I have not felt the touch of a kind soul since my wife died. Can you imagine how it would feel to you to not hold a special person in your life, or to kiss them passionately? I can explain the isolation a person feels, but why would anyone want to hear about that? My house is no longer a home, the silence is deafening. Shortly after Linda’s passing, I was overwhelmed with grief and sorrow. A 'friend' of mine offered to keep me company, and me being naïve, I was easily taken advantage of. With constant visits, and helping me around the place, I soon gave him much more trust than I should have, and had my situation been any different, I would not have been robbed. He having an ‘agenda’ that I was not aware of, with some friends,  broke into my house while I was sleeping and took among other things, some items left to me by my late wife. Johnny apparently did this just to hurt me personally, he took nothing of any monetary value.  I am not sure, but I suppose he had a great time double-crossing me in such an intimate manner. I know of nothing I did to that would make him act so cowardly, so scandalous, except that I hired him, and fed him and gave him a place to stay occasionally. This act frightened me to the core, to know that while I slept, safe in my home, he and his friends were cleaning out my office. I have now bolstered my home security with video surveillance and I also purchased several fire-arms, and I carry everywhere I go. I do not want to hurt anyone, and my property can, for the most part, be replaced. However, if you threaten me, or I feel backed into a corner, I WILL shoot you—dead. Make No mistake about that. I have watched a life taken naturally, and am strangely fascinated at how a life taken in violence would look.....

I am now considered a ‘senior citizen’ and cannot protect myself the old fashioned way, hence, the guns. I live alone too, and I live in fear, I have no regular visitors or callers, I do not want any harm to come to me. I am wary of others and I trust no one. Maybe things would be different if I wasn’t so often alone, but if anything were to happen to me, it might be a week before anyone noticed.  I am not a tough guy, I do not challenge anyone, but I will take no crap at no time, from no one, no more. I would like to thank the people in my life that have forced me to see just how filthy-rotten this world can be, and so often is. I will not fall victim to lies, promises, thieves, hoodlums, gangsters, panhandlers, friends or relatives. Just be honest and straight forward with me and we'll get along just fine. But, if you have plans, best you choose someone else, or you might be explaining to St. Peter how you got so many bullet holes in you.

　

Oh, sure friends will offer to help, but there is always a price, either I must wait for them to get around to it, or there is an equity issue, a 'now you OWE me,' attitude. Yes, I get upset and even angry, I have no patience for people that have no patience for me. Sometimes I wonder how I maintain such a pleasant attitude with all my friends, helping hands, and loving family. "Wow, why are you so mad? When you said were not feeling well when I called, I told you I would buy that and bring it to you, because you sounded as if that would cheer you up. And I was going to, but I decided to do my own shopping at the same time and then met some friends there and we went for coffee. I came by three hours after you expected me, your house was open, but I did not check on you or leave your items, I didn't want to bother you. So why are you mad? That is why I'm calling you now, oh did I wake you?? Sorry, no I did knock, but not very loud, you see, I thought you were asleep and didn't want to wake you, so I just left, and oh, I took the  items I brought to you with me.  But I was worried that something might be wrong, that’s why I’m calling you now. So why are you mad? I said I would bring you those things, and I did, just way after you expected them, yes, I know you are not feeling well, that’s why I offered to help out, but I took the stuff with me instead of leaving them. I don’t understand why are you so mad?  It's not the brand I like, so if you still want that stuff come over to my house, I'll give them to you. I don't get you. SO, WHY ARE YOU SO MAD???"

The Ball Cap

                                  The Ball Cap

A couple of decades ago, I was in the check-out line of a local supermarket wearing a ball cap with the words “I’m not arrogant, I’m just smarter than you” stitched into it.  Someone, I did not know this person, punched me in the shoulder and said, ”So, you think you’re smarter than ME?  I’ll take you out to the parking lot and show who’s smarter!”  “Dude, it’s just a hat,” I said.  Still he insisted right until the store manager intervened.  The man was so angry that I removed the cap and have not worn it in public since…..

The Cats

I have had both cats and dogs as pets.  There are some profound differences between the two.  By feeding and caring for a dog, he licks you and will nuzzle you and look at you as if to say, 'You treat me so well, you must be a God.'  Do the same for a cat, and with a flick of the tail, he will look at you as if to say, 'I must be a God, you treat me so well.'

I am currently the pet of two cats, no really; they act as if they own me.  Lead me around as if I'm on a leash.  One of them, he's been around so long, I barely remember a time when he wasn't, the other, about seven years now.  The older one, Mr. Miss-Hell, got his name by being miss-sexed as a kitten, and my young daughter named 'her' Michelle.  I don't really know what goes through a young girls mind, or any female mind, for that matter.  A cat named ‘Michelle.’   Cat was antisocial, wouldn't even let us pet him.  I'm talking about a kitten, with attitude, a bad one.  We discovered we had male cat soon after I ran him over with me truck.  Run right over his pelvis, busted him up good, but he didn’t die, and the vet fixed him up, for a price.  The only cat, and I’ve unfortunately run over three so far, that I was unable to kill.  Misnamed, broken pelvis, AND he got neutered while at the vet, did nothing to improve his attitude, maybe even made it worse…  I began to believe we were in the presence of an evil being.   Because he was so unfriendly, we began calling the cat 'Miss-Hell,' soon after we found him.   He was quick with the claws, and never, ever, purred.  He would not let us touch or pet him, and he walked around as if he didn’t stink and he wouldn’t run away, even after I squished him!  We decided by committee, we would simply add 'Mr.' in front of his already modified name.  The cat didn't act any differently, ignored us as usual, until he would run up to one of us, talking while he ran, "My food dish! It's empty, about to pass out from hunger!"  I of course, or one of us would get up, only to discover that there was plenty of food, but you could see the bottom of the dish.  We would just move the food around some, and satisfied; he would turn, show his ass and begin to eat.

Now the Orange cat, big tom cat, huge, I never really named him.  I received him as a kitten from Emily as a going away gift.  She was moving to Arizona and with Linda working I was in the middle of my decent into depression.  The kind that you do not even know is happening until one day, any day, you wake up, and you’re not there anymore.  I will expand on my spiral into personal hell in another paper, this one is about cats.  The Orange cat could not stop playing.  Hide and attack, play with string and attack, attack attack, it didn’t matter, cat played and clawed, playful claws, not the mean kind like that other animal.  By the way, I think the Orange cat also contributed to Mr. Miss-hell’s surly demeanor.  As I wrote, we never named the Orange cat, Linda didn’t care, she believed that ALL animals belonged outdoors, and I was in no state of mind to name him and only played with him because he wouldn’t leave me alone.  When it was his turn at the knife, the vet bill was for OC, original cat, orange cat, whatever.  Cats don’t come when they are called anyway, so what’s the use in giving them any name other than Stir Fry.

Before then, before Linda's passing, our bed time was around ten PM.  The cats were accustomed to this, and if we stayed up past bed time, they would let us know.  This hasn't changed, I am rarely in bed by that hour though, and the cats have learned that by entering the room I'm in, and jumping on the desk and knocking things off as if they were clumsy, only gets them a lesson in flying.  And yes, they DO land on their feet, mostly.  Mr. Miss-Hell, or the gray and white cat, was brought into a family of four.  Robin moved away first, followed a couple of years later by Emily moving.  Between Robin’s exit and Emily’s, the gray cat softened some, in that he would let us touch him, not much or for very long, but progress.  One day he tried to purr, by that I mean he let out this gawd awful rattling guttural sound that clearly indicated he was ‘happy.’  He was not very good at purring, and visitors when hearing him, would question us about the health of the animal. 

Cats by nature apparently sleep, eat, clean themselves, sleep, eat and constantly want out, or in, or sometimes way too often, make like they want out, go to the door and when it is opened, they run back into the room, and hide.  They hide because when I get my hands on them, flying lessons.

From outside, Mr. Miss-Hell will sit at the bay window, and touch the glass with paw, and when he gets my attention makes like he wants to come INSIDE.  I go to the door, open it and the cat just sits there!  I close the door and begin to walk away and the cat will go ape shit indicating he REALLY, REALLY wants in.  Too bad for you, leave me alone, maybe he wants another flying lesson….

Cats actually talk!  They do, ask any cat person, even had them tell me, "My cats talk to me, and I understand them!  Am I losing my mind?"  "No, no, perfectly normal, I wouldn't worry, oh look!  I didn't know it was so late, gotta go now, bye!" 

My cats, satisfied that they know the fundamentals of flying, wanting my attention, now enter the room and announce that THEY are going to bed, and if I want a good spot....

Interruption.  Morning, 06,15,2012. 

This morning I went outside to work on my scooter and my OC was standing by the back door.  I opened the door for him to go inside, but he turned, flipped his tail and took a couple quick steps away.  This is perfectly normal behavior and I thought nothing of it.  I went back into the house at 11:00 AM just about an hour, I noticed the orange cat laying in the front yard, in the sun.  This is not normal, I approached, and it became obvious that the animal was dead.  I thoroughly inspected him, no mauling, good color of tongue, no broken bones and he was not run over, just simply dead, as if he ran out of life, and since the last time I saw him he was acting normally, I cannot assume he was poisoned.  Too early in the morning for him to be assaulted by humans and he rarely leaves the yard anyway, I am completely stumped at this.  Side note; I am strangely unaffected by the cat’s death, I did not mourn him, I simply buried him in the back, with a small marker.  I was extremely upset over the death of my dog, ‘Nala,’ and still am emotional when I think of her. 

Bed time for cats, mine at least consist of walking on me up and down, standing on me and looking intently into my face, then unceremoniously plopping down on my chest and cleaning themselves!  Lick, lick, slurp, pull and spit.  GTFO me you damn cats!  Christ on the cross!  Can’t you do this BEFORE I get into bed?  This reminds me of Linda and something that always bothered her.  I am guilty of sometimes farting in the bed, and not always just because I am too lazy or it happens to escape as I attempt to leave the room.  Still, I fart.  “Kenny!  How rude!  Why do you have to do that in the bed?”  I actually never thought about it…Anyway, it was nothing to her to enter the bathroom while I am brushing my teeth and take her morning sabbatical!  Sometimes, and regularly making me want to vomit.  We have TWO bathrooms, but she doesn’t take the hint, even when I come right out and say it.  So, to eliminate the issue, when I was suspecting that her morning visit was imminent, I would go into the other bath and finish my primping.  She actually questioned me about it once!  And when I explained it to her, she said she didn’t think her shit stinks, and I should be more tolerant of her bodily functions!  I actually Loved, Love that woman, she could always make me laugh and we were rarely if ever angry at each other for any length of time.  I truly miss the friend that I could talk about anything with, from politics to UFO’s, and all subjects in-between, then, hop into the sack and get all animal like on each other.  We enjoyed each and every mutually agreed upon activity, both public and private.  Miss you, Babe, hope to see you again someday!

What Memorial Day Is

Is Memorial Day for bar-B-ques and beer?

Or for bombs and blood and living with fear?

Is it for fun and games under bright lights?

Or fear and loneliness far into the night?

Is Memorial Day for spending time with family and friends?

Or seeking shelter from the hatred of other honorable men?

For holding your loved one in the cool breeze?

Or praying to God, under fire, on your knees?

Is Memorial Day for three day sales?

Or soldiers, in country, hoping for mail?

Is Memorial Day for parades and flags?

Or for protecting the children from smoke that gags?

Is Memorial Day for enjoying life?

Or remembering those that went off to fight?

Is it for having fun and games, with sisters and brothers?

Or because they gave up their life for the lives others?

Is Memorial Day a reason to party and have fun?

Or because we can, thanks for their refusal to run?

Is Memorial Day for those that live?

Or honoring the soldiers with no more to give?

YES

Kenneth L. Musson

May 28, 2012

Gonna be a year, soon...

What the?....I hear it, off in the distance, but louder and closer now. I always knew it was coming, but now I can FEEL it, I think I smell it too. I can't quite see it yet, but there, yes right over THERE! Like a cadence, a drum beat, constant, repetitive, gets to me in my head, and although it does not interfere with anything I have to do, for the most part, it occupies my mind, I stop some, and listen..... drum, drum, drum, march, march, march. Oh, that made me smile! Good one! Remember that time when we....Even in my sleep, I know. It will be here all too soon for me. You were so angry at me for that. But then I made you laugh, and we hugged. I bury my head in the pillow, every night, I pull it around my ears, no help, can't escape, bom, bom, bom, bom, until sleep takes over. Good night, lover. Hey! Your feet are so cold! It's getting so close now, coming soon enough, OK, how's that, getting warm now? way too soon. It wasn't me, really, it did it all by it's self! I want to run, hide even. Can you help me? No? How about you then? HEY! I could use some assistance here. Called ME because you went to work with mis-matched shoes! And then called me again soon as I got home. Please, I know everybody has their own issues, but this is too much for me now, and I hurt bad. I really don't want to have to.....I rushed right back to you, and handed you your glasses, with a big smile from me, a sheepish grin from you, we laughed and laughed, not at you, but because it was so FUNNY! I can't escape though, have to face it. But I don't wanna! Maybe if I thought about something else? I'm frightened, please, why now? Why so soon? Wasn't it just the other day when we.... And right when the waters began to calm too, now getting all stirred up again. March, march, march. I am a big boy, I can take it! I did it once already, can't be THAT hard this time. You were so silly, I told you I couldn't love you any less. It's just another day for crying out loud. What? What were you thinking, I swear sometimes....here, give me a hand, yes, see? Fixed. Everything's better now! Hey you! Save it for later, you'll get me all dirty. Yes, I Love you too. This past year there were times, I admit when It was bearable, like a motor runnung, off in the distance, always there, part of everything, and not so distracting, I would stop, and yes, I hears it just as plain...not so bad...get back to what I was doing. Oh, honey, really ? How can I help? Be right there. Don't worry about it. I love you! Lately though, it is becoming louder, closer, and like a pressure, beats like a bass drum, getting into everything. BOOM, BOOM, BOOM, BOOM. Thanks, sweetie! Sometimes I wonder how I got so old and still be so stupid. Yes, tonight. I'll have dinner ready, OK? Bye! Have a good day, I sure love you... The sun isn't so bright, the food not so tasty, was everything always so hazy? No, it's just that lately, beat, beat, beat, beat, coming just over the horizon, OH MY GOD!! I CAN SEE IT!! Quick! Run away! It's going to get me! Somebody, please? HELP! LINDA! Linda. Linda? Oh no! Nooo! Not us! Please, please, no. Not my honey, my baby, my lover. I feel so bad that I let you down. Now what am I supposed to do? Yeah, right! As if! Really? By myself??!! But I, we, I was so sure....What? FOREVER?? Oh, but that's such a long time. I know. It was out of our hands from the day we were born, yes, my heart just melted when I saw our brat for the first time, but it felt like we had control for so long, it slipped my mind, we were so busy living. Did you see what your daughter did? We could fix anything, together, I was so confidant, you know? We were in it, and I know you would be here, at my side, pretty sure you are still, as a matter of fact. I am not THAT strong by myself. The other night when you laid with me while I slept, I could still feel you holding my hand when I woke up. I smelled you, in the bedroom, for the rest of the day. I wanted to be with you, you know, THAT way. Together again, but you held me, touched my face, and now I just feel so alone again, I miss you so very much . Thanks, lover, I'm sorry I made you cry, but sometimes nothing else matters. Yeah, I miss you too, OK, I know, I was about to be stupid. Yes, in our own time. I'll remember that, I'm going to do my best. I promise, I wont let you down. I don't want you angry at me. OH, here it comes! I'm Ready now, I think. Wait! I need to brace myself. OK, go on, hit me. I'll show you. Do it. DO IT! Just TRY to knock me down. Hey, why so hard? I almost fell! I'll get right back up, though, you'll see. But honey, it's soo hard. Gonna turn now, and face it. No, not yet! Too soon. I'm not ready! What? A year? Only a year? Just one? First one! Felt like forever already, and yet only a YEAR? So hard to believe. March, march, march, march, march........................

THE TUNE UP

It was late October, 2010, and I was feeling especially anti social being as I was reeling from the recent news that my wife had been diagnosed with cancer. I was at the motorcycle shop to purchase some parts for my scooter, you know, carry on as normal until we knew more about her cancer. Standing at the parts counter, there were three guys behind me that I was paying no attention to, that is up to when I distinctly over heard them talking about a 'sawed off, short, fat faggot mother fucker', I turned just enough to see them nod, yes they were discussing me. They then turned and began walking out the shop, and I said, "Well, you can suck this faggot mother's dick!" In unison they stopped and returned, this is when I noticed they were wearing colors. Knowing if I ran, they would catch me, and beat me up, so I simply said I was only joking, it was no big deal, and I was sorry. "What did you SAY?" the closest one to me asked. Again I told them it was no big deal. "Tell me what you said!" So, I looked him in the eye, and repeated most of my remark, most of it in that a was unable to say dic....when like a trip hammer his fist connected with my jaw, knocking my glasses across the sales floor. I immediatetly knew I was injured, I did not fall or lose consisousness, but had blue birds and stars circling my head. Reaching up to feel with my hand which I was accutely aware was a broken jaw, the three turned and calmly walked to the door. "HEY," I yelled to them, they turned and waited. "Thanks," "For what?" the one I offended asked. "For only hitting me once, fucker!" With a shared look of suprise at my remark and a shared shrug, they left the building. Needless to say, I had created quite a stir in the place and the employees hurriedly went about closing the store, knowing, for sure I was going to get the police involved. I went to the owner and with broken face apologized for making trouble in his buisness, and asked his permission to take myself to hospital.

At the hospital the cops arrived in the form of a very concerned detective, telling me the staff called them about my assualt. Knowing that to say anything to the law would most likely not be in my best interest, I declined to give him any information.

The day I returned home, jaw wired shut and under the influence of powerful pain meds, I returned to the motorcycle shop. Upon my arrival, I got many wary stares, and questioned as to why I had returned. Again I appologized for my stupid remark, and told them I was not going to make any trouble, as I had all I wanted and did not want to have the 81 men after me for all time. This made sense to them, but they were courious about the details of the assualt, as all they knew was I had been injured by one of their customers. So with clenched jaw, from being wired shut I said, "You know how bikers ride extremely loud motorcycles? Well it must have caused a hearing loss to the guy that hit me. I told him to suck my dick, but I he thought I said 'Break my jaw!'" They fell about the place laughing and slapping me on the back. "You're crazy!!" The owners son said, "You had balls enough to come around after that, and then you joke about it! You're alright, I hope you learned something." "Yeah, like I wished my jaw was wired then, so I couldn't have opened my mouth." For quite some time I was known as 'glass jaw ken.' A name I certainly earned.

My maxiofacial surgeon told me that putting my lower mandible back in place was 'challenging.' You see, with one punch, the guy had broken my jaw in about seven places. And except for the left side of my face being numb, like novocaine, and some sensitiveity inside my mouth, nearly two years later, I made out all right.

Leaving The City by The Bay

At quitting time in the City, there is a very narrow time frame  in which to get off the surface streets and reach the freeway before gridlock sets in.  If you are just minutes late leaving the job, you are stuck in traffic and go nowhere fast, for hours, not miles  This incident took place on a Friday afternoon, the beginning of a three day hoilday, Easter, I think,  I had barely made it to the freeway, and there was already so much traffic, some people were driving on the shoulder.  Jockeying for position,  getting into their particular lane, and just like the rest of us, wanting to  get out of town, or in some cases just wanted to be infront of the car ahead of them.  I was then and am even now uncomfortable driving with so much traffic.  We were idiling, only just moving, but let there be a space big enough, or almost big enough that another car could squeeze into, it got filled.  It had occoured to me previously that unfilled spaces were much like chum, shark food, so to speak and every car was a shark, because no sooner did a space open up, at least and never less than three cars made a bee line to plug the hole.  Today the sharks were hungry, I found myself in a feeding frenzy.

While doing the commuter crawl, headed to the Bay Bridge, I saw ther approach lane, uh, approaching, and I am two lanes to far to the left.  I knew I had to become a shark, only I had no time to wait for an openning, I needed to make one, soon.  The exit was still pretty far away, bur with the traffic so thick, and us going so slow, I had to assume the driving style so often used at me.  So I signaled, waited for the car to my right to slow some, and moved.  OK, great, now to do it again.  The cars in the far right wouldn't give me a break, and now I had to move over or it would be several miles at this speed before I could turn around and start the crawl over again.  I signaled.  Nothing.   I gave other drivers an imploring look along with a shrug, I really REALLY needed to change places.  I tapped the horn, to show intent, I pointed and gave a 'please, sir, may I move over' look.  Fine, I began with an ever so slow drift, the car along side me slowed enough for another driver to try and fill the hole.   Shark time, I was getting that spot or we would have a fender bender.  The car, a rather older model of station wagon apparently felt the same way, and was determined as much as me to have that hole.  So I struck, and filled the spot just in time to exit onto  the de-acceleration lane.  (funny, it being called a de-acceleration lane, I could have walked faster)  The station wagon was furious at me, and using the shoulder, passed me, remember we are slower than a quick walk, and bumper to bumper.  With both hands out the driver's winow, and screaming at the top of his lungs, I HEARD him, and my windows were up.`   "FUCK YOU, YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE MOTHER FUCKER!  SON OF A BITCH FUCKING DICK HEADED FUCKING FUCKER FUCK!!"  Those were his exact words, I was stunned that he apparently thought I waited for him, cut HIM off, targeted HIM, because HE was the one I wanted to make angry.  And I'm the one with anger issues?   I was already off the freeway and on the Bay Bridge approach, he is passing me on the right, both hands off the wheel, looking real  hard at me,  all the time  cussing and so angry that his spit hit my passenger window (!).  Obviously  I am some sort of, or exactly what he yelled to me.  Wanting only to GTFO of town, I slowed down even slower to give him his space, one car lengh ahead, no more , no less,  and no matter to me at all.  Except, except, except that when he pulled ahead of me he jerked the wheel hard left, bounced over the gutter and got back on the freeway, into the hole I had made only a few seconds earlier.   Now with his left hand out the window giving me the one finger 'hi' sign, he was looking into the mirror back at me and I could see that he was still telling me all the things I was to HIM, for what I had done to HIM, just as if I could hear HIM.

With that being the only  exception, the trip home was stuffed with bumper to bumper traffic,  but there was no reason for anyone to shark up, and the trip was relative uneventful.

The Dream

At some point this past night, I found myself in that place between sleep and wakefulness, and she was there beside me, in the bed, facing me, our legs intertwined together, one arm under her head, the other one hugging her. I lightly kissed her hair and she smiled sleepily and told me to 'behave.' This morning I woke and as I stretched in the bed, I felt wonderful! She must already be up, maybe using the bathroom....I got out of the bed, "Linda, if you're in there, we're sharing!" But she was not. Ah, maybe making coffee. I entered the kitchen and, what the hell? Where could she...? Then I realized. Like getting hit in the face with ice cold water. Reality. Foolish boy! She's been gone now nearly two years. And yet, I had started to look around for her. I even called out her name! I woke up actually believing that she was somewhere in the house with me. It just felt so, so normal, so like she really was here. Tricked by my own self. Crushed. I thought that this kind of sudden and intense feeling of sorrow was over with. I always miss her, but today, this day, I had actually forgotten for a moment that she is dead. Now I am heart broken all over again, and I haven't yet stopped crying. I look out the window, and the sky is crying with me. We raised our kids and they are on their own now. Linda and I enjoyed just enough empty nester time that we had developed a routine which included spending as much time together as possible, at home, sitting on the couch holding hands and talking, reading, and playing games. When she was first diagnosed, we still sat on the couch talking, mostly about the treatments and what we at first referred to as the 'adventure.' With the exception of only a few of days, Linda and I spent all our time together now. I still had the house to care for, and bills to pay, groceries to purchase, and 'scripts to fill, and it seemed she was in hospital as much as not, but when everyone else left for the day and went to their homes and their family, it was just us, together, alone, by ourselves. As the treatments took their toll, and she grew weaker by the day, I began to realize the gravity of our situation. Slowly, and without noticing at first, my life became all about Linda. That is not the burden, don't misunderstand me, again. I was up to the task, but no longer is there any semblance of routine, or schedule, however it is very demanding, and it is completely different than anything we had done in twenty three years our life together, and therefore became routine Then one day at home, with friends and family around, she died. Just like that. Linda no more. So tiny, drawn, ravaged by the effects of the cancer, and barely recognizable from the vibrant and active person she was just ten months ago, we were holding hands when she past, and my life changed completely once again. To say that surviving a spouse is a rollercoaster ride would be an understatement, to be sure

Linda's tamales

Linda, Linda, Linda, there were things she excelled at, things she could care less about, and things
she pretty much knew she had down pat. Cooking was the last on this list. Girl didn t need no
cookbook, knew what she was doing, cooked for some time now, she enjoyed cooking, and did in
fact produce some pretty memorable meals.
One of my faves, steamed aspera grass wrapped in thin sliced ham, lightly fried then blanketed
with Hollandaise sauce. With an entre on the side, good stuff indeed! I cook also, have been
since before I met the girl. I refer to the cookbook, every time, hard cooked eggs, look em up.
Regardless of how many times I ve done it or how simple a dish, I read the entire recipe.
I learned working in the trades, you have to follow the directions, read the print. Although I soon
learned the plan is often wrong! That s part of the reason it needs to be studied. Sometimes a lot
of study. Having said that, when the blueprint is wrong, it s right! Build according to the plan.
Do not deviate. My only job was to follow direction. Not second guess a highly trained, CAD
assisted college graduate. Either ask about an issue, through RFI, or build using the dimensions
given, and explain when an owner or architect, asks if you have gone mad. Show them the funny
page, says so right there, look. Surly, you knew there is supposed to be a door? How you expect
to use this space? Its your plan, I have no idea what you are thinking, I just build. You want a
door? Show me where it goes. On the plan, I m just a dumb old carpenter. This releases you
from liability, if you religiously follow the plan, and they are wrong, it is on them to pay for the
correction. If, however, you assume, and do the correction, without approval, you way over step
your authority, what if is structurally significant? And you field correct it, not being a licenced
architect, you might have seriously undermined the integrity of the structure. So, follow the plan.
If the plan is wrong, it is still correct. This has economic benefits also, you back charge for
having to custom build, off the plan, this charge, isn t part of the signed contract, although it is
spelled out in the contract, just what will be charged for plan changes. Some cases where there a
lot of mistakes in the plan, this can amount up to and beyond the original bid. Bad plans equal
more money. Makes them check their work, also. Architect s share in cost over runs, if their
plans contain too many mistakes. There are people who s job is to find these plans and take full
advantage of them. Ka-Ching!!
 My meals nearly always taste the same today as they did last month, or last year. Read, follow
the plan, measure, cook, taste alright. Linda, I never use that, I have a memory! I have one too,
sometimes I forget. So the quality of our dinners suffered some, we got used to it, who wants
their food to always taste the same, gets boring that. We even had a game to go along, called,
  What s the Missing Ingredient? Kids and I loved the game, got Linda involved also. Maybe
she left stuff out just to play the game?? Until I took over cooking, but that is for a separate topic.
One year, she enlisted me to help with about ten dozen tamales. My job, the only thing I did was
spread the masa on the corn husks, table spoon of meat, roll, then do it again. Thanksgiving,
Christmas, New Year s, Easter, every one best excuse for tamales ever. The rest of the year, not
so much. Ten dozen! Making them for friends and family, even have a few to sell. This was not
her first time, she made them with her Mother and family since she was little. Using Mama s
recipe now, nothing like keeping a tradition alive. The only real difference? Ten dozen, just the
two of us, took hours, cooking the meat and sauces, soaking the husks, kneading the masa. Hot
too, had to open the door. Usually, from my observations, Linda would begin steaming the
tamales as soon as enough were assembled to cook a batch. This time, so much to do, one step at
a time, didn t want to forget and over cook, or burn them. Need them all, have some to sell, too.
Tamale making seems to require that the kitchen get totally trashed, maybe so you clean it real

good, get the old stuff too. How does the masa end up on the walls? Don t ask me! How
should I know, my job was to put the stuff on the corn husks, wasn t looking around. Like I said,
the kitchen hot, me too, Linda, she s the one working though, had masa and sauce in her hair, on
her face, all over her chest, uh, blouse, using her hands, brushing back hair, wiping sweat from her
brow, we usually ended up making sure one of us was as messy as the other. Would get so the
kids would come running, then they get some too. Linda placed some in the pot, and soon
enough, Tamales! I always liked them, eat so many at once I get sick. We sat at the table
remarking that we really did something this year, ever see so many tamales? Soon enough, or just
in time, out the pot they come, got to wait, too hot. Burn the mouth, not fun. So with me keeping
an eye on the cooked tamale s, Linda re-loaded the steamer, went for plates and once more we
talked, Always look forward to the first taste of the first batch of the season, we talked about it so
much, I almost got a cramp in my taste buds, needed a tamale fix NOW! As we unrolled our treat,
it was immediately apparent something was wrong, terribly wrong,. As Linda s face went from
anticipation to confusion, to disappointment, to shock, to embarrassment, I scooped up some of
mine and ate. It was nasty, the worst, knew from experience Linda cooked creatively, I didn t
think she was capable of cooking this poorly. As I tried to keep from gagging, Linda announced
she had forgotten the lard!! Only the second most important ingredient besides the corn. She
hadn t eaten any yet, crushed, she said we could eat them ourselves, certainly couldn t give or sell
these. Wait, Linda, there s more. With a question on her face, I said, You forgot the salt, also.
Most important ingredient number three. There is only one other ingredient for the masa, beef
broth. And just like in base ball, she was out. Had to go lay down. Invested a lot of time, effort
and money in something even the dog wouldn t eat. It s O.K. honey, we can salvage as much as
we can, I ll begin recovering the meat, and tossing out the masa and husks, go to the store, get
what we need. It took twice as long, cost a third more, and she second guessed herself
relentlessly. Success at last! As I said in the beginning, Linda made some memorable meals....

A little something about Linda

Widowed, at 57, could not have imagined such a thing one year ago, thought didn't even enter the mind. Thirty years. Now, can't stop myself, always there, running in the background, like a program on my computer. Long enough time has past, so I pretty much go through my days without being outwardly affected when thoughts of my loss creep in. Many times I can talk affectionately about Linda and our life, with a smile, and not even barely be brought to tears. Others, I will be completely absorbed with the present, shopping for food, cleaning the joint up, reading even. I get sucker punched, hits me, thirty years, she's dead, stops me from what I'm doing, watched as the cancer ate at her, takes over completely and I feel as if all the air is gone, and I have the most hopeless, helpless, I just want to, really, I just want to die also feeling. Oh, not again! I try to get that "normal" feeling, my wife, taken. I try to make my life normal. Sure miss that smile. It's a process, long, hard, sometimes miserable miss her so much can't get away from it though how I wish sometimes I could just forget about it all, dead, in my arms never to see her again, process.
Working to 'normalize,' (what ever THAT means) my life, I have received helpful advice from caring friends, and others. Early on however, I wore my pain and frustration on my sleeve, I must be in a dream, her death was all I could talk about. When folks would talk with me, it was always me saying how bad it is, lonely, how unfair. They would roll their eyes, "He's at it again. Can't you talk about anything else? She's gone, not coming back, you are alive, join the living. Get past this before it consumes you." And soon enough, I had alienated just about everyone that ever said they cared. I didn't know how bad it could get! Never had this kind of feeling before. I have a pretty big imagination, I could have NEVER imagined this, and probably wouldn't have wanted to hear it from anyone else, either.
New resolve! I AM alive. I have lots to live for! She's dead. Held on to her as the grim reaper took her from me. He was gentle enough, going to give him props for that. They're right, conceal my emotions, be Kenny once more. Thirty years, alone now. I began the task by evaluating my situation, missing her so much. Let's see now, Linda dead, after a brutal all or nothing slug fest with cancer. She was a fighter, fought hard to beat it, except she brought a knife to a gun fight. Retired now, don't have to look for work anymore. Double edged sword that one, gone the frustration of not being able to get a job, and having people tell me that I just don’t want to work, or I would be. Or landing a job and quit so I could stay with my wife. Now all my time is my own....no one to answer to, no one depending on me, no one to share with. I'm not trying to say completely isolated, I could talk with Linda about things I wouldn't tell a Doctor, or even a Priest. I can do anything I want, except I only want Linda, I want my lover, I want to not be alone, I want to be with her some more.
Stop visualizing the events which were the past year of my life. More than half her weight, gone. Stifle the urge to 'share' my pain with people who could not understand wish I could talk to her again what I am going through, until it happens to them. Then go see Kenny, he will listen, he knows, he's been talking about it every day since she died. And so I climbed off the pity pot, showered, shaved, put on clean clothes. Threw open the door, and walked back out into the world. The sky was bluer then, and the grass doesn't seem so green anymore. Now when I take in a deep breath, it's to try to keep from crying.
Soon enough though, I would cross paths with some of those aforementioned people, smile at them, greeting, friendly small talk, O.K. see you later! And as I walked away, still within hearing distance: "Wow, only a few months, he acts as if nothing has changed, I wonder if he even misses her?" Damned when I do, damned when I don't. Well I'm strong, 'I don't need no arms around me, I don’t need no drugs to calm me, I don't think I need anything at all.' (Pink Floyd, Another Brick in The Wall) So, I pretty much Linda's not coming back keep to myself now, stay home, try to, I remember the day she gave that to me, keep busy, if not, things well up, best to push them down, maybe, she was so pleased when she found this under the covers, then they go away. Not much chance that. Not anytime soon. At least I am not burdening friends and family with my issues. Got me a high dollar best friend for that. No less than once a week for fifty minutes, gives me all his attention, till my time is up. Then I'm ushered out the door like a guest that over stayed his welcome. They don't want to hear it, make them think about their own mortality, no, they're not ready for that, too depressing to even consider. Brings the expression 'Out of sight, out of mind,' to, well, mind. Paint the house, keep moving, arrange the furniture, don't go to bed until I can't stay up any longer, I'm moving on! "My god, now he's eliminating the memory and the presence of Linda. Cold, uncaring S.O.B.. He'll be looking for a replacement soon enough, you'll see. I wonder if he ever really cared." Best I avoid contact, think about her all the time now, not give their tongues an excuse to wag. And I won't have to consider their opinions. Concentrate on thickening my skin, fortify my resolve. That's the ticket!! I just loathe when people see something, and with only a cursory glance, think they know exactly what the situation is. No need to talk to him, I can clearly see what going on. Jerk, I don't want to talk to him at all, now.
I was quite surprised when I learned there are few people in my shoes, relatively young, and healthy, having to evaluate not only their past, and future, but their present. And then it is usually the man that expires first.
Tried grief counseling, once, I was twenty years junior to everyone else there, and the only man. They wanted me to turn my life over to Jesus, after explaining to me that it was God that took Linda from me! Had to grin at the irony of that, let Him guide me. "I wont even get out of bed until I've spoken with God, He tells me what to do." "Yes, God is the answer, until you accept Jesus as your personal savior, you wont know true happiness." Sure, I'll sign right up. How long have you been angry with God for making her sick? Actually, I'm not, thought it was life style, genetics, and her own denial when she first started feeling bad. "Oh, you’re the one in denial, God's plan, that's why Linda got sick and died." Made as much sense to me as being told that God did it because I was not Catholic, and living in sin by not being married, AND being instrumental in bringing a bastard child into the world! I asked, How do you know it wasn't the Devil, isn't that the kind of people he goes for? Haven't spoken to them since. They even went so far as to not inform me that Linda was being honored at an event. Found out when one of my caring friends called to tell me that my absence was 'noticed.' Had to tell her this was the first I'd heard, and why didn't the event organizers inform me? You're just going to have to ask them yourself.
My days were literally filled with the anticipation (love spellchecker!) of getting home to hear Linda share her day with me, and telling her about mine. With all other issues considered, I was living a great life, knew it, too. Could always share my thoughts, ideas, fears, whatever, with someone truly interested in what I was saying, and ever eager to hear more.
Now, I'm the extra peace of a jigsaw puzzle. The puzzle is complete, and there is no where to put me. I am the proverbial square peg. After Linda, I feel like I just don't fit, anywhere. Suddenly after thirty years of moving forward, working to a shared goal, my transmission's broke, and in the worst possible place, the middle of my life road, everything whizzing by no one stopping to offer a helping hand, too busy with their own lives. I know, I was, I am the same way. So here I sit, gunning the motor, switching the gears, and I just can't move, although I'm really trying, nothing is happening. The most frustrating thing, what really gets me riled up, I feel helpless, I've been self reliant most if not all my adult life. There was a time, not long ago either, when almost nothing could stop me, I could fix anything, I was confident, knew when I was in over my head, and able to stop before I made it worse. Now it's all foreign to me, all my reference points, the experiences I could recall to bring sense to my life seem useless to be of any help now. And I end up remembering how it was, how it will never be again.
Absolutely clueless as to where, how to restart my life, I do try though, every long, sometimes miserable, day, and I make mistakes, I do, had people tell me as much. I didn't receive an instruction manual with the ashes. Your advice has been helpful. Thank you very much! People tell me what I'm doing wrong, or better yet, what I didn't do right, but NO ONE tells me how I should proceed. Afraid, or maybe unable to give advice, all too willing to give opinions though. I'm not angry at them, if I don't know, how can I expect others who have yet to experience the same to have even an inkling of how I feel, what I need or what I'm to do with myself. Oh, they say, 'I know, when my cousin died, the worst.' Or, 'When my father passed, I didn't think I could carry on.' Not even remotely the same, like comparing apples to grapefruit. Oh, were you living with your cousin/father for thirty years as mates, did you sleep with them almost every night? Were you sexually intimate? Does your dead relative permeate every surface of your home? Your car? Are they tangled in the cobwebs of your mind? Did you clean their puke, or change their bedding when their bowels moved? She in so much pain, even to touch her brought tears. Having to move her, to avoid bed sores, change the sheets, even wiping drool from her mouth was so painful she could not help but cry. Did you have to do that? Was it as painful for you as it was for me? Did you hold them, during the last moments of their life, as they quietly studied every crease, every mole and every hair on your face. Did they tell you how frightened they were, dying and all. Did you really sit there, promising to walk with them, for as long as you were allowed, until it was time for them to pass. Wasn't that so touching when you said that. How they took on that grateful, peaceful look, and then said, "You would do that for me? Kenny, I love you so much." Then, the breath left her lungs, and she didn't inhale. I could see the light leave her eyes, because she never took them off me for the last hour of her life, and I didn't stop looking into hers. At that moment, when her jaw relaxed slightly, I realized how tightly she had been holding my hand, because she released her grip. I wanted to go with her. Jump right in, "Baby! Wait, I'm coming, right behind you!" Even still, sometimes, I wish I could have. Being there, with her as she died, was at once the most intimate, loving, spiritual and the most terrifying experience of my life. We had never been closer than at that moment, and I will not see her again. Death has to be better than this. She doesn't suffer any longer, can't be all that bad, why else does everybody eventually do it then? I have a survivor's guilt, I'm here, spending money, fixing the house, making it nice again, the way I did it for her. No one to share it with, just as soon put a match to it all. You have no idea, and yet, you don't want to hear it. Best to avoid such conversations, too depressing that. And me? What's the use in talking about it? It's a done deal, over, finished. Nothing will change that. Too uncomfortable to speak of death, and survivors. He probably wants to be left alone now anyway. Let's not bother him, not even by calling.
I took such comfort in knowing that soon I would be home, with her, sit with her, Linda, holding hands, talking, listening, laughing at all the absurdity around us, and knowing everything was alright, because we had each other. Us and Them, that’s how she liked to say it. Even had Pink Floyd playing it during her memorial. To walk with her, to lean on her, to carry her, or be carried when I needed it.. Over used cliché' here: She completed me. Gave purpose to my life, she depended on me, maybe not as much as I now realize I depended on her, but I always knew I didn't ever want to be without her. Couldn't imagine how profound It is.
I took great care and consideration of her feelings, trying everyday to not make her question her decision to be with me. I loved her because she loved me, and that made me love her even more. Linda had her 'faults,' there were things about that girl....She couldn't reconcile a checking account, apparently had no concept, didn't or wouldn't check the oil, to name a few. Sometimes I would get a call from her at work, "Kenny, I forgot my.....would you bring it to me." Once, she even wore different color shoes to work! Instead of me getting angry, or admonishing her for something she did or couldn't do, I was always brought to smiles, and I would drop whatever I was doing to rush to her. You see, Linda's shortcomings were the things that made me love her so much, poor girl, can't get along without ME. Needs ME. Calls ME. I need to be needed, again. Never wanting to see her fail, I would quickly gather whatever it was and get to her soonest. With a big smile from me, a sheepish grin from her, both of us knowing, I wouldn't have wanted it any other way. We could laugh and share, not argue and fight. I loved (love) that woman, not in spite of, but because of her idiosyncrasies.(that spell checker again) Side Track: Linda's feet weren't pretty, they weren't. She would always make comments, 'Don't look, I hate my feet, my feet are so ugly! Don't want you to see them.' Every time we would get 'together' she would mention those feet. One time, knowing, just knowing she was going to remind me how she felt about the way her feet looked, I had two little paper bags with me. She started 'Oh, please, my feet don't look...' Without a word, I got my little bags, and started to place one on her foot, "What are you doing?" ….Then the laughter erupted from her mouth, real, true amusement upon visualizing the "So ugly I had to put a bag over......" I didn't use the bags, and Linda didn't mention her ugly feet again, except to relive that day with me, and always with a laugh and a warm, loving smile, that was the day she realized, knew that I cared for her, all of her, ugly feet included. Thirty years. She put up with me for that long, longer, I'm sure, had she lived. She knew me as well as anyone did, better than most, and she still liked me! Wanted to be with me. Needed me. Poor girl, couldn't get along if I wasn't there to find her glasses, or cell phone, purse, keys. The first time I told her, in the most sincere, honest way, that I couldn't love her any less, she was hurt, why would I say such a thing? Because I figured if I told her I couldn't love her any more, I would be telling her I had given all my love, already, no 'more' for later, we couldn't grow. By saying I couldn't love her any less, there was always more to give, plenty, and not a chance that I would love her any less than I do now. I made sure before I ran that past her, that I had an out, that could convince her that she need not worry. It's all so good. She did understand my play on words, but for weeks, everyone she saw, she would ask them for their first reactions to that statement coming from their spouse. It ran almost 50/50. across the board. Yes, she kept a score card, showed it to me, proof. She was convinced more people would see it the way she first reacted to it, that's the why of the score card, even went so far as to teasingly accuse me of calling everyone and getting them 'on my side.' Sometimes, she just couldn't want me to be right, especially since it sounded so wrong. Though it grated on her when she heard it, she didn't question the sentiment, and soon enough, was using it herself, on me. Oh, how we loved to love each other.

Oh, I didn't mention my kids

I have akready spoken about my Linda, but didn't say a word about the kids.  All now grown and on their own, there could be no prouder father than I.  Robin, the boy, and from my first wife, came to live with us before he was a teen ager.  Linda helped me raise him as if he were her own. 
Emily, Linda's only child was a hand full from the beginning.  Nothing wrong in that, except from the time she could talk and walk, she never met a stranger.  When playing in the front, and someone would walk past, she would talk and walk with them right off the property, if we didn't keep a constant eye on her.  Solved that be installing a fence at the end of my lawn, she would stop there instead of walking around it and follow the passersby.  Emily even toilet trained herself.  We had begun to show her, set her on the pot and all, but were suprised when she headed for the bathroom and after some moments, called, "MOM!  DAD! Quick come look!"  Running to her, not even guessing what was the matter, we saw her looking intently into the bowl, upon seeing us, she smiled broadly, pointed into the tiolet and said proudly, 'It's the letter 'J'!"  We fell apart at that.  Riding in my truck, toddler Emmers, (my name for her) was fooling around with a tape measure she saw in the seat.  "Leave that alone, you're going to get hurt."  "No, I know what I'm doing."  Three, maybe four years old!  Driving along I heard the familiar, zzzzippp, snap!  from the tape.  Emily tossed it into the seat, and placed one hand over the other.  "Got hurt, didn't you?"  "No, daddy, I'm just through looking at it."  as she raised her hand to her face, and blew on it.
Emily kept us in stiches, quick witted even when very young, she was also mischevious.  One time, she found the TV 'troller' as she still refers to today.  It was a second device, we used another one.  On this occasion, Em hid and while Linda and I looked at some show, the chanel would sudennly change, or the TV would shut off.  Each time, Linda or I would grab the troller, and resume watching.  This went on long enough for us to wonder if there was something wrong with our set, or the cable.  It began to get annoying, that is until Emily gave herself up by laughing.
Around ten years old or so, one of Emily's friends invited her to a father/daughter church function at the local park.  We went, played some games, listened about Jesus's Love, and made crafts.  During the crafting, multi media, Emily was making a necklace from beads that had letters on them.  This was when WWJD? was popular.  Some woman , the crafts  overseer, what ever, was making her rounds, smiling, patting little heads, and comenting, "Oh, very nice."  and other encouragement.  Then she walked over to us.  Emily's necklace had letters arranged: DJWW.  As the woman was prepared to give praise, her face changed, "What's this?  Child why would you do such a thing?  This is BLASPHAMY!"  Emily looked at the woman, who was by this time sure she was in the presance of a devil, and simply asked, "What's wrong with Devil Just Wont Win?"  Stunned she was, she straightend up, "Oh, why, nothing, child.  I thought that you, uh, it's just that I never thought THAT!"  The woman walked on, unsteady, like she had been drinking.  Looking at me now, Emily said,  "Daddy, let's leave, that lady was weird!"
Poor child, I was angry, we were encouraged to 'use your imagination, express your faith!  Here Emily did just that, and was accused of being un-christian.  She felt it, hurt by it, and did not accept any other simular invitations.

Can't get this thing to do what I want

I wanted to copy from my files, and move them here.  I have already commited some of my thoughts to computer.  In retrospect, I should have used paper instead.  Spent enough time trying to move a file from my word program to here, I already wrote it once, just 'copy then paste.'  Only it comes across in program language, squares and backward E's and all manner of letters and symbles, unreadable, spent so much time trying to transfer the file in readable form, I could have been doing something constructive.  I already said I don't know much about computers.  The more I use this thing, the less I know.  I have three or four word programs, and not one of them will copy and paste to something a person could read.  Will print it though.  Maybe trying to tell me to give up, nothing interesting, or possibly trying to keep me from posting something embarassing, or worse, but still, I keep trying.  I was able to send one as an attachment that could be read, but now I haven't figured out how to attach the attachment and bring it here.  Good thing I have nothing better to do with my time.  Frustratung, it is, like the day I was going to connect my printer.  One of my printers, I have five of them.  I have printers that also scan, printers that FAX, printers that copy, and one printer that 'publishes documents to the web.'  Some do all this, some only print.  My newest printer is about ten years old.  Got one so big and bulky I can barly lift it, one so small, it's cute.  I disconnected my printer when I took my 'puter in to have it programed after I killed the hard drive, at least four years ago.  Sat here on my desk, I just didn't get around to hooking it up.  There were no driver's, I downloaded one off the net, printer won't print, I did this, I did that and I did the other thing, no print.  After (hate to admit this) eighteen hours, I uninstalled the driver, deleted the printer in control panel, reinstalled, and success!  Now it tells me to replace ink carts.  Up town I go, after paying sixty bucks for ink, it then tells 'printer not responding'!  More troubleshooting, more this, more that, more... I grabed the thing and wires dangling, tossed it into the trash.  I have other printers.  I can use one of them for sure.  The printer I threw away is ten years old, my newest, I couldn't find the power cord for one, one of them had an interface connection my computer just laughed at when I went to plug it in.  I gave up.  Two days, sixty dollars, I know when I'm in over my head, don't need no stinking printer!  I did need to go to Best Buy, to purchase a new card reader, fried mine the other day looking at memory cards of Linda's that I've been finding all over.  Walked up to the automatic doors, and entered, there, displayed right in front of me, first thing I saw of the store inventory, a printer, fax, copier, on sale $49.95!!!  And here all along, I thought I knew when I was in over my head, and knew when to stop.  My biggest problem?  I didn't bake the card reader first.

I have a microwave oven, it's so old, I think Moses used it on the Ark.  Works though, so I use it sometimes, like when I recently remodeled my kitchen.  The poor oven, it has issues, the lights dim for a moment when I start it, growls, buzzes and even shakes a bit when working.  Sometimes it doesn't tell me when it's finished, and occaisionally after setting the timer for, lets say four minutes, it will upon hitting the start button, advance the timer to forty minutes!  I know this, I watch the count down for a bit, if it doesnt advance after a couple of seconds, it's good to go.
One night, I poped a Marie Callender entre' into the box pushed the four minutes, started it, and walked away.  Four minutes is not a long time, just enough time for me to go do something while I wait.  Enough time for me to forget I even put something in the micro at all.  While puttering I smelled food, now I live close to town, and often smell steak or fish being prepared at a local restruant.  KFC not too far away, smell them also.  There is a taco truck across the street, and when the wind is just right I can enjoy the aroma of carne asada!  So I payed no attention to the smell of food, like I said, I forget sometimes.  Soon enough I detected the oder of fresh baked apple pie, still folding clothes, putting this here, moving that there, I suddenly remembered I had something in the oven, when the sweet smells of food turned into the stench of burned animal flesh, and plastic.  Quickly I rushed to the kitchen, and opening the oven door, the only way I know to stop the thing, out poured the blue, heavy smoke, made me cough a little, waving my hand and peering inside, I saw a lump of bubbling smoking black, it didn't resemble what I had placed inside, the plastic tray was even melted!  Four minutes is not a very long  time, but it took all the next day to air out the house, and considerably longer than four minutes to clean my oven.




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Let Me Introduce Myself, Sort of

O.K. It's time I got this party rolling.  Been off line, my computer decided to take up smoking!  Bad for it.  Bad for people also.  Don't care, smoke anyway. Had some trouble finding myself after I created this page.  Seems about the only thing I'm any good at with computers is Spider Solitare, and barbecueing hard drives and memory card readers, and the solitare game sometimes skunks me, bad.    Enough about me.  I created this page to tell you about me.  My life, my dreams, my nightmares, and my wife, our 30 years together, and the day we met the Grim Reaper.  Tell you how sometimes no matter how hard you try, there is going to be someone or something to trip you up, and my aftermath.  I'm not writing for sympathy, these are my observations, from my perspective.  Want that maybe you read and think, Yeah, just like what happened to me!  Or what a fool, how did he ever get that old and still be that stupid!  You judge, I write.  You like, tell friends, if not tell them anyway.
Some of my life lessons are still to be learned by many, maybe reading me, they can avoid what I couldn't or wouldn't do inspite of my own well being.  Example: If you are going on a overnight trip, while loading your car, do not (this especially true if there any cats in the neighborhood) leave the door open when you go into the house.  After getting my things, I headed to the bank, for needed funds.  I no sooner pulled onto the main most road to town, State Highway, lots of traffic, three liquor stores in two blocks, so a lot of pedestrians, pedesterations, No Spell Checker!!  foot traffic, the cat had apparently fallen asleep, and woke up.  With one of those strange yowls the kind that makes you wonder "What the f.."  the animal leaped into the seat with me and tried to leave through the windshield.  That not working the stupid thing began running around the inside along the edge of the door, across the dash over me, at least four laps.  He knocked my glasses askew, me flailing my arms in defense, I'm no longer driving, but I am traveling about 35mph on this usually busy road.  Just in time I see a corner, and without looking made a wicked, barely under control right turn to head back home to release this now settled creature, although still hissing and growl/yowling cat somewhere behind me, I expect the thing on my head like some kind of a hat soon enough.  Made it without incident. opened the door, boom, boom, out goes the cat. 
Myself, being a man, I drives a man's car, which is to say, a pickup truck.  I had also been putting things in the bed while I packed, going to take my friends some sheetrock compound, wood, other things they could use during their remodel.  Glad to do it, I would have only trashed it, I am now finished with mine.  That makes me think of another post!!  Anyway, off to the bank now.  Got my money, and on the way to my vehicle, noticed the tail gate down.  I kept my cool though, and when I looked into the back, nothing, like someone even swept back there.  Without missing a beat, I flipped it closed and headed back the way I came.  I didn't really want my things back, was courious as to where I left them.  However, I was also concerned that maybe while scattering things all over the road, I might have caused some damage.  Was sure I'd drive past a police car, only to have witnesses pointing, yelling  "That's him!  Came back to the scene of the crime!"  No sir, really wasn't looking foreward to that, at all.  Well I began to rest assured, when I came to my street, and hadn't  found anything on the road.  Then I wondered, ???  Where did it go, and surly, the taping compound, five pounds of it, pre mixed, in a cardboard box, would have painted a nice, messy spot where it hit the ground.  Nothing.  Smiled a little about that too, lucky me.  Well, my button pushing finger is kinda sore, going to close for now, go to bed, put my finger in cider, make it feel better.

just gettin' started

One o'clock in the morning.  I just now created this 'blog,' blog, not sure I like that term yet.  Mabye grow on me.  Testing the waters now, but plan on posting some of my more memorable experiences soon.  Some of my life lessons, job related, family things, observations.  The time I set my motorcycle on fire while I worked on it.  Some interesting (to me) things that happened at work.  My life with Linda.  Hope you will find them interesting, funny, tragic, just be sure to comment so I'll know when to stop.  More later, thanks for looking.  ken