Maybe This Year, Then

Maybe this year,

The economy completely recovers.
The $300 I loaned out is returned (after two years).
The go-ahead for that next big project is granted.
Family life stabilizes.
The kids turn into adventurous eaters.
Technology mastery is achieved.
The commute becomes milder.
Leisure time is prevalent.
Gas prices drop while the mpg triples.
The housing market normalizes.
Global warming reverses.

Then, I can,

Paint and draw.
Write and blog.
Discover new music, live music.
Read.
Garden and grow things.
Build and construct.
Travel and explore.
Cook new things.

The point is none of the Maybes are likely to happen. So, why wait on the stuff I really want make. Remember Rule number Six.

Can you get to that? I want to know

I once had a life, or rather
Life had me
I was one among many
Or at least I seemed to be
Well, I read an old quotation in a book just yesterday
Said "Gonna reap just what you sow,
The debts you make you have to pay."
Can you get to that?
Can you get (I wanna know)
I want to know if you can get to that (hey!) (get to that!)
Can you get (can you get to that)(I wanna know)I want to know if you can get to that – Funkadelic

I must admit to bit of writer’s block, although it feels more encompassing. My computer archive folder with all my “thoughts on paper” looks more like a smattering of words on the screen with little current meaning. Now that I have (almost) completely unwrapped my brain from last month’s move and merge, I look at myself and feel nowhere close to any expected routine. Granted, there has been little regular practice of any sort for a year or so now. And it isn’t just the writing now either. Cooking, exercising, music, reading, painting/drawing, as well as this creative outlet called writing, have all fallen off the regular radar.

But I have to admit, I feel ready. I want to get to that.

A day or two ago, I read in a fitness magazine (while in line at the grocery store) that even if one doesn’t feel like exercising or working out at least get up and make the attempt, that each individual has a personal “point of no return,” where, once you’ve reached it you’ll complete the workout. For me, my “point of no return” for exercise is simply getting my feet on the floor at 5 a.m. and out from the warmth of the snuggle. Once upright in the morning, I have no problem with the rest of the exercise program (as long as my iPod is charged).

Cooking still happens out of necessity, love, and fatherly duty. But it is far away from the way it used to be organized. I once had a chalkboard in the kitchen that displayed the scheduled meals for the week. Originally, this was out of necessity in order to avoid the post-work “what do you want to have for dinner?” conversation, the post-work run to the store, and the subsequent unhealthy options that inevitably became dinner due to the lack of time. With the chalkboard, there was no stall to think and debate. I simply made what was planned and on the board. Early Saturday mornings the quiet of the house is rather Zen-like with a cup of coffee, the weekly grocery ads spread out on the kitchen table, and blank menu board awaiting the plan for the week’s dinner menu/shopping list. In fact, the Saturday morning ritual only got better as The Girlie joined in on the tradition. So, what is the P.O.N.R. here? It is simply the chalkboard. Unfortunately, at the last house I created a bad, bumpy chalkboard with blackboard paint. I’ve been artistically offended at my own handy work since then. So, using it ceased. As a result, the weekly routine suffered. So, this weekend the board is getting sanded (after some quiet time with a cup of coffee and the grocery ads). I can get to that.

I can get to that!

Id's Alive

If you could only hear the things my inner voice comes up with some times.

You know what I’m talking about, the subconscious, your Id. It is that little voice in your head that talks to those angels on your left shoulder and the devil on your right whether you are even aware of it or not. That constant dialogue with yourself detailing everything the senses sift from synapse to brain. It’s the inner influence that keeps poking at you constantly only to be silenced by deep sleep, a riveting movie, or tequila.

The Id, by Freud’s definition, is unconscious. Yet my inner voice has, at times, become distinctly animated over the last year.

(Oh, please spare them. You’re not going to blog about that time last summer, right?)

After a particularly stressful week of divorce issues, parent-teacher conferences, Non-Profit Board meetings, multiple work deadlines, kid schedule conflicts, the non-stop home chores ...

(Dude! Pssst. This is a bad idea.)

and a new fiancé of considerable excitement and focus, I found myself walking downtown talking to myself (my Id). I didn’t realize I was talking to myself. But, I was talking to myself. Outloud!

(Sorry. But you hadn’t been listening to me much. You were to swamped “doing” and not enough time “dealing”. Know what I mean?)

Sshh! Anyway, yeah, I found myself downtown dropping off paperwork to the lawyer. I took the opportunity to walk up a block to get some lunch. Unconsciously, I must have been talking to myself (you) outloud. As I walked passed these two college kids, one of them said to the other, “the homeless sure are dressing better these days!”

Laughing and snickering followed. I looked around to see what homeless person they were talking about.

(Breed ‘em and weep, my friend.)

Ah. Reality. Me!

(What are you doing?)

I’m leaving. I’m going home to go paint in blue, orange, and black with music turned up to ten. And I’ll sing. Maybe I’ll write. Never the less, Leave. Me. Alone.

(I am immune to your gentle Midwestern-Jedi mind flip and the waving of that hand in front of our nose saying, “You are no longer talking to me, eh.”)

A great idiocy in the force, there is.

(I’m still here and you are about to walk into a parking meter.)

Bite me! I wonder if I am out of tequila at home?

I blog to purge. It is better than talking to myself in public.

The Right Thing About 3 a.m.

Blogging has been good for me and I claim no journalistic ideals for the future (aka. I have no book deal, I promise). I never did the serious journal thing before and in no way had a diary outside of a sketchbook. The closest thing I ever had to a journal was when a junior high school friend and I bought “little black books” at a stationary store to keep the names of girls and phone numbers and “stars/rankings/notes”. You know that little black book I’m talking about. The Fonz had one. Only, our meager thumbs up rankings never really amounted to much and the pages stayed all too blank. Although, I do recall one or two memorable names (not to be repeated here as Facebook has so wonderfully put us back in touch after all these years and that just wouldn’t be right).

Yes, blogging for me is pleasurable, albeit a bit of a process. EHTT puts me in a daily, if not hourly, state of inner search for something interesting and creative. The enjoyable part goes away, though, when I find myself in that sleepless hour of self evaluation at a sky-divingesque, X-Games sort of level. These are the wee moments when I’m convinced blogging is less than productive to my welfare. Being emotionally authentic might also be damaging to my sleep patterns at times.

The space between my head and my heart is not for casual play. It is where I seek what is right and good. It is where therapy happens. But it is also where artistic expression can find a voice in the night. It is where conception of an image for a painting or a line of a poem is worked out. It is where the details of a household construction project find solutions. It is where I remember the name of that song in my head and how it would segue so beautifully with that Arcade Fire song both musically and thematically (some d.j. habits die hard). And it is where I write, at times sans keyboard.

Sometime last year, I scoffed at the accusation that I held an innate inability to be alone. It was referenced in the context of a now dead marriage and, at the time, a dating life. It was intended to be a derogatory cut at my being and stated purely to hurt me. It was meant to make me rethink a new, wonderful, and hopefully, lifelong relationship. So, I ignored the comment. I have and still claim a life not of solitude. Instead, I choose people.

As for being alone, I crave the creative juice flowing moments that one can experience only in pursuit of art. And that kind of quality time is precious. Unfortunately, it is also just as hard to schedule. But when the opportunity presents itself, I am all over it.

Now, I readily admit, I tend to concentrate hardest on that which is directly in front of me and lack the enviable ability to multi-task on other things when creating/writing/constructing/etc. For example, I don’t cook dinner and watch Monday Night Football with much speed either, especially during the weeks when the kids are in the house. So, when given time to myself, I had best be organized because I will dive into a project and not look up, maybe for days. And when that happens projects might just linger in unfinished land (and I Hate unfinished land).

For me, the process of sorting through the shreds of information between head and heart is vital, if not mandatory, for the self. Though, it is rarely swift. I am not much of a loner and I have built my life around the people I love and care about deeply. Should they have me, they are a part of my life forever. So, when I withdraw in search of creative isolation, I unintentionally alienate and leave those I love to question whether my allegiance to them is at risk. And, I can’t have that. For that, I apologize.

So, what do I do?

The Fonz: Cool is knowing the difference between right and wrong and doing what is right with guts.

Well, I sort through it all and do the right thing. I paint in between laundry loads while waiting for the plumber to show. I cook, facilitate homework and baths, and play with PhotoShop all at the same time, doing none of them well, I fear. I make my lover mix-tapes (CDs) while doing some on-line bill paying. And, I blog in the middle of the night to connect some random dots between head and heart.

Thumper said, “If you can't say something nice ... don't say nothing at all.”

I haven’t blogged in a long time. Sorry. I’ve found some enjoyment in ignoring the on button to my laptop. Facebook can do that to a person. It is a love/hate thing, I think. That and something like 550 unopened emails.

Plus, this is the all important birthday month for the kids and me. Oh, and I’m now engaged. So, yeah! I’ve had a lot of things worth documenting and denoting the date. But I haven’t felt like blogging ‘em to the world. Quite honestly, because things are all “Even Happier Than That” right now, I’m rather boring to you, I fear.

But the most prominent excuse for not blogging is I’ve spent much more time listening. I have been sort of eaves dropping in on the world and it is a lot more fun sometimes than trying to come up with something to write about. You all have a lot going on.

Though sadly, I’ve come to the conclusion that most of the talk in the grocery store line and around the water cooler is simply passing judgment on others. No new ideas to report. No success stories of encouragement to reveal. And that is bothersome, really. People talk constantly about what friends are doing with a mighty tinge of harsh verdict laced within. It’s not as if I’ve been oblivious to gossip and am just now learning the term. It’s just that it is all so negative. And I’ve had enough with negative.

Bertrand Russell once said, “No one gossips about other people’s secret virtues.” Listen around and you’ll hear that is unequivocally true. It is much more fun to talk about the scandal or even the minor blemishes over the successes and daily joys. Pay it forward was a fun, one-time movie theme, but it isn’t as much fun as the daily drama and sorrow of an acquaintance or friend. None of it would carry any weight if we all didn’t want to believe in it to make ourselves feel a bit better “just knowing”. It probably isn’t even true, maybe a half-truth, but we act like it is a fact.

There is a lust in man no charm can tame,
Of loudly publishing his neighbor’s shame,
On eagles wings immortal scandals fly,
While virtuous actions are born and die.
- William Harvey

In all of that, I take one exception. Facebook. FB is sort of a personal public relations site where one propagates one’s good stuffs. Why would one want to air dirty laundry on purpose when you get so much more drama talking trash?

Never the less, you might read more from me now as I try hard to stop listening to the gossip and get a better grip on new ideas and thoughts.

C'mon. Breathe, blog, BREATHE! Don't you die now. Not now!

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As the Blog Turns, So Do the Days of Our Lives ....

While EHTT blog posts have started to appear again with a bit more regularity there has been quite a lot going on that I have not retold to you, and I feel like blame should fall on the Middle East.

Actually, what it comes down to is my social life has improved tremendously mostly due to my girlfriend’s popularity and her affinity for wine and cheese and tequila. It also has a lot to do with the giant time-suck called Facebook. Ultimately, though, I don’t turn my computer on as much as I have in the past. For instance, I was watching the middle movie of the Lord of the Rings Trilogy with my girlfriend and my son when a bird dive-bombed the cat. I strained my neck trying to see below the window sill how Lucky the Cat would react. The cat was just fine and rather complacent about the whole thing. My neck hurt for long time. My computer was nowhere within reach.

Just remember – you heard it here first.

Blog Anniversary Rules

This is a redo/revisit of the first post from my blog Even Happier Than That. I posted it just about one year ago today.

A year ago everything was new and different. Life was changing. Emotions ran high and I needed these rules to keep moving forward.

Today, my rules stay the same. Comments follow....

Rule 1 – Learn to Trust again. Find someone to trust and try trusting them for a while. Wow! Rule number one was quite powerful this last year. Yes, I trust again. I think the difference now is to be trustworthy. I can be that.
Rule 2 – Get everything out of your work. Work is rewarding in and of itself. This economy has made this difficult. But, I’m still working and working hard.
Rule 3 – Be a good friend. Help someone else. I have. I do. I will continue to do so.
Rule 4 – Experiment. Play. Flirt. Enjoy Yourself. This is lighter than you think. This was the fun rule and easy to accomplish when one is ‘single’ every other week.
Rule 5 – Be self disciplined. Slacking is not an option. Not easy after rule number four and a rather lengthy move during the first three or four months of this year, but I’m better here. I must get back to a gym routine again though. Rule number four hasn’t helped out rule number five in that area.
Rule 6 – There is no win and no fail. There is only make. Make. I do make. I write here. I create. I build. I have art projects still to do.
Rule 7 – Work hard toward something. If you work it will lead to more. It is the people who do all the work all the time who eventually catch on to things. I am taking my LEED exam in a few weeks. And I have another professional project right around the corner.
Rule 8 – Don’t try to create and analyze at the same time. They are different processes. I don’t confuse these, ever.
Rule 9 – Always be around. Come or go to everything. I have found very little time for myself because of this rule. I’m not sure why I even need my satellite dish (outside of for my kids). I never sit still anymore and I am always on the go to do something, see friends, or do something with my kids.
Rule 10 – Invent new rules next week. I think I’ll stick with these for a while more.

A year of EHTT ... And I am even happier than that.

Blogbutt Afternoon

Sometimes you have to pull down your pants and slide on the ice -- Sidney (M.A.S.H.)

Ok. I apologize. I have a confession to make. And I know that what I am about to reveal may lose me one or two of my three readers, but it has to be shared. I think this is the funniest song I've ever heard.

Kimya Dawson just released a song called Alphabutt. The kids and I laughed so hard we fell on the floor. Then listened to it again. And again. This will easily be number one with a shot on my son's iPod.

This simply must be shared to the masses. So … blog, do your stuff. Spread the word.

Go.

..........

Ok, sit.

Stay.

Good, blog.

Summer ott8, not 2B4Got10

It is Labor Day. I am lounging and enjoying the end of summer in the only slacker way I know how.... I sort of have the entire day to listen to music, re-string my guitar, drink a beer or two, or watch some Bond on a HD. Later this afternoon I shall play in the kitchen as there is a dinner party to attend this evening. We must bring an appetizer and a salad.

I’m concocting a fun appetizer with a very bad name (new name suggestions are most welcome, so please comment). For lack of a more creative label, I call them Spinach Roll-Ups. Essentially, it is made with lime chutney and served with peanuts, coconut, chopped limes, and red onion. Each is rolled up in a large spinach leaf and served with freezer cold vodka shots. The salad is my Chinese Chicken Salad with mango and blueberries.

But I have a few hours to lounge. It seems this is as good a time as any to flex the fingers on this keyboard. I’ve been mostly running around iTunes these days and reading up on fantasy football dealings. Not much to tell you all. So, even if there isn’t much to report today, it does feel good to exercise my fingers.

The summer of ott 8 is all but gone now. June, July, and August all pretty much documented here on the screen and posts from EHTT. Ott 9 is right around the corner. None too soon, I think. Although, I’m not sure if really want time to move slower or more quickly these days. Depends on the day and the issues. Today, I want it slow way down. I want to extend a summer that will stay in my mind for a long, long time. Not 2B4GOT10, that is for sure…..

Scratching the Itch

Greek author Plutarch: What we achieve inwardly will change outer reality.

Since I started blogging (Mudholer and this one) nearly four years ago, I’ve tried every once in a while to stop and take stock of it all. This afternoon it hit me that in the short time I’ve been creating words on a screen this blog thing has sort of permanently etched itself into my identity to the point where I find it a necessary itch in need of a constant scratch. It’s safe to say I love writing it. Hell, I better love it if I’m going to bang away at a keyboard some nights in the a.m. side of midnight. No doubt I'm addicted to the liberation of self-expression.

I also think writing a blog forces one to observe life with a constant awareness of being in the moment. I could care less about the anonymous internet surfers (although I do get kick out seeing from where they lurk and what they read). No, I've gone down this life path having made (most) of my own choices. And I simply chose to remain immersed in writing about it because it provides me a release, both the positive and the negative.

Life is interesting and hard and fun and full of stuff to get through. But here, in this blog thing, I can articulate my demons and loves however I see fit. Then I can take a step back and laugh. Because, quite amazingly, my issues and observations seem rather trivial once I've posted them into cyberspace.

My experiences are not necessarily unique. I'm exploring poetry out of a love. Who hasn't done that before? I post song lyrics blended with fiction to hide the obvious. Who hasn't read that kind of thing before, either? No, I write because my thoughts might amuse others in my life who know and read my blog. Anyone else is just a bonus.

Life has come at me quickly. But overall, I have a good life. I share it daily with friends and family, close by and far away. And, thanks to the blog, I get to scratch a creative itch and ya'll get to read, and perhaps, comment/participate. Thanks for reading....

Blogging Lite

I am attending a national conference for a professional organization of which I belong. So, I am in Denver this week. Needless to say, blogging will be minimal over the next few days.

However, I am getting quality fodder for posts, no doubt.