Croaker's Corner

Swan Song

2009-11-19T15:22:00.002-05:00

Things aren't the way they were before
You wouldn't even recognize me anymore
Not that you knew me back then
But it all comes back to me in the end

You kept everything inside
And even though I tried, it all fell apart
What it meant to me will eventually be
A memory of a time when...In The End, Linkin Park

Five years ago I started this blog. I have made a lot of friends because of it. I have learned to write better because of it. It doesn't serve my needs any longer. I am starting over. A new name, a new place, from scratch, building an audience one new reader at a time-- Anonymously

Pandora suggested, and I believe she is right, that I can not take any of this blog with me. So I am leaving it as a completed body of work.

Those of you who have stumbled onto to my blog for the first time please enjoy my favorites, the best of and the conversations. I will consider emailed requests for the new blog, no promises.

Croaker
gof_croaker@yahoo.com

Wrecked

2009-11-18T11:29:00.001-05:00

#1 borrowed the Charger Saturday night. She drove it up to Mount Pleasant to visit friends at CMU. It is no big deal to me. She has borrowed it before, standard rules apply, don't drive drunk, don't let anyone else drive it. When she returned on Sunday the car had damage on the right rear quarter from the rear door to the bumper. It was a big ugly deep gauge, down to the paint and some surface scratches.

She told me a long rambling story about her night. She said the car was in the parking lot and hit by some other girl at the party. It sucks but she promised to pay for the damage and she already knew a guy to fix it. I didn't get upset. Little things usually upset me more then the big ones, I don't know why.

Later that night when I went to take the boys home I noticed the front end was way out of alignment, so far out the electronic traction control light remained on. When I looked at the front right wheel I saw a three inch dent and fresh scraps. I felt there was no way someone in a car could do both sets of damage in a parking lot. The tire showed scuff marks from a curb but when I confronted her she stuck to the same story. Insisting she was not lying.

I love #1 dearly, she is my best friend but she lies about everything to everyone. She continued to insist she was not lying but her story had to many holes in it. My gut says something else happened. The thing is I don't care about the car or the repairs, but I wanted to know the truth. She insists I only care about the car. She has stopped talking to me (except to get the car fixed), found other arrangements to watch her son when she goes to school.

It is all very stupid and all very upsetting. I don't want to loose my best friend over damage to a car. I'd give the car away first. If she is not lying then I am a bit of an ass but if she is then why is she going through so much effort to conceal it.

She asked me, "why would I lie." Truth is I don't know why; maybe she pulled a hit and run, maybe she got a DUI, maybe she left someone else drive the car and they got into the accident. I don't care. I care about her and her safety. I feel cornered and I don't know what to do.

Work

2009-11-15T00:11:00.002-05:00

So the new guy in the office is a kiss-ass. I swear if I have to listen to him, good idea "boss" or nice presentation "boss" one more time I am going to puke. I walked in on the two of them the other day. The two of the were as thick as thieves looking over a drawing trying to figure out what dimensions were missing.

I stuck my nose in, "You are missing the overall length," I said.

My boss waves me off, grumbles something about not needing it. Five minutes later, the new guy is on the phone with the customer discussing the drawing. "Tell him we need the overall length," my boss says.

You asshole, I'm thinking.

Friday my boss told me I would have to take over most of the automotive side of the business. I told him that was fine with me. It gives me more to do and a better chance at staying employed. His reasoning concerned me though. "Because I don't really care about it, " he added.

The War of Words

2009-11-10T23:18:00.003-05:00

People walk a tight rope on a razor's edge
Carrying their hurt and hatred and weapons
It could be a bomb, or a bullet or a pen
Or a thought, or a word, or a sentence

There ain't no reason things are this way
It's how they've always been and they intend to stay
I don't know why I say the things I say
But I say them anyway...Ain't No Reason, Brett Dennen

The war of words continues because obviously it is easier to communicate indirectly. Instead I'll justify my actions here--for if I get support from the outside world therefore I am right.

#1: "Boy she thinks you're some kind of stud; she doesn't know you at all does she."

* * *

Sam and I are at Applebees-- again. My post divorce life is a litany of restaurants. Sam met up with the ex-husband of Alexis last night. It seems he has found it in his heart to make friends with everyone from his past; everyone but me and Alexis I mean. I seem to be second on his people to hate list. He hardly knows. If he did he'd realize I've never really said or done anything against him. I actually can relate to his situation. I am also a victim of divorce. In fact, I do not always condon Alexis' action and often tell her so. Despite that, he's sure I've had sex with Alexis and Sam, or at least tried (for the record I haven't). Sam came to my defense though, telling him she didn't want to hear it, that I am the most harmless person she knows. I think that a complement-- I suppose. I am not heartbroken by his animosity. I do think it is sad to see how much divorce can consume someone.

Our conversation wandered, the way it often does. We talked about her condo, mutual friends, our jobs. She asked if I was still going to California over Thanksgiving. "No, that isn't working out," I said.

We talked about #1 and how well she is doing in college. Sam is proud of her too. Our conversation brought back to mind the issues Pandora had with the relationship between #1 and I. She never understood it. I guess I can't say I blame Pandora. I don't think #1 or I can explain it either.

At one point I tell Sam, "I'd do anything for #1 if it helps her get through college. I don't know how she'd feel if I just suddenly broke off contact with her."

"And you shouldn't, " she replies. "Like you said, she is one of your closest friends. I think she'd be crushed."

I smile self consciously, a bit in disbelief but Sam knows us both. Half the time #1 has known me she tried keeping a distance between me and the rest of her life, somehow I found my way in. She trusts me with her secrets. I am one of the people she counts on. When I look at her life, that does not include very many people. That makes me special, too some. That is something I don't take lightly.

When it comes to others I have learned to ask myself, what void would my absence create in that other person's life. The answer points my way.

I told Pandora that I think she would not get along with my female friends. A statement that I still stand by. A perfect example is when Wendy said I attract crazy girls and Pandora took specific offense to it. I wonder how well those two would get along in the same room.

Truth is, we are all a bit crazy, some of us more then others. The closer we get to each other, the more we see it. Some people can look past the craziness and see the value underneath, sometimes the craziness blends. Sometimes, I laugh so hard I surprise myself, I have to treasure what sparks it.

Another Tattoo

2009-11-09T20:16:00.001-05:00

Lance Kellar Studios, it is the same place where we got our Celtic Knots. There are always several artists and hang arounds about. Everyone is friendly. It is the kind of place I would want to work at if I was a tattoo artist. They have a big slanted light board for working. There seems to be a lot of collaboration of ideas between the arts and a lot of the pieces seem to be original.

I came in with my artwork and said I wanted someone that was good with letters. They all suggested John. He kept my original concept and added his own style to it. I am really happy with the results. Ever since Vegas I've wanted something more visible and with #1 constantly talking and adding to her own tattoos it was hard for me to resist the urge.

I can understand her excitement. The night before I got the tattoo I had not added the cherub yet. I felt like there was something missing but wasn't sure which way to take it. The idea of adding a cherub came to me. Cherubs and Latin scrolls seemed to go well. I found the perfect cherub on an Affliction tee-shirt I owned. When I put it all together I couldn't wait to get it.

John suggested the proportions of the cherub to the writing. The piece took a little over two hours to complete. Here is the result.

Question not the justice of the moment.

The Ritual

2009-11-08T18:51:00.166-05:00

It was a long night. It is almost always a long night. Her feet ache. Once outside, she shivers in the cold. She tips the valet and slips into her car, turns the heat on high. The streets are mostly deserted. She watches out for cops and drunk. As soon as she is on her way, she makes a call. A groggy voice answers.

He is usually in bed long before her shift ends. Sometimes he'll be reading or watching TV but usually he is sleeping. He is not a sound sleeper. The familiar ring tone shocks him back to life. "What's up hon?"

She starts rambling as soon as he answers. She's had to bite back her tongue and keep her real thoughts to herself most of the night. Sometimes she had a bit much to drink. Other times she is sober. She pulls into a late night drive through line and places her order. "Hold on," she says. "I've got to talk off my jacket and get my ear piece." She places the phone in her lap and wiggles out of her coat.

He laughs to himself as she places her order. It always ends with, "and a water cup". He rolls over and gets comfortable. Blue glow from the cell phone is the only light in the room. The voice is distant on the other side of the line, but continues talking. "Hold on, hold on." The shuffle of change can be heard, the ghetto voice of a drive-thru attendant handing over the bag and her own voice purring, "thank you."

Her headset on, food in hand, she continues her stories without missing a beat. She'll mention her customers, the other girls and how she did. Occasionally, she'll break from the story with a comment concerning the other drives around her. Her voice gets softer when she spots a cop, as if he won't notice her if she speaks more softly. "Your turn, " she'll says when she begins to eat.

He tells her about his day. His stories are not usually as exciting but she listens and makes comments. There is always something to talk about, his friends, the kids, the ex or work. He pictures her driving home in her little green car. He knows the route well, having traveled it both to visit her and to get to his own customers many times.

Her drive is 45 minutes long if you include stopping for food, often the conversation ends with, "I'm home now; I'll talk to you tomorrow." It's their ritual and happens about three times a week. It makes the night complete. Like a cup of coffee first thing in the morning.

The Punisher Rules

2009-11-07T12:09:00.001-05:00

After a few minutes of coaxing I get her to roll out of bed. She starts looking through her shirts.

"Don't clash with me," I joke. "Don't wear DC to my Marvel". I indicated the gray on gray design of The Punisher on my tee-shirt.

"I can do better than that." She pulls on a grey tee-shirt of her own. In the center is a red oval with a cougars head.

"Who's symbol is that?"

"You don't remember the Thundercats?" She asks, with feigned astonishment on her face. "More people will recognizes them than The Punisher."

"I seriously doubt that."

And that start our little game of 'one up' for the evening. "You can ask anyone which symbol they recognize, I bet you I get more votes." We pull into Chilis for dinner. "Hey did you see my belt buckle?" I left up my shirt in the parking lot to reveal a white three inch round head of Jack Skellington.

"Oh yeah", she says and lifts up her own shirt to reveal the triangular Superman buckle on her own belt.
I laugh. "We are two of a kind aren't we." We high five each other and start to debate who's buckle would be more recognizable.

We end up sitting ate the bar and order appetizers for dinner. I concede her buckle might be more well known if we include the overseas market. I don't mention Superman is DC and she wasn't supposed to clash.
When the bartender has a moment, I point to Wendy's shirt and ask him if he knows the symbol. He racks his brain for a minute. I start to think I am going to get my first point when he blurts out the right answer. When I show him my shirt, he easily guesses correct.

Tied at one to one we ask another bartender. This guy doesn't remember the Thundercats, claiming he is to old (27), the same age as Wendy. He does remember The Punisher. I soften the blow to her ego. "What do you expect from a man with a giant red chili pepper on his shirt."

The girl who brings out our food doesn't remember either. She guesses a cougar and a skull and we both brush her off as being lame.

"See I'm a pretty cool chick," she states proud of her Attack of the Show style knowledge.

"Yeh, I usually manage to surround myself with pretty cool girls."

"No you don't," she insists. "You attract crazy girls." I state that I think all women are crazy, present company included. With my two to one victory we rush off to see The Fourth Kind. A classic example of another crazy girl--freaky good though.

Hey, Oh

2009-11-04T23:12:00.001-05:00

Hey oh... listen what I say oh

Come back and hey oh, look at what I say oh

The more I see the less I know

The more I like to let it go - hey oh, woah...Snow (Hey Oh), Red Hot Chili Peppers

My mind wandered this morning, as it often does. I created a new blog under a new name and left this one behind. I was going to work hard to create a new following. I would become totally anonymous again and spill forth all my secret thoughts and feelings that I no longer share here. The blog was supposed to be a solace. Now it seems to work against me.

Destruction leads to a very rough road

But it also breeds creation... Californication, Red Hot Chili Peppers

In the past I wrote pieces and was complemented by the faceless mass of readers. New the readers all have faces and they are mostly silent. What I don't mind being read by some, I fear being read by others. The verbal game of "what are you thinking" is tipped, and not in my favor. It is not worth the gamble.

I like pleasure spiked with pain

Music is my aeroplane

It's my aeroplane ... Aeroplane, Red Hot Chili Peppers

Update

2009-11-02T13:25:00.000-05:00

I'd like to make it to 100 posts before the end of the year but I am not sure it will happen. That would mean thirteen each of the remaining two months and it is the holiday season; not a good season for me typically.

I got the new salesman's card today. He is "President- North America". That was a bit of a surprise. Knowing I am the lowest paid person in the office makes me hope they will see little benefit in getting rid of me. I do make wonder what load of BS they fed him to get him to quit his current job and start here.

The Halloween decorations are away for another year. The T-Rex and I put them up weeks ago. Halloween is all about the kids. The get excited by the creepy and thrilled at the idea of being scared. It is still my favorite holiday; though I didn't really celebrate it this year.

The end of this year will come too quickly. I can feel it. I'd like to get way between Christmas and New Year, the question is where. Then again, I also find myself asking why. I don't even like going to a movie alone. The fun is usually being with someone you enjoy.

NOLI DE IVSTITIA TEMPORIS PRAESENTIS DVBITARE

2009-10-29T23:21:00.001-04:00

"Question not the justice of the present," Croaker

Fairness is not in the cards. To question the hand we are dealt does not change the present. Learn from the past. Hope for the future and role with the present.

I've been ignoring Pandora. Briefly, we were talking again daily but I became frustrated with her inability for her to promise to try to take care of herself, among other things.I haven't discussed it with her because I have been too busy with work to process my thoughts and put them into words. I hadn't add everything up but I know something was wrong.

You Are, You Are

2009-10-27T09:59:00.002-04:00

"You aren't who or what you think you are , Princess. You're what the world thinks you are. Your great task is to convince the world you are what it wants you to be." Ferris Renfrow, Lord Of The Silent Kingdom.

24- Part II

2009-10-21T14:07:00.001-04:00

Remember, walking in the sand
Remember, walking hand in hand
Remember, the night was so exciting
Remember, her smile was so inviting
Remember, then she touched my cheek
Remember, with her fingertips
Remember, softly
Softly we met with a kiss ...Remember, Aerosmith (originally the Shangri- Las)

I don't need her words to remind me of those days. I remember. I also remember others times in other places with other people, those tastes now though, are not so sweet. Days pass. Moments slip away.

What would we see if we could replay the moments we hold on too? The heat? The passion? The urgency?

Was that ecstasy in her eyes or detachment? Replay.

Does the excuses uttered after explain it all away? Replay.

Why did it end that way? Replay

What would happen if we replayed our memory for another? Would it melt and shrivel like a piece of celluloid stuck in front of the bulb of an old time movie projector or would it spark a memory of their own?

What do you see? What do you feel? What do you taste and smell?

What do I?

What do I know? What do I know about anyone?

* * *

Outside the cars can be heard on the distant freeway, the tires murmuring over the asphalt, the engines humming along. The muffled sounds seep through the doorwall becoming a static sort of white noise I mistake for silence. The shades are drawn. The room is bathed in familiar shades of gray. Worn out pillows surround me.

My mind wanders. Consciousness comes and goes. Occasionally I'll stretch the pain out of the tendons in my feet and turn my head the other way. Vocalizing silently in conversations of the mind. The reality that I am alone physically, never pushed totally beyond the fringes of feeling.

Time passes. The shadows shift then disappear, engulfed in the darkness that is night. The freeway sounds peak and wane. Light. I fight being drawn back into the world. I long for numb exhaustion like an addict for his fix.

My phone vibrates. A familiar voice reminds me how fortunate I am to be receiving a message. I doubt the truth in the statement but read the text none the less. The spell is broken.

24

2009-10-20T18:55:00.019-04:00

"You have no time for me," she says pointedly.

* * *

Neverland has gone silent for the four time during the even. It breaks the flow. Leaves everyone a little to aware of their surroundings. Its after midnight. #1 is leaning against me. She is slightly drunk and making snide jokes and colorful comments about other people I know. I reproach her halfheartedly. I can be as mean as her. I've had more then enough beers myself. Unwillingly I smile. Our sense of humors don't very much, and when we are alone we seldom hold back.

Morning comes too soon. After four hours of agitated sleep, I am up sifting through emails from China. I don't have a hang-over, which is nice. I made sure to drink plenty of water. My overseas bosses are not happy with my progress on certain issues. They veil their displeasure in terms like, "please take consideration to follow up closely". Which is translated Chinese for, "you need to get this done".

I decide I'd better take a trip into the office, just in case my local Chinese boss has returned. He didn't. The new salesmen is there however. He's been with us a week now. I've meet him only twice--briefly. I don't even know his full name or phone number yet. I have no idea what he is working on. Yes, just a typical day at the office.

A couple hours later, I've made my phone calls, wrote my emails and was planning my departure when I get a text message from Alexis. "Do you have time to look at a broken water line on a refrigerator?"
I'd been meaning to get over her house. She has wanted me to help her pull some things in from outside and into the basement for the winter for a while now.

"I was just about to leave. I can stop on my way home."

When I get to her house they have a laundry list of things to be repaired. I fix the ice-maker, the computer, install two cabinet knobs and take a look at a broken toilet. They don't have the right parts for the toilet. I promise to pick them up and work on it over the weekend. I never get to moving the things in from the backyard and add that to the last for the weekend.

I rush home. It is Monday and I've promised to help #1 with her math homework and what the little T-rex while she is at school. I have enough time to curl up under one of the frayed quilts on the couch but not enough to actually fall asleep when I hear them come in from the garage.

The T-Rex has brought toys. He wants to play. Mommy grabs the laptop and starts searching Facebook.
I build the T-Rex a quick tower out of Legos, find him a little net made out of string that he can tie his dinosaur up with and settle next to #1 to look at math.

Her patience is thin. A mixture of unfamiliar material, too much work over the weekend and not enough sleep has made her snappy. Not really a surprise. She is somewhere between Twin A and Twin B on the difficulty scale when it comes to tutoring. Three questions in, we are butting heads and she has had enough. I retreat to the other side of the coffee table and play more with the T-Rex. #1 curls up under the other quilt on the love seat and takes a nap before class.

Once mommy leaves, the T-Rex and I decide to go on a little adventure. Four hours is a long time to be cooped up in the house. I tell him we are going to Sam's house to help her with the renovations. He in not enthused. He would rather stay home but I'm the boss. So after he goes poop, which was a sickly green color that looked more like Play-Doo and makes me wonder what she feeds the kid, we pack up our tools and drive off.

The renovations to Sam's condo have been an on going process. A two year on going process. She has never lived there. She is cleaning the windows, while I am adjusting the doors on the recently installed cabinets. I glance into the living room. The little T-Rex is busy drawing pictures on the bare plywood floor. Earlier he was helping me drill holes in the closet doors for the knobs.

"Only-children are so easy." I comment. "They play by themselves."

"So are dogs." Sam replies.

"I don't really see the point in having a dog."

"Are you saying you'd rather have another child?"

It's one of those 'you most choose' type of questions. A question where each of the answers are equally undesirable. "I suppose...I guess. As long as it ain't mine. As long as I can hand it back at the end of the day. Does the mom come with it?"

The T-Rex gets impatient with scattering my tools. Before we leave I promise to finish a laundry list of other things over the weekend. It is getting dark as we drive back to my house. "Where did the sun go?"

"It is night time buddy. Day time is sunny; night time is.." I coax.

"Scary!"

"What! No night time isn't scary its dark."

When #1 returns, she has gotten her second wind. She is still not interested in doing her math. Her thoughts are on food and mischief. She eats a bowl of chips, cheese and salsa in less time then it takes to prepare, then digs into Taco Bell. She threaten to high-jack this blog and write her own post again. I tell her to go ahead but warn her that her actions could have consequences. She starts a post but is afraid to print it. She's afraid of the guilt.

I kindly kick them out soon after. It has been a long day for me. Tomorrow will be more of the same. Starting with a hour drive to a customer site.

California, I'm Fine

2009-10-17T15:13:00.001-04:00

"What you said...hurt me," She texted.

I know she is looking for me to apologize. I don't. I don't see any reason to apologize. "My words never bothered you so much before," I reply.

But that has changed. Every word is scrutinized now, checked for hidden meaning and assumptions are added to nonexistent subtext. Yet when I have her on the phone, there is silence between us. She doesn't know what to say and I won't say what she wants to hear.

This is how things break.

California, I'm fine
Somebody check my brain...Check My Brain, Alice In Chains

FlyingThrough

2009-10-16T19:11:00.000-04:00

"What's with you old guys and Royal Oak?" #1 asks, as if she doesn't like hanging out there occasionally herself.

"Where else would take someone that hasn't been to the city before?"

I picked up Jess from her hotel in Waterford. I explained she wasn't exactly in Pontiac then showed her the difference as we made our way down Woodward. Jess is all red hair and large smile. She left the details of our excursion to me but would dissuade certain ideas as I brought them up. It was noon, too early to drink ourselves into oblivion, though I think that idea would have appealed to her. Besides I had the boys to deal with later that day.

We settled for lunch at a Mexican restaurant in Royal Oak. Jess told me a few anecdotes from her experiences as a stewardess for a private airline. Her passengers have included former Presidents, movie stars, singers and sports figures. I filled in my half of the conversation with my own anecdotes. She asked if I was seeing anyone and I tried to explain my most recent events.

Jess was a comfortable companion. She kept up with me beer for beer and didn't complain about walking around town in the unseasonably cold weather (even though she lives in Texas). I should her bits of the best and worst of the city and its suburbs-- as much as anyone could in five hours on a cold fall day.

She was flying out the next day but hopefully the actor who charted the plane would have a few more days of shooting next week. She seemed to have a good time. I know I did. Hopefully I will see her again.

Castle

2009-10-11T14:33:00.003-04:00

Friday Max and I built a castle for the season.

Black, green and orange

Complete with a skeleton butler and Igor the key holder.

With Jack-o-lanterns, ghosts and Frankenstein.

Kids

2009-10-09T15:53:00.002-04:00

"...says the man playing with the three year old."

Little kids are easy. They know what to say.

"Who's the best Lego builder ever?"

"You are!"

They don't ask you what you are feeling.

"Play with me, Croaker."

They don't stare at you when your voice shifts from Yoda, to Patrick, to Mr. Crabs and back. They know the right lines to reply when you recite from cartoons and patiently indulge you even though you've done it a hundred times already-- because you think its funny.

"Are you done with your cereal?

"Yes."

Really?"

"Yes."

"Really, really?"

"Yes, yes!"

"Well'p that's good enough for me!"

If you pay attention to them. They are happy and you become the T-Rex, the Evil Jedi, the Lego Doctor or their co-conspirator in a plot to scare mommy.

Their grudges don't last long.

"I don't like you!"

"You don't like me?"

"I like you. I like you. Don't cry. Don't cry."

They trust you, can't wait to see you and cry when they leave you. Until that day when they are not little anymore-- yet you still seem to be.

What Do You Want Me To Say?

2009-10-08T17:19:00.001-04:00

What do you want me to say...

I get a text. "I need you to be there for me today..as best you can. I'm asking. Please."

"What's wrong?" I reply.

I'm left wondering whether she's come to some new decision about us. Is she moving back to New Jersey? Has her ex made her an offer she can't refuse? Is she sick or someone close to her sick?

"If we could go back to pre-Vegas and just be friends are you okay with that?" She asks.

"Yes. What is wrong with you?"

So the old boyfriend has gotten to her, I'm thinking. But no, he hasn't and I gave the wrong answer. It was a test. A test I should have seen. Pandora is a pro at thinking things without saying them. Which includes not saying things she thinks you don't want to here. I still hear them. I hear them in the words she writes, in the things she does say and in the long silent pauses in our conversation.

"I want to be a positive influence in your life," I tell her. I was-- until Vegas. She says she is ambivalent about a relationship with me. I tell her she is misusing the word and she is being chaotic. One person is not the solution to all of life's problems. You cannot forget yourself when you are in love. It opens you up to regret or being alone.

She is stumbling out of some bar five thousand miles away, breaking down on the street. I am not there but I am the cause. She loves me. She doesn't know me. Four days does not reveal me.

I want to be a positive influence in her life; I want her to be a positive influence in my life...we're not.

The Olive Garden

2009-10-07T15:29:00.001-04:00

Sam and I sit at Olive Garden waiting for our lunch-- my second of the day. Ever since Vegas I can't seem to stop eating. Its annoying fall is supposed to be one of the those times of year that I general loose weight. I've gained five pounds. I silently curse every fat person I see because I've gained five pounds and I will not become one of their number. I curse a lot.

"I don't know Croaker, I think you are just miss reading it, " she says.

"I'm telling you there is more to it."

Her face says there is something more, but what it is I can't tell and she won't say.

Our food arrives. She ordered just the salad. I the soup.

"I don't know," she continues, "I haven't seen you together."

I stop probing. It is evident I am not going to get her to say more, so it would probably be critical. I'm not immune to criticism but in this particular case I've probably already heard it all and agree with most. Still I am intrigued. The subjects shift to my lack-of-work job, my ideas for another tattoo and Halloween.

It turns out the question leads to more harm then good. Not with Sam but with someone else. Maybe I already know the answers to the why. I have my own opinions. They have been mentioned before. I've considered them and I know I am not ready to change them.

We all make choices. God knows, mine aren't always good-- at least not good for me. Sometimes though, someone thinks the choice is good for them and that makes it good enough.

The Rainbow

2009-10-06T17:39:00.003-04:00

It spanned the road in the distance, as if we would reach the end if we drove long enough. The colors were all visible red, orange, yellow, green, blue-- even indigo. As we continued driving, we saw the other end disappearing into the dark gray bank of clouds above. Below the first a second reflected the rays of the sun, more transparent then the first but still magnificent to behold together.

Max was in the back seat of the car with his friend. I handed them my sunglasses. The polarized lenses enhanced the clarity. I wanted him to enjoy something you see only once or twice in a life time. A rainbow so bright you can believe in the pot at the end..

In moments they were gone. The clouds softened, loosing their sense of ominus and it was just another fall Saturday afternoon. The air thick with the threat of rain. The sun threatenig to gain control of the skies.

Homework Part I

2009-10-01T15:45:00.001-04:00

He comes in through the front door, it has been unlocked for days. The white tee-shirt he is wearing looks stretched-out and worn. I am sitting in front of my computer, at the my high top kitchen table. I notice his hair is getting long again. I am not sure whether it his desire to grow it out is the reason or the fact his mother is reluctant to take him to get it cut.

Twin A is my oldest son-- oldest by like five minutes. I usually refer to him as taking on the roll of the middle child but Twin b has been wearing those shoes lately. Twin A is very sedate tonight. He doesn't put up a fuss as we do his homework. I am unaccustomed to such patience coming from him. We do his math problems. I try to explain the theory behind the work. He shakes his head, yes when I ask if he understands. He doesn't complain when we do a few extra problems.

"Your mother didn't understand this?" I ask, a bit surprised.

"She says you were some kind of brainiac in school."

"Apparently, it would appear that way if she didn't get this."

When we finish, he runs upstairs to spend the rest of his time here on the Xbox 360. It is as peaceful here as it can be with a sixteen year old over.

The Wrong Words, The Bookstore And The T-Rex

2009-09-26T22:16:00.001-04:00

While driving down the road, I tap out quick messages to Pandora on the qwerty keypad. I ask her why she loves me. A valid question, I feel. I am hoping her answers will be superficial but they aren't. But are they the ones that bind people over time?

The fall night is quickly sinking toward dusk. Pandora shifts from texting to calling. I pull into the parking lot of Barnes & Noble and park next to #1's familiar pastel green Focus. The lot is mostly empty. Our conversation is stunted. I am unsure what to say to her. I have my phone in my hand, the long black cord from my ear piece dangles along beside me, as I walk into the store.

"Can you call me back later?" I ask. "I am about to meet up with #1 for dinner."

It was the wrong thing to say; a time when a white lie would have been better. She already has a deep resentment of my relationship with #1. I wasn't thinking. I feel her disappointment in me in the silence before we say goodbye. Pandora hasn't contacted me since.

Inside a flash of green cuts across the main aisle, a miniature dinosaur complete with soft felt talons, a three foot tail and a toothy grin. The T-rex turns my way. Recognizing me he stops in the middle of his mischief. The child within the costume smiles then takes off as he hears his mom calling his name.

I catch up to them at the information desk. #1 is dressed in a short denim skirt and a blue long sleeve top. She looks slightly flustered. The T-rex bounces around her knees. She's looking for the latest Stephanie Meyers novel. No not one of the Twilight books; it's called The Host, the first book of her new series.
I volunteer to search and she takes off toward the front of the store with her little monster in tow.

The old lady behind the information counter is methodical-- which is a polite way of me saying she is slow. I ask her where I can find the book. I have time to tap out, "old people should not be allowed to work," on my phone while she consults her computer screen. After what seemed like enough time for me to reach retirement, she sends me off to the Science Fiction and Fantasy section.

I bring the thick hardcover novel back to #1. She regards it briefly, changes her mind about it and tosses it onto the shelf in front of her. If it was anyone else, I'd be surprised but not with her. She is onto another mission already and is searching for a book on tattoos.

The T-rex wants to play. I take him over to the children's section where he sinks his teeth into the toy train table. His mom continues on her search.

"Play with me!" He insists.

"Okay, okay!"

I pick up a train and push it along the track. The little T-rex attracts smiles from the passing adults. He doesn't notice, so intent is he on the trains. When it is time to leave, he pouts.

"Pick him up." #1 insists, afraid he will break out in screams.

"What does T-rex like to eat?" I ask to distract him. "Hamburgers? Hotdogs?"

The train table is quickly forgotten as we get into a debate concerning the diet of a dinosaur. The little monster begins chanting, "hungry hungry" as we drive to get food.

"He is his mother's child."

He continues to attract attention from strangers at the restaurant. The little boy in the Halloween costume eating his meal—or not as was the case. Garnishing attention unrealized just like his mom.

Happy In The Shade

2009-09-25T17:01:00.008-04:00

There is unrest in the forest
There is trouble with the trees
For the maples want more sunlight
And the oaks ignore their pleas...The Trees, Rush

This blog was supposed to be a creative outlet and I guess it is still. I've given up trying to control who reads it, or why. I opened the lid on that one, probably for subconscious narcissistic reasons. Just one more thing to be aware of when writing to my silent pack of voyeurs. I tell Pandora not to censor herself on her blog. I don't like to see such creativity stifled. She would probably tell me the same. After all our written words originally attracted us.

I think about it though, the feelings I hurt, the egos I stroke, the pictures I paint. Their motives. Their thoughts-- especially their thoughts. I'm left bleeding on the stage, the lights fade, the curtain falls and you can hear a pin drop from the audience. They shuffle off in silence and wait for the next show. I am too busy with my act to notice if they are sitting on the edge of their seats. Is that suddenly drawn handkerchief to blot away the tears or to stifle a smile. Do they play drinking games over the spelling errors? One shot for ever time he uses "then" instead of "than". One shot for every time the wrong word gets passed spell checker. Two shots if he mentions your name.

We present 2D images of ourselves to most of the world. Too our friends and family we are 3D, filled in mostly by shared experiences. We seldom get a glimpse inside the minds of those around us. Their doubts, dreams and fears, the things we all have but are afraid to share 90% of those I share here. What does that do?

Both Sides Of The Door

2009-09-23T23:19:00.002-04:00

"...We just got to keep the faith..."

"I don't have anymore faith. Not today."

I am trapped inside a room of induced numbness but the only door out leads to feelings; chaotic passions, debilitating despair. The door is thick oak deeply veined with six opaque glass panes. At the threshold, thoughts flicker almost real enough to feel. Like images from weird nightmares but I'm awake. The images remind me how deep the well is beyond the door. For a moment today the door stood ajar. Darkness spilled through the tiny opening carrying the nightmare images with it. The chill of the images cause my head to jerk and my skin to crawl. They did their mischief and evaporated back through the doorway, leaving me with a longing to follow.

The door is a construct, the out side is insanity, the room is where I don't belong. Lay me down within the well and paint the insanity upon my naked form in bright blues and reds.

I closed the door behind them knowing I did not have the speed to follow. Not Today.

The Sufferer And The Witness

2009-09-22T10:28:00.002-04:00

In fields where nothing grew but weeds,
I found a flower at my feet,
bending there in my direction.
I wrapped a hand around its stem
and pulled until the roots gave in,
finding there what I've been missing.
And I know.... The Good Left Undone, Rise Against

I've read along for so many days, longing to be the shining knight that broke the evil spell, never imagining I'd be another villain in the tale. No regrets we said, knowing someone was going to get hurt never thinking it would be her.

She blames herself. Is it her looks, her mind or the sex we shared? I tell her she is smart, beautiful and one of the best lovers I have ever had. I don't doubt her feelings for me. I know I have feeling for her too but not enough.

I am confused, scared--and sorry. I do not want to bring pain to the one that has brought me nothing but joy. Maybe I am jaded but I have my doubts. I do not think it would be fair for me to hold on to her knowing I can not return the same level of love.

Perhaps I am incapable of having such love without risking my sanity. I hope not, yet today I feel numb and I should hurt.

So I released the one I professed to love the most-- without signs of another, without hope of finding someone else. I'll go back to my sheltered existence and dream.

that's when she said I don't hate you boy
I just want to save you while there's still something left to save
that's when I told her I love you girl
but I'm not the answer for the questions that you still have...Savior, Rise Against