Of Ancient ones, times gone past and the issue with youthfulness

It is clearly an interesting point in life when we reach the time at which we constantly pursue that which is believed to be long gone, may it be a woman, a friend a time of joy or simply, our youthful beings which unbeknownst to us left for better times and pastures and left us hanging on for dear life while trying to juggle life in a way that let us at least, breathe comfortably, even if for a few minutes at a day.

I was talking to a friend (talking here being an euphemism for what passes as a conversation lately, a chat, a set of instant messages, a window if you will on a very tiny screen where messages are exchanged at the cost of facial expressions, hugs and carefully planned façades of perpetual emotions) and came to the conclusion that we (that is me) are old (am old, got older or simply put, left youth).

How we came to that conclusion (I came to it really) was in the way that most of these things come about, with heavy regret at a simply sentence that should we have timed the conversation better, may never have been uttered, like a floodgate into the "Elder gods realm" thoughts, demons and ancient beings, came through, unannounced yet not unexpected.

She's a lovely woman, craves the spotlight, needs the attention and, putting it mildly, deserves every second.  A kid, for his personality aside, he is certainly young into the world, was recently involved with her, but decided life, should not really be complicated, HOW DARE life thrust upon you responsibilities, dedication and more than that STRUCTURE!!

Clearly it was not meant to be.

That's when I noticed, life caught up to me and I was old.

Am old.

Will be old, well, can't say I will be though, clearly I went past the point where parties non-stop are my idea of a Saturday evening.

I disdain chaos, while I quite enjoy randomness, chaos is, simply put, not something I will dwell on.

There was a time, when I didn't mind not knowing how my day/weekend would come out, I used to travel with 3 sets of clothes in the car, a formal suit, a bathing/beach change and a sweater mountain get up, hiking boots were part of my "bug out" bag in the trunk.

These days I carry medicines, tools and some specific car replacement parts.

Old I tell you.

Yet not unhappy.

I've lived quite a life, I had great times, a lot of fun, and I did as much as I could with the lot I was given (, as stated on: 78. JESSIE B. RITTENHOUSE: My Wage) what I bargained for is what I was given, not a penny more, but no less than I deserved for sure.

I guess it is a sad time when you sit down and not see where your hard work has gone into, my mom used to say, "if you cannot remember what you spent money on, it probably didn't mean that much, did it?"

My life has meaning, my age has a reason to be; what I lived through has helped shape me today into somebody better (jeez at least I hope so!) and I don't regret the passing years, the days gone past, the lives not lived, the road not taken:

Clearly taken from Zen Pencils, go, visit you will not be dissappointed

TWO roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;	5
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,	10
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.	15
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.	20

Robert Frost (1874–1963). 

Being young, all I really got to see were endless forks in the road, chances to take and lives yet to be lived!

Today I see not clearly defined paths, there are forks, but claims to each are present, ideas to follow and ways to better travel, for that is all we are, travellers along a road, may we meet and share the path, a drink and a few smiles, and in the end, farewell fellow traveller, our roads must diverge, and ain't that just a kick in the head?

Paradise Lost.

It's been a few days now that I haven't been able to spend the whole night sleeping.
Call it stress, call it worry, call it many things, the truth is, it's about my son.
He's doing all right, nothing to really worry about directly, but I do worry about the world he's going to be a part of.

Every night for the last month I wake up and look for him.  I either go to his room and see him sound asleep, or, when he decided to move to my bed in the middle of the night I have to check that he's there with me.

It didn't use to be like this.

I've been seeing more and more in the news the attack on civilians in Israel/Palestine, more children dying and being bombed out of existence, more and more orphans, more of the pain and suffering children of war.

At least Twenty one Children have died in Airstrikes in Gaza, children that had no vested interest in the conflict, children that were caught in the crossfire, out of 83 identified people, 21 children have been id'd and their names published

"It's hard to explain politics to children - they hear from other neighbourhood children that it’s Israel bombing Gaza again, but still I can’t give them an answer as to why," Umm Fadi, who lives in Tal al-Sultan with her husband and children, told Al Jazeera.

It makes me not sleep at night.

I can get up and check on my son, I am lucky enough that we don't suffer the struggles of war, the refugee status of the many, or the poverty of having to leave your home due to it being blasted under mortar fire, how many fathers don't have that "luxury" anymore?

That's not the only thing that keeps me awake at night anymore though.

It's at least once a month that I read that another child has gone missing in my country.  This didn't use to be the case; and I seriously doubt that it's just that the papers have taken on a Sensationalist view on publishing.
More and more children are being abducted by strangers, by their own families and in the best case scenario, are being just taken away.

Worst case scenario their abused and mutilated bodies are found weeks later.

This certainly keeps me up at night.

Accounting only from January to date, 84 Children under 18 years of age have gone missing, out of which 8 have been resolved.

Not even 10 %

Detail of the asked for statistic

Processed year:

2014

Type of period:

Per semester(s)

Processed period:

Both: January - December

Type of statistic:

Total reports (Younger than 18)

Result:

84

Percentage:

50.3%

On the basis of the total of reports during the processed period

Reports in the processed period:

167

Reports in the year:

167

Distribution by ages

From 0 to 2

0

From 3 to 5

0

From 6 to 8

2

From 9 to 11

2

From De 12 to 14

29

From 15 to 17

36

I sit on my bed at night, contemplating my kid and I worry that others are not so lucky, that reports just keep growing and more children are taken from their parents.

Today I read about a 6 year old that's been missing since Friday, apparently abused by her cousin, who not only took advantage of her but of her siblings as well.  The child, still missing will be looked for using Police Dogs.

That will most certainly keep me up at night.

I am lucky in that I get to wake up at night and walk over to my son and see him sleeping peacefully, but I certainly wish luck played no part of it.  I wish it was a certainty for all parents that their children rest at night, knowing that we, as grown ups, we as a society keep them safe and will do everything within our power to make life better for them.

I weep to know, this is all there is, luck and some well wishing among a notable few, I weep for those who's odds ran out; I weep for those that will walk over to an empty bed and mourn their loss.

Dad-dad-daddy-o!

I remember the first father's day I celebrated, officially it was totally unofficial I was a dad-to be.  While I had known the news since January-ish it was something that we didn't go about advertising at work.

My family knew, my very close knot of friends (a total of 3) knew, and my boss knew.
That made it all the more interesting when our not-dedicated Admin, came over to my desk and looked at me with a face that said "I'm not sure this is true, it's probably a mistake, please tell me it's a mistake" and gave me the Father's day gift the company had decided to bestow on us.

She even came with three other people just to make matters more interesting:
"Adri, I was told you ... you well to give this to you, it's a >
audible gasp< **father's day** gift".

I looked at her with my best smile and poker face and hugged her, took the gift (a keychain) and said, "Thank you!"

The three women standing across from me looked like they had just been hit with a firehose full of ice cubes.

Stood up, walked away, looked for my main buddy at the time and went to "smoke".
We didn't smoke, we just stood around talking, and had one of the biggest laughs we could.

Afterwards, the girl did come over again and said "I didn't know you were a father", so I did a bit of explaining that my son had yet to be born, but that officially, yes, I was now the responsible party of having shared 23 of my chromosomes with another homo-sapiens and indeed that gave me the title if nothing else.

She was still stunned.  It washed away with a few beers at our favourite watering hole later.

I'm a bit superstitious to be honest, not too much, not heavily, but I'm not one to count my chickens before they hatch.

Eight years from that surprise gifting, I am blessed to have my son with me, and tell stories, do homework, wiped tushies, cleaned up after a sickness and lost my head over him falling down and getting "hurt".

His tears break me down and his smiles make everything worthwhile, every single time.

Children change people, yeah, it's a cliche but it doesn't stop being true.

I'm happy that right now, I get the chance to live my life as a father, as a figurehead and example.

Hearing my son run like crazy upstairs at the hit of 8 o'clock because "he's late!" for his PJs is so fun it's unreal.  I fought kicking and screaming not to go to bed too early.  He is so punctual about it I have to restrain myself not to laugh a bit (we never know how kids will react to the wrongly timed smirk).

So, I'm told that it's late, he needs a story read and we're lagging behind on our Hobbit chapters.

With home work finished, teeth brushed and clean Pjs, I bid you farewell, may your day be as joyful as mine is, may your dreams be complete, and cherish the child inside of all of you while you spend time with children around you.

Hungry for hilarity after a hurtful hiatus.

I've been away for a while, as I don't have an avid reader base, I can honestly say that I don't feel anyone really missed me writing, they probably didn't notice too much, after all, everyone has a life to keep up with, sometimes even their own.

I've been away for a few... months?  Has it really been that much?  Well let's say months, due to the fact that I've started writing in another medium.  I took up a journal, and using pen and paper is in itself therapeutic, due to the fact that I can't just backspace through the writing, it takes a bit longer, its more measured and clearly, quite a bit more effort.

It started as a promise I made to myself a while back, to try and be better everyday by doing something different and more... permanent than just electronic work, in this age of instant gratification at the touch of a button, but with the permanence of sleet at the gates of hell, it does take a lot of effort, but it's been clearly worth it.

I write, and read back, and then write some more.  It is sometimes much more of a pain than an exercise, but once I'm done and look back on a finished page, sometimes with drawings to illustrate a point or a mood I lean back, smile and sip some more wine.

I don't often drink wine while at a computer, partly because I'm afraid I'll just spill it and ruin everything, but also because deep down inside, I still equate computers to work, delivery and being productive, mostly when I'm writing, not so much so when playing video games, have to be honest, but as growing up tends to do, I play less and less.

I talk a lot more with people now, trying to cut back on the faceless/voiceless/toneless conversations SMS give us and in doing so take back my social environment with real experiences and real "moments".

In other words, I'm getting old, and while it comes sooner to some of us than others, I'm confident it will catch up with most of my generation at some point.

I'll try and not take too long between posts, once a week or so sounds reasonable, unless important stuff happens, more than that would probably be near "chore" territory so, I'll keep the simple things to me and my journal, these days a lot of things are going on, and I do need to write them somewhere, preferably paper so the experience feels a lot more everlasting than... well... bits and bytes.

In case you feel like giving it a listen in, click on the link below, her version is simply superb...

 

Not all likes are created equal, and some are more equal than others

In this great time of social media, the one thing that I believe equalizes others, is the "like" button on Facebook.

Show someone a cute picture of a cat looking stupidly out a window -- "like".

Stating that you just graduated from college and are ready to take on the world -- "like".

Posting that your pet was just run over by a motorist and that you need the plate number searched for -- "like".

People seem to think that "liking" something means anything from really liking it to "I totally abhor what happened but I can't really be bothered to comment on it so here's a sympathetic click on your post".

I do believe that has a lot to do with our need to be acknowledged and people just extrapolate this into the ether and social space.

It is funny though, that some of us still clinging to the dictionary definition of "like" seem to be **misusing** it in their eyes.

You know it's evil likeness compels you to click, go ahead....

like²

līk/

verb

verb: like; 3rd person present: likes; past tense: liked; past participle: liked; gerund or present participle: liking

1. 1.

   find agreeable, enjoyable, or satisfactory.

   "I like all Angela Carter's stories"

   synonyms:

   be fond of, be attached to, have a soft spot for, have a liking for, have regard for, think well of, admire, respect, esteem; More

   antonyms:

   hate

   • indicate one's liking or approval of (a web page or posting on a social networking website) by using the site's ‘like’ facility.

     "more than 15,000 Facebook users had liked his page by Monday morning"
2. 2.

   wish for; want.

   "would you like a cup of coffee?"

   synonyms:

   choose, please, wish, want, see fit, think fit, care to, will More

   • used as a polite formula.

     "we would like to apologize for the late running of this service"
   • feel reluctant to do something.

     "I don't like leaving her on her own too long"
   • choose to have (something); prefer.

     "how do you like your coffee?"

     synonyms:

     choose, please, wish, want, see fit, think fit, care to, will More

   • feel about or regard (something).

     "how would you like it if it happened to you?"

     synonyms:

     feel about, regard, think about, consider More

I want to be able to tell people "I really like this bar" not "I feel that this place is agreeable and probably will keep looking into updates from its site for no reason whatsoever".

I like Ice cream, but I don't believe I need to tell Facebook and the world that, so that they can cater ice cream ads for me (while fun, a lot of these I can't get at my location).  I like BMW, but I honestly don't care about their Facebook presence, and honestly if you believe that BMW will give a 5 series away for liking and sharing a picture, well, I have a bridge I want to sell to you...

Liking something should be a gut feeling, not a reflex.  I like certain people while I find others invariably dull.

Admit it, he's quite the bad-ass

While I'll gladly follow Neil deGrasse Tyson on Facebook, and I LIKE his science communicator status, I don't like him as a person.  I don't KNOW him so I can't really say I like him.  I find him funny, I find him engaging, I find him a fountain of knowledge that I look up to and respect, and yet, I can't say I like him, because I don't have a personal bond with him in any way.

The same way I will NOT accept invitations to be "friends" with people I met once, at a party, through a friend, while inebriated; I will not just "like something" you send my way unless, I really DO genuinely like it.

If, what you want is my >click< so that your new page becomes synthetically popular, do feel free to let me know, as if this is an endeavor that your heart honestly desires, I'll gladly show my support for in some way, probably by sharing the page with others and TELLING them this is something you really feel strongly about, and how it could potentially enrich their lives >because reasons<.

But, I will not just blindly like it.

Descent into Memories and expectations of future past...

I've steered cleared from blogging for a while, as much as I enjoy setting thoughts, ideas, probable "thought universes" and stories in writing, it seems I also enjoy using a journal (paper, pen, and pencil drawings) quite a deal more.

It is obviously a different audience, a Blog, even one as seldom visited as this one, is inherently public to the "internet", my journal, unless peeked upon is quite more private.

And Private thoughts is what I have been setting on it's pages lately.  A good friend of mine recommended it as a therapeutic tool to deal with Grief, and I felt that, I would do as he said, but Blogging.

Piglet helps the writing process. Don't knock it.

If you've never really done a Journal, let me tell you, it's really almost totally unlike blogging; or at least to me it was.

The way I uses it, is as IF I am telling myself things through letters, or, recounting the main highlights of the day, opinion pieces (like I've had a few here) are seldom written there.

It's a more raw approach to "me".

But, that's hardly here or there, the reason I came back today, was that I actually was going to come back a week ago, but still didn't have my thoughts properly aligned.

A week ago today, it was the one year anniversary of the last day I spent with my mom.

Pretty heavy.

About a week ago, Driving down to my Aunt's

You know when people are sympathetic to you because they feel that the one year anniversary of someone's death is really hard on you?

Well, in my case, the hardest part was remembering the last day we held each other, we said our good nights and we were able to share our daily toil and troubles.

The fact that she passed away in the middle of the night with me by her side, is probably the cause of this, but; having her anniversary come up, was the tip of the iceberg when compared to "the last time we were able to talk".

That's the anniversary that will haunt me.

So, with that in mind, I had made the decision that while memory is fleeting and, considering the history of possible memory deterioration in my family, I'd go for a very permanent reminder, and memorial art.

I went ahead and got a tattoo.

Dun dun duuuuun....

It's important to me, as while I love the art form, I had NOTHING so far that I felt merited the breaking of the skin, sure, lots of important things have happened in my life over the years, but one as determining and final as this one.

It's a work in progress so far, and the idea is to build on it as more things happen, to me and my family.

I went for a Polynesian style tattoo, done by a very talented local artist, the way we went about it, was that I told him everything, my story, my mom's story, the type of mother/son relationship we had, and he sat down and used pictographs to convey the meaning that I wanted.

I love it, I will probably do a piece (writing) of ONLY this process as I seriously felt it was therapeutic and grand.

So, that's the new story, that's the message.

I still miss my mother a lot, but she's never stopped being a part of my life and if this post came in a week late, it was mostly due to the fact that yes, I just couldn't put everything into the right words.



"I look at you all see the love there that's sleeping
While my guitar gently weeps
Look at you all

Still my guitar gently weeps"

The tale of the Donkey and the Little maiden Death

I've been straying away from the Blog for the last couple of weeks, more to the point, I've been trying to do this same thing offline.  Writing, but more of a journal and less of a blog.

Today though, I decided to try a bit of creative writing too, not just journal, this is a bit of a story, a "fable" from my land, here, I share it with you all:

In the land of long ago, past the rolling green hills of emeralds and not yet reaching the timeless sea of Peace, was born a donkey.

Unbeknownst to many around him, the fact of the matter was this was indeed no ordinary simple donkey, made for a life of toil and tilling, of reaping the ground under a heavy load, or traversing the towns with wares on his back.

This donkey was not only born for more, but indeed decided that his life was his own to do as he pleased.

Although he kept forgetting about it constantly.

Many are the stories of the wandering donkey, facing the endless stream of faceless harpies, merging into a shapeless song of grief and pain, that left deep scars on the donkey's hide, but this is not the place to tell those stories, this is in fact, the song of the Crowning of the Donkey, and how he came to bear the fruits of the maiden's release, for he indeed conquered a witch and brought back balance to the land.

After dreadful struggle, and facing the monsters of old the donkey had grown complacent and landed in a simple abode, the rut of routine had indeed began the siren's call and our hero, and as much as he knew the bulk of his yoke was falling on him to carry alone, he dared not take off and run free as he was.

For a witch had taken hold of the donkey's reigns and his destiny was not his own to choose any longer.

Yet the witch would not release the donkey, or provide him with sustenance, in the horizon loomed an eternal struggle where our hero would continue in his stride yet never reach dry land.

As luck would have it, the witch withered after an enormous flood reached her, and wailing "Nevermore..." was, indeed,  no more.

Eons and ages struck the donkey, but he toiled onward carrying his load until reaching a safe port of passage and aiding a maiden in crossing beyond the valley of The Little Death, cementing this, the passing of the witch, and renewing the donkey's strength.

In return for braving du petit morte, the donkey was crowned, for the maiden was a princess in peril, and wishing no more of her kingdom released it onto the donkey's capable back self, engulfing him in flames of glory, and all through the land, you could hear a cry "Ding dong, the witch is gone!! The queen has passed, long live the donkey's Crown!"