Safe Haven (Part One)

 He was running. His past was in hot pursuit, but he had just broken away. It was ironic because he made it. He had broken free three years earlier and was living on a strange planet where nothing was measured in the same way.

I will never understand why he came back. He was supposed to be passing through on his way into the past that he never had but always wanted. It was a powerful lure. It was one that he would turn everything over in his life.

What he did not see coming was the adult tendency to focus on survival that works in the path of least resistance. That worked for a while until it did not. He realized he was being poured into the mold he never wanted to be shaped by. 

One morning, with rage in his heart, he ran for the border. The guns behind him, firing in disbelief. "How dare he choose something else?" But he did it, with all of the beautiful disasters that he was always famous for, and succeeded anyway.

His last foothold on that life suddenly crumbled, and he was completely untethered. He could not, for his life, imagine what tomorrow would be like, just like it was on the other planet. But this was not that. His lack of connection dropped him in the sand of a beach where it seemed like anything was possible, wondering what could really be possible.

Photo by Chris Lawton on Unsplash

Many miles away in a dangerous sea, weathering, weakening, and unpainted, there was a ship and on it a girl who kept throwing punches to see reactions. She did not know why, but she needed it. There was something there. The ship had wrecked due to the neglect and affliction she and the other crew dealt it. The energy they received weakened the ship's structure, and there was nothing anyone could do.

She jumped from rotted board to rotted board of debris floating in the sea until she found an inflatable lifeboat with people barely alive. Carefully, she slid them off the raft into the depths. As the sun set, the little raft was driven far away by storms from the mountains to the west of the sea.

The light of day found the raft sitting on the shore of a beach. For days, she watched and received people from the ship, but somehow, they disappeared because they were useless. They always paddled away, floating on whatever they could find because they knew it was a better fate than staying.

Weeks passed when she saw him fall from the sky but was safe on a platform. He landed on the beach with support from those who sent him there. He continued with that connection for a while, and the girl watched. She asked questions at times, and he answered them. He asked her questions, and she answered them.

They looked out at the sea for days and days until his support disappeared. In the sand, he was drunk on the prospect of freedom. She watched. A wayward passenger from another ship woke on the beach one day, and she collected him. It looked like he would stay, and suddenly, she rejected him.

The boy on the beach sat there with the entire universe open. Possibilities of things he had never done or known laid out before him. Anything was possible. There was, however, a danger to not knowing things, and it turned out that he knew much less than he was aware of.

He was just staring off into the sea, realizing that he did not need to stay here. That is when the meteor fell to earth and vaporized the sea. That is when he did what he always would do. 

I can't stand the rain

 Where are you?

What do you think each morning?

Do you laugh?

Do you smile?

Three months have passed, and everything has changed. I have found that everything I had ever hoped for you was really hoped for you. I had no ulterior motives. I was there because of you, marveling at your resilience, creativity, and heart.

Have I not seen you because it is too hard? I know it would be hard for me, but I also know that my love for you is strong enough to allow us a new chapter. That confirms that it was always who you are that grew our bond, not other relationships.

You taught me a lot, and I am really thankful for that. Showing someone how much more they have to learn is a unique gift. I do not take it for granted. I just hope you know how important you are. I also hope you know all that you can do. 

It is in my nature to see all sides and possible outcomes. I just need confirmation that you are safe and doing well. I think about it a lot. The connections we make in life sometimes feel like we should have them forever in the way they begin. It is clear, and has been for years, that this is not always true. 

We all get power from something that carries us through the years of erosion we face. We hold onto it, gripping it as though we are suspended only by it a thousand feet above the ground. At the time, I did not feel that I was preparing for your life's journey; I realized that I was, and honestly, I was not done.

I now have to depend on the undefinable survival skills you possess to keep you safe. It sounds like me making myself feel better knowing you are doing well. I am just not a person who stands on the sidelines of disaster. I used to be, and was that ever a mistake.

This is me and all my flaws. On your side, I stand ready to fight the things that want to pull you down. It is who I am. I hope you understand. 

The Zevonic Expanse

*Note: This was an experiment. I took a verse from every song on Warren Zevon's 1991 album Mr Bad Example, which is my favorite of his. I pasted them here, then asked my grammar program to edit them to sound more empathetic.

I spent a sun-soaked day meandering through the vibrant streets of Denver, my mind restless as I searched for a place to lay my head—ideally somewhere with unwashed sheets that hold the echoes of a thousand stories—while I sipped on a smooth shot of rye, letting the warmth wash over me. With a sense of adventure, I splurged on a first-class ticket aboard Malaysian Air, and upon landing in the lush landscapes of Sri Lanka, I felt none the worse for wear.

Photo by Javier Saint Jean on Unsplash

Hours slipped by, and I knew she had ventured out long before; I can only hope she’ll find her way back to me. I wait here, sipping my drink and staring intently at the door, a picture of patience as I yearn for my angel dressed in black to return. The thought of stepping outside into the rain feels heavy on my heart.

Suzie Lightning, with her fierce spirit, takes no prisoners in this game we call life. She captures the essence of fleeting beauty—one moment, she ignites the sky with electric energy and the next, she's gone, leaving only the aftermath of her brilliance. 

I'm growing weary of our back-and-forth; the spark between us is fizzling out, and it feels like the final act of our little tragedy is upon us. We could choose to go down fighting; thanks for the memories, but there's no point in lingering here. You strive to perfect me, but I feel like a house of cards—a fragile castle built on sand, where even the slightest breeze could bring it all crashing down. 

Surrounding us are rows and rows of broken hearts and shattered homes, and the sadness is palpable, an everyday reminder of the struggles we all face. 

As evening settles in, cooling the air, the sun dips below the horizon while my wife laughs and plays canasta with neighbors, a stark contrast to my restless solitude. When the weight of the world feels unbearable and I crave escape, I pack up the Winnebago and drive it straight into the glistening lake, seeking solace in the depths.

Some prayers seem to drift endlessly into the void, unheard, while some wars rage on without resolution, and certain dreams cling stubbornly to life. Next time, I’d prefer to break rather than bend under pressure. The journey from dawn to dusk feels long and winding, and reaching the end of another day often brings only hollow triumph.

As the evening approaches, a fever of anticipation rises within me. When the chaos finally subsides, all that remains is the haunting echo of distant drums. They say love requires a little patience, a line to stand in, and yet, I find myself waiting for you, beloved, for what feels like an eternity.

I pace restlessly across the floor, eyes fixed on the door, all the while continuing my search for a kindred spirit, finding ways to fill my time in Denver when faced with the inevitability of departure.

Biting off more than I can chew

 I had this amazing idea earlier this year. I suddenly realized that in 1985, I was in the vicinity of my father from January 1st through December 31st. Why not write about the whole year, just like I had done for 1984?

I was excited and rushed in, looking forward to the discoveries I would make on that journey.  I had forgotten that one-third of the way through 1985, an atomic bomb went off on the road that I was traveling. On April 3rd this year, that story came to an unexpected halt. I was innocently writing and then realized there was a river of depth I was unprepared to cross. Ever since then, I have existed on the banks of that story, pacing around like I had something to do before crossing, but the reality is, I have no idea how to cross the water.

Photo by Quasi Misha on Unsplash

I have to turn around and consider how to do it. I conveniently remove my responsibilities by saying it is not my story to tell. Deep down, I know there is plenty I could tell without taking liberties that do not belong to me.

I know it is because the story is fragmented, which I do not understand. Thirty-nine years ago, I skydived into adulthood in a land I did not understand. My scars have stories I have not thought about enough to tell. I know that I should, but I do not know how.

I have not given up. I am just sitting here by the fire, resting and considering how to cross this river. I do not give up. My tenacity might be complicated and indigenous, but it pushes back with equal force. You will see me on the other side of this. I will do it in my own time.

Sleepwalker

 The storm is upon us in a mere minute. 

There was no time to run.

No time to hide.

We tried to cover where there was no shelter.

Photo by Kasper Rasmussen on Unsplash

One moment standing, 

the next moment swept away.

In the aftermath, we sifted through debris.

We looked for clues to tell us this was coming.

Why?

We cannot stop it now.

We have lost.

It is over.

Given the rare chance to live in those moments before but change nothing

I noticed something.

It was the faint sound of the cry of war over the mountain.

If I had just listened,

I could have warned them.

They say where there is smoke, there is fire 

Here, this was so true.

I looked for more and more clues.

The more I looked, the more I found.

Where did we cross the line from victim to accomplice?

The more I know,

the more I need to know

and 

the more I do not wish to know.

Park that in the driveway to stare at.

It makes me wonder 

Are we really awake?

Or are we really walking in our sleep?

Progressive Compliance

 I was ten, and all I wanted was what everyone else had.

I was twenty, and I fought everything everyone else had.

I was thirty and tried to convince everyone I had what they had.

I was forty and thought I would lose everything I had.

I was fifty and realized I had more than I had ever known.

If I have learned anything, I have known so little for most of my life.

I comply, eventually. Is that ever worth anything?

One thing I am sure of:

The fight has always been within.

Photo by KS KYUNG on Unsplash

I have been my most significant opposing force.

What would it be like if I could turn back the pages of my life and erase those fruitless struggles with my greatest adversary?

The question is, however...

Are those battles the ones that taught me the most and gave me the greatest returns?

It is hard to comprehend.

I have always said it is "no way but the hard way."

What is all the fuss about?

 

Well, I finally did it. I finally ordered the McRib sandwich at McDonalds this week. That is ironic because as a lifelong patron of Mc D's and my love for meat, especially pork, I would likely have had this experience already. After all, the Mc Rib was first introduced to the McDonald's dining world in 1982. I was 17 years old, for goodness sake! It was a time when the health impact of what I ate was never a factor I considered. Prime time to take the plunge if you ask me.

The Google AI Overview states that the Mc Rib sandwich is made of a boneless pork patty shaped like a rack of ribs, barbecue sauce, onions, and pickles on a toasted bun. The patty is made from ground pork shoulder, water, salt, dextrose, and rosemary extract.

I could tell the pork was pork shoulder merely by the fat-to-meat ratio. It might also be precooked under pressure, adding to its tenderness. I liked the onions on it because I like raw onions on sandwiches, whether hot or cold. 

As I ate this and let the initial differences between this and the other McDonald's sandwiches dissipate, I started to pick up on a hollowness to the flavor that I could not quite identify. It is that imbalance you feel when the acid content is just a little too high and then lacks umami.

GAI states that the Mc Ribb is a favorite among McDonald's loyalists. It also states, "The McRib has been removed from the menu permanently multiple times but has returned for limited-time appearances. McDonald's uses a scarcity tactic to keep customers interested. 

I get it; if this sandwich were available all the time, it would indeed be the cause of its own demise because it is missing something important. When I realized this, eating the last bit of it in my truck the other day during lunchtime, I realized I had to make my own. 

I was not alone when I decided to look up this comet-like occurrence-ish sandwich. The internet is peppered with others making their version of this facsimile legend. So yeah, I am going to join the ranks of those who say, "McDonald's, it has been fun, but come on, that was a one-way trip for me." I can do better, and so can many others.  

This January, a worthy project will be to make this classic girl myself and perhaps make it a family favorite like I did with my version of Chili's Southwest Eggrolls or Applees Mini Chicken Asian Taco Sliders. What then about our old girl, the McRib? By January, I am sure that she caught Katy just like she always does. After all, she is from Kansas City.

The Culture of Respect

 As a novice food creator, I have met people who do what I do to one degree. There is a comforting humility that I can identify with. I think of them as so much more than I am. I am startled when I realize that they think of me in some ways the same, in the context of each owning our particular strengths. It is then that gaining friendships like these is very important. We need each other, and the world needs our collaboration.

We all carry a piece of the story. Commercial merry-go-rounds have nothing on us. It is learning about them through the food they create and the goals they wish to obtain. I agree that we all need those willing to go one hundred thousand dollars or more in debt to throw the dice loaded in opposition to their success to start a delicious food business. Without their bravery, people like us could never have become self-aware of our creativity.

We are a community, past, present, and future. We support one another. It is a language and something that must be earned. At first, if we have a chip on our shoulder, we are dead to those who spent many sleepless years mustering a good attitude even when they were handled rudely, the many burns and cuts endured, the smoke and sweat, and mismatched acknowledgment. There are times when nothing makes sense.

But there is something inside that makes them go on. Here I am, someone who landed on the highway through a most fortunate mishap in which I jumped the guard rail and lived to tell about it. I hope that I am humble enough to be accepted. I do my best to shut up and listen. 

If I had my way, I would live the next 3 years with families in other countries and just live as they do, under their rules. One year in Vietnam, one year in South Korea, and finally, a year in Japan before traveling back across the Pacific to allow all of the respect I learned to shine in my creativity and words. But that is just a dream. How can I get as close to that experience as possible without actually that happening? That is what I am still trying to figure out.

All I know is that I must move forward. That is all. I will figure out the rest and hopefully make some friends and even some family along the way.

In the Depths of December

 The days get shorter, and the task list grows like I never knew it could. I perceived that this hour would be more coherent. Instead, it is a guilt-laden, sedentary existence. Change comes about when throwing punches, moving like an enraged climber of mountains. Somewhere, there is a timebomb in the climber's mind as he races to the top of the hill, defying the very laws of age to do it.

Today, I live to defy my age. A few years ago, I lived to defy my past. Before that, I lived to stay alive. Before this, I lived hoping for chaos. Before that, I lived for stability. Who is right? 

Photo by Neil Rosenstech on Unsplash

One thing has stayed the same. I wish to be the tornado that tears through the fabric of the obstacles and subdues everything. I laugh at that because if things were simple, and not fight to taste, see and feel, then I would not like my life at all. 

When December began, the ground was already covered with snow. It has a debilitating effect on everything within it. A warm November allowed me to live with a larger portion of denial than I was entitled to. That is on me. 

I just looked down at the date on my computer: December 16. It is the longest night of the year and also the day my father was born. I miss him. It has been almost 29 years since he left, which means I have almost lived in the world without him as long as I had him in the world with me. That is very surreal.

Some days, I struggle to recall something I have not thought of, but I have mainly extracted all the memories I could find. Two weeks ago, I got to sit with my cousins and listen to stories of when they and my parents were young. Those are like sweet treasures. Especially lovely was listening to stories of my grandfather, who passed when my Dad was only 13. I had not heard these stories before. 

So here I am, toughing out December, begrudgingly, reluctantly, and quietly. It all goes by so fast, anyway. I can never figure out what to make of my December dreams. They are always so exhausting. I could write a book in December. It would be a book of irony in so many ways. Today, I am just trying to survive. The cards I hold are able to keep me in the game, and yet, deep down, I also know that I am bluffing.

There is a war....Part 6

 Today, I evaded the antagonist. I was hiding beneath the floor planking, the dirt of their boots falling through the cracks of the deck onto me. I did not even breathe so much because I could easily be detected. 

It is pure exhaustion when I contemplate tomorrow, tomorrow, and tomorrow. There is no finish line in my sight, only the battle and the fight of the day, the hour and the moment.

If I stop rowing, the current takes me to the heart of what I wish to avoid. I am summoned as a child to indulgence. My own personal Gestapo seizes me, dragging me out of the building as I cling to furniture, walls, and door frames in futility.

Every time I think I might be a mile ahead of them, I learn they are 100 ahead of me, and I am in hostile territory. Will I ever find peace?

Where is there one night's sleep? Where is there even an hour of rest? If I close my eyes, I worry about where I will be when they open. 

I know in my heart there is only one way through this. I have known all along. The opposition, the fight, the war, and the victory all live within me.

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