As life chugs steadily along it never ceases to amaze me
how many small pieces of our lives get shoved away like so many broken summer fans,
once treasured baseball cards and small gifts and such that meant so much at the time of the giving.
From the books we once started and never finished, to the phone calls we were supposed to make but never did,
to all the relationships we took for granted,
we get caught up with life; be it day to day, night by night, or dawn to sunset.
We are all guilty of this innocent abandonment of connection with the things we once considered ‘golden’.
What amazes me is that this purely human phenomenon  happens without our consent or recognition.
I become aware of it when and old friend calls me out of the blue or I hear a particular old song on the radio.
My mind is jarred and my brain gets pickled in a way that makes me realize that I have all but forgotten ‘the old me’.

So, here I am looking at a new beginning of sorts with the love of my life.
We will be picking up from where we left port so many oceans ago.
Our rare romantic dinners were filled with conversations about our three girls, their dreams,
wishes and ultimately our plans to try like hell to help them get there.
Those numerous transient conversations were never about us,
never about Michael and Pamela and how ‘they’ were doing.
I like to think that we were confident enough to know that nothing was being lost in talking about the girls.

I loved her.

She loved me.

It was an unspoken thing.

And I bought dinner. (always)

I don’t say all this in a dark and stormy ‘my-daughters-took-my-wife-away-from-me’ kind of way.
Life happens.
Children are born.
And more children are born.
Priorities are established and life continues on . . .  in a different way.
I guess what I’m really trying to say here is that I was blessed to be married to a woman
that could see the same pictures of life as me.
That doesn’t happen to many people, hence the alarming divorce rate, perhaps.
Our priorities were exactly the same.
Maybe that’s why my Pamela is still the best friend I could ever hope for.
I may even go so far as to say that she still ‘melts my butter’ and truth be told she heals the tattered soul in me.
Although she doesn’t even know it.
That is the beauty of ‘her’.
She just doesn’t know, never has, never will.
Amazing.
I want her to run away with me very soon because I want to tell her how much I have missed ‘us‘.
I think we have succeeded in raising three incredibly awesome daughters.
But now it’s time for M&P.
Destiny is a crazyass thing and what’s done is done and I pray we‘ve done right.
But maybe now is the beginning of the best part of our lives.
As long as I have my true companion, I think I’m gonna be alright.
Actually, I know I’m going to be alright. . .

On the eve of my daughter Hannah graduating High School,
I am a bit melancholy.
Maybe it’s because I know that life is going to change again for me, my wife and the girls.
Maybe it’s because my three daughters have almost all but left the ‘nest’ that was (and always will be) their home.
Maybe it’s because this event makes me realize that no matter how much I wanted to slow down the tick of the clock, slow down the lazy, hazy summers when I had all three of them to myself, pushing them on swings and endlessly enjoying the rides in the ‘StoryLand’ of their dreams, that time was not something I could ever control.
They just keep growing, like flowers in a distant and beautiful Spring meadow; a place I will always try to dream of.
I miss those days of innocence and sense of landing.
It was firm ground back then.
I had them.
They had me.
We all had home.
These days, I am a different kind of Dad that’s trying hard to answer different kinds of questions.
More complex questions than I had originally hoped for.
While my three stars are searching the galaxy for their corner of the sky, I hope and pray they find their
True North.
The world will be a better place because of them.
I just know it.
I could never ask for more than that.
Me and Pam are proud as a peacocks.
For today, leviathan congratulations to my little feisty one, Hannah. [Mark is proud]
Just know that all of you are but nebulae; stars that are just beginning to shine.
And 3 Musketeers?
My favorite candy bar . . .

love you all,
Dad

Time is like liquid,
an ephemeral step towards truth;
the marching forward of decades,
years,
months,
weeks,
days,
hours,
minutes
and finally seconds.
Sloppy seconds at best when you consider the moments that are totally wasted.
Time is like water,
dripping endlessly towards an endless sea of little to no meaning.
Or not.
3:13Am is no time to be kicking your legs off the covers.
Unless you can see the dials of the clock . . .

~m

You’re in 6th grade and  you’re a dorky kid with acne, a really bad haircut,
blackheads that populate your face like buckshot and the fashion sense of Pee Wee Herman.
Every teacher’s nightmare, you are a somewhat uninspired student that only dreams of playing the guitar
and reading books.
This particular year takes you by surprise,
gets your freak on, because there’s this girl you see when you walk from class to class in that stupid straight line.
She smiles at you and you smile at her.
Yeah, that’s groovy, my man.
Hormones declare war somewhere inside your hideous purple pants with those terribly-coloured maroon pockets.
And although you’re no slave to fashion, these pants are cool.
You want her (or so you think) but you’ve yet to say so much as a word to her.
It seems too awkward.
You, are awkward, too.
Today she’s wearing an emerald green ribbed turtleneck with a matching green tartan-plaid skirt.
There’s a white bow in her dark brown hair and you discover that her eyes are chocolate brown, just like yours.
She has a nice smile and lips as crimson as a sun-ripened tomato.
You almost imagine her sitting in her room, gazing out of her window and wondering if she’s pretty.
And she is.
‘If you could read my mind, love.’ – Gordon Lightfoot
[you throw up in your mouth a little bit at that one lyric]
In one day, you find out that her name is Kathy and that she isn’t going out with anyone.
Her BFF Debbie says to you, She thinks you’re cute.
Ask her if she wants to go steady, you say.
(Does anyone ‘go steady’ anymore? You wonder to yourself.)
The next day Debbie gives you a small envelope and says, “This is from Kathy.”
Inside is a short letter of boyfriend acceptance and a small picture of her from the yearbook
(definitely not suitable for framing)
So, we’re going out, you think.
In that same train of thought, a switch fucks up, trains collide and you think, now what the hell am I supposed to do?
As a 6th Grader you are no good at romance and you’re even worse as a student.
The days pass like honey through a sieve and you see each other several times during the day.
The relationship has inextricably moved to the ‘greeting’ stage.

Hi, you say.
Hi back, she says, smiling.

It’s all good.

This goes on for what seems like two years but in reality is two weeks because you are too damn obtuse to know what to do next, what the girl really wants.

Hi, you say.
Hi back, she says, now sounding kinda pissed off.

You haven’t done anything.
No.
Really.
You. Have. Not. Done. Anything.

Debbie stops you in the hall a few days later and says, “Kathy has a message for you. She says, ‘sit on this and rotate’.”
She walks away and you’re left standing alone in the antiseptic smelling and all too shiny middle school hallway wondering what the hell ‘sit on this and rotate’ actually means.
It must be good, you think.

You talk to Bobby Collins, the oldest kid in the neighborhood and ask him what it means.
He laughs, holds up his middle finger and says, “Sit on this and rotate.”
While Bobby pees his pants from laughing so hard, you start laughing too as you slowly begin to understand the absurdity of love [life] [courtship] [and ultimately, the female gender]
You realize you have much to learn about this ‘going steady’ thing.
In your mind, you can hear Beaver Cleever saying to his older brother,
“Gee, Wally . . .  girls are kinda icky, huh?”
You don’t really believe that and you just can’t stop wondering what it would have been like just to hold her hand.

Some people consider themselves fortunate to have one Valentine.
I am blessed with four beautiful hearts that I love intensely,
four women that make my life so incredibly and bitter-sweetly complete.
On this 14th day of February know that all four of you are truly my home.
In my crimson heart, I’m singing this song for all of you.

“I love you in a place where there’s no space or time . . . “

For my PaMeLa, SaRaH, JeNnA & HaNnAh . . .

Happy Valentine’s Day, miladies.

When I started this blog over 5 years ago,
I had no clue as to just how much it would transform my life; the many people I’ve met, to the
relationships I’ve formed have amazed, humbled and yes, inspired me.
Maybe it was my heart splashed on the pages here that have brought some my way.
Many having been caught up in the same labyrinth I somehow made it through.
I’ve gained friends and lost some.
Made people cry and made them laugh.
What amazes me most is the unexpected things, the deep friendships that just ‘happened’.
Next week, Pamela and I will drive to Logan airport (read: Arrivals!)
to pick up two people that have not only forever changed our lives but have
found their way into the heart of this family.
They understand us as we understand them.
(although they both can still take the piss out of me at will. I guess I’m an easy target)
They will spend the better part of three weeks with us as we make our way
through a list of ‘to do’s’ that has been building since last August.
There will be music, food, drink, cigars, music, didgeridoo, laughter, jokes, sightseeing,
a long-awaited 4 day trip to the North Country and some very special conversations at midnight.
And I just aquired a nice CharBroil  ‘No-Oil’ infrared Turkey fryer.
The boys are going to have us some fun!
Mark has taken notes on several notable Boston eateries that he wants to visit. (no worries, she’ll be right mate)
Maureen just wants good cheeseburgers and pink lemonade. (after your Cincinnati Chili!)
I ask that you say a prayer for their safe arrival here.
This year we will have connectivity (unlike last year!)
Watch for some funny blog fluff.
Pamela, the girls and me are jumping like maggots on a barbie as we wait.
Our trip to Logan will be complete only after we see 3 Australian Akubras.
I will definitely be wearing mine.
There’s one Akubra 

~m

ps. I will personally be happy when Maureen and Mark see the gorgeous skyline below . . .

There’s a subdued purple crimson suggestion of a new day off to the east and I can’t help but wonder
what today will bring.
It’s yet another pedestrian Monday morning;
another chance to make the pieces somehow fit, a seemingly impossible task.
But there’s always that “what if” that keeps us all steadily on track.

I took a nice long stroll yesterday with my wife through a cemetery right near our house.
I cherish these walks because they set me straight,
keep me sane and burn calories (something my physician loves).
It’s quiet and peaceful and my wife and I consider the many folks there our personal friends.

Over the years, they’ve been privy to our most intimate conversations;
our quandaries and concerns, our aspirations and clandestine dreams.
As we walk and try to somehow figure it all out; this life,
this frantic situation we always find ourselves in.
Most days, we leave the cemetery with more questions than we came in with
making me wonder if that’s the way it’s really supposed to be.

The cemetery is surrounded by water and my wife sees a lone swan off in the distance,
floating silently on the water.
There’s no breeze and the murky water appears to me as black glass; static and dim,
the reflections of indigo sky above screaming of a visual paradox.
So much like our lives, I think.

“I wonder where the other one is.” She says.

“The other one?” I ask.

“Yeah, they always travel in pairs. Like us. That’s the way it is with swans.”

“I didn’t know that,” I say, “I only see one.”

“Me, too,” She says.

My wife scans the area surrounding the pond and seems sad the swan is alone;
an almost bittersweet sentimentality.
Our conversation veers off on another relatively impossible tangent as we continue our walk
around the winding cemetery road,
both of us unconsciously searching for the second swan.

~m

It used to be so easy years ago – this blogging thing.
Most people know this blog was my own personal bridge to an understanding of a disease that
has all but consumed the better part of the last 12 years of my life.
Writing used to be so easy, life was the hard part.
Now everything has changed.
The bridge is permanently closed and my journals have been painfully empty.
Empty can be a real painful place for a writer.
I write every day but much of what I write now is too personal and heavy for blog posts.
Many will say that the bridge never closes but for me, this one has.
My reasons for needing it in my life have changed.
I have changed.
My mind is currently like a dark grey and forbidding sky that appears to be swiftly moving yet
still appears the same.
Enigmatic, much like my grey matter.
I need to find a way to connect with my insides again.
The entrance was emotionally sutured in late March of this year.
So where do I go from here?
I’m really trying to find my way back in.
Or out.
Sorry for my absence, if you missed me.
I’m hoping you have.
I’m praying for a light to go on any day now.
And I’m thinking I’ll be alright.
But time will tell . . .

~m

Taking an unexpected break folks.
Not entirely sure why but I’m not writing much and reading even less these days.
Not a good combination.
This boy needs to rediscover his priorities.
When I have nothing to say, blogging is meaningless.
As a writer, you can only post so many videos before you admit you’re only
appeasing your internal editor.
(who thinks you suck)
Back soon.

M

What is it all about?
My wife asked me this question the other day and I have to admit it puzzled my puzzler.
It’s a good question.
A deep question.
As busy as we both are with work, the 3 girls, the house, getting the cars fixed,
cooking supper, making a life, at the end of the day we look at each other and
shake our heads and wonder; what is it all about?
There was a point in our lives that we thought we knew but now we’re not so sure.
I know what it’s not about.
It’s not about the internet, Facebook, Yahoo, Gmail, the Stock Market, major league sports,
water polo, horse races or the lottery.
Not about cats, dogs, parakeets, beta fish, koalas or
freshly shucked oysters with freshly squeezed lemons.
It is definitely not about horseradish. (although I like to think so)
It’s not about the greenhouse effect or the nasty oil spill in the Gulf of Mexico.
The question is why do we work our fingers to the bone only to die so soon after we have retired?
Tired is a lonely town.
I realize that bills need to be paid and food needs to be put on the table
so work needs to be done.
But at what cost?
It is something to ponder.
Pamela is still thinking about it, I’m sure.
Me, too.
And for most of us, life goes on.
Or so we hope.
Maybe it’s just (in the words of Douglas Adams) all about the number 42

{1 \over T}\int_0^T \left| \zeta\left({1 \over 2} + it\right) \right|^6\,dt \sim {42 \over 9!}\prod_p \left\{1-{1\over p}\right\}^4 \left( 1 + {4 \over p} + {1 \over p^2} \right) \log^9 T

Yeah, I didn’t think so.
Here’s to the answers and the endless Questions . . .

M