Swifty phiphty niner

I’m kind of spent this week.   I’m not sure what it is.   I’ve had a headache that started in June and it wreaks havoc every once in a while.   Really torments me.   When the worst of it subsides it stays at a level 2 or 3 but my body gets worn out.   Coupled with the therapy I’m doing, the work I’m doing with my sponsor, staying clean, and going to work I’m fatigued to the bone.   Writing these blogs takes a toll too.   I feel like I’m stuck at 13 again and I wonder why.   I fall back into the “what do I want to do with my life” zone.   At 59 it seems like most people would have pretty much wound up what they’ve done and now are ready to simply enjoy the golden years.   I seriously don’t think I have that much time left so I’d like the remaining time to count in some enriching way.   My resting heart beat is around 90 so I’ve pretty much gone through most of my allotted beats.   I’m learning about the soul, my soul though.   It’s sensitive, wielding, generous but needy to a degree

Day 45 Dad Thirteen years ago today my dad died in my arms.   I slept in the room with him his last night.   About 3 in the morning when his breathing started getting ragged I crawled into bed with him and cradled him for his last 4 hours alive.   It was an intense intimate experience, hands on with death and the absolute powerless feeling that you are exposed to.   He didn’t have any words as he was knocked out by a little chemical the afternoon before.   He just didn’t regain consciousness and slept the rest of his life away. We were in Bellingham, WA, on the third floor of the medical center in the death with dignity wing when it happened.   I remember looking out the window at the fresh snow that fell during the evening and I felt like I was the only person on the planet.   It looked and felt barren.   I was alone with my dad, more alone than I ever felt.   I laid on his chest and sobbed and hugged him and rubbed him so he would warm up.   I told him he was a good dad and

My story about Captain Kelley reminded me of another captain I knew in the Air Force.   This was Captain Morris and he and his wife, Bridgettredheadandbigboobs, or as we called her, Mrs. Morris, were friends with both of my parents.   The same setup as with the Kelley’s but this was pre-Germany, Fairfield, California, all of us stationed at Travis.   Military life has such different words for ordinary life.   We were stationed at Travis, we didn’t live there, we were stationed there.   We had a port of call for Germany in June of ’69, we weren’t leaving, flying to Germany, we had a port of call.   We always had to show our ID when we were on base, “Show us your papers!”   We went to the commissary, not the market, the BX, not Wonderworld (Wal-Mart today).   I used to think it was the PX but I guess the BX makes more sense, if you have a military slanted mind, the base exchange. The Morris’ had 3 boys, Roy Dean, my age, Danny, 2 years younger and Michael, who knows how old he was

I went to Starbucks this morning for a little morning blast.   I noticed the lights for “buck” were unplugged and I thought it was a cute name for a coffee shop.   Stars Coffee.   Only a couple of people were in line and one was a major in the Air Force.   How do I know that?   He was wearing a flight uniform complete with the zippered pockets down by his ankle.   Uniforms these days use Velcro for patches.   I don’t know, I like the old school look better.   Maybe more moms or wives liked sewing patches back in the 60’s than they do now.   I was darning socks the other night, I think I might be in the minority of men that still do that today too. “Are you a pilot?” I ventured. “Yes” he said with a kind smile.   He looked so young and handsome.   My dad must have looked the same in his day. “Yeah my dad was a pilot as well in the Air Force.   He flew a KC-135, well, that was his favorite plane to fly.” “Oh yeah, I’ve been on the back end of getting fueled by those, very c

I haven't really written anything in here that is just a normal blog entry.  Just memories, thoughts, concerns, growing up etc.  I guess that's okay.  I wasn't sure what I was supposed to post as if there were a set of rules for blogging.  In one of the alcathon meetings I attended over Christmas, one guy was listing his assets, published author, minister, world wide blogger, etc.  I realized that with my first post I too am a world wide blogger!  Hello world.  Now how do I get my messages out?  Because my message is important.  How to be a man.  How to develop those retarded childhood remnants into positive life experiences.  Yes, listen to me because I have the answers today.  Yes, it took 59 years to observe, fuck up, break down, fire up, play out and finally shut up and listen but I have the directions.  You just let go of the past.  Add it all up, take out the bad numbers, save the precious few and there you go.  It sounds ridiculously easy but it is just that easy.

I’ve been laid up in bed for three days with a headache.   Not just a normal headache but an 8.5 on a scale of 1-10 headache.   They’re not migraines, sinus or cluster headaches.   They’re the type of headaches doctors hate because they can’t categorize and treat.   My current doctor (neurologist) has been content to treat it with muscle relaxants that don’t work.   It was a preventative measure but when they accelerate through the roof, I can safely say, they don’t work. But today I felt good enough to shower and get out of the house.   I’ve been wanting to get my watch fixed and this seemed a perfect non-exhausting chore to get done.   It was my dad’s watch.   I took it off his arm the morning he died and placed it in the hospital bag where his clothes still lay to this day.   It’s been 13 years this month that I let him go to the spirits. I pulled his watch out several years ago and just had it on top of my dresser.   I’m not sure why, it wasn’t like a trophy but maybe just a l

1. Less Anger, More Understanding When we can understand why the other person acts the way they do—whether they are three years old or thirty—the need to yell automatically starts to diminish. 2. Less Complaining, More Gratitude When we look at all the wonderful things in life, the things that don’t go well start to seem trivial. 3. Less Blame, More Guidance When we get hurt, it is instinctive to want to make the other person “pay,” but if we can guide the person to fix the situation, things are more likely to get better sooner. 4. Less Judgment, More Wonder We are all unique, different, and a wee bit crazy in our own way. The best way to counter the urge to  be judgmental  is to cultivate a sense of wonder at each person’s uniqueness. 5. Less Resistance, More Acceptance The more we resist something, the more it persists. The more we accept it, the less it bothers us. 6. Less Shame, More Vulnerability Shame is a deep-seated fear that we are not enough. Yet, it’s

I had an interesting moment this week.   It involved a former lover from days long gone in this old brain.   We met in high school in Germany and somehow reconnected locally.   She lived outside of San Francisco so off I went to visit her.   Being a succulent I wanted more than just a visit.   I wanted her.   It was always “her.”   I spent the night, acted submissively coy the next morning and we got it on.   As in HELLO HOW ARE YOU?   I’M DOING GREAT, THANK YOU.   AND YOU?   ARE YOU DOING GREAT NOW TOO?   Now bound by the act of romantic swepticism* I planned on seeing her frequently.   And I did.   I was removed from my marriage barely 5 months and here I am, engaged in a serious, committed, I’m yours relationship.   Like writing for publication I threw everything I had in her direction.   I said all the right things, I did all the right things.   I talked, I listened, I kissed, I laughed, I held her hand and I just did it.   Like you’re supposed to, right?   Don’t you want to keep

Without the whispers, without the guidance of a peer, a father, a godfather or any male relative I didn’t take the reins of manhood at all.   I usurped the natural progress of growing into a man.   Listen, it is important, critical for a boy to develop these skills the right way.   Bypassing the normal growth progress and you end up with a mess.   A tragedy, unaware of the damage out the gate and for miles down the track.   You grab anything, anybody and hold on with a death grip thinking you’ve found the piece to complete the puzzle.   Relationships are choked into submission, dreams are just mini-dramas that bleed out to fatal incomplete deaths.   They stay alive in a zombie state to keep chomping on your incomplete sense of ideals for your so called life.   It doesn’t stop.   “I don’t know what I want to be when I grow up.   I don’t know what major to take.   I don’t know if she’s the right one”, etc., etc., etc. Four things need to be developed here; family, relationships, pea