I Believe it Matters
Roubaix @ eight months old.
I try…I try to be a good person, a good friend, a good father, a good neighbor and a good citizen of mankind. Sometimes I perform ok, sometimes I suck…nonetheless I try. I attempt actions I think are best whilst utilizing the appropriate tools available, by my measure. Although previously chastised for such behavior, I attempt heart-on-thy-sleeve and perhaps oversharing transparency, because I believe it matters. I announce to my kids incessantly that I love them, because I believe it matters. I ask my children what can I do new or different to be a better father, by their measure, because I believe it matters. My follow-up question comes in quick succession, what should I stop doing or do less of to be a better father, by their measure, because I believe it matters. I hug my kids as often as I can, because I believe it matters. My son and I squeeze the bloody tar out of each other every time we hug, a ridiculously strenuous hug fest…hence my signature phrase GrizzlyBearHug…because I believe it fucking matters.
I like hugging…hugging is one of my favorites. Objectively, the science on hugging is irrefutable. My dear pal Zak Siefkes first clued me in, a 12-second hug affects us chemically and in most stupendously positive ways. I followed Zak’s clues unquestionably, and both the resulting subjective pick-ups and physical experiences backed him up. Googling the math, a longish hug…10 seconds or more…produces oxytocin, the calming Dr. Feelgood hormone, relaxing our cortisol, stress, anxiety, heart rate and blood pressure. Double-digit hugs also enhance our sense of well-being, safety, security, trust, nurture, pleasure, love, and is a shot in the arm to our immune system. I will continue to hug, hug long, and especially with my son, attempt to break him in half…lovingly.
If you could, please pardon my web radio silence. My last blog and podcast episode are months old and by default, I nametag myself Bad Host. I’ve been writing my book for over two years now, fulltime…minus the four months as caregiver for my uncle The Admiral…I write most every day. Not slacking, my daily averages amount to ten hours for the last five months, and over six hours for all of my 660+ writing days thus far. Most of my consecutive writing stretches amount to 40 days before I take a break, then starting it back up again usually the next day. My pal Brendan asked me yesterday if it’s ever a chore for me to write, or in other words do I have to force myself to pick up the pen or start typing. My rapid response was no. I love writing and for me, writing is easy because I know what I am trying to say…the words flow. Oh sure, sometimes I belabor somewhat how to say what thoughts are trying to flow downstream. Every now and again I spend an entire day crafting the most correct paragraph, by my measure. An hour at a time has been spent assembling the most accurate sentence and similarly, even sixty minutes spent fishing for the most precise word.
The book now my priority, a bountiful piece of work soon enough producing at least four printed volumes. The project began as one book containing 22 chapters. Currently, the chapter count still remains at 22, but the page count is over 2,100 and the word count over 730,000. Volume one encapsulates just the first seven chapters, around 800 pages total, commencing with five topic chapters, followed by two chronological chapters. The editing of volume one is well along, maybe only a few weeks away at best from going to print, me thinks. Many of the future chapters are mostly completely written but editing still needed, and a few of them are completely done. My priority with the book is truth and completeness of story, written in a presumptive mish-mash of first person, I think…spewing thoughts to self and to my kids. Although I have forecasted completion targets for the book before, obviously then missing them all, I focus on quality, by my measure. Confidently, I believe I will be writing through the remainder of 2022 before all four volumes are completed.
Lies Between Us podcast episode number 20 is upcoming, but my co-host Charles was in jail for a short piece. Now with associated complications, the time and focus for Charles and me to sit and record a second episode after his last number 19, is challenged. Currently Charles awaits hopeful reentry into a City of Madison subsidized hotel voucher program, after being kicked out because of socializing with his friends, tenants in the same hotel…literally. We are trying to find Charles longer-term housing and hoping to clear some of his multiple erroneous felonies, criminal problems that led to his houselessness.
Me, I’m cool…happy to be writing the story I have to say, while I can say it. My health is rather crappy, I guess sitting on my ass 10 hours every day will produce such results. Oh well…so worth it. The weather has been on and off shitty but I do not attempt to push my fitness excuses onto Mother Nature. Still, once the consistent 50 degree weather days arrive, I’ll be back on my bike, healthier and happier. After 200 days or so on the pain and healing medications low-dose Naltrexone, aka LDN, and Synapsin, I must admit my pain lords over me still. Specifically the shit clinging to me is my peripheral neuropathy, aka crippling nerve pain, as well as severe headaches and migraines. The peripheral neuropathy in my feet is resulting from a self-induced five-year alcoholic binge in 2006-2011, after bad shit went down with ex-wife one Andrea. Truth be clear though, she was doing what she believed correct for her at the time, and I own the fact my malicious mitts picked up the damn tequila bottle on my own…no diverting blame intended. The brain pain is lingering from a head injury I suffered almost exactly one year ago. No bother, I’m still vertical.
My daughter Lauren applied to transfer colleges, possibly leaving University of Wisconsin Madison Business School this summer, starting a fresh fall semester somewhere in New England. The thought of my daughter leaving the state although thrilling, is also scary for me. She’s struggled with her health for four years now…ugh, and now I’ll just shut up. My daughter Lauren is so damn intelligent and beautiful and tough and awesome. She’s pursuing two majors, business finance and accounting…yup, she’s wicked smart. I just want her to be comfortable enough to do her best by her measure but she’s not exactly there yet. I am ridiculously proud of her and look forward to all the amazing things she will do in her life.
My son Travis is in his senior year at UW Madison, finishing in a few months but attending one more semester this fall then graduating in December with two degrees, one in computer science and one in mathematics. Travis is kind, tough, wise, and obviously, duh…smart as fuck. For me who only completed the 10th grade…I flunked out of geometry…only finished one college course ever, Introduction to Business at Towson State University, an evening pass-fail course…my pride and happiness that Lauren and Travis are travelling their own paths thrills me beyond my diction’s ability to explain.
My soon-to-be puppy was born a few days ago, a male Rhodesian Ridgeback, same breed as my last dog Roubaix. Roubaix now lives fulltime with ex-wife two Nora after her and I divorced over four years ago. Several of you ask from time to time so I’ll be more crystal showy about it…I have not dated since Nora left and I am not interested, but thanks anyway. Oh sure, if the right gal strolls into my life, something might go down but I half-jokingly tease myself when I say…I gave all my modern day romantic love away already. So the next best thing I can construct, maybe even the best thing, is that I am getting a puppy. His name already chosen…Maximus Raksha. Maximus for Russell Crowe’s Gladiator character and Raksha is an Indian word meaning the moon, the one who defends and secures, the one who keeps us safe. Yes, Raksha was also Mowgli’s mother’s name from The Jungle Book movie meaning wolf mother. Maximus will not be shortened to Max by me. If needing to spit his name out, I’ll just smash his name together like Max-mus. Some of you know my yellow lab Wheelie from the 90’s. Wheelie died of overpowering cancer when he was 10. I vowed to never own a dog again because the pain of losing Wheelie was too great. Lauren and Nora convinced me a new dog was necessary so we got Roubaix. After Mrow-Mrow my cat died in November, too much of a silence lingers in my life so I am thrilled to collect Maximus Raksha in two months.
Some of you might see me in Canaan Valley West Virginia in mid-June as long as I decide Maximus is ready for a roadtrip. If venturing east for the annual mountain bike festival in God’s country, Maximus Raksha and I plan to be tent camping in Blackwater Falls State Park. On July 9th I’ll be in Duluth for the Trampled By Turtles prog-bluegrass show with my buddy Spencer Ploessl, camped out at my lay-down logs cabin in Seeley Wisconsin. August 5th I catch them Turtles once more, attending with my Coach Sarah in the Driftless area of southwest Wisconsin. Otherwise I’ll be raising Maximus and possibly training him for some showing, riding my bike, and of course writing. Hope to see you out there somewhere.
Lastly, hum…well…two days from now…two days from now is a big day for me, one of my biggest. Two days from now, 33 years ago, I quit a vicious 13-year drug addiction. I doubt any celebration will occur, no tribute will be made, but throughout every crevasse of me, I will continue a slight nervous pride that so far, I’m pointing in the right direction. Every day I pay notice to my clean time…every day…every single day. Not that staying clean from drugs gets easier after several decades, it will never be easy, but in some weird way, hum…is this true? Yes I believe so…after so long, I grow microscopically stronger. The days add up and help to give me strength, not interested to start over on day number one, after erasing my 12,045 days clean so far, and counting. Anyway, it is what it is…a big day, by my measure.
Miss you all…love you all…Bird out.
