Monday, January 31, 2005
Orphans- each and every one
I thought it was the coyotes at first.
Shrill, high pitched, I grabbed the cell phone so that Ed could hear the sound of their calls. They were close, I couldn't remember hearing them that close in a long damn time.
I made it outside, dialing speed dial.
Ed didn't answer.
The calls continued, shrieking into twilight.
Then I realized they weren't coyotes. The sound, it was too close, too different.
Looking down from the deck, I saw they were puppies. Four of them, scrambling in front of the house, frantic with worry. Wondering what happened to their bitch, I peered over the railing, but she was no where to be found. They were about 2 months old, dark coated and wide eyed. They were hungry and frightened.
They would not come near me.
I realized then that some bastard had dropped them off down below me on the county road. That's what happens up here. People ditch their animals. Their kittens. Their puppies. Sometimes their sick horses.
As if in January any of these animals have a prayers chance.
I can see the rationalization, what they tell themselves in their slick little minds. They'll go to good homes. Some rancher will have pity and adopt the animals. They will have a warm place to sleep, lots of space to run and, and, and. Wow, wasn't that just the easiest way to get rid of a little guilt. Visualize the litter, all cared for, all happy in some fancy barn, working cows by day, well fed at night.
Actually visualize your four puppies, wandering through the woods scared, crying out, until one of em gets seperated. One of em falls behind. One of them or two of them or all of them actually meet the coyotes.
Yeah visualize that.
Rushing into the house I grabbed a jacket. I grabbed my shoes, but the puppies were already far out into the woods behind the house. Crying, sheiking, looking for their mother. And yes, they sounded almost like coyotoes. That was until I heard the coyotes descending on them down from the higher benches, their calls growing ever more excited and frantic.
I turned and walked back into the house, shut the door, and refused to hear what I knew was coming next.
Instead I saw your car pulling up alongside the shoulder of the road, and I say you dumping your pups out, and I saw that someday maybe you will read this and maybe actually have enough conscience to feel like the piece of shit that you are.
Shrill, high pitched, I grabbed the cell phone so that Ed could hear the sound of their calls. They were close, I couldn't remember hearing them that close in a long damn time.
I made it outside, dialing speed dial.
Ed didn't answer.
The calls continued, shrieking into twilight.
Then I realized they weren't coyotes. The sound, it was too close, too different.
Looking down from the deck, I saw they were puppies. Four of them, scrambling in front of the house, frantic with worry. Wondering what happened to their bitch, I peered over the railing, but she was no where to be found. They were about 2 months old, dark coated and wide eyed. They were hungry and frightened.
They would not come near me.
I realized then that some bastard had dropped them off down below me on the county road. That's what happens up here. People ditch their animals. Their kittens. Their puppies. Sometimes their sick horses.
As if in January any of these animals have a prayers chance.
I can see the rationalization, what they tell themselves in their slick little minds. They'll go to good homes. Some rancher will have pity and adopt the animals. They will have a warm place to sleep, lots of space to run and, and, and. Wow, wasn't that just the easiest way to get rid of a little guilt. Visualize the litter, all cared for, all happy in some fancy barn, working cows by day, well fed at night.
Actually visualize your four puppies, wandering through the woods scared, crying out, until one of em gets seperated. One of em falls behind. One of them or two of them or all of them actually meet the coyotes.
Yeah visualize that.
Rushing into the house I grabbed a jacket. I grabbed my shoes, but the puppies were already far out into the woods behind the house. Crying, sheiking, looking for their mother. And yes, they sounded almost like coyotoes. That was until I heard the coyotes descending on them down from the higher benches, their calls growing ever more excited and frantic.
I turned and walked back into the house, shut the door, and refused to hear what I knew was coming next.
Instead I saw your car pulling up alongside the shoulder of the road, and I say you dumping your pups out, and I saw that someday maybe you will read this and maybe actually have enough conscience to feel like the piece of shit that you are.
Sunday, January 30, 2005
The First Word
Facing January
This was dawn in mid January. The temperature was -26. It was a hint of things to come...Welcome to the new Blog...A real time, unedited snapshot of life from here...
Before the fog moved in
Sometimes I think that dawn is God's second chance. That one that comes every day.
So this is it-that first awkward blog post. After what's been one hell of a ride in the first month of '05...the personal side of the personal, the subjective of the objective, and the messy side of the polished...oh hell-why not, what's a little spent pride on the bloody information superhighway. Blogs as literature. Blogs as therapy. Blogs are as close as you can get to an 8 second reride in the rodeo of life.
Actually the rodeo analogy is way accurate.This year is already turning into a very bad draw on a very rank bull. You think you've got the ride down and then...Hell no, where did that twist come from?
You're catching serious air.Know that story?
The in between-the-lines stuff. The embarrassing face plant followed by the muffled, "stay tuned folks & we'll see if he's gonna be ok" coming back at ya from the announcer's booth. The staggering, bewildering, get your bearings, "what in the hell just happened?" look. Then you actually consider for a moment just trying something a little bit different, trying a reride, to see if you can get another outcome. The therapist set calls this mood "bargaining".
I'm all there.
So yup, this is the month of the face plant.I somehow turned 40 this week. The day itself was the biggest non event of my life, other than the folks at the Newport Post Office giving me a hard time, and I got confused and performed the accidental act of going through the "15 items or less line" at Safeway with something like 80 cans of soup. I also took an unexpected trip to an unidentified place which will remain unexplained for the time being.
Anyway, 40 wasn't like I planned it to be. It wasn't anything. Well, anything other than a lot of staring back at you walls, a lot of time to think, and a lot of questions that no one seems to have answers for. Oh yeah and more of the same two weeks of fog. My God the fog just stays and stays and its never been like this before and February, where in the hell are you? I'm posting blue sky pics right now, because I could use an extra helping of blue sky.
Hold the con trails please.
Going through the Motions
The biggest news story of the month? The headline?
"All you never wanted to know about "not" being in love..."
Even though I still am.
The holidays were the best. I being completely taken with a great guy. Oh yeah, and woah nelly (no pun intended) for those readers that aren't used to thinking outside the box, that two fellas could love one another, especially a working class guy who spent most of his adult years trucking across the country, and seems to have the earliest version of gayboy 1.1, well yeah, it happens to us too. I never wanted the typical full time gayboy city life. Since I came out, I'd always chased perpetual motion in a big rig, until an accident ended all that. I was also one of those crazy fools who believed in happily ever after and maybe that I'd find someone who thought that maybe happily ever after could begin at a place called here.
I'm still here. And I am learning that love, no matter where it is born, is the best that life gives us. No matter where you find it is just as compelling, wonderful, crazy assed awful, and theraputic as when it happens to anyone else you know, 'cept in this case, my case, its doubtful you probably don't know anyone crazy enough to court like this.
Last summer he and I chased high country terrain, and hanging out like we did, neither of us caught our breath. Meet me in Montana style, our dates happened in 4x4's, cable cars, and gondolas. We daytripped through Nevada, Idaho, Alberta, and Montana. Sharing sunset on top of Saddle Mountain after spending noon at Ross Creek Cedars, I took it all for granted. We shared drinks over the bar at Toby's Silver Dollar Bar in Noxon Montana, and did In and Out Burgers in San Fran. There were rodeos at the Cow Palace, and rodeos near Half Moon Bay. Our time was not spent sitting around watching Will and Grace or Queer Eye for the whatever guy. We lived like Tim McGraw sings, we lived like we were dying.
I first met him at a rodeo in Calgary. He sang a Clint Black Song, "Spend My Time" honoring a fallen rodeo rider.
I started falling right about then.
But back to the real time...After 7 months, I thought things were really turning out right for once. Anyway sometime after that memorable New Years kiss, a kiss that made me feel something I'd define as some kind of wonderful, 2005 ignited. I jumped happily right under all those falling San Francisco Fireworks.
New Years Day God turned me into his cat toy again.
I'm learning I'm not much for cats. I have my reasons.
An uncertain awkwardness settled over everything, and this new haunting replaced the optimism I'd held, taking away the reassuring peace of mind that was there before. I never saw it coming. But then I never do seem to see it coming. I just don't think that way. I am just too optimistic and like that wonderful french film with all those crazy photobooth sequences, I am learning once again that "times are hard for dreamers".
Yeah its that Aquarian curse. I always dream of working things out rather than plowing things under.
So yup, being a writer, this month I am pondering all the things about Love that I love. And hate. And that loving someone drives me fucking crazy. Love is that so allusive, can't take it to the bank, maddening, oh shit is there even going to be a tomorrow yo yo ride. It comes complete with a helping of Oh my God, yesterday was amazing wasn't it?
That mix of pain and pleasure- a lethal combination of all things heartfelt. You love it when its happening, you hate it when its happening, you never want it to end, yet you sometimes think it would be better if it ended so you'd get your equilibrium back... but then you turn passive aggressive when it ends and you were really just kidding God, yes you were. Listen God I was just saying that, are you listening God?
You never ever not even for one second wanted it to end.
Thats love. Compulsive. Obsessive. Illogical.
Pull Your Hair OUT.
Optimism.
Most of us just take pills to get this kind of rush.
Two weeks after New Years I heard the final words I didn't want to hear sprinkled with revelations I hear way too often. "I Love you but I am not in love with you..."
I know, I know, in all of life there's no guarantees, but once in a while, you'd sure like it if there were. It's like finding yourself looking for directions, in mapquest, but without a zip code, a city, or an address.
Yet somehow with zero information, you are supposed to arrive at the right, exact, destination. Yeah just try arriving intact, and in one piece at a place called " I love ya but I'm not in love with you".
Thats January. The month of the face plant.
"All you never wanted to know about "not" being in love..."
Even though I still am.
The holidays were the best. I being completely taken with a great guy. Oh yeah, and woah nelly (no pun intended) for those readers that aren't used to thinking outside the box, that two fellas could love one another, especially a working class guy who spent most of his adult years trucking across the country, and seems to have the earliest version of gayboy 1.1, well yeah, it happens to us too. I never wanted the typical full time gayboy city life. Since I came out, I'd always chased perpetual motion in a big rig, until an accident ended all that. I was also one of those crazy fools who believed in happily ever after and maybe that I'd find someone who thought that maybe happily ever after could begin at a place called here.
I'm still here. And I am learning that love, no matter where it is born, is the best that life gives us. No matter where you find it is just as compelling, wonderful, crazy assed awful, and theraputic as when it happens to anyone else you know, 'cept in this case, my case, its doubtful you probably don't know anyone crazy enough to court like this.
Last summer he and I chased high country terrain, and hanging out like we did, neither of us caught our breath. Meet me in Montana style, our dates happened in 4x4's, cable cars, and gondolas. We daytripped through Nevada, Idaho, Alberta, and Montana. Sharing sunset on top of Saddle Mountain after spending noon at Ross Creek Cedars, I took it all for granted. We shared drinks over the bar at Toby's Silver Dollar Bar in Noxon Montana, and did In and Out Burgers in San Fran. There were rodeos at the Cow Palace, and rodeos near Half Moon Bay. Our time was not spent sitting around watching Will and Grace or Queer Eye for the whatever guy. We lived like Tim McGraw sings, we lived like we were dying.
I first met him at a rodeo in Calgary. He sang a Clint Black Song, "Spend My Time" honoring a fallen rodeo rider.
I started falling right about then.
But back to the real time...After 7 months, I thought things were really turning out right for once. Anyway sometime after that memorable New Years kiss, a kiss that made me feel something I'd define as some kind of wonderful, 2005 ignited. I jumped happily right under all those falling San Francisco Fireworks.
New Years Day God turned me into his cat toy again.
I'm learning I'm not much for cats. I have my reasons.
An uncertain awkwardness settled over everything, and this new haunting replaced the optimism I'd held, taking away the reassuring peace of mind that was there before. I never saw it coming. But then I never do seem to see it coming. I just don't think that way. I am just too optimistic and like that wonderful french film with all those crazy photobooth sequences, I am learning once again that "times are hard for dreamers".
Yeah its that Aquarian curse. I always dream of working things out rather than plowing things under.
So yup, being a writer, this month I am pondering all the things about Love that I love. And hate. And that loving someone drives me fucking crazy. Love is that so allusive, can't take it to the bank, maddening, oh shit is there even going to be a tomorrow yo yo ride. It comes complete with a helping of Oh my God, yesterday was amazing wasn't it?
That mix of pain and pleasure- a lethal combination of all things heartfelt. You love it when its happening, you hate it when its happening, you never want it to end, yet you sometimes think it would be better if it ended so you'd get your equilibrium back... but then you turn passive aggressive when it ends and you were really just kidding God, yes you were. Listen God I was just saying that, are you listening God?
You never ever not even for one second wanted it to end.
Thats love. Compulsive. Obsessive. Illogical.
Pull Your Hair OUT.
Optimism.
Most of us just take pills to get this kind of rush.
Two weeks after New Years I heard the final words I didn't want to hear sprinkled with revelations I hear way too often. "I Love you but I am not in love with you..."
I know, I know, in all of life there's no guarantees, but once in a while, you'd sure like it if there were. It's like finding yourself looking for directions, in mapquest, but without a zip code, a city, or an address.
Yet somehow with zero information, you are supposed to arrive at the right, exact, destination. Yeah just try arriving intact, and in one piece at a place called " I love ya but I'm not in love with you".
Thats January. The month of the face plant.
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