Fighting a losing Battle.

 I am many things. I’m not all the things she told you. 

I am many of them. Most of the worst things. 

But she’s something. 

She’s only ever loved one person. Who took advantage. And still holds a power over her. 

It’s why when she choose someone else, they reminded her of him, of Mordecai. 

Her one and only true love. Unrequited perhaps. But never forgotten. He was the specter I would never live up to. 

Then she found a new one. Closer to him. More her style. 

And I lost my shit. 

She went to Ireland with him. Twice a trip I was told we couldn’t do together. But she found her Mordecai proxy. 

Then when I felt hurt. It was my own fault. It was my ego. 

For years she refused any social interaction. But when the false Mordecai was involved, she was all about it. 

I came to believe that my wife hated me for not being the man she really wanted and that she found a placeholder. 

And I did everything wrong. 

As she emotionally cheated with this proxy of the only man she has ever truly loved. I did worse. I stepped out. 

I fell in love with someone else. Who didn’t use me as a proxy for the man who manipulated her. 

I was wrong.

The details don’t matter at that point. But the truth any became clear. She immediately called my family. Not her own who didn’t have the ability to actually support her. They would have tried but she knew which cupboard had the butter. 

Maybe that was the plan all along. Milk this family and then find another man she can’t “commit” to due to the trauma and milk his family as well. 

Always keeping open a legal door even though she said we should split it all even. And then milk what ever she can at the last possible moment. 

She never felt valued because at an early age she was told her sister and her cancer was the priority. So she spent the rest of her life working what ever system she could to get what she needed. 

It’s not evil. It’s just pragmatic. But it was never love. Well maybe the love she had for the one who would never love her back, Mordecai. He who wouldn’t even kiss her when he demanded her affection. 

The time will come when she will demand from you like her parents who can’t support themselves demand from her. 

At that moment I hope you cut her off like you have me. 

Let Uncle Mordecai finally step in for the shit he has created. 

You’d love Matlock

So MOM, there’s this show that just came out and it’s new and different but also kind of the same. It harkens back to a show of the past Matlock, with a bit of murder she wrote. I’m not sure if you would love it but I think if you just watched it you connect with the clever logic as storytelling. 

I don’t know if you get signals or streaming where you are now but I would’ve loved to watch it with you. It feels your style. It feels the type of show that you would love and love it as much as I love it. It also hurts because I can’t watch it with you.

There are things in life that I want to you to  and see that I can’t imagine you having to deal with and there are things that I want you to see that you’ll never see. 

 I think this is why we hope and pray the after life. One of the hardest things about grief is loss. We want to share with those we value the most. We have stories to tell. 

I don’t know if you get streaming or signals where you are now but I’m going to pretend you do. So let’s watch the new version of Matlock. 

I spent so much of my childhood saying, “Mom look!” it’s a hard reality to have that fall on ears that can no longer hear. 

But I watch a show a moment that reminds me of you and in some way, that’s a momentary balm. 

I can’t Not.

 I’m on the precipice of the hope of something that might be a chance.

I don’t think I am truly worthy of yet another chance yet  I am so excited for it. 

I have spent last year learning about myself - learning how I have played the victim for so many years when the true villain was me, and I am trying to acknowledge that I can’t fix the past. 

Perhaps I can at least do what I can’t and somehow through a power that is not my own and is not through my virtue or my worth due to the grace of having amazing friends having amazing people I need to learn to accept Grace.

I don’t sleep well ever, but I especially don’t sleep well before something. That is important something that is big something that could change a lot.

And I am hopeful and grateful for the opportunity and excited and terrified and yet I am ready. 

I have made a lot of big decisions in my life when I wasn’t ready, and I and others have dealt the consequences of me not being ready - for marriage or job or life or fatherhood - I have rarely been ready. 

In many times, I blame someone else but if there is anything that could come from my mother‘s death - it is perspective. 

All the things I could’ve said, a lot of things I could’ve done.   I could’ve done better. 

Perspective is a hell of a drug and mixed in the emotional alchemy of grief it can change you. It can make it clear in ways that you were not ready to accept. 

Tomorrow will not fix the past. It will not fix the present. But it’s a chance to chart a future. 

And I know that the people in my life want that. They support it.

I know mom would be proud of me for learning and growing and trying. 

That in and of itself is more than reason enough to keep trying. 

I owe her that. 

The Breath of Life - Maggie Smith

When a famous actor, actress or musician passes, it's always interesting to me how the headlines are written. What are the works of art that become part of the headlines announcing their passing? Today Dame Margaret Natalie Smith passed at the age of 89. Her career spanned decades and multiple mediums Oscars and BAFTA awards. Most of the headlines included Downton Abbey and Harry Potter. But I couldn't find a single headline that mentioned the things that come immediately come to my mind. 

Sister Act, The Breath of Life, and one of the greatest experiences of my life. 

Which sounds like a very self-important novel title. But it's actually three things. 

At some point in the spring or summer of 1992, I attended my first lock-in at church. For those unfamiliar, lock-ins were a strange device that allowed parents to drop their kids off at school with some snacks and a sleeping bag and be free of them for the next 12 hours. I was very excited for the lock-in. We had plans to play in the gym all night, never sleep, and feel freedom at that point unbeknownst to us. 

There was also the expectation that we would do some Bible study and fellowship and likely some Christ-focused arts and crafts. 

The lock-in began with a trip to Circus Pizza, a Minnesota knock off of Chuck-E-Cheese and then somewhat inexplicably this group of likely 40-50 children grades 5th through 8th went to a performance of the classic running from the mob comedy about Nuns and music, Sister Act. 

Why a bunch of Lutheran kids went to a movie about Catholic nuns, I have never truly understood. But I loved it. 

Songs all about, that lady from Star Trek as the lead, the stern Mother Superior who comes around and leads the Nuns on a rescue mission, and some pretty great one-liners that I would repeat for the rest of my life. "Alma! Check your battery!"

I told my parents all about Sister Act when I got home. When it came out on VHS it was a frequent Friday night rental and eventually, that tape became a stable of road trips in the van, with Field of Dreams, Teen Wolf, and The Hunt for Red October. I still watch it when I need to have a laugh or a smile. Mary Wickes, portrayal of Sister Mary Lazarus, the grumpy queen of wisecracks always hits the spot. 

I saw The Breath of Life in London in January of 2003. It starred both Dame Maggie Smith and Dame Judi Dench in a play about a wife and a mistress meeting. I remember little of the play itself, other than the incredible feeling that these two talents were capable of captivating my attention despite the lack of connection or really even interest in the script. I truly didn't care much about the plot, I just wanted to be in the same space. It was the first time I really remember loving the moment of the art, even if the quality wasn't there. To see someone perform so well when given so little. 

It was also part of one of the greatest week's of my life. I was in London, a newlywed on a trip that I was lucky enough to get to bring my wife, who wasn't student along as a "chaperone" - the irony of that is not lost on me giving the turning of the hands of time - I was taking classes at Shakespeare's Globe, working with professional Shakespearean actors, going to shows nearly every night, visiting small pubs and feeling like I was on top of the world. I'm not sure at really understood how lucky I was in that moment. 

Because of those hands of time turning and the events that have subsequently occurred, it's not a time of my life that I revisit often. One thing I'm currently working on in therapy is being able to acknowledge that good moments, even when bad moments eventually seem to poison the memory of the good ones. I was so lucky to have the trip, to have a tiny version of a honeymoon that we never got, to hold so many amazing memories from that week in my heart. A tiny bible-shaped version of Henry the Fifth that I carried in my pocket for days and still sits in my safe as one of my most treasured items and so many more moments I treasure as well. 

It's ok and right to acknowledge the good moments even if the story didn't have a happy ending. Dame Maggie Smith took so many audiences on so many journeys. 

I'm thankful for the one she took me on today. 

A Chance Encounter

 As I was walking home tonight after walking a friend out to their car and making sure they were safe, I crossed the road, and then in front of me was a black cat, sweet lovable black cat, who rubbed up against me and asked for pets and scratches but definitely did not want to be picked up -I tried to negotiate with her. 

I said follow me home and I’ll take care of you but if you wish to go your own way, I will respect it. 

10 feet away and she ran to the dumpster and examined things out for 10 minutes and then walked the other way.

I desperately wanted her to follow me to convince her that I had to take care of her when in truth , all she needed that moment was a little comfort a little solace from whatever she’s dealing with, but she certainly didn’t need was a dumbass who desperately wanted to be the white male savior.

 I waited and she walked around the dumpster, sniffed what she could sniff and then walked over to side of the parking lot and sat by a sidewalk  

I didn’t save her. She didn’t want me to save her. In fact she was grateful for the attention I gave her but also that was the limit of my existence in her life. She sat by the sidewalk and I sat 100 feet away wondering if she needed my help. 

It was clear to me that she did not , and that my need to be a hero had nothing to do with her reality. This is a cat that was perfectly secure where she was perhaps waiting for her owner/friend/roommate to come home. 

She was without need and without any notification she was exactly what she was and the need for a knight and shining any rescue was unnecessary. 

She was exactly what she was and that in itself more sure of purpose in their own self than I know in mine. 

It was my ego that wanted; needed to be the hero. It was her grace to give me a bit of attention and to let me feel her peace. 

Luci’s Walk

The light broke through the curtains with an uncomfortable force. Luci’s eyes forced open by the dawn. They blinked hard against the light, trying to adjust. To accept this new reality, cast from the sacred place, disowned, disavowed, discarded. 

As the light and dark adjusted. As they accepted the reality they were now in, things came a bit clearer.

They tried too hard, they grasped for too much and lost. Lost it all. The pain is never ending. Burns that create wounds that never scar over. Raw. Eternal pain. 

As Luci roams the land they have found themselves in. They start to notice their surroundings. They become aware of the other beings. Luci thought they were abandoned here alone, an orphan in a solo orphanage. 

But as they explore they see the others, cautiously at first, from a distance. But they seem familiar. The same energy the same brash adventure. Luci sees a bit of themselves in them. A lot more than they want to admit. 

But Luci is an orphan, a reject, a cautionary tale. This organic animal doesn’t know. 

Yet it reminds Luci of their own misunderstanding of reality and consequences. 

And somehow, Luci knows that they must protect this unique animal, this creation. 

What if all the devil’s temptations are meant to push you back to the light, because they as an abandoned, disowned orphan, know the danger, the risk, the consequences. Maybe the voice of experience is full of sorrow. 

The line between Lucifer the tortured soul and the Holy Spirit is more blurred than we admit. 

A recipe for a Heaven

 Live uphill from a gas station. 

Live within walking distance of a restaurant and a liquor store. 

Live within walking distance of something that makes you believe in something more than yourself. 

Be able to walk to a grocery or farmers market. Have a funeral home not too far away. 

Have music in the air, church, hs band, rock club, even the symphony of a playground or park. 

Have at least one pizza place you can walk to. Two preferable.  Find a place your soul finds quiet. 

Add two things that are specific to the needs of your heart. 

You find all that? You may just have found your heaven. 

What’s in a Hat?

 He’s fit, nearly 6 foot, but in a bar in the north without any country vibe he’s in a cowboy hat. 

There is a sense of vulnerability to the bravado. His jaw line catches looks. He’s got kind eyes. 

Yet that damn hat. It’s a lot to process. 

He waits as if the magic hat will fix the anxiety, the lack of ability to make the first move. 

He seems kind, interested in your story. 

But that damned hat. 

It screams the opposite of what he thinks it does. In this moment. In this place. It’s not the badge he thinks it is. 

Time and place. Audience. Moment. It all matters. 

Turn and time again ladies would engage and talk for a bit and then seemingly unknowingly, look at the hat one more time before they disengaged. 

He closed his tab. Walks out. Trusting the hat. Had he just trusted those eyes, that jawline, himself…it would have been different. 

Maybe he wanted the indifference. The caution. Maybe if you can’t love the hat you can’t love him. 

But that’s a lot of weight to put on a hat. 

Hubris Personified

Imagine if you will, a theater major, in London on a trip to study at the world famous Globe Theater recreation. 

They get one moment on stage alone to deliver the Shakespearean monologue they have been working on for 3 months. 

His wife, newly married is on the trip. He held the engagement ring in his pocket the night he saw a lord of the rings movie in the theater at premiere night. His bride is in the audience waiting to hear her man deliver his Shakespearean monologue on this famous stage. 

Full of confidence and vigor he steps up to the beautiful and ornate double wooden doors. He envisions being like Aragon and pushing open the doors with force and righteous purpose. He’s going to burst onto the stage and deliver the monologue of his life. Impress his bride, his father and his mentor. 

He takes a deep breath, thanking fate for the opportunity, a smaller breath to calm his anxiety and a pause to thank the fates he made it to this moment. 

With the monologue in his tongue and an ego full of vigor and passion he pushed against the doors like a sprinter breaking out of the starting block. 

What he got was a resounding, terrible thud. 

The doors didn’t swing open, he didn’t emerge as a valiant Aragon. 

They just went thud. 

Because they were doors that didn’t push. They were pull. 

He adjusted, pulled and delivered the monologue, a tense victorious stream of words that would have been so much better if everyone hadn’t been giggling about the thud. 

Hubris is a vicious judge. But also seems to have a sense of humor. 

Unprepared and Arrogant

When my first wife and I got married, we agreed to never have children. Neither of us felt that we were prepared to bring another life into this chaotic, horrible world, and I myself didn’t feel prepared to give them any skills to get through it. I felt I would be, a bad parent and was in so many ways I was still a child and unprepared.

Life happened and we brought two amazing beings into life. Both had to struggle to fight to get here to land on this planet of existence each of them probably in another age would not have been allowed opportunity and despite our misgiving, we burst individuals.

 Opportunity and despite our misgiving, we birthed two individuals. I arrogant thought I would figure it out as I went. 

But overtime, it proves that I was right in my first assumption. I was not prepared or ready to be a father or a mentor or anything resembling a support system. I failed both of them repeatedly. 

In spite of my flawed existence and despite my negative influences on them, they have both succeeded are succeeding, thriving, and will thrive.

vilification of my existence, despite my negative influences on them, they have both succeeded - are succeeding, thriving, and will thrive.

It is understandable that neither of them really has much desired of anything to do with me because I have provided not enough and I have also been cast as a villain and derided the entire way .

I take pride and I have never chosen the path of derision and vilification of the other parent. It is clear to me that the only thing on earth that early 20 something me, was right about was that I was not ready and not prepared. and yet I unleashed that stumbling fool of a father upon them.

And yet I unleashed that stumbling fool of a father upon them.

Is it a paradox that I cannot fix? I cannot wish it had happened because then these incredible individuals would not exist. I do wish that I could’ve been better. I do wish so much. 

The Terrors Learn to Wait

One of the best things about living with night terrors is that over time you learn to adapt. You learn how to find a way to deal with the horrible images, the scary moments, and the bloodcurdling events that your mind presents. 

You learn this through trial and error. At some point you become, if you’re lucky, good enough at it that you can remove yourself from that horrible dream. You can remove yourself from the night terror it doesn’t stop the feeling or the emotion or quite frankly the terror. Like hitting pause right before the scary moment in the movie. Hopefully, you walk away and the movie never continues.  But some nights and more importantly, some mornings hitting pause isn’t enough. 

My brain is very good at deleting the things that it knows I shouldn’t see again but just like any solid state storage there’s going to be an echo that sticks with you. I don't know what my mind deleted from last night's terror. I do know that it terrified me enough that I woke up at 4 AM and decided that whether the sun was up or not, I was done  

When that happens and I have no recollection of the dream,  I know that my subconscious is doing its best to keep it from me, but it doesn’t always work. 

I don’t know what I saw in my dreams last night, but I do know that moments of today out of my vision, there’s been something  That I think I see and I look and it’s not there. 

Which means it was either a trick of the light that my brain couldn’t delete or that something is still stalking me. Chasing me until my foolish ass does exactly what it wants and that is to go to sleep. To give that echo of a memory that my brain tried to delete the chance to take hold again. 

Some nights find my insomnia is not being able to sleep because of FOMO or restless legs or just not wanting to face tomorrow. 

Some nights my urge not to sleep is because I know that there is a nightmare waiting for me on the other side of my eyelids.  A nightmare that scared me so much last night. I deleted it and I woke myself up. It's waiting as a shadow in the corner of my vision or on full display across the curtain of night. 

No matter how long you procrastinate, the terrors learn to wait. 

In Progress

 I’m so close. 

I can see the path.  

Yet the jungle is still there. 

The chaos. The inevitability. 

I just have to get through it. 

Manage it. Find a way to honor this and still prepare for that. 

I’ll never be what I should have been. 

I’ll never fix the mistakes I have made. 

I can honor that and also try to be better. 

Yesterdays failure doesn’t mean tomorrow’s

I have failed so many times. And I deserve the consequences and anger and vitriol. 

But I can own all that failure and pain and shit, and still be given another chance. 

Maybe not by individuals or organizations or expectations. Maybe not by you. And you deserve the same chances. The same chance to fail and learn. 

Many times I have run out of chances and options. 

But inexplicably. I get another shot. 

 I’m trying to be better. 

I am and I will. Fail again and again

 I failed and tried to create a version of me that you would love and respect. It was a fools errand. We can’t create love and/or respect. It’s only earned or given. 

And I never earned it. For the last 5 years I walked at on eggshells for years and I still lost, I still failed. 

If I was the arrogant ass you make me be I wouldn’t have tried. I wouldn’t have censored myself. I wouldn’t have given up drinking for a year to see if it would actually change things. I did those things. I gave up things. I tried. 

No one noticed. Nothing about my personality that people disliked went away. 

I could blame alcohol. I could curry favor with my bold decision to no drink. What I truly learned is that my personality is the problem, my ego, my self. 

Not drinking didn’t fix it. Not swearing or being a slave to the gospel or rules didn’t make me more likable. 

I was an asshole. I am an asshole. There is not get out of jail free card for that. I have to learn to get better. I’m trying. Been trying. But being a self righteous asshole doesn’t change over night. 

What you saw about me. I am. I’m trying to change it, but I was quite proficient as an asshole. So it’s at best a failure in progress. 

It’s not a situation. Or chemical. I’m functionally bad at interpersonal conduct. 

I get it. I’m trying to fix it. Heal it. But it’s objectively fucked for now. You don’t have to expect it to get better or even give me the chance. But so I can live with myself. I have to try. 

The Things You Have Never Been Told

 You are 17. You feel you know everything. But there are a lot things you've never been told. 

The bridge is already burning. There is not reason not to say it anymore. 

You have been sold a bill of goods that doesn't check out. 

I am a failure at many things. I am not good at many things. But I have given and I have tried. The voices that tell you what they want you to hear have their own biases. And now I have nothing to lose. I've already lost that which is most important to me. 

In your vitriol and angry texts, you told me I have never thought of anyone but myself. And that is true in many ways. I am self-absorbed. Selfish. Arrogant. 

But perhaps here are a few things from my biased perspective that you never got to hear. 

Yes. I was the one who said that things weren't working. I was the one who said we needed to live apart and figure things out. She was the one who called my parents and said I left her. She didn't call her own parents, she called mine. And they chose you. My parents chose you over me. And you ignore texts from the only one of them that is still alive. For everything he isn't, my father chose you over me and you won't even text him back. 

Once my parents rejected me and chose her and you and Peyton. I was left with a choice. Stay in a job that I dreamed about, be a shit father, or abandon that job as I had been abandoned, because like my parents I felt it was the right thing to do. 

So I did my best to find a job in Minnesota. It took time. But I still paid for everything I could. While she had no income and lived in my parent's home. 

I found a job, and I moved back. I tried to figure out a way through. It was clear from the moment that I got back that reconciliation was not an option. I was hated. I would never be forgiven for saying things weren't working. 

I worked at a job and failed. I couldn't balance being at work and hating myself and being hated by everyone who knew me. I failed at that job. 

I found another job. I failed again. In the meantime while I was failing I said I wanted to have you with me every other day. And we had some good times. I loved our placed in Mac-Grove where you two slept on the bunkbeds in the same room as I on a twin bed. We walked to the park, we watched videos and played games in that space. 

I got laid off in spring of 2010. Daycare was exceptionally expensive. With my failure to have a job, it was not an option to pay the $2000 per month for your day care. The oldest was off to school so that lessened the burden a bit. But I was faced with a choice. Pursue full time work or find a night and weekend job so we could avoid daycare. 

To be honest, if I could find a thing that worked and got to stay home with you when you were not in school, that would be pretty amazing. And it was and we did. Parks and museums, lunch at the Tap with friends and their kids. I will never regret for a moment the chance to have those moments with you. 

It felt like worked. I had a flexible schedule, which allowed your mother to dip out for 2.5 summers to get her PHD in Pennsylvania. If I had chased a 9-5 career in this time it never would have worked. But I loved the summers and the time with you. I had the benefit of my rent being subsidized by my parents who owned the place we lived. I was happy for the time with you and honestly felt it was fair that I support your mother in her pursuit of a PhD. I could never make her happy but it seemed that her academic pursuits did. 

After 4 years of taking jobs that made it easier for me to be with you before you were in school, you were in kindergarten and I had the flexibility to chase something else. I thought it would be in the brewing industry and I had laid groundwork for that. But it didn't work out. As many things don't. 

So I found a steady income and a schedule that I could control. I have fond memories of taking you two to school but first stopping by the store and counting in the register or the inventory. Of being proud of my space, the place that I managed. 

Eventually, I let another person's opinion impact my perception of that job. I have always done things to please myself as it pertains to how others perceive me. I left that job because I felt you could never be proud of me and that as a career. I do think that this was another of my many mistakes. 

So I took a corporate job and a brewery job on the side. I tossed away everything I had created through Blue Plate, the beer training I was so proud of, and the key hourly position. I left Goldy's when it fit our schedule all out of hubris, I wasn't proud of my career and I didn't think either of you would be either. 

It was a mistake. I worked for a year in real estate which wasn't a good fit. I felt like an indentured servant to the overlords. When my boss tasked me with putting together a bookshelf at his home, I finally realized how little I meant to the company. 

So I jumped at the first other option. And it was another mistake, a financial company that didn't really know what they wanted to do or be. I had 7 different supervisors in the 3.3 years there. I was so busy that I started to miss things. Couldn't make it to events. I failed in a whole new way. 

As a result, you both decided not to live with me anymore. That broke a lot of what was left of my fight. I get it, Mom's house is clean and more organized. She's got rules and standards, I have chaos and conflict. 

I didn't take it well. I took it personally. I felt rejected. I felt like a failure. All things that time have proven that I was. And am. 

I left Kentucky. I gave up a dream job so I could be a decent dad. And I failed at that. It hit really hard. And I didn't deal with it well. Why did I leave if I was just going to fail as a father anyway? 

Then I tried to make it right. I didn't make enough changes. Then covid hit. Suddenly, my parenting time is gone. I am reduced to parking my car outside the house when there is a report of neo-Nazi at the park next door and hoping I don't have to act. But personally hoping I get to, because if they take me out, at least it was me trying. 

That summer sucked. I barely saw you. I barely got to be a dad. Right before covid, we were playing catch, and it meant so much. Not the sporting part but the shared experience. That I will never get again. 

Then we sold the house, the house we lived in for years, neither of you wanted anything to do with it. You were out. 

Everyone moved. Mom and Dad. Andrew. Friends. I moved too. I wanted you to be proud of my new clear and fresh place. But you shrugged. 

As the covid pandemic continued, I fucked up. I lost my ability to drive and my car due to my own selfish, stupid, and thankfully not deadly action. It was my fault but it put another nail in the coffin of communication and connection. 

And I lost you both a bit more as well. 

I have been trying for three years to get some foothold back. To try and support while also acknowledging that I am a failed and broken person. 

It has worked on some level and failed momentously on another. 

Since I made the mistake of questioning my marriage in 2007. Life has not gotten better. I should likely have just never said anything and lived in silence. I spent much of the next 6 years subjugating my career for your mother's anyway. At least if I was a miserable husband, I might have gotten some credit. 

I am not a perfect or good father. But I have done a lot of good things and things that went against my best personal interests over the past 18 years that I do not regret. I regret much of my life after 2007. I regret much of my daily actions. I fret and overthink. I wish I had been better. I never regret the moments with my kids. Those are the only things that make sense. 

But it is unfair to tell me I only ever thought of myself. It is unfair to claim that I don't give a damn. It is disingenuous to look at our shared history and tell me I am nothing. 

You are everything to me. And I don't think you know everything I have done. 

You have every right to hate me. But I have every right to tell you more. 

The Horcruxes Will Don't Know We Have (In a good Way)

Since somewhere in the Harry Potter story I have been entranced with the idea of a part of your soul being tied to a moment or a thing or even a person. I have seen this often in my life. A smell that makes me 16 and wide-eyed. A taste that feels like comfort. A song that makes my eyes well or my anger rise.


I think we all have them and Rowling who has sullied her legacy in multiple ways over the years did give voice to something that feels very real. We pour part of ourselves into a moment, memory or manifestation that holds those feelings as a static thing in space-time.


I do believe that we all have important memories, things that connect with our identification of self that have nothing to do with wizards or fantasy or some book. But they have everything to do with memory and sense and sensation.


After 24 years, I think I finally saw one of mine tonight. It would be epic and brilliant if it was a magical sword or some mystical beast. Or even a diary.


But true to form, for me, it was something much simpler.


Steak and eggs.


I mean not just any steak and eggs, I have enjoyed many that were awesome and most that were meh.


But this particular part of my soul is steak and eggs from a singular place and at a specific time. A time that I clearly long for and cherish. Even if it took 20 years to figure it out.


I'm not particularly quick.


If you've read anything in this space in the period of ever or had the misfortune to read some social media post I made after midnight and deleted shortly after dawn the next day. I have been struggling for a while. 1989? Maybe. 1999? Probably. 2009? Yeah. 2019? Why are you asking send in the clowns?!


Through all of my struggles. I have had angels, both human and probably simply my imagination. I for the most part I have been aware (maybe not as much I thought) to the existence of these forces. Or so I thought .


And then tonight as I was feeling low, even after a day that gave me little reason to feel so, I did a thing.


I ordered a specific food, from a specific place.


A conversation I had with the musician who played tonight at the local establishment was the trigger for my new understanding.


I asked him what the first song he learned to play on the guitar. He said, Horse with No Name by America.


In that instance, I was mentally if not corporally transported to a moment in 1999 or 2000. At the Roseville Perkins. The place that we underaged kids who didn't even know of the idea of a fake ID could to go when we were all up at 2 am.


We would pack my 1985 Buick Century, nicknamed, Grandpa Toad's Wild Ride with as many people as possible. Bench seats in the front and back meant that 8-9 was easy. I think the record when we got pulled over by a very annoyed cop was 13. Was it safe? No. But we were all sober and awake and didn't have the impulse or the access to fix either thing.


13 people in a Buick and the cop got a call that stopped him from giving the owner of the car a ticket. I might not be blessed by a higher power at that moment but my father may have been.


After 24 years the details blend together. I don't know the date or the moment of the memory. But I do know the song, the feeling and the laughter and smiles.


5 or 6 or 7 of us were crammed into a booth at the Roseville Perkins at least 2 am. I had suggested or convinced everyone who was up to go get food. In my brain, it was always my idea. I have learned in the years in between that many of my people knew how much it was important to me to feel like it was my idea. The details matter less and less as the years go on and I am prone to remembering myself in the best light.


But the most powerful moment sticks with me. We had ordered already, some got pancakes or a muffin, others just water, I being my grandiose self remember ordering steak and eggs. I can not be truthful that in this one moment I did order this or perhaps it was a cumulative memory of ordering the most seemingly audacious thing possible out of ego at 2 am at a suburban Perkins.


That isn't the moment though. Seems like it was because I made you listen to it being about my menu choice but that's author bias. That wasn't the moment.


The moment as I remember it was after we had all ordered. As we sat crammed into a booth probably meant for 4 people. A song came on the radio. Conversation, likely largely and loudly dictated by me slowly faded away as we (in my memory) all one by one started to sing along with the PA/jukebox song. Slowly the lyrics caught us each and we listened, and maybe even started to sing along.


On the first part of the journey
I was looking at all the life
There were plants and birds and rocks and things
There was sand and hills and rings
The first thing I met was a fly with a buzz
And the sky with no clouds
The heat was hot and the ground was dry
But the air was full of sound
I've been through the desert on a horse with no name
It felt good to be out of the rain
In the desert you can't remember your name
'Cause there ain't no one for to give you no pain
La la la la la la...
It was as the chorus hit that we all seemed to remember something, one at a time and then all together. As a memory of memories goes, I may tend to be more on the dramatic side but I do remember the majority of us ending the chorus in unison.
After two days in the desert sun
My skin began to turn red
And after three days in the desert fun
I was looking at a river bed
And the story it told of a river that flowed
Made me sad to think it was dead
You see I've been through the desert on a horse with no name
It felt good to be out of the rain
In the desert you can't remember your name
'Cause there ain't no one for to give you no pain
La la la la la la...
After nine days I let the horse run free
'Cause the desert had turned to sea
There were plants and birds and rocks and things
There was sand and hills and rings
The ocean is a desert with its life underground
And a perfect disguise above
Under the cities lies a heart made of ground
But the humans will give no love
You see I've been through the desert on a horse with no name
It felt good to be out of the rain
In the desert you can't remember your name
'Cause there ain't no one for to give you no pain
La la la la la la...
Thank you all very much
Take care of yourselves, take care


The song ended and I'm sure I made some attempt to tell everyone who sang it, even though in my soul I had no idea. A discussion ensued and smarter ones prevailed and we came to understand who wrote it and sang it.


We finished our meals and we headed back to the dorms, lucky to avoid any cops wondering how many people actually fit in a Buick Century from 1985.


But that brings us to today's epiphany.


After a mostly good day, a few hiccups emotionally and tactically but nothing worth a full report, I was making my way home. And I wanted to get there and eat and feel safe and happy.


I ordered Steak and Eggs from the Roseville Perkins.


I have done this literally nigh on 100 times before without really understanding what I was trying to order.


The food is fine. It's meh. But that's not why I do it.


I think I realized today that what I want when I order that specific food from that specific location is a taste of that moment from years ago.


Community. Connection. Vulnerability. Jealousy. Machismo. All the good and the bad.


I want my food to transport me back to that singular night when we all sang a bit together.


Since I moved back to MN in 2007 I have ordered steak and eggs from Perkins in Roseville chasing a connection to that night or that moment or that memory of many nights and moments.


I just didn't realize why until tonight. It doesn't make the food taste any better or worse. But it does give it more meaning. And to be fair, that's more than anyone should expect from after midnight steak and eggs delivery.


To all of those who spent time those years late night at Perkins or elsewhere, on a park bench or walking through campus. I don't know that I ever really thanked or appreciated that. Due to a lot of things that have happened since to college and in my own ego.


And I'm not sure it's a great marketing campaign for Perkins. They can't be everyone's horcrux. But I'm glad they are one of mine.

Dormammu I have come to bargain

I understand the appeal of the old gods. I understand the appeal of the old gods. Greek, Roman, Viking. 

You could bargain with them. They accepted a barter society. 

The Christian dogma?  Not so much. Especially Lutherans due to that whole indulgences drama. 

But the other old gods were totally down with negotiating. Or so it felt. Like I tried to fly too high so I died. But flying wasn’t the thing. 

I’ll be a great warrior but I have one very huge weakness. 

I wish that negotiation with gods was a thing. 

I’m historically very bad with interpersonal relationships. After three years you either walk away or just decide to tolerate the fact I’m annoying. 

Maybe gods do that too? I pushed my luck asking for my wife and child to live through a traumatic early birth, and they all did. Twice! 

Yet it is in this context that I wish to know the rules. I have two amazing children. And they have a capable and supportive mother. We all won in that scenario. 

But I don’t get why I can’t find a god that will let me trade my time for someone else. In fact the only thing that makes sense is that my life is not a good enough payment. 

I have been very lucky that in my life I have not dealt with a lot of deaths. 

I was a teenager and so lost when my girlfriend’s infant sister passed. I had no context to grief and played a role. I tried but I don’t know that I did much. Yet she still has a hold on me. I have visited her grave and I hold those moments close but I don’t think at the time I really was able to understand the gravity of the situation. The reality. 

My grandfather died when I was in college. The man I knew after his  series of heart attacks and strokes was a kind and happy man. I don’t know that is how everyone remembered him. 

But that was the first family death I had to process. And it seemed to go ok. I went to the funeral. I shared memories. I appreciated friends and mentors driving through the night to be there. 

And then there was this massive ridiculous gap of death. 

I remember standing in the hospital hallway. In hastily put in scrubs just after my wife had been urgently taken away. Her life and my child’s life in the balance. 

I stood there. Petrified. Eventually someone came to find me because my wife asked where I was. I was just there in the hallway. Terrified. 

I was the absolute last person that any medical professional should have been thinking of. I was healthy and fine. 

My mom showed up hours later.  Because when she asked me what I could do, I said “I just need my mom” 

Two years later it happened again. But this time with two hours of chasing an ambulance to Louisville. 

And mom was there again. Showed up. As she always did. 

You could set your clock by the sun. Or the moon. Or the fact my mom was always there. 

The past however many months have been extra hard. Because due to cancer, my personal clock setting device doesn’t exist anymore. 

My mom can’t just show up and be there. She never fixed it. She just was there. 

And then tonight I went to a choir concert. I am quite poor at interpersonal relationships and recently that means one of my favorite people wants very little to do with me. He’s not wrong. I mean most days I don’t want to deal with me. 

But I wanted to hear him sing. To hear his choir. An incredibly talented group of singers. 

My mom loved them. The kids of course. But also the music. She volunteered as a choir mom. She connected with so many. 

One of the people she connected with is themselves an amazing giving person, who dedicates years to this choir. Always in the background, always supportive.

She donated in my mom’s name to the choir’s tour. I read it in the program and tears fell. I cried the whole concert. Six beautiful songs. I just let them flow. Ugly cry. But I did my best not to sniffle too loud. 

I have asked god or gods to take my years and give them to others more than once. I have encountered death in friends, family and more. And it never gets easier. 

It’s different and more with losing mom. And I’m still trying to figure out how to go forward when she can’t just show up and make me feel like I can make it. 

I also wish that more gods did negotiation. Because I do not think that the good people should have to leave if some of us are willing to take their place. 

But maybe, and I’m just not all the way there yet, but maybe, me still being here means I need to live like those I wish we hadn’t lost. But I’m pretty sure I can’t teach grade school for 40 years and put up with me as an offspring. 

So if any old gods wanna reach out, I’ll gladly give what I have so mom can have more.

She gave so much to so many. She shouldn’t have had to go so soon. 

Greek, Roman, Viking. 

You could bargain with them. They accepted a barter society. 

The Christian dogma?  Not so much. Especially Lutherans due to that whole indulgences drama. 

But the other old gods were totally down with negotiating. Or so it felt. Like I tried to fly too high so I died. But flying wasn’t the bad thing. 

I’ll be a great warrior but I have one very huge weakness. 

I wish that negotiation with gods was a thing. 

I’m historically very bad with interpersonal relationships. After three years you either walk away or just decide to tolerate the fact I’m annoying. 

Maybe gods do that too? I pushed my luck asking for my wife and child to live through a traumatic early birth, and they all did. Twice! 

Yet it is in this context that I wish to know the rules. I have two amazing children. And they have a capable and supportive mother. We all won in that scenario. 

But I don’t get why I can’t find a god that will let me trade my time for someone else. In fact the only thing that makes sense is that my life is not a good enough payment. You can’t pay for gold with tin. 

I have been very lucky that in my life I have not dealt with a lot of deaths. 

I was a teenager and so lost when my girlfriend’s infant sister passed. I had no context to grief and played a role. I tried but I don’t know that I did much. Yet she still has a hold on me. I have visited her grave and I hold those moments close but I don’t think at the time I really was able to understand the gravity of the situation. The reality. 

My grandfather died when I was in college. The man I knew after his  series of heart attacks and strokes was a kind and happy man. I don’t know that is how everyone remembered him. 

But that was the first family death I had to process. And it seemed to go ok. I went to the funeral. I shared memories. I appreciated friends and mentors driving through the night to be there. 

And then there was this massive ridiculous gap of death. I was so lucky. Then. 

I remember standing in the hospital hallway. In hastily put in scrubs just after my wife had been urgently taken away. Her life and my child’s life in the balance. 

I stood there. Petrified. Eventually someone came to find me because my wife asked where I was. I was just there in the hallway. Terrified. 

I was the absolute last person that any medical professional should have been thinking of. I was healthy and fine. 

My mom showed up hours later.  Because when she asked me what I could do, I said “I just need my mom” 

Two years later it happened again. But this time with two hours of chasing an ambulance to Louisville. 

And mom was there again. Showed up. As she always did. 

You could set your clock by the sun. Or the moon. Or the fact my mom was always there. 

The past however many months have been extra hard. Because due to cancer, my personal clock setting device doesn’t exist anymore. 

My mom can’t just show up and be there. She never fixed it. She just was there. 

And then tonight I went to a choir concert. I am quite poor at interpersonal relationships and recently that means one of my favorite people wants very little to do with me. He’s not wrong. I mean most days I don’t want to deal with me. 

But I wanted to hear him sing. To hear his choir. An incredibly talented group of singers. 

My mom loved them. The kids of course. But also the music. She volunteered as a choir mom. She connected with so many. 

One of the people she connected with is themselves an amazing giving person, who dedicates years to this choir. Always in the background, always supportive.

She donated in my mom’s name to the choir’s tour. I read it in the program and tears fell. I cried the whole concert. Six beautiful songs. I just let them flow. Ugly cry. But I did my best not to sniffle too loud. 

I have asked god or gods to take my years and give them to others more than once. I have encountered death in friends, family and more. And it never gets easier. 

It’s different and more with losing mom. And I’m still trying to figure out how to go forward when she can’t just show up and make me feel like I can make it. 

I also wish that more gods did negotiation. Because I do not think that the good people should have to leave if some of us are willing to take their place. 

But maybe, and I’m just not all the way there yet, but maybe, me still being here means I need to live like those I wish we hadn’t lost. But I’m pretty sure I can’t teach grade school for 40 years and put up with me as an offspring. 

So if any old gods wanna reach out, I’ll gladly give what I have so mom can have more.

She gave so much to so many. She shouldn’t have had to go so soon.