You're Kidding, Right?

I hold in my hand an oil pen. I'm not even sure how many of these I've used over the years or even how long I've had this particular one, though it has been in my toolbox since my dad and grandfather began giving me tools when I was in early grade school. Since this is my last one, I decided to go online to see if they even made these anymore, as they are remarkably handy and a very good light oil for everything from sewing machines to glass cutters.

Imagine my surprise when I get to the interwebs and find out that, not only does Chevron not seem to know what I'm talking about, but there are all sorts of listings for these on "vintage" and "antique" sites for sale. I didn't delve too deeply into the whole list, but the highest end price I found for this little lube pen was $37 plus shipping for a tube that was only 3/4 full. Keep in mind, fellow makers, that these were, largely, given away for free by the tool truck guys or sold for a few cents by auto parts stores.

I've noticed this trend a lot over the years. When I lived in downstate Michigan, I had a business buying and selling old video game systems (read: Atari 2600 era), repairing and refurbishing them in the process. The money wasn't fantastic, but it helped pay an extra bill or two, and it was a somewhat rewarding hobby inasmuch as it was self-supporting. Most of my trade in this business was on sites like eBay, where you usually had a good chance of snatching up parts and supplies for a nice price, while fetching an excellent resale on whole systems with games and novelty items like actual working controllers. The thing was, out of every fifteen or so legitimate auctions, you always could find twenty or more others who had a starting bid of well over $100 or more, simply because they had something that looked old and slapped a "vintage" label on it. Some fell for it, most would pass. These were the people who would get frustrated and finally give up, selling it to me or others of my kind for $5 at their garage sale, or doing so indirectly by donating to Goodwill Industries.

The same holds true for just about anything, really. If something is old enough to spark a bit of a childhood memory, while not being recent enough for the owner to know what it actually is, it usually gets put up for sale in consignment shops and antique galleries for much more than it would have been worth back when it was still useful. I still have radio tubes in my workshop; I wonder what people would think those are worth?

A large portion of my hand tools are more than a few decades old. Thanks to my grandfather, I not only own tools that are approaching the century mark, but I know how to use them. By the logic of some of these antique sites, I could probably sell my entire workshop and use the proceeds to restock it twice, with plenty of change left over. Therein lies the bigger question: Why would you want to get rid of something perfectly useful that has lasted so long? I was actually taught how to take care of my tools, but even with that in mind, could you really expect something purchased today to last for ten decades and beyond? Getting back to our original subject, when does something's value exceed its intended worth? How much value does someone else have to put on my little pen of handy oil to justify setting it on a shelf as a decoration, as opposed to utilizing it for its intended purpose? Is my sewing machine really knocking that loudly? And, what if this "antique" is keeping another one in good condition? I've used two of these pens in the last ten years just keeping an old, 70s model B&D jigsaw running. What is that item worth?

All I wanted to do tonight was cut the bottom off a wine bottle to use as a diffuser for a lighting project, not get caught up in an emotional dilemma over whether or not my little Chevron lube pen is a tool or a memento. I guess I'll keep it for a little while longer, but that sewing machine better not start a ruckus. . .

Over-Stimulated, Under-Informed, and Ill-Prepared. . .

I decided to cruise through some social media today to see what has been going on in the world while I worked.  On Facebook, alone, I found all kinds of status updates and shares about how ridiculous Donald Trump was, what people got for Christmas, what people were in hot water for not getting someone anything for Christmas, how bad the Star Wars Prequels were, two separate articles about Harley Quinn in the new "Suicide Squad" movie, numerous pics about people's fitness lifestyles, and what to do if your "fat pic" goes viral.

Surprisingly enough, I didn't see one mention of quite possibly the most terrifying thing ever.

Did you see that?  Did you actually read that article?  The North Pole actually made it to ABOVE THE FREEZING POINT.  Granted, it was for a period of less than six hours, but the fact remains, this is a part of the planet that, in winter, is usually colder than Mars.  Above freezing temperatures have only happened three times since 1948.  Meteorologists and climatologists are calling this event "extremely terrifying".  Think about that for a second.  Scientists are using the phrase extremely terrifying.  This is being generated by a "historic" storm that dropped both snow and tornadoes in Texas within the last few days, and is causing massive flooding elsewhere. It is possible that the North Pole could reach the 40s for a time.

The problem is, no one seems to care.

I tried to raise this as a point of discussion with someone today, and their response was that the government is changing the weather patterns to "screw with the economy"  What?!!  How the hell can a rational person deny the existence of human-initiated climate change, but be willing to accept the fact that the government has the Sci-Fi power to control the weather just to tweak Wall Street to its liking?  Faith in humanity:  -277 points.

Anyone who knows me, or at least has read my writings (some of them are here--look through the archives), knows that one of the main things I harp on is to learn history and keep up on current events.  One of the reasons we've gotten away from "Government by the People" in this country is that no one pays attention to what is actually happening!  Do not let the media distract you from what is important.  Screw the latest "break the internet" fads and dig around for what is actually happening around you.  Confirm through multiple sources, rather than believing anything the media feeds you (and I mean reputable sources; not "Jim-Bob's 24-hour 'The Truth is Out There' " conspiracy site).

Remember, Carl Sagan said it best: "The Earth is the only world known, so far, to harbor life. There is nowhere else, at least in the near future, to which our species could migrate. Visit, yes. Settle, not yet. Like it or not, for the moment, the Earth is where we make our stand. It has been said that astronomy is a humbling and character-building experience. There is perhaps no better demonstration of the folly of human conceits than this distant image of our tiny world. To me, it underscores our responsibility to deal more kindly with one another and to preserve and cherish the pale blue dot, the only home we've ever known."  

Wassail! . . .Again

This year, I didn't send Christmas cards.

It's not that I didn't want to, so much as the fact that I kind of suck at it.  I tend to overthink things like written sentiments and, as such, end up never getting much more than a few out before the deadline, if any at all.  This year, I make a decision; I wouldn't send any out.

Christmas has lost some of its zing for me, over the years.  As a small child, I can remember how special the holiday season felt, starting out with a long weekend that revolved around cooking a ridiculously oversized bird, leading into several weeks worth of toy commercials and impatience, to be capped off with gatherings of family, another large meal, and an exchange of gifts.  Granted, the pile of electronic toys and books and other paraphernalia was a large part of the distraction from normal life, but the gatherings of family and friends and the stories they had to share were definitely the best parts.

Gift-giving for the holidays is traditional, yes, but anymore it seems like we view it as an obligation.   If you don't believe that, plop yourself in the middle of a crowded store at three in the afternoon on Christmas Eve and watch the expressions on the faces of the shoppers.  They are there because they forgot something, discovered they didn't get an equal share for everyone, or just plain haven't started shopping, yet.  By that time, the need to get something--anything--for the people on their list degenerates from picking out something thoughtful to just wandering the aisles and grabbing the first thing that isn't quite so hideous as to cause their ostracism, whether temporary or permanent.  This is, of course, what drives the rush on the post-Christmas "return week".

Beyond all of that, though, is the "War on Christmas" that we hear so much about.  "Around here, we say 'Merry Christmas'!"  That's fine.  Just don't forget that, between November 1st and January 15th, seven of the world's major religions are celebrating around 29 different holidays.  That includes Pagans, whose traditions provided the formative DNA for many Catholic celebrations and observations.  If someone offers a "Happy Hanukkah" or even a "Brightest Blessings", it's not because they want to oppress your beliefs; unless they are clairvoyant, they have no idea what you celebrate.  They are simply offering their traditional greeting for peace and unity of the season.  Return the favor and get on with your life, happy in the knowledge that someone thought well of you that day.  Remember, the word "holiday" is derived from the old English "hāligdæg ", meaning "Holy Day".

To all of my friends and family, those I see often, and those I seldom see anymore, I wish you an excellent holiday and a joyous Yule.  May your gatherings be filled with stories both enthralling and embarrassing (those are the best, sometimes), and may you see good health and prosperity in the coming New Year.  Know that you are missed, for all the days that we are apart, and that the fleeting times we may speak in the electronic realm are never enough.

God bless the master of this house and the mistress also,
And all the little children that 'round your table grow.
The cattle in your stable, the dog by your front door,
And all that dwell within your gates, we wish you ten times more.

So Comes the Bluster of Winter. . .

Good evening, friends.

It's been a while since I've used my Blogspot to radiate my odd bits of escaping brain gas into the ionosphere, so here we are.  Coffee at hand, I find myself reflecting on the day's events, even as the snow that has so long been absent from our midst piles up around my tarped snowthrower.

Today was another of my noteworthy busy days, beginning with some light woodworking and compiling some book orders to ship out.  I have to say that I am pleased with the performance of Cooking for Adventurers, as it is attracting a larger audience than I had first anticipated.  I was a bit wary of making my first, full publication attempt a work of nonfiction, but what do I know?  On the other side of the coin, I am still working on "Equinox", the first of my science fiction series.  I can say with a very reliable measure of confidence that NaNoWriMo is NOT my cup of tea.  I made significant progress, but could not force the plotline along in such a rushed fashion.  I did, however, solve a few plot holes that had been plaguing me over the development of the outline, so I will continue in the coming months.  Along side of that, will be coming "Cooking for Campers", and "AAAAAIGH! And Other Noises your Electrician Shouldn't Make".  As with CfA, I will start posting some little teasers as things develop.

Pleasingly short and sweet was the visit I made to the local optician to pick up the replacement lens for my relatively new and supposedly scratch resistant glasses.  They were warranted, so it didn't cost anything to fix, but I am regretting not talking her out of the old, scratched lens.  It would have been nice to have a monocle for the next time we play Monopoly.

I have taken measurements and made sketches outlining the evolution of the Makerspace's Alpha Site.  Today, I finally made my mind up on what type of lighting I want for the video studio, and I hope I will be able to fabricate it without breaking the bank.  I am already looking at the unfortunate prospect of dropping a few hundred dollars on a snowthrower for the shop, as it would suck to have to clear that large space out by hand.  Trailering the machine we have at home would also get old after a time (most likely the first one).

But I digress.

Right now, I am working on the season's upcoming workouts, which will be featured on my YouTube channel as AKA episodes.  Everything will be tailored as the 'Everyman' (read everyperson) workout, focusing on functional strength, rather than merely aesthetics, and will require minimal equipment, which can be easily substituted.  Watch this space, kids. . .

Anyhoo, I realize I am rambling, and should probably get to bed.  The coffee's gone, anyway.  One parting thought, though:  If you have any love for yourself, stay away from eggnog-flavored coffee creamer.  That is all.

Goodnight from the Hinterlands.

--Bob

The Life of an Author. . .

Tonight I sit, exhausted, at the kitchen table, surrounded by notes and scribbles and printed emails.  The dominating feature of the landscape is a glass of Merlot, rising like a pillar above the haphazard knolls of paper that, in their own, seemingly deliquescent fashion, have begun to flow around my computer and inundate the once untouched surface.  In the midst of this maelstrom of pulped and sheeted fiber floats, puzzlingly, a lone ping pong ball.

Those of you who have known me the longest, are aware of the wonderful anguish and torment I have put myself through, lo, these many years, cobbling together works of the written word,  For all the toil and sweat and heart I have put into my collection of stories, to think that a work of non-fiction would be my first, mainstream-published project is almost laughable.  By laughable, of course, I mean in a "Joker laughing before he makes your head go explodey" way.  The thought makes me pour another glass.

Though I have been published in the past (mostly for freelance articles, short stories, and the occasional poem), I have never taken "the big step".  I am standing on the edge right now, of having one of my works available to the World Theatre, where there are things like ISBN numbers and book signing tours.  To be honest, I'm a bit freaked out.

In the middle of developing "Legends of the Sungrazers", I came up with the idea for doing an instructional book, called "Cooking for Adventurers".  Despite the name, it isn't a cookbook, so much as a guide for dealing with having to cook in adverse situations.  It was supposed to be a hobby project, rather than one that would dominate the last couple of years.  As it has grown, I've poured more into it than I had originally intended, finally adding a chapter on survival, as well.  This little hundred-page hobby has turned into a 500 pound, snaggle-toothed Kodiak bear.  The most ironic thing is how much fun I've had working with this project.  It has gotten me thinking about revisiting an old idea about a home improvement guide which, honestly, I gave a few notes to and then promptly shelved the notion.  It may still wait for my next sci fi story, though.

To all of you, I ask, "be patient".  I may be moody and irritable and, quite possibly, even more strange than I usually am.  The next few weeks are going to be a trying time for me, but I think it will be worth it.  I mean, if writing my way across the galaxies is so easy, then a simple instructional book shouldn't be a problem, right?  We'll see.  The main reason for this little rambling pile of ranting is the fact that I have an appointment with a publishing consultant tomorrow.  Wish me luck. . .

Wait a minute.  I don't own a ping pong table. . .

Doors May Close, Doors Will Open. . .

Closure is a good thing.  I mean, it's not often you get to feel the satisfaction of closing off a part of your life that has been hanging, unfinished, over your head for what should have been months, but ended up turning into years.  Those that have been following my story these last few years know what I am talking about.  When we moved to the Upper Peninsula of Michigan, the lack of shop space forced me to leave a large portion of my tools and equipment in a storage facility downstate.  Though I did remove some odds and ends now and again, the larger part of everything was still left behind.  Though smallish, this year I will be building another workshop and, in a moment of opportunistic determination, decided to drop the wad of cash necessary to recover everything and close out that storage unit.

I say, "ouch".

This was an expensive trip, no doubt, but it did include some days that afforded us some time to ourselves.  For as much as we wanted to move to the U.P., there are still many aspects of our old stomping grounds that we miss (we did live there for around nine years, after all).  The thing that shocked me the most, though, was how much I seemed to miss civilization.  Now, don't misunderstand me; I love being in out of the way places.  Honestly, though people joke about the U.P. being the "last frontier", it's not much different from when Kim and I lived in Taylorsville, KY.  Granted, it does take us a little longer to get to some places now than it did then, but in the last five years, we have thoroughly enjoyed living in the middle of nowhere.  We've actually considered moving deeper into the woods.  How nuts is that?

I think the thing I miss the most about civilization is the anonymity it affords.  The small-town life, where everyone knows you in some fashion or another, is great, but sometimes it's nice to just lose yourself in a crowd of humans and feel the dynamic nature of the mass.  Among my other interests in college, I found psychology and sociology very interesting; I enjoyed watching humans interact with one another.  Many of my best story characters came from observing those in the world around me.

The funny thing about this journey happened to be that the only time something was really frustrating or went wrong, was a time that I depended on someone else for something.  Ironic, when you think about the supposed "benefits" of being in a civilized area.  Seriously, though, every time we were on our own, we did fine; when we needed something, everything went screwy.  Our truck rental was not only a protracted process, but it ended up costing us nearly a hundred dollars more than the initial reservation indicated.  Obtaining our storage unit up here was a multi-step process, as the first unit they placed us in could not be opened because of neglected ice buildup.  It took quite a while for them to find a unit on the sunny side of the compound, where the ice dam had melted away sufficiently to allow ingress.  The hotel?  Don't get me started.  Suffice it to say, I will be sending a sternly-worded letter to their home office later tonight.

But I digress.

For as many things that went wrong, a good many more went very well.  I had a very good birthday dinner with the family and got to peruse the stacks of a Barnes and Noble, besides.  We had some very good weather (for most of the trip), and got to see some of those places we used to frequent, mostly along the Lake Michigan shoreline.  I actually got my parents to follow us down, no small feat in that, but this trip also gave my father a litany of new things to fuss and rant about (yes, it is hereditary).  All this, and the fact that, aside from a couple of days, I actually had some time off.  That also never happens.

Oh!  And I'm going to build my shop soon!  One era comes to an end as another one begins.

This is the jumping-off point for my Makerspace.  I may not be getting the large facility that I will need to provide shop space to others, but I am getting a space that will allow a couple of us to start plying our trade and working up to that larger building.  In the meantime, I do have enough space outdoors to give classes, weather permitting.  Small steps, no?  In the coming days, I am also going to make some changes that will give me not only more time to do all of this, but will also afford me a little more time to spend with the family.  It is rather hard to live in such an area and not get to do much to enjoy it, and when the kids complain that they're not seeing you enough, it's time to adjust things. 

To you all, my friends, I thank you for hanging on and following my story.  I appreciate all of the birthday wishes, and all of the support you've given, so far.  Here's to the next step in the adventure.

It Was, Truly, the Best of Times. . .

This has been a busy day for me.  Early on, I got word that Leonard Nimoy passed, and I couldn't do any more than share the article with friends and then return to work.  That has bothered me all day.

All day, it has felt as though something was missing.  Though nothing had physically been removed from my life, there was a shadow on the day; an emptiness I couldn't touch.  Perhaps I should digress.

I began watching Star Trek at an exceptionally early age with my mother.  Her more than passive interest in science fiction is, most likely, why I became the science wonk I am today.  Not just shows like Star Trek and Battlestar: Galactica, but also Cosmos, In Search Of, and Nova filled my early years with a wonder that sparked an interest in the Universe and our place in it.  I watched Trek every Sunday and read every one of the novels I could find, knowing Spock was going to figure out how to solve the particular riddle in question for that story.  Who was this Kirk, guy, again?

I learned a great deal from Spock, so comfortable with himself as a person, yet still struggled with not quite fitting into either world of his heritage,  As a very awkward child, myself, I adapted to fit into places I wasn't quite comfortable with, while learning to understand those around who didn't quite understand me.  In a way, this hashed and rehashed character from a styrofoam-decorated 1960s TV show became a teacher and a mentor.  As TV shows went, it was one of the few that had a grounded, noble meaning.  Its meaning was, basically, we can all live together.  As I watched that show, I wondered when that world would finally arrive.  I still do.

People touch our lives in different ways, whether we meet in brief passing or spend a lifetime together.  In essence, Leonard Nimoy was the good friend I had never met.  We all have those, in some form or another.  He was an actor, writer, director, humanitarian, the list goes on.  He touched the lives of many and left his mark on this pale, blue dot of a planet.  The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few or the one, yes, but today the loss of one has diminished us all.

Peace and long life.

A Fluffy Little Meme, a Frosty Little Meme. . .

Good evening, friends.

Tonight, I was intending to speak to you about real-life, real-world fitness.  Instead, thanks to technological issues, we're going to talk about snow.

I can imagine half of you grimacing at the mere reading of the word, since 50% of my following is in a few states where the word "snow" is the rallying cry for everyone in the area to go maul their nearest grocery store for bread and milk.  Snow has been a big hit in the ratings this last few days, because several of you haven't had this much potential for the fluff stuff in a number of years (read: decades).  Ironically, until about dark plus two hours, we of the Hinterland had nary a flake today.

How bad a winter storm system is depends, largely, on your point of view and how well-prepared you are for it.  I remember 1994, when a certain storm was closing in on Louisville and the meteorologist on TV was saying something to the effect of how we would "only see a light dusting" as I was watching it pile up in the back yard.  Having visited snowbound regions before, I react rather calmly to major snow systems compared to others, but I have to say that incident soured my affection for meteorology in general.  Now, living in the extreme north country, snow doesn't bother me when it falls as much as it aggravates me when it hangs around.  In southern climates, people mostly ask "What are we going to do about it", while in the north, people wonder, "where are we going to put this?"

The thing that has surprised me the most, though, is how many people down south actually own snow throwers and plows.  We were lucky to have a singular snow shovel when I lived down there.  Some of you guys have posted pictures and video involving the operation of dual-stage snow throwers.  That's just amazing.

I have done my best to refrain from joking about the reaction to this storm, as it truly is a big deal.  People may poke fun at how an eighth of an inch of snow can totally freeze up a southern state, but from the southerner's point of view, it may as well be a blizzard.  Yes, ten inches of accumulation is called "snowmageddon" in the south, while up north, it may just be "Tuesday".  The difference is preparedness.  Those in the north have the equipment to handle this kind of thing, while in say, Kentucky, for example, you may only have one or two snow throwers in a neighborhood.  A city dependent on garbage truck-mounted plows is going to struggle more with removal techniques.

As for the whole "milk sandwich" joke (which I have only heard from my southern friends, by the way), people can't help but think back to that year when they were snowed in for a week, waiting for the National Guard to come in and help get things moving again.  Does it happen often?  No, but it happened before.  Who knows when it will happen again?  Emergencies happen and people prepare.  Sometimes, unfortunately, we find out about it a little too late, and the local Kroger ends up looking like a set from The Walking Dead.

To all my southern friends, I wish a safe couple of snow days.  Stay warm, play some card games with family and friends, and enjoy the sunshine when it comes out to melt things away.  You'll get it way sooner than I do.  If anyone down there needs some tutoring in snow removal techniques, I'd be happy to help you out.  Classes start Tuesday.

Techy, Techy, Techy. . .

It is no secret that I have a love/hate relationship with technology.  I enjoy hardware, immerse myself in the use of computers and now tablets, and do my best to integrate any bit of applied science into my life where it is feasible, whether it is purchased technology, or something I have created.  I suppose you could call me a "gearpunk".  Where the hate part comes in is dealing, mostly, with "planned obsolescence" and the overall human quality of wanting to fix things that aren't broken.  I try to live as sustainable a life as possible; keeping things fixed and working as long as possible is my mantra.  Anyone who has been around me when I had to upgrade to a new laptop knows how curmudgeonly I can become.  I hate giving up on things.  Landfills are full of horrifyingly large piles of technology that people just gave up on.

This all being said, I just about threw my formerly faithful tablet into the closest suitable hole I could find, recently, but I should start at the beginning.  Two years ago, I broke down and purchased a tablet.  I figured that it would be handy for the craft side of our business, as well as keeping track of invoices and the like while I was out on the road for whichever job called at the time.  I was slow to adapt to it.  In fact, after bringing it home and charging it for the first time, it sat on my nightstand for several days, ignored, long enough to require another charge before I finally picked it up to begin using.  I finally acquiesced, though, and began using it, not just for work, but for personal entertainment as well.

Things hummed along smoothly, and I had developed a rhythm with it, turning it on in the morning and letting it "sleep" during the day, so it could dutifully gather my email and messages while I was away from it.  Then, one day last week, I came home and woke it up to find a little window that said it had downloaded an OS update.  There was one button:  Install.  That's it.  Nothing else.  I had one choice, and that was no choice.

What followed was several days' worth of frustrating swearing and restarting and attempts to back up my most recent files before the thing caught fire.  The new, "faster, smoother" operating system wouldn't even open itself without freezing or crashing completely; never mind any other aps.  Again, I had one choice:  No choice.  After spending several minutes speaking to a company rep by chat window, the best the tech had to offer me after all their attempts at debugging the problem had left my tablet totally blank and unresponsive was, "maybe it's just time to upgrade".

I was nice.  I didn't stick around for the customer service survey.

Isn't that about the way things go, nowadays?  Cell phone contracts are generally two years long.  Extended warranties on technology purchases are usually two years, unless you spring for a longer term for a much higher price.  Some companies aren't so bad, but the place I bought my tablet from wanted just at half the purchase price just for a two year extension (which wouldn't have helped, since it would have expired days before this debacle occurred).  Either way, though, technology is designed to last around two years, at which time it is pitched out and replaced by the newest piece of future landfill ornamentation to hit the market.  Arguably, you can still fix televisions and cell phones and computers, but it's gotten to the point where the cost of parts is prohibitive in the face of total replacement.  Not to mention the fact that many humans, being a product of our "instant gratification" society, would rather not waste the time waiting for a repair.  Many, but thankfully, not all.

I did, however, solve my problem.  The little tablet that I have used so well for so long is breathing again and, thanks to my experiences with 1980s style computer systems, I had backups of my files with which to restart.  I even think I patched a few holes in the OS.  Yes, I use technology quite frequently, but days like today are the reason I still use notepads for writing and planning.  If a pencil gets dull, you can use a bit of old-school technology to resharpen it in a few seconds, then get on with your damned life.  What I had to do today sucked several hours from other projects that I should be finishing right now, rather than ranting about it.

Meh.  There's always tomorrow for that.

Out With the Old. . .

And so, again, we find ourselves at the threshold of a new year.  Tomorrow, the sun will rise on that brand-spanking new, 365 day-long chunk of temporal canvas and we will be forced to ask the all-important question, "Why the hell did I get up, again?"

Seriously, though, through all the haze and headaches of partying in the new year, most people will look down at their traditional list of New Year's Resolutions and probably just end up doing the same things they did the year before.  Those who know me already understand my feeling on resolutions.  They rarely ever stick, because we wait so long to implement them (i.e. January 1st), that we have learned quite well how to get along without doing any of these new, self-helpy things in the first place.

Please do not misunderstand my intent; I am all for anyone wishing to improve themselves.  I got into personal training for just that reason, to help people achieve goals.  I teach people how to fix things and try to help them see things in a different light, when I can, all in the name of helping them better themselves.  I, in turn, am constantly learning new and exciting things in the process.  No one person knows everything, but every person knows something.  We teach, we learn, we grow.

Back to the subject at hand, though.  How do we, say, take up a fitness routine in such a manner that your treadmill does not become an unrecognizable pile of clothes and other detritus at the end of January and your dreams of a six pack that doesn't hold adult beverages becomes another "what I'm going to do next year" dream?  The answer is simple:  Don't wait to start!

We, as humans, tend to like starting points and boundaries.  Why do you think there are so many parks near seashores and rivers and canyons?  I can say from experience that it isn't always for the scenery, because I've seen some pretty horrendous riverside parks.  It is because we love boundaries.  We are drawn to them.  They resemble the unknown; Shakespear's "Undiscovered Country".  Even though a thousand-thousand people have gone beyond that point before, it is still a new and fascinating starting point for our own journey.  The start of a great adventure.  The same holds true for the passage of time.  We become fascinated by the fact that an entire year has passed us by and that another one lays before us, new and unspoiled as a new-fallen snow.  We look upon its blank canvas and think, "I've got to do something special with this," when, in truth, we don't.  Time will march on, relentlessly, whether we do something meaningful with it or not.

So what DO we do, anyway?  Have you heard the mantra, Live, Laugh, Love?  Do your best to enjoy life.  Read new books, take on a fitness program, find a volunteer program to help others or the community; enjoy what you do.  If you feel the need to make out a list of things you want to accomplish, by all means, do it.  The thing is, you should actually try to accomplish some of those things.  Don't put it off, don't think, "I'll start next month," just do it.  Everyone has probably heard that it takes thirty days to make something a habit.  There have been several studies that have shown humans develop actions into habits anywhere from as little as 18 days to as many as 254.  The difference is willpower and determination.

For all of you, my friends, family, and followers, I wish you success in everything you do this new year.  If I can help, I will certainly try.  I am going to be starting my own business and attempting to live a more sustainable life.  May 2015 bring you joy and success, but if you fail at something, may you learn and grow from the experience.  Look to your neighbors and accept them for who they are, and respect their right to be themselves.  Look to yourself and see your faults, and realize that yours may not be the only point of view.  Live fully and laugh often, and love always.

Happy New Year, my friends.

Chains and Drive Trains. . .

Okay, so today I see a post on Facebook from my friend, Manda.  She writes:

People on bikes:  we want all the rights of the road; respect us!  Except the rules don't apply to us.

I am a cyclist.  I don't ride as often as I'd like, but I am still strongly attracted to human-powered, two-wheeled transportation.  Unfortunately, I have also shared her viewpoint.  Drivers and cyclists are involved in this ridiculously complex love-hate relationship that began decades ago and, despite municipalities making positive strides toward becoming 'bike friendly', it shows no signs of getting any more amicable in the near future.

First things first, there are rules that govern bicycles.

Each municipality is different in the rules that they lay down, but there are some universal truths.  Bicycles are allowed on roads unless otherwise prohibited, and they generally are not allowed on sidewalks unless the rider is under a specific age.  Many cities and towns have put down bike lanes to keep the two-wheeled set out of trouble, and some have installed 'stop boxes' that allow cyclists to make left turns without having to pull the dreaded 'left turning lane against oncoming traffic' maneuver.  Cyclists, I might add, can also be ticketed for not obeying any of these laws or ordinances, just like motor vehicles.

With all this in mind, where does the problem lie?  I have experienced, first-hand, a lack of respect from both sets, whether I was a pedestrian, driver, or I was on the bike.  Granted, these instances have been few and far between, but the fact that they happened at all shows there is an underlying problem.  No, it isn't lack of respect for others.  I would go so far as to say that our problem here is education.

First of all, excluding professionals, there are basically three types of cyclists:

• I know the rules and follow them, regardless of how I am treated on the road, because it is my duty as a good citizen.
• I know the rules vaguely and follow some when it is convenient.
• Rules?

Then there are municipalities.  There are usually three types of those:

• We have devised an organized set of rules that takes into account the needs of both motor vehicles and cyclists, which includes well-marked and signed routes through our community.
• We have some rules that have been on the books since the sixties and have added a six inch-wide bike lane and some vague signage.
• @*#% bikes.

Now, let's get one thing straight.  Bikes are NOT toys, nor are they recreational items.  A bicycle is a vehicle, plain and simple.  It may be for the road, it might be an off-roader, or it could be a combination, but it is a vehicle.  Regardless of the fact that it doesn't have a motor, you can still visit a world of hurt on yourself or others, should you be careless with one.  You wouldn't dream of letting your children climb in behind the wheel of a car without first teaching them how to safely operate it, so why do people do just that with kids and bikes?  It seems like, once that momentous occasion happens where we take off on our two-wheeler without any training wheels, the guiding hand falls back and no other instruction is given.  Now, obviously, this isn't the case with all parents, but just the fact that it happens with some is bad enough.  Those kids grow up not paying attention to the rules or respecting others' rights of way, and so too will their children.  For our kids to care, we must care.

Two sides of this issue are illustrated in a struggle happening in Louisville, KY.  The Big Four Bridge, unused for decades, was recently turned into an Ohio River crossing for pedestrians and cyclists.  On the bridge, there were two lines painted, representing where the railroad tracks used to be.  In the beginning, marks were made on both the Kentucky and Indiana sides that indicated the lines were a marked bike lane.  Cyclists, for the most part, seemed to be adhering to that restriction, but trouble came in the form of young riders.  Children are curious and, of course, you can't see all the cool stuff happening on the river as well if you're in the center of the bridge, so they were straying into the walking lanes.  Where were the parents when this was happening?

On the other side of the coin, since the lanes are not marked over the length of the bridge, pedestrians would wander through the bike lanes, causing each to have to avoid the other, again causing resentment in each camp.  To top this off, Louisville Waterfront officials who had designated the lane for bikes said that "bicyclists were too zealous about using it", and that they "have been intrigued by a profound sense of entitlement that a designated bike lane engenders", and that [cyclists] "have no patience for children, strollers, wheelchairs, or any other obstacle that might breach the lateral limits that divide bridge space for bicyclists and the rest of civilization."**

I can imagine the vitriol with which that last statement was made.  In other words, just because cyclists are given their own lane, it doesn't mean that they are entitled to use it.  Oh!  Also, they can't breach the confines of the lane-they-should-not-use, but they better watch the hell out for anyone else who wants to be there.  After almost losing their right to use the Big Four in August, Waterfront officials deemed cyclists can still ride across, but there is no longer a designated lane.

Doesn't that sound like an educational problem to you?  

Now, some cities have gotten it right.  New York City, one of the most populous urban agglomerations in the world, earned Bicycling Magazine's top spot in their 2014 "America's Top 50 Bike-Friendly Cities Roundup".  It was noted that, despite cycling opponents arguing that bike lanes would slow down traffic, motorized traffic speeds have increased while the number of bike-related accidents has decreased.  All this while the city's number of cycling commuters doubled from 2007-2011.**

The bottom line is, we need to teach and we need to be taught.  As I said, a bicycle is a vehicle.  Cyclists need to respect pedestrians as much as motorists do, but cyclists and motorists have to respect each others' needs, as well.  Maybe if drivers' manuals took more than a couple of paragraphs to cover cycling rules. . . that would be a good start.  Why not give classes to train people how to operate bicycles safely?  I'm pretty sure that any plans to license cyclists would be met with open revolution, but what's so unattractive about learning how to share the road with thousand-pound chunks of metal that can turn you into gooey paste?

Now, where the heck did I put my helmet?

Do yourselves a favor and go visit Mandawritesthings.  She has some crunchy, blog-filled goodness to share and she likes followers as much as I do (hint-hint).

*Article: Louisville Courier-Journal "A Threat to Make Bicyclists Walk the Big Four Bridge"

**Bicycling.com--"Study:  NYC Bike Lanes Don't Slow Down Car Traffic"

Time Out. . .

Despite what anyone may try to tell you, there are no guarantees.  None.  Life is like that.

You may grow up to be the most wildly successful human on the planet, having had no formal training in anything, possibly being a high school dropout, after merely having had one good idea or an astronomical stroke of luck.  You may have degrees in several sciences and have the ability to make any piece of technology sit up and beg, but struggle through life, paycheck to paycheck, never quite making it to that 'financial comfort zone' that everyone tells us we should reach before retirement.  You could live to see all your children grow up and start families of their own, enjoying your grandchildren and even great-grandchildren, or in a one in one octodecillion chance, you take a shot to the head by a piece of meteorite while taking the garbage out before you go to work in the morning.  When it comes down to it, life can't even guarantee you'll be born.

No guarantees.

Well, there is one.

Eventually, life stops.  At the risk of sounding like a bad internet meme, When the end comes, what determines if we actually lived our lives or merely existed?  With that thought in mind, I took the day off yesterday.

"Okay," most people will think.  "You do that a lot."

The fact of the matter is, I don't do it often enough.  I work a full-time job, along with working to start my own business, and of course there are also the day-to-day projects that come with raising a family and keeping a hundred year-old house from succumbing to time and the elements.  I've run my own businesses before, but this time I'm shooting for full independence.  The gloves are off.

Among all the other things I love to do in this life, my writing has always been at the heart of the matter.  Even the long stretches where I wasn't able to really put pen to paper (yes, I still write in notebooks), I was constantly jotting down notes for new stories and plot twists for those in progress.  The desire to live off of my own work has become such a dominating presence that even in my dreams I am working feverishly towards an end.  The thing that makes me chuckle the most is the reaction I get from a lot of people who follow me on Facebook and my fledgling You Tube channel.  Since I am outdoors a lot, working with various crafts, or demonstrating and explaining scientific principles, many seem to think that I am constantly in a state of leisure.  "That looks like such fun!"  I get that one a lot, but yes, it is fun.

The thing is, none of it ever ends.  One thing leads to another.  As you are finishing one story, part of your mind is already devoted to the nuances of the next.  For a writer, the simple act of sitting on a sofa is difficult work, as you are constantly devoting brain run time to your stories.  Even though I've just started with the video channel, it has already sucked me in to a similar degree.  As I'm working on one video presentation, I am thinking ahead to the next.  I have enough ideas to carry me through the winter, all the while hoping that I start bringing in enough residual income to make it worth my while to continue.

Yesterday, though, I made a choice.  No Sci Fi stories, no cookbooks, no video blogs, no home improvement projects.  The only reason I posted an Instructable was that Kim and I were up till all hours the night before, experimenting with a project she would be working on with her Girl Scouts (and with a group of about 60, you want to make sure you have every step correct).  No, yesterday we fished and cooked and shared stories.  That was enough.

Sometimes you just have to walk away from the day-to-day minutia and learn to breathe again.  I caught an article this morning about just that; how a man walked away from his New York City office job, sold everything but his van and some bare essentials, and now lives as a nomad, touring the country and, apparently, surfing for a living.  That may seem a little drastic, but by comparison, my taking the day off to go fishing doesn't seem like much of a stretch.  When you stop to think about it, the average person with a full-time job will spend between 2000-2600 hours at work over the course of the year.  That's 30% of the year spent trying to afford the other 70%.  It's easy to see how the time can get away from us.  Before too long, the kids are grown and you're wondering why you didn't go fishing more often; especially since you can't now, because you have to work through your retirement to pay for their astronomical college tuition.

Yes, money is a factor.  Until life is like 'Star Trek' and people no longer use money, getting enough to be comfortable, or even just get by, will be a driving force in our lives.  My point through all of this is to find a way to live that you like.  Thirty percent of your year is an awful long time to spend doing something you dislike while daydreaming about the things you want to do.  We may not all be able to do what the New York fellow did and walk away from it all, but I have found that life is easier to understand when we just take a step back and ask ourselves, "what could I have done better today, and how can I do it tomorrow?"

I wonder how he affords his gas?

Re-engineering our Ingenuity. . .

One of the most challenging aspects of being an inventor living on the fringes of civilization is the difficulty in obtaining materials. One thing that has been weighing heavily on me these last couple of weeks is finding out that someone beat me to the patent office on an idea that, innocently enough, we were apparently developing at the same time. The sad part is, this person is selling the item for nearly $100 more than I was intending to go to market with, and making a killing doing so. Where I'm not certain that so excessive a price tag is necessary, I have to applaud him. He is a fellow inventor.

On a side note, don't get me wrong; I do not regret being here. As my fellow Sci-Fi buffs know well, self-described space bum, David Lister said, 'you have to have a plan'. Though mine isn't to get a sheep and a cow and raise horses, it was to make a life on these fringes and maybe awaken the inventive fire that lies dormant in so many of these small communities. Hence the vision of the Makerspace.

But I digress.

It wasn't very long ago, I was talking with one of the best friends I've ever had in this life about how society has had all of its creativity choked from us. Enormous corporations force disposable technology down our throats on a daily basis. We have become used to throwing things out because nothing is 'user serviceable'; nothing is repairable. As a steampunk I find this frustrating, because the mantra 'Don't pitch it, wrench it' doesn't apply. I have repaired computers until they were as technologically relevant as a boat anchor with a keyboard, but try to do that with your television or tablet. It's not quite as easy as going after your old transistor radio with a soldering iron. It might be different if the technology were more durable nowadays, but in that respect we've gone backwards. One of my hobbies is repairing old video game systems. I have soldered and desoldered ATARI consoles, modified them for stereo sound, even miniaturized them into odd cases (because I was bored). I once experimented with an ATARI game cartridge, which included taking out the chip, dropping it from varying heights, boiling it, running over it with the truck. . . The only thing that finally stopped it from working was a hammer. With that in mind, how tight do you clench your backside when you think of your game console maybe getting knocked off the entertainment center?

I am beginning another grand experiment this year in personal sustainability, which I will well document in the hopes of sparking an idea or two among you, my friends and contemporaries. I hear a lot of people complaining nowadays that this country, nay, the world, is 'going to hell in a hand basket'. It's not the fault of any government and it's not the fault of any corporate entities; the blame lies solely and squarely upon us. We LET the government start calling the shots, instead of the other way around, and we LET the corporate world dictate to us what we need and what we should buy.

I'm tired of it. Aren't you?

This is a calling, not a simple rant. This nation was built on ingenuity and the desire to be free, not only from religious and governmental persecution, but from any shackling of ideas and ideals. We are constantly saying things like 'if only I could. . .' or 'I wish I could. . .' What's stopping us? We haven't lost our ingenuity, we've just been taught not to use it. The answers are simple: If you have an idea, build it. If you can't, ask for help from someone who can. Statistics show that the average American produces approximately 1600 pounds of garbage in a year. That averages out to about 4.4 pounds a day and, out of that, 42% is paper textile (toilet tissue, paper towels, etc.). According to WM Recycle America, the United States alone throws out enough recyclable aluminum in a year to "duplicate the full commercial air fleet of the U.S." Now let's think about this in another direction. . . How much additional spending on our part to the producers of those products does that waste represent? How many replaced items that should have lived longer, could have been replaced, or just flat out could have been made by the consumers, themselves? I don't know about you, but with four kids in the house, I save a bundle each year just by making my own laundry detergent.

What am I tired of?  I am tire of 'experts' telling me how to live a better life and make the world a better place when we already know how to do it. Who's with me? 

Of Mice and Makerspaces. . . Originally published August 8th, 2011

The time has come to answer a few questions. I've been dropping hints as to my plans for a little while, now here is a better look at the concept. . .

The question I've gotten from quite a few is, "what is a makerspace?". The short answer is that a Makerspace is a place where people with common interests can meet and collaborate on ideas and projects. The long answer goes much deeper. A makerspace not only offers workspace and resources, but also learning opportunities, as it is built on the idea of peer knowledge and sharing.

The makerspace I intend to build will be based completely on this collaborative principal. Aside from housing my own creative aims, I intend to begin by offering lab space for writers and designers, supporting the endeavor by offering classes from Tai Chi to basic mechanics tutoring. Eventually, I intend to grow the space to house areas for people to work on their projects and to provide a general tool lending library, if you will, for same. Although the classes would be made available to everyone, the latter services would be provided to members for a monthly due. A physical store would be attached to the face of the makerspace, providing a place for artisans to sell their goods on consignment, further supporting the entire endeavor.

Currently, we are still in the conceptual stages. I am building up the finances on my own and will be, over the next few weeks, seeking consulting assistance from local support groups in the community. When I get closer to finding a facility, I may even begin looking for outside investors, if necessary.

More to follow! ^.^

For a Long, Lost Friend. . .

Morning awakes
Though my body still feels tired.
Slowly arise,
Though I can hardly step.
And the light is shining so,
Brighter than I've ever seen--
I can't help searching for
Silhouettes of you.

Please hold me tightly;
Please smile so warmly;
Searching within these thunderstorms--
Searching through until dawn.

Remember that one time?
I long for the past times.
I'll tell you what I miss;
I keep on missing our own,
One chance encounter. . .

So what is Fathers' Day? If you were out the day before, it would seem to be just another endeavor into commercialized consumerism. If you get past the surface, though, looking through the last-minute gift shoppers storming through stores trying to figure out a good 'mandatory' prize, what do we have left?

Truly, Fathers' Day is a celebration of memories.

Today, we made a few. Through a persistent blatter of day-long rain, we set out with no particular goal in mind. After a roundabout ride across the island, we ended up in Copper Harbor, hiking through the rain to capture a letterbox, picking agates along the shore, and discovering another possible branch in the family tree. We got pretty wet, yes, trundling through the boreal forests, but a lazy saunter home to some dry clothes and a homemade pot of chili served to top things off. Like I said. . . Memories.

My father and I are separated by a thousand miles; our occasional phone calls are never enough. Camping excursions, fishing trips, all those things I've learned because of him. He is the reason I can repair a lawn mower with an elastic hair band, or back up a trailer just as easily as driving a straight line. There are no gifts that I can find to repay him for what he's given me, except for the gift of time. Those moments we have, fleeting though they are across the miles, are themselves gems to be revered and then passed on through my own children.

To those out there, fathers and children alike, I hope today's memories were good ones.

Unplugging Destiny. . .

Throughout a couple hundred thousand years of human civilization, technology has continued to develop to both the benefit and detriment of humankind. Bicycles were a nice addition to our lives, as well as eating utensils and indoor toilets. I'm certain more than a few people could have done without the guillotine, but where would we be without the advent of the steam engine and, later, the internal combustion engine?

The thing is, we are constantly turning out items and ideas to make our lives easier, but have we gotten to the point where that is impossible? Have we reached a plateau whereupon every gadget and feature we tweak into our daily routine only hurts our productivity; steals our time? Have we, as a society, forgotten how to jettison things that don't work as planned? Perhaps we've forgotten the failure that was the PDA; good idea turned paperweight.

Now, I have to admit that I love the internet. The ability to not only find the answer to potentially any question, but to find an item on the other side of the planet, purchase it, then have it show up on your doorstep a few days later is both convenient and wonderful. Through social networking sites, I have gotten in touch with friends I had feared lost to the passing of time.

. . .And there, of course, are the games.

So where has it all gotten us? Where has it gotten me? I have, of late, come to the realization that I haven't quite made it to where I want to be at this stage of life. I am a steampunk, which means by nature that I am a recycler and upcycler. I invent and I reinvent. I have the ability to live simply, but do I, truly? How much time have I lost to online diversions in the pursuit of quick information? What have I done to achieve my career goal of becoming a reclusive writer?

Beginning with this new day, I am going to unplug. I am going to turn my back, temporarily, on some of the conveniences of the day, with the intent of getting back some of the productivity I've lost these last few years. I have accomplished so much recently, and I refuse to backstep. The world needs my contribution, so here I come. We often forget the power we have over our own destinies.

I will not be completely isolated from the modern world, as I will be coming back from time to time to report my progress. For now, it's back to an earlier time. See you around. . .

FRACK!! (Originally published May 9, 2008)

Normally, I try to keep my inner dork reigned in, but occasionally it comes out and brings along a soapbox. I am a huge Battlestar Galactica fan, dating back to the days of feathered haircuts and cheesy stock footage. I knew what the word 'frack' meant long before Starbuck was a girl and the Cylons looked like swimsuit models.
To say that the 'reimagined' show is as frustrating as it is entertaining would be an understatement. The supposed 'best drama on TV' seems to get its jollies from dangling carrots in the faces of its fans. Currently in the last season, we are seeing ten of the final twenty episodes right now, with the remaining ten not scheduled to release until next year. The current season came over a year after the last, with nothing but a single made-for-TV movie in November to tide us over. Frack, indeed.
I do admit that I am much more enamored of this show than the original, with its stunning visual effects and its deep delving into the human condition. Unlike most science fiction offerings, the human race isn't wheeling through the galaxy in glistening, ultra-efficient starships getting in everyone's face about how superior their spirit and morals are. Beyond bad planning and distribution, there is very little you could find fault with in a series of this nature.
. . . And then I saw the Star Trek tribute.
I almost missed it, and I almost wish I had. Four of the human characters have been revealed to be Cylons. Unable to cope with this individually, they find it necessary to meet occasionally in secret to complain about it. One such secret location was 'locker 1701-D'. A Trek tribute in BSG?! What gives? Did some obscure person from the show work on this particular episode, or are we seeing some twisted foreshadowing? Now that I think of it, it all fits… An entity capable of mimicking humanoid life forms, multiple copies, and a bad sense of humor… I would be sorely disappointed to find out that Data was the final Cylon.
It would be par for the course, though… The human race suffers a crushing blow from an enemy of their own design, sending them on a journey that spans not only thousands of light years, but also the length and breadth of their mortality and morality; of ethical and religious practice and beliefs that are only now, in these bleak times, coming into question. They are on the brink of a religious revolution threatening to tear asunder their very core beliefs and devotions. What would it do to them to reach Earth, only to find an agnostic society who will swear to God, when the humorous interjection of a 'colorful metaphor' is necessary, but who would not believe in Him?
But I digress… My intention was to not come here and go on about religious connotations. When, exactly, did the inhabitants of the science fiction community become incapable of standing on their own? Mainstream shows as far back as Seaquest felt the need to pay homage to those which came before them, usually Star Trek or Star Wars. I remember watching a 'Sci-Fi channel original' in which Wil Wheaton referred to two nuclear warheads by the serial number of an Imperial Stormtrooper and THX-1138. It was totally out of place, absolutely random, and useless inasmuch as the only people who could possibly catch the reference are wonks like myself who have seen Star Wars more times than the average male college student has seen the Monty Python 'Parrot Sketch'.
Let's face it; there are no original ideas anymore. If there were, we wouldn't have had sequels from the Rocky or Rambo series in 2006 and 2008, respectively. Has anyone out there heard of the proposed remake of 'Short Circuit', or the upcoming 'Get Smart' movie? It's like everything old is new again, but not really. This is the reason I like to curl up to a good Heinlein novel now and again. Even though they are decades old, it's nice to read an original story. My hat is off to the Grand Masters, though not because I heard an obscure notion in an unrelated movie. For now, I think I'll head off to bed with a Tolkien novel from my own library. Let's see… Ah! There it is...
…Bookcase 1701, shelf TK-421.

Curriculum Vitae. . .

So, this go-round, I didn’t make it for the end of the year toast. Sorry, I was asleep. 2008 had been a long and tiresome year, filled with frustration and troubles aplenty. Truth to tell, I needed the sleep and, without the assistance of alcoholic substances, I fell into a coma around about 9 p.m. EST and didn’t come out of it until about 8:30 this morning.

Oooo-rah.

There were some good things to come out of the past year, though, from reconnecting with old friends to first connections with new ones. With a little help, I came to a realization that I had been hanging on to some things I should have left behind; things that kept me from truly moving on. I experienced a rediscovery of self and purpose, which will make for a rough but interesting journey in the year to come.

So what does lie ahead? Who knows. I have big plans for the future, for myself and my family, and can only wonder how far this year will carry them. An internet store, leading into a health and fitness business is one of my goals, as is building towards a larger home for my family and moving my parents up from Kentucky. As for the near future, I have set off on teaching my oldest son and daughter wilderness survival skills, which started off with a rather humorous adventure centered around building a snow shelter. I am also thoroughly convinced that this winter will be perfect for another little science project we’ve been talking about for a couple of years. For details on that, stay tuned to this station.

As for my friends, both nearby and beyond the horizon, I hope to share this journey with all of you. As the past year has shown, we’ve been apart too long; we’ve missed too much. But before we embark on new beginnings, we must take care of the endings. . .

· To my entire family: I couldn’t have made it through 2008 without your support. We have to do that whole ‘hurricane’ thing again sometime.
· To my four wonderful children: I don’t know what I would ever do without you… Know, too, that I don’t know what I wouldn’t do for you. You are all truly pieces of my heart.
· To Diane, truly my twin sister: You are an EF-5 tornado in an otherwise calm sky. Your chaos helped me find my calm; my soul finally knows itself.
· To Cindy, dear heart: Life took you away so long ago, yet I sometimes think I can feel you beside me. I know I will see you again in the next life. I’m thankful you were in mine, if only for a short time.
· To Justin, my brother-in-arms: Life has made us unfathomable to those around us. We may not have figured ourselves out completely, but at least we’ll always have the misanthropy.
· To Tammy: You are forever seeking yourself, through the maelstrom that is your life. No matter what may happen, I will miss our walks in the park.
· To Alicia, my newest good friend from Tennessee: You’ve been having trouble seeing the way, too. You are someone I can trust, and that doesn’t happen often. Keep living in the moment, and never second guess yourself.
· To Ben: You may just be a worthy opponent. I look forward to many chess matches. Maybe I’ll even win a few.
· To Absent Friends

And now, we begin. . .

Again, We Come to the Ending. . .

Like the autumn winds dashing through the trees, another year has come and gone, full of trials and turmoil, seeing as many uncountable tears as moments of abandon and laughter. Now is the time to ask ourselves how we fared. . . Did we accomplish what we set out to do this year? Did we fall short?

As for me, this was the year I was to find myself or, at least, most of myself. I had begun a journey of uncertainty that almost cost me all that I have worked for but, in the very end, I found that I had so much more. I found myself; I found my heart again.

Not in a long time has so much changed for so many… Relationships lost and some rekindled, new friends found after so long, some marriages, some life-altering decisions, new careers embarked on and some returns to college to prepare for just that…

And here we are again. The house is silent, save for the tiny adenoids of my children, and even the neighbors’ attempts to ring in the new year with firearms and explosives has died down. Without further ado, I ask you to raise your glasses with me…

To Kimberley, my little mystery… I feared the worst but have found you again, just in time.
To my children, Jessie, Zack, Johan, and Sabrina… The constant source of joy for my heart.
To Bonnie, the sister I never had… You’ve made me so proud of you, and you’re nearly to the end of your college journey.
To Mike and Bailey, married only a few months. . . Here begins your great adventure.
To Sarah Bethany, who always seems to show up when you most need her… We don’t talk nearly as much as we should, anymore.
To Mike and Diana, friends gone for so long… We haven’t had time to catch up since we collided again, but we have an entire year ahead of us.
To Tori Anne, finally free and away to college… I’m proud of you, too, and wish you and your sweetie all the best.
To Tammy and Michelle, one friend found and another so distant… You are anchors to the time when I learned that life is more than masks.
To Amber, the acquaintance that became a good friend… We have many games of Literati ahead of us.
To Carrie, having found the strength to live her life again… Welcome back.
To Justin, my Brother In Arms… You have walked through the fire and set off again to find who you are. There are forks in that road, but there are friends along the way.
To absent friends…

And now, the beginning…