Round Four: Censorship is a bitch!

  

“Is this the curse of modernity, to live in a world without judgment, without perspective, no context for understanding or distinguishing what is real and what is imagined, what is manipulated and what is by chance beautiful, what is shadow and what is flesh?” 
                                                                                 ~Terry Tempest Williams~

   Peggy is Marcelle’s mother.  She comes from a wealthy West End family.  She has a successful business in landscape architecture and is a woman who has full control over everything surrounding her life……..including her husband.  I am not sure when she moved from the West End to Charlottesville, or why.  I always assumed it was because she met her first husband, a prominent attorney in the 70’s and 80’s named Eaton.  I know that Eaton came from an extremely wealthy New England family (I have actually visited his family farm for a weekend………I felt like a Kennedy while there) and he was a very prominent figure in his community.  There is a bench in front of the Charlottesville courthouse honoring him for his duties to the city.  They were married young and had children young.  Peggy was very beautiful, and I say this because when you look at pictures of her in her 20’s she looks EXACTLY like Marcelle, and I do mean exactly like her.  Eaton is not Marcelle’s father.  In fact Marcelle has never even met Eaton because he passed away years before she was born, however, we will come back to that.  Marcelle has an older half brother and an older half sister, both of whom are about fifteen years older than she is.  Peggy inherited a 200 acre family farm in Earlysville, Virginia, and she raised her family there when she was young.  Peggy was given everything she ever wanted in life……..education, career, family, home, wealth, prestige, everything……….and it shows in her attitude towards the world.  Eaton was apparently an extremely charismatic person, and was the center of the world to everyone he met.  At some point in their young marriage things started heading south.  Apparently Eaton’s charisma attracted other women, and apparently Eaton liked the diversity of those women, so there was a certain amount of extra-curricular activity in their marriage.  Peggy did not seem to appreciate this (rightfully so) and bailed on the marriage, taking the two children with her. (does this sound familiar?)  The part of the story to this point that I will never understand is why Eaton felt the need to do this if he had a beautiful, young, wealthy wife and a promising career, probably because I will never understand why I did what I did.  Peggy painted the picture of a very amicable divorce and was, apparently, according to her, open minded about Eaton being a part of their children’s lives, without any fight at all.  Eaton continued his promising career, but apparently also dove deeply into a career of alcoholism as well.  Peggy moved out of the farmhouse with the children, and was a single mother for almost ten years.

   Marcelle used to tell me throughout the course of our marriage that she always held her mom on a pedestal for being such a strong, independent single mother.  The way Marcelle always explained this to me made it very clear that this was not a description of how she viewed her mother, but instead a warning to me…………………….she was saying, “if you ever fuck up I have no problem filling the shoes of my own mother, because it is the only way I will ever be able to live up to her.”  I have noticed that in my thirty five years of existence on this earth that daughters have this stigma as mothers of needing to live up to whom their own mothers were.  I took this warning very seriously.  In fact, it always scared the shit out of me and I subconsciously knew that my path was going to be similar to Eaton’s…………….minus the wealth and successful career. 

   Eventually Peggy met Mike while in grad school at UVA, and they were married and started a small architecture firm.  Today it is very large and makes the family a shitload of money.  Marcelle came a short time later, followed by her little brother.  At some point during the early years of Peggy’s second marriage, Eaton sat in his office in his farmhouse, put a gun in his mouth, and blew his head off………………..I do not know why.  Maybe it was regret, maybe alcoholism, maybe depression.  He was successful, well liked, had two beautiful children, and would never need to worry about anything in life.  Some things we are never meant to understand.

   I have spoken to Peggy on a few occasions about her marriage to Eaton and his death, and there was one thing that stood out in my mind………………….she had no remorse what-so-ever for Eaton’s death and came across as very cold and very calculated in what she said.  It gave me chills.  My instincts told me that something just didn't add up.  I have learned in the last two years that instincts are very important, and when it comes to bad things such as this, people usually ignore those instincts.  But something about the entire story just seemed wrong.

“What everybody echoes or in silence passes by as true today may turn out to be falsehood tomorrow.”

                                                                                                     ~Henry David Thoreau~

   After Marcelle and I split up I started researching Peggy’s past, and found that I knew someone who was friends with Eaton, and who knew the family during the time of their marriage.  I must protect that person’s anonymity in this writing, but what they told me scared the ever living shit out of me.  In short, he felt Peggy was exactly what my instincts had told me……..a cold, calculated, highly intelligent, dangerous woman.  Funny thing is during my marriage to Marcelle I always loved Peggy.  She was the only one in the family who ever told me I was a good father.  She was the only one I ever felt believed in me……………which is why writing this post breaks my heart, because I truly loved Peggy very much and fully trusted her……………………….that trust was one of the biggest mistakes I have ever made in my life.

   The first time I met Mike I thought he was a complete prick…………my viewpoint of him never changed, but unlike him, I always made an attempt to develop a relationship.  He never even gave me a chance.  When Marcelle and I moved away to WNC together, he and Peggy came to visit.  Mike refused to come in the house because Marcelle and I were living together and we were not married.  This made no sense to me.  It went against everything he claimed to stand for.  Mike’s father was a very well known politician.  His name was Mitch and he was one of the longest running representatives in The House of Delegates.  He was well liked, well respected, and had an impact on VA Laws for almost four decades……………he was also extremely left wing.  If you think about it, that is amazing, considering he rose to popularity in the 70’s and 80’s in an extremely conservative state.  If Mike truly believed in what his family stood for, then why the fuck would he have a problem with Marcelle and I living together out of wedlock?..........I will tell you why, because she was living with me.  Mike never once gave me a chance.  After all, I did come from the other side of the tracks.  I did not come from wealth, and I did not come from prestige.  Marcelle's family has a very strong social circle around them…………and it is also very small.  They do not like outsiders, and are very careful about who they let come into their circle.  I assume that his distaste for me came from the fact that he had no choice but to let me in.  Marcelle decided to go slummin’ during college, and ended up falling in love with a dirt bag kayaker.  This drove Mike crazy.  He had no control over my presence in his, or my presence in his family’s life.

   Here is where things get strange.  Marcelle’s older brother and sister are married to a brother and sister…………………take a minute to put that together because I know it is confusing.  Even more, the brother and sister they married come from an even wealthier Charlottesville family than theirs.  Mike loved the son-in-law and daughter-in-law he had gained from that end.  Holiday after holiday, vacation after vacation, I watched him develop a relationship with them, all the while casting me aside as a nobody.  He knew what he was doing, and I think Peggy did too.  It is why she went out of her way to be nice to me.  She could see that I did not enjoy the time I spent with their family, even though I tried endlessly for Marcelle, because I truly did love Marcelle with all my heart.  I just hated a lot of what surrounded her life.…………….I mean who would enjoy family time in my position.  Every time we drove to C'Ville I needed to prepare myself to be belittled, ignored, and made to feel like the black sheep.  After all, I came from very normal financial means, and I had very little to add to their family dynamic.  By the final years of my marriage/relationship, I hated visiting CVille, but I did it every time with a smile on my face because I loved Marcelle, and Marcelle’s family meant everything to her.  In 2009 we visited or went on vacation with her family 21 times.  I seriously feel that is way too much.  (That doesn't even include the times they came to visit us) 

   Mike is a scary dude.  He owns one of the world’s largest antique chainsaw collections, which is actually pretty fuckin’ cool.  I tried to relate to him through this……….nothing.  He lived in a tee pee for two years when he was young.  I tried to relate to him through this……………….nothing.  He traveled through the Stikine Wilderness as a lumberjack in his early twenties.  I tried to relate to him through this…………………nothing.  I tried everything, and the only conclusion I came away with in the end was this………………..if he could have killed me with his chainsaw and gotten away with it, he would have.  Mike hated me from Day 1, and never gave me a chance.  Remember earlier in the story when I said that Marcelle was going to C'Ville a lot in the final year of our marriage and it was causing a problem…………well, now you know why.

   Our marriage began to unravel in the summer of 2010 due to one particular conversation I had with Marcelle about her father, however that atomic bomb will have to wait for a later post, because it is exactly that…….an Atomic Bomb.  But after that conversation, weird things started happening that made me realize one thing………………wealthy people don’t deal with their problems.  They brush them under the rug, ignore them, tune out the people involved, and pretend that everything is normal.  When you do this again and again, year after year, you eventually end up having your past come back to haunt you. 

   In the Fall of 2010 I was at a wedding for one of Marcelle’s best friends.  Weddings were a normal occurrence for us, and they were always done up to the full extent.  I mean, we are talking six figures here.  It never impressed me.  I never understood it, but then again, I truly hate wealth, money, and materialism.  It makes people be people that they truly are not.  It takes away the realism from this world.  I was standing on my own watching Marcelle dance with her friends at the wedding, when all of a sudden a woman whom I had never spoken to approached me from behind.  The conversation that followed went like this……….

Woman:  “Are you having a nice time.”

Me:  “Why yes, thank you.”

Woman:  “Well, that’s good."  (then a long, uncomfortable pause.)

Woman:  “There is something you need to know.”

Me:  “Oh, what’s that?”

Woman:  “Your wife’s family hurts people.  They have done it their entire life.  They do bad things and then ignore the outcome of their actions.”

Me:  “ummmmm”  (I was thinking “what the fuck is happening here.  I must be drunk.”)

Me (trying to figure out what to say):  “That’s my wife you are speaking about.”

Woman:  “I just need you to know that your wife and her family hurt people.  They always have.”

   Then she walked away, leaving me standing there alone, uncomfortable, stunned, and wondering what the fuck just happened.  I couldn't figure out why it bothered me, but it did.  There was truth in her voice, and she seemed genuinely concerned about me.  I am not going to sugar coat things here…………I went to the bar, took a shot, then went outside to the car and talked about rivah safety with one of Marcelle’s friends.  Whatever that woman had done fucked my head up.  I just couldn't figure it out, but it was bizarre, and I was determined to find out the truth of why she did what she did.

   At the end of the night Marcelle, myself, Peggy, and Marcelle’s best friend all drove home in the same car.  Now, I am not one to handle situations like this well, so I did the one thing I shouldn't have done.  I told Marcelle about the incident in front of her mother and best friend.  The look on Peggy’s face when I asked about it was sheer terror.  I thought she was going to throw up right there in the car.  I knew something was up, and I knew it wasn't good.  The family had secrets, and they were deep and dark, but Peggy played it off like she had no idea why I was told what I was told. 

   A few weeks later Marcelle and I sat down in the privacy of our own home and talked about what had happened.  She could tell that I was bothered and she needed to clear some things up.  She told me that the woman, who I knew to be the mother of one of Marcelle’s close friends, had been Mike’s best friend growing up.  Mike married Peggy, and the woman married another man.  The four of them were best friends and were always together.  According to Marcelle, one day the four were no longer best friends, and the other man divorced his wife and moved away.  The four never spoke again.

   It doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out what went down between them.  I couldn't believe it, until I started to look at everything involving the situation……………..Mike and Peggy never touched each other, at least from what I saw.  They never showed intimacy, or love, or anything else.  It was always like watching two business partners work together, which, ironically, they were.  The family was close, and on the surface it looked like everything was perfect, but something always seemed strange.  Now, I have a theory, and before I tell it, it is important to remember that this is my theory, and nothing else……………

   Peggy fully controls everyone in her life, especially Mike.  Mike knows this and seems to accept it without any questions.  It is what makes Marcelle so controlling.  It is not her fault; it is just the example that was set for her.  I never blamed Marcelle for the way she was.  Peggy most likely had the same control over Eaton, especially after they had children.  Eaton eventually had enough and strayed from his wife.  (I theorize this because I relate to it perfectly………..at this point you all know what I did, so this shouldn't come as a surprise)  Peggy was cheated on and left Eaton, like any controlling woman would. (as opposed to communicating, talking about things, and sometimes realizing that the children should have an impact on her decisions)  When she married Mike the same control came into play.  Well, eventually Mike became tired of the control and sought refuge in the arms of his best friend, which is understandable.  Either Peggy found out, or the other party found out, but Mike was busted.  Once this happened, Peggy was stuck between a rock and a hard place………..cheated on once and everyone points the finger at the man, but cheated on twice and people may start to question what the woman is doing to cause this re-occurring problem.  Peggy is smart, and she was smart enough to understand that.  So if you can’t leave him what do you do…………………………you own and operate him for the rest of his life!!!!, and that is EXACTLY what she did.  Yep, told ya this situation was FUBAR! 

   After Marcelle and I were separated, I came to the house one day to see the boys and Mike sat down with me on the back deck to talk about the situation.  During the conversation he said to me that I needed to realize that I had married a woman who was going to be in charge of me no matter what, just like the woman he had married.  I couldn't believe it.  He was admitting to me that he had given up long ago.  I asked him if he had ever been in the position I was in, and he responded yes, and said that when he was he had a decision to make………. go at it on his own, or accept who his wife was.  Then I asked him a question that I wish I had never asked…………I asked him if he was happy.  His response dictated so many choices over the next four months of my life, choices that set the course of our divorce.  Mike responded, “Sometimes.”  Then there was a long pause.  He looked at me, saw the look on my face, and said, “actually, most of the time.”  I knew he was covering his tracks.  I couldn't believe it.  This man who had everything was admitting to me that he spent his entire life owned and operated, and in the end he was happy “sometimes.”  The conversation scared the shit out of me.  Had it not been for that conversation I would have run right back to Marcelle, because I had missed her since the day we separated.  (The Fourteenth Street Whore was an overwhelming disappointment by then, and I realized she was not even a shadow of Marcelle, but we will come back to that.)   I don’t know why I even listened to him.  I never trusted him, but I was so lost I didn't know what to do, or who to turn to.  I wish I had never had that conversation. 

   Mike and Peggy unfortunately play a bigger part in the story than they should, and I truly am heartbroken at how my relationship with them ended.  They hate me, and they will do anything to keep their grandchildren away from me.  They have convinced themselves and their daughter that I am not fit to be around the boys.  This just isn't true.  I am a good father, and during the short time I was “allowed” to be a single father, I was damn good at it.  But that wasn't enough for them.  You take kids away from their fathers when the fathers are a danger to the children, not as revenge for betraying your family.  I hurt their daughter, and I will live with that regret for the rest of my life, every moment of every day.  It was the worst mistake I ever made.  But my boys didn't do anything wrong, and they shouldn't have to suffer.  Please, please don’t ever keep children from a father who wants to be there.  It just isn't right.  It destroys people, and it hurts the children.  I miss my boys so much it physically hurts, and I know they miss me.  I have to get back to them………somehow, I have to make this right.

"My Lost Love, My Lost Child"
I wonder what you're doing
and how you're living life
what new things did you learn today
and how did you sleep last night
did you feel raindrops on your face
or sunshine in your eye
of all the questions left unknown
the biggest one is why
why can't we be together
why can't I watch you grow
why can't I guide you through this world
this I just don’t know
but I promise we'll be together
no matter how long it seems
just know your always in my heart
and always in my dreams~Garrett Wheeler~

See ya on the rivah.......................hopefully livin' life to the fullest.   PEACE

The Turning Point

"Few things are harder to put up with than the annoyance of a good example."
                                                                             ~Mark Twain~ 

I have seen the following article pop up a lot in the past few days............I couldn't agree with it more.

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/wait-but-why/generation-y-unhappy_b_3930620.html

   I couldn't agree more because I have fallen on both sides of the trap the article is talking about.  Now, if you are a generation Y kid reading this, let me stop you now and let you know that you need to go back, actually click on the link, and read the article, otherwise this entire post will make absolutely no sense to you.  It takes time, and you have to make a commitment, but I know you, just like me, can do it.  Ready, set......go!

   Now that we are all on the same page lets talk about how scary this article is, because it is true, it happens, and it is getting worse.  When I started working for the Y, I did so at the age of 29, with my first child on the way, first set of real stresses, and first real career path.  Everything I had done up until then were things that didn't define me as an adult.  Career, family, children, responsibility, domestication, monotony, etc.  These are the things that make us an adult.  When you suck it up, realize that life is hard, and move the fuck on, that is when you define yourself as an adult.............I am miserably failing at this, and have my entire life.  But this article speaks the truth, and unlike one of my former acquaintances, who commented that "after reading the article I looked in the mirror and liked what I saw", I looked into the computer screen reflection and hated the image staring at me on the other side.  Why?  Because what is happening to me now is not the results of discovering this pill that is hard to swallow.............it is what happens to you when you do not realize that you are not special until it is far too late...........until you pissed it all away because you had everything, was doing just fine, and still didn't feel satisfied.  That was me.  I worked hard, and actually did very well, very quickly, considering how unexpected adulthood was for me, and how unprepared I was.  But when it came to work, I was smart.  I knew the answers to building programs, working with people, and finding ways to slide past the red tape and bull shit.  I did it well for a while.  Then one day, I decided it just wasn't enough, needed to feel special, and started thinking with my dick.....................yea,  good call Justin.  

   Now I am sitting in a Diner in the middle of nowhere West Virginia.  Everything is gone, I realize I did have everything a man my age could want, and I have no idea which way to turn or which way to go.  I have very little money, my credit is destroyed, I am in debt, and I am hiding......................that's NOT special!!!!!!  That's really fucked up...............Wait a minute, it wasn't supposed to be this way.
   You see, the article is unfinished.  It forgets to give you the example of what happens to those who do not realize the reality of their lives until it is too late........that is where I come in.  My last post talks about defining "home".  I realized from the feedback that I was given by some that the post helped people with their own lives.  Some read it and told me they went back to their homes, and had a new appreciation for it, and that they were strengthened in their love for their families.  That made me feel good.  I helped people.  But I realized I was the example of what would happen if they ever forgot to appreciate their families, and their home.  The reality of my life scared the shit out of them.  Then I realized that may be my place in life.  I may be the one that is the example of what happens when you don't realize your world is not special, and you realize that you have to earn your life, and it will be a life that may be ordinary to others, but is extraordinary to you.  My place is the example to the world of what happens when you don't appreciate the life you have.............that sucks, but everyone has a purpose.  Maybe this is mine.


"Society is always taken by surprise at any new example of common sense."
                                                     ~Ralph Waldo Emerson~ 


   I was taken back by the first half of the article.  It never dawned on me that my parents did not ever think they would do as well as they did.  Then I thought back on how my mother was raised, and I remember she told me she had an outhouse until she was twelve.  Now we build outhouses in West Virginia because it is funny.........she did it as a means to a sanitary survival.  WOW!  That is quite the change in one generation.  Thinking about this made me realize that my parents perception of the world is very different than mine, and if there is one re-occurring theme in my writing, it is that perception is reality..................so after being raised by a hard ass generation (I love the stick figure grandpa calling the rest of the family "pussies"), they saw their lives as a struggle.........a struggle that never happened.  Instead success came their way, and they raised me to think I would be successful, because that is what happens to people.  They make their lives by working hard and they are successful................but as the article states, that just isn't enough for our generation, and there was a time that it just wasn't enough for me.
   There is one point the article doesn't touch on.......................we are an over-educated generation.  We were told, "go to college and all your dreams will come true"...................yea, right.  Our generation is highly educated (by a shitty system), and we all think that because we have degrees the world is easy.  Then we sit down, stair at Facebook, and read shit like this..............................



http://www.businessinsider.com/growth-in-college-tuition-vs-growth-in-earnings-for-college-graduates-2012-11

   Hell yea!!!  After reading that I am pumped about higher education........aren't you?  That seems like the answer for us all, doesn't it?  (I wish you could hear my sarcasm here, instead of just reading it.)  So our generation was told, "go to college and you WILL be successful."  Now we are all pretty damn smart, but will for the most part be taking jobs that do not do our personal education and intelligence any justice at all (unless you have a masters or doctorate, but then you are a billion dollars in debt), which will make us again realize that we are not special.  I realized this when I became a manager/director, received a 10 percent raise, and then had a 70 percent rise in stress.........seems like success to me.
   I stopped reading "Walden" the other night to watch a movie.  I chose "Fight Club".  I thought a little Tyler Durden may do me well.  The parallels between that movie and this article are scary.  They are just presented in two different styles.  Stick figures and flowers are not my style..........although gramp's calling his family "pussies" is my style.  My style is Tyler Durden dropping knowledge, knowledge that at least explores answers to the future of our generation............Tyler Durden quotes are my favorite, and here is one of the best that sums up everything about this topic............


   "Man, I see in fight club the strongest and smartest men who've ever lived. I see all this potential, and I see squandering. God damn it, an entire generation pumping gas, waiting tables; slaves with white collars. Advertising has us chasing cars and clothes, working jobs we hate so we can buy shit we don't need. We're the middle children of history, man. No purpose or place. We have no Great War. No Great Depression. Our Great War's a spiritual war... our Great Depression is our lives. We've all been raised on television to believe that one day we'd all be millionaires, and movie gods, and rock stars. But we won't. And we're slowly learning that fact. And we're very, very pissed off."

                                                                                                               ~Tyler Durden~

    OK, so the answers do not exist in this quote, but he nails the feeling that I have experienced from my realizations...............pissed off.  I just went the longest time searching for who to be pissed off at..........my parents, the system, my parent-in-laws, the Baby Boomers, my wife, my mistress, my friends, etc, etc, etc.  All of these people were just a means to denying myself the TRUTH about whom to really be pissed off at.................myself.  I had choices, and I refused to make them.  I had the choice to be satisfied in my career, to love my family no matter what, to tell the Fourteenth Street Whore to fuck off, to look The Fat Bastard in the eyes long ago and tell him what he was doing was wrong, to get up, dust myself off, and say "fuck this, I am making my own life better, not for my parents, or my wife, but for me.  I want a better life for me, and for my children"................it took isolation in a cabin in the middle of nowhere, weeks of loneliness, losing my mind (oh yea.........that is long gone), trying to kill myself on the Upper Gauley at 7000cfs (which is actually quite easy), walking through bear infested wilderness alone, and a talk with yet another chance encounter on a West Virginia back porch in the middle of nowhere.  It was her sense of being lost that helped me realize where I stood in this world, and that there was only one person who could help me find my way home.........................me.
   So now that I am realizing that, I need to find the starting point.  For the past four weeks.............no, I take that back, for the past six months, many people have told me "stop writing, shut down the blog, move on."...........well, I have one thing to say to those people............"Fuck off!"  (see, my first decision in moving forward.)  The blog has purpose.  I just didn't realize what that purpose was until now............it will help people appreciate what they have.  No one likes it, and I have to block the comments because they are so bad sometimes, but people read it, and I never realized why until now............I think it helps them feel better about their own lives.  It reminds them just how much they have, and it reminds them that the grass is not greener on the other side. (which I find it ironic that the article did use a green lawn to represent success)  I have taken many different approaches to how I write........some have been to entertain, some have been to rip people apart, some have been to explain my situation, some have been a cry for help.  All are written with emotion, and all are written from the heart.  Now my purpose is two fold.....................first, I WILL complete the story I started without changing my mindset on how it is presented (this is a selfish choice........like I stated before, I am telling it as my therapy, and I am telling it to get it out.)  My second purpose for writing is not selfish.  I want to help people.


"Stop thinking the grass is greener on the other side of the fence.  The grass is greener where you water it!  Stay focused."
                                                    ~Anonymous~  


   During the first set of bad times (the present moment is the second), about a year or year and a half ago, a friend that I trusted with all my heart called me up one night.  He is married, has two kids, is a kayaker, and has a successful career.  He is also one of the more levelheaded people I have ever been associated with, and at one time he was a close friend, and I trusted him.  He was hysterical on the other end of the phone.  He told me he thought his marriage was over.  He told me that he couldn't do it anymore.  I heard the stress, the confusion, the desperation in his voice.  It was the same sounds that had echoed in my thoughts when my marriage was ending.  His family, just like mine, was beautiful, and I did NOT want to see him spiral like I did, because he had told me a few weeks before that if he was in my position he would just be piss drunk all the time..........hey, at least I never took that path.  Once he calmed down, I told him as sternly as I could to go home, suck it up, and save his marriage.  I told him that what he had was beautiful, and the grass was NOT in any way greener on the other side.  I told him that he had no choice.  He had to stick it out, find a way, make it work, because what he had was true happiness.  He, just like me, was having trouble seeing the run out from the top of the drop, and just needed a quick scout to be reminded that the green tongues did exist in his life, and there was a clean line through his chaos.  This person doesn't speak to me anymore, like so many others, but every now and then I check up to see how his family is doing.  They look and seem happier than they have ever been.  It makes me smile.  I hope that maybe what I said that night had a small impact on his decisions, and maybe I had a small impact on the direction of his life.  It makes me happy to know that the negative example I set in my life could produce a positive change in someone else's life. That, I hope, is the message I send to everyone from now on.
   The story that I am continuing to write is ugly, and I am not proud of it, but I WILL finish it, no matter what.  It may not make sense to you as it is told, and it may seem like I am just trashing some people, but in the end I promise you that I am not.  I just need to explain it my way, and that is all I am trying to do.  I don't want to hurt anyone, so I need people to be patient and trust that my final intentions are good intentions.  I made a promise to a true friend about my time here, and I intend on keeping that promise.  While here, I finish the story, find the starting point to the rest of my life, and take a step forward.  That is all I have left, and for now, that will have to be enough.  Please, help me find the love that I know exists in this world, because I am scared, and I am very alone, and I do not want to walk this path alone, because it will be the hardest thing I have ever done in my life.


"Pain is your friend; it is your alie. Pain reminds you to finish the job and get the hell home. Pain tells you when you have been seriously wounded. And you know what the best thing about pain is? It tells you you’re not dead yet!”

                                                        ~Master Chief John James Urgayle~  

I may not be seein' ya on the rivah..................cause I have a lot of work to do!   PEACE

Week 22: "There's no place like home"

"I feel like I've never had a home, you know? I feel related to the country, to this country, and yet I don't know exactly where I fit in... There's always this kind of nostalgia for a place, a place where you can reckon with yourself."
                                                         ~Sam Shepard~

   If there is one feeling I will never wish upon my worst enemies it is to not have the understanding of what it is like to have a home.  The word "home" means more to me now that it ever has, because I realize now that you don't just go to your home.............you create it, and you do it with the person you love.  I once had a home, and it was beautiful.  It was full of life, babies, toys and toddlers, a garden and a backyard full of memories, the world's best dog, never ending movement, constant management, colors and paints and crayons, constant change, happy people, and a wonderful woman who held it all together.  I didn't see it, and I don't know why.  I saw stress, and I had a difficult time of accepting the constant chaos of everyday life.  But that is the life that makes people happy, because no matter how stressful it gets, they never have to do it alone.  I once had a home, but now it is gone.  People tell me that I am not homeless, that I am just leading an alternative lifestyle.  I know that.  I am too smart to be homeless.  I will always find a way to have a roof (or tent) over my head.  But that is just shelter, and it is far from a home.  That is one of the most important lessons that I have learned through this experience...............that I once had a home, and I miss it every moment of everyday.  

   If this blog is about blunt honesty, then I am tired of dragging out the inevitable, so lets get one thing out of the way right now.............................I am an asshole.  I destroyed my life.  I lost my home.  I did this because I had an affair with The Fourteenth Street Whore.  I deserve everything that has happened to me, and I deserve to continue to suffer until the day I die.  I did the worst thing, with the worst person, and I lost it all, especially a beautiful home, and a wonderful wife who loved me very much..........I just didn't know how to see that, until now.  I will hate myself for the rest of my life for what I did.  Now that we have that out of the way, let’s move on. 

   Week 22 represented exactly what I am talking about........I no longer have a home.  I don't have anything.  I started the week on The Island for a day, but ended up sleeping at a friend’s house for the first two nights of the week.  I did this because he was out of town, offered, and it made it easier to transition off The Island before moving to West By God at the end of the week.  I worked during the week to make some extra money for the trip, and I tried to be as thankful as I could to everyone who has ever tried to help me.  It is hard to do that when you have nothing........but I am.  I am so thankful to so many people for the help they have given me.  Some of them probably feel used, such as my mother, but that was never my intentions.  I just kept falling deeper into the rabbit hole, and never found my way out.........know what I mean?

   I was asked to house sit for the second half of the week, and I accepted the request.  The Island, my buddies house at the beginning of the week, now a house sitting job.......are you starting to see why I started this post the way I did.  Try and imagine going through your day, and when it ends, not having a home to go to; not opening the back door at the end of the day and being tackled by two little boys, smelling dinner cooking in the kitchen, having your face licked off by a dog, playing up and down the halls with your boys and wrestling on the carpet, having someone who loves you ask about how your day was, bath time, story time, bed time, catching up on the day with the one person in the world who actually cares, falling asleep with someone warm next to you, not feeling alone in this world, knowing someone needs you, waking up with someone you can trust next to you.........these are the reasons we come home, and these are the things I miss the most about my home.  All I do now is drift, because no matter what, I will never create a home alone, and anything else just isn't the same, and it just isn't enough.  Home is everything, and it is a lesson I did not learn until it was far too late.  


“It's a thing to see when a boy comes home.”
~ John Steinbeck, The Grapes of Wrath~

   House sitting was a good break from my Island life and a good way to rest up before the next adventure.  I had dinner with a close friend one of those nights, and he was very generous in his wisdom about the things he has learned through life.  He is a kayaker, and I trust him.  It helps to hear others perspectives during this time in my life.  I want to find strength in others, and I want to believe in this world again.  Surrounding myself with strong people helps.  My conversations with him have taught me one important thing…………..in order to be the father I truly believe I am and can be in the future, I must first find strength within myself.  How can I be a father now?  I have lost everything, and my hole is deep, very deep.  I have two choices ………..bury my ass in that hole, or find a way to climb out and be the father I know I can be.  I need to find the fight inside myself, because Marcelle is not going to let me see my boys without a fight……..the court system is not going to let me see my children without a fight……..and my own parents are not going to let me see my sons without a fight.  I am heartbroken that this is what the world is like……..everyone needs to fight for what they want, and if you are down, they will kick you.  That is one lesson I have learned.  I don’t want it to be this way, and I am not good at playing this game…………but I have two choices.  Bury my ass in that hole, or put up a fight.  I’m not dead yet, so it looks like it is about time I try to find strength within myself………because that is the best option at the moment in taking a step forward to be with my boys.  My true friends are the ones that have taught me that.  True friendship is not about money, or control, or what you can gain through the relationship……..true friendship is about understanding.  Perception is reality, and everyone’s perception is different.  So finding someone who understands your perception is a sign of true friendship.  They may not agree with it, but they can understand it.  Sometimes that is all someone needs.  Sometimes we just need friends who will walk beside us.  Thank you to all those friends.


“The truth is, everyone is going to hurt you. You just got to find the ones worth suffering for.”
                  ~Bob Marley~

   On Sunday evening I stayed at a friend’s house instead of on The Island.  It was my last night in RVA and I was sad to be leaving.  When you don’t have a home, the streets, the city, the places you find yourself, they all become your home.  I loved walking the Canal all summer, sitting in the coffee shop to write, talking to the people on the rivah.  No one judged me there.  They were just interested in who I was, without wanting to change me.  They were just interested in me for me, and that made me feel welcome for once.  There were also people who needed me, like Lindy, and I will miss him.  Lindy is a good man, and he is my friend.  There is also still a paddling community within the community that supported me, and that meant everything to me, and it still does.  RVA is the closest thing I have known to a home since Marcelle and the boys left, and I will miss it, just like I miss the home I once had………just like I miss her. 


“Remember me and smile, for it's better to forget than to remember me and cry.”
              ~Dr. Seuss~

See ya on the rivah…………………..the only place I can call my home.

Week 21 Part II: "Finding the TRUTH in West By God"

"Deep down, I am just a West Virginia Hillbilly." 

                                       ~Brad Paisley~


   I awoke Sunday morning and made one final paddle out from The Island at sunrise. It was a symbolic paddle out. The water was low, the sun was peaking over the horizon, and a new day had dawned. I was headed for West By God, and felt this funny feeling that I hadn't felt in a long time................excitement. I was headed up for two days with a good friend.  I allowed him to choose his own name for this post, and he chose a great one............Buzz Holstrom.  We were heading up to check out his cabin, do some manual labor (which I love), and hit the rivah for some surfing and squirt boating. (I will explain the squirt boat concept later) Buzz is a good man.........one of the best. He has a beautiful family, beautiful life, and a beautiful attitude about the world. Being around him makes me happy. He is also a phenomenal boater, and understands the true meaning of what it is to be a boater. He loves the rivah, and it shows when you are paddling with him. We met up at his house, finished loading up his truck and took off for West By God by 10am. 
   We arrived at the cabin in the early afternoon. I was prepared to work and work hard. Getting to the cabin is an adventure all its own. You know how in West Virginia there are the back roads that are one lane and you sometimes don’t want to go down them because the Deliverance people may be down there waiting to make you squeal like a pig?……….well, to get to Buzz’s cabin you not only have to go down that road, but you then must turn off it and go down an even more sketchy road with nothing but bears and deer. It was awesome. The roads are all one lane, but cars go both ways, and there are about 129 blind curves along the way. Buzz also loves traveling about 70 mph down them, so I felt like we were already in the Class V realm before we even reached the cabin.
   Once we arrived I was in awe. The cabin was awesome. It was exactly what every kayaker would picture their backwoods escape to be. There is a loft, small kitchen that consists of one burner, an incinerator toilet (yes, it burns your poop up after you create it. The cabin smells of burning poop for about fifteen minutes after you do the duty), an old fashioned wood stove, and a lot of forest full of bears and deer. (I have learned that the chances of hitting a deer on the back roads while here is about 98 percent…………..but I am in West By God, so once I do hit one I can just take it home and eat it.) The cabin also has a quiver of boats..........and a boogie board (because every boater needs a boogie board on the rivah)  There is no TV, no running water, and it is about 2/3rds completed………..but it is very cozy, and you can walk to the Gauley in minutes from the front door. Let me repeat that……………..you can walk to the Gauley in minutes from the front door. There are also access roads to the rivah throughout the “neighborhood” (pretty sure this is not considered a neighborhood) ……….oh, and the drive to the cabin is West By God beautiful (and if Buzz is not driving you can actually enjoy the view). There are about 79 calendar landscapes to view on the way. 


"Greatness lies, not in being strong, but in the right using of strength; and strength is not used rightly when it serves only to carry a man above his fellows for his own solitary glory. He is the greatest whose strength carries up the most hearts by the attraction of his own."
                     ~Henry Ward Beecher~


   I am happy that I have friends who demonstrate this, because as much as I wish I was doing it, I know that I am failing.  I'm sorry everyone.  I want to inspire you all, but I know I first need to inspire myself.


   When we arrived we unloaded the boats and gear, took a tour of the land, and settled in. I was ready to work……………..Buzz was ready to hit the rivah…………awesome! We loaded up the car with what was needed for the afternoon and took off. When we got to the end of the road the cabin was on, Buzz was quoted as saying one of the best quotes I have heard in a long time. He looked at me and said, “well, we can turn right and go to the Gauley, or turn left and go to the New.” Any true boater understands why that is such a great quote. We chose the New, saving the Gauley for the following day. We turned left, and headed for Fayetteville. 
   We arrived at the New Rivah Bridge in about 20 minutes, but had another 20 minute drive to reach the bottom of the gorge. If you have never been to this part of West By God then you need to understand that the landscape here is very different. First, there are no real mountains. It is simply a giant plateau that covers about 2/3rds of the state. Second, the rivah was here before the mountains. The name New is actually a misnomer, because in reality the New is one of the oldest rivahs on earth, older than the Appalachian Mountains. (which are also really old………how they figure these things out is beyond me) Given this geological set up, the rivah rips a giant gash through the earth, and cuts deep into the plateau. Due to this, you drive along for a while with small rolling hills as the landscape. Then, all of a sudden, the land drops away and falls steeply 1000 feet straight to the rivah. When you reach the New Rivah Bridge, you are sitting 871 feet above the rivah. It is a remarkable sight. 
   After reaching the bottom of the rivah, we geared up, threw our boats over our shoulders and headed up the train tracks (illegally) for a little park and play at a squirt spot named "Mellow Ledge". There is a nice little wave at the bottom of the rapid, and a few different bigger features, like "Brain Wave", to try out in the rapid itself.  Squirt Boating is a difficult concept to explain in one paragraph, however, I will attempt to sum it up in less than 100 words………………..ready, set, go!


"Swift or smooth, broad as the Hudson or narrow enough to scrape your gunwales, every river is a world of its own, unique in pattern and personality. Each mile on a river will take you further from home than a hundred miles on a road."
                                                               ~Bob Marshall~


   First off, buoyancy is an important part of kayaking. You are basically sitting in a giant plastic air bubble that will resurface due to the laws of physics. The point of a squirt boat is to take as much volume out of the boat as possible, decreasing the buoyancy to almost nothing. This does not allow very much room for anything at all inside the boat. You basically have two sleeves to slide your legs into. Once in it is very difficult to get out. There is also a piece of foam that can be placed between your legs, eloquently known as a suicide block………..so now you are sitting in a boat that has almost no volume in it, making it extremely unstable and easily sinkable, plus you have very little chance of escape if something goes wrong. I know what all non kayakers are asking themselves right now……….why in the hell would you ever want to do that?!? Well, the following video will demonstrate the answer to that question………………

    I know..........it is pretty fucking awesome, and also scary as hell…………..oh yea, it is also hard as shit to be good at and takes years to learn. Due to these factors it is probably the most well respected form of paddling by any kayaker who knows about the TRUTH………………..which is probably why Team WAV kids would think it is stupid.  There are no big rapids involved to glorify themselves on in videos......you know, like EVERY single kayaker in this country does.  So now that you understand the concept of the boat itself, let’s talk about the water.

   Whitewater kayaking, rafting, canoeing, and any other form of paddling for the most part are one dimensional, meaning we only focus on reading the surface currents of the water. However, whitewater itself is not one dimensional. There is more happening under the surface of the water than you think, and any kayaker who has ever been unintentionally caught in an eddy line, been stern squirted through a big rapid, or had the lovely experience of being trapped in a whirlpool knows this to be true. Moving water is three dimensional, and the boils and swirls that you see in the water are a result of what is happening beneath the surface. Eddy lines form downward whirlpools and currents that move under the surface with controlled and predictable flow. The best examples of these are at the bottom of rapids whose outflow meets deep, still pools. When moving water meets still water, "weird" things happen. Squirt boating takes those “weird” things, and uses them to the boaters advantage.

   At this point you should be able to understand why squirt boaters want as little volume as possible in their boats…….you also don’t want to wear a PFD. Basically, you want to let the water take you under so you can explore the depths of the rivahs. This is called downtime. I read that the world record downtime is currently fifty seven seconds. That is fifty seven seconds of being taken to the bottom of the rivah, gently bounced around for a bit, and then slowly risen back up. There is always the chance that coming back up does not happen when you want it to. This should now explain why it is scary as hell. (by the way, I am aware that this is a lot more than 100 words….told ya it’s difficult to explain.) Everything I have just explained represents about 1/10th of 1 percent of the sport, but hopefully it gives you a general idea. 

   The great Buzz Holstrom demonstrated perfectly some nice 10 to 20 seconds of downtime on some of his rides, and he showed complete control through all of it. The squirt spot that we visited was a more advanced spot, and the rivah was running at a healthy four feet, so I passed on my first squirting experience. (that sounded dirty) I did find a nice beefy wave above a feature called bloody nose (or broken nose.  I don't remember), and had some nice big rides on the wave. We then floated the one mile we had hiked up, running Class IV Fayette Station to end the session. Fayette Station is an awesome rapid! Big waves, and big fun. The day was a success, and we returned to the cabin to knock out some work and knock out some late night beers………………and we did both very well. The next morning we were up early and working hard to clean the cabin up, move some heavy lumber, cut the grass (in West VA that is known as weed whacking), and rebuild the wood shed. Buzz is a beast when it comes to work and one of the first people that I have ever hung out with who has more energy than me. He wore me out by the end of the weekend, and he was still going strong. 

   In the afternoon, we took the right turn and headed for the Gauley. The afternoon session was spent at a secret spot that I will not divulge in this post, but good times were had and I met a truly inspirational figure in paddling, had my first squirt boating experience, and learned that a day chilling at a good play spot is a day well spent in boating. I was happy with my own success in a squirt boat, and although I am reluctant to catch a lot of downtime, I understand the beginning concepts of the sport and can see why it is so addictive. Squirt boating with hand paddles is probably the purest form of paddling out there because you are more connected to the movement of the water than in any other form of paddling. I am looking forward to my future sessions in a squirt boat, and am thankful to Buzz for introducing me to the concept and sport itself. 
   The return trip to Va was a blur because I slept most of the way.  We returned very late, and I awoke the next morning to head back to RVA for a transitional week of work and packing, as well as logistical planning for my next adventure...............living in a cabin in the middle of nowhere WVA.  Day 152 was my final day living on The Island, and I would spend the next few days prepping, making it yet again a "Minus Week".  Stay tuned, because new adventures, hard and lonely times, and some tough experiences about the reality of my life are ahead.


“Although no one can go back and make a brand new start, anyone can start from now and make a brand new ending.” 
                                      ~Carl Bard~


See ya in West By God.............hopefully on the greatest rivah in the world!     PEACE

Round 3: My Mother

"Men are what their mother's made them."

                                             ~Ralph Waldo Emerson~

   My mother is terrified of the water.  She was never able to swim very well.  Any water over her knees makes her freak out.  When I was little she would wade in the water at the beach up to her knees, but never any farther.  I watched her do this year after year while sitting on a raft or boogie board, waiting to get slammed by the next wave in water well over my head.  I always wondered why she never took swimming lessons or learned to swim.  Instead she made a point to teach me how to swim when I was very young, and now most of my life exists around water.  I think it is sad that she is now in her sixties and still doesn't feel comfortable around the water.  It is sad that her son has been a river guide for over a decade and she has never once gone on a rafting trip with me.  It is sad that her son was an Aquatics Director and significantly increased the swim lesson program in an African American community, but was never able to help his own mother overcome her fear. 

   Why do I start off Round 3 by telling this story?………..because it represents who my parents are perfectly.  My mother didn't understand the water and was scared of it, so she wanted to have nothing to do with it.  Basically, anything in this world that my parents don’t understand they want to have nothing to do with.  It scares them to have to encounter something new.  They are terrified of the world outside their own little bubble, so they push away all that is foreign to them.  Basically, at this point, they have closed themselves off so much that most of the TRUTH in this world seems dark and evil to them………….this logic makes someone like me my parents worst nightmare.  They are terrified of the life I am leading and who I am becoming more and more every day.  And remember that anything that scares them is something they want to have nothing to do with, which means they want to have nothing to do with their own son.  They want to have nothing to do with me.

   I first noticed the fear that exists inside my parents when I was very young.  It wasn't anything in particular that I remember, but I remember that I identified that my parents were not normal very early on in life, and I think I subconsciously disconnected myself from them.  It wasn't until recently that I confirmed what I had identified when I was younger.  Over the past year, I had conversations with four different people that I grew up with about the normalcy of my family.  All four agreed that my family was bizarre and I seemed very confused a lot as a kid, and people thought I was messed up because of how confused I was.  I never realized that people viewed me as a messed up kid, and now I am even more self conscious about it since realizing this. 

   My sister turned out normal in my parents eyes……….mainly because she is exactly like them.  That is how we were raised…….to be exactly like them.  My sister is Obsessive Compulsive.  I remember lying in bed every night listening to her go through the house and pull all the doors shut three times before she went to bed……..she did this every night for our entire childhood.  My parents never found this bizarre………I sure as hell did.  Now that she is an adult, she does everything the exact same as my mother did when we were growing up.  And she will be exactly like them until the day she dies………..which means she can see how her entire life is going to be before she actually lives it……that’s sad. 

   I didn't write this post simply to bash my family.  I love my mother very much, and I miss her every day.  I know she doesn't understand me or care to understand me, and I don’t blame her for this.  I was pissed off at her for a long time, because I didn't understand why she turned her back on me.  I know now she had no choice.  When Marcelle and I were separated my parents needed to make a choice……….support me and fear Marcelle taking their grandchildren from them, or turn their back on me, support Marcelle, and have a relationship with their grandchildren.  Obviously they chose the second option.  There are a lot of things over the past two years that have broken my heart, but losing my mother was one of the things that broke it the most.  You cannot imagine the pain that exists inside when you have to accept that your own mother doesn't like you or want to be around you.  I never got past it.  Don’t think I ever will.  I continue to desperately go back to her and try to have her understand me, but every time my heart breaks even more, because every time she is colder than she was before.  I get really mad, and usually say something that I don’t mean, which only justifies to her that pushing me away was the right choice.  I just wish she could see that when I am hurt I get mad…………………I just wish everyone could see that. 

   My father doesn't matter.  He means nothing to me.  I don’t think he ever did.  I always viewed my father as being a coward.  When I was younger there were no bonding experiences between him and me.  We never worked on cars together, or hung out for a day of just the guys.  He just wasn't interested in me.  I used to go outside and kick the soccer ball up against the house for hours.  This pissed him off like no other.  I was only supposed to hit the bricks with the ball, but a lot of times I would hit the wood on the house, and he would come out and yell at me for it.  Sometimes I did it on purpose just to piss him off.  I did this for years.  Not once in all those years did he ever come out and kick the ball with me, or even talk to me.  We never talked about the birds and the bees, or girls, or sports, or anything else.  He just never seemed interested in me.  If you asked him about me today, he would say he was a good father and that I am rewriting the history books of our family.  (He actually said that exact thing to me not long ago)  But remember, perception is reality, and this is the reality I saw as a kid.  But my reality was never important to my father.  Only his was.    

   Not long ago during an argument with him I asked him why he never wanted to teach me anything when I was growing up.  He responded that I never seemed interested in anything.  I was ADHD and struggled as a kid.  What kind of a father uses that as reasoning when looking his own son in the eyes knowing he has suffered his whole life trying to keep up and just pay attention long enough to feel normal.  It was due to that response by my father that I gave up on any relationship that we ever could have had or will have.  When he said that, it hurt.  I was a little fucking kid.  I couldn't help how I was, and I have a hard time with it to this day.  Ever since that day I have viewed my father as a cowardly and emotionless asshole, and I have no intentions of ever attempting to recover my relationship with him.  He missed out on having one cool as hell son, and that is his loss, not mine.

"My father said there were two kinds of people in the world: givers and takers. The takers may eat better, but the givers sleep better."
                                                          ~Marlo Thomas~

   My mother is different though, and she truly did break my heart.  I mean, what kind of a person are you if your own mother doesn't even see the good in you.  She tells me she loves me, but I feel that she only does it because she is supposed to.  Her actions say something very different.  They tell me that she can’t stand even the thought of me.  None of the decisions that they have made in the past 2, no, I take that back, in the last 20 years make any sense to me.  When I was in high school they were right there beside me, supporting me through being the good student, star athlete, etc.  When I went to college I fucked up, and my parents were not around much.  After college I moved to Harrisonburg and bar tended for a year.  I will never forget that during this time I went eight months without speaking to my parents.  Not because we were mad at each other, or any other reason.  They just simply never called or visited, or anything else…………for eight months.  Maybe I am wrong here, but when you are 22 years old it just doesn't seem normal to go eight months without speaking to your parents.  I think they were just glad I was gone and wasn't a hassle to them.

  That pretty much sums up how I saw my parents viewpoint of me……..a hassle.  From the time I was in middle school, all I did was piss them off and disappoint them.  Now, here I am a thirty five year old child, and they still treat me exactly the same.  I don’t think they ever believed that I had the ability to be a successful father.  Maybe they see Marlow as a second chance to create a success story.  Maybe my only job in our family was to produce two great kids, and then move to the side so that everyone else could raise them…………the point is, I don’t think my parents ever believed in me.  When my mom turned her back on me she kissed me on the forehead and told me that she wasn't worried because she knew I was a survivor.  Well, you were right mom, I am surviving, and that is about all I am doing.

"If you learn how to forgive others for not being strong, then people can learn how to forgive you for your own issues."
                                           ~T. D. Jakes~

 

   My parents became very involved in my life again once Marcelle and I had children.  I was a success, and I had given them something to show off to the world, just like in high school.  Back then I was the good student, star athlete, etc.  When we had kids I was the good father, husband, and successful family man.  They were right there beside me, willing to support me in every way.  When Marcelle and I were divorced, they were gone again.  Are you starting to see the picture here?

   I don’ think they have any idea how much pain I hold inside.  This is not an amusing post, and there are no witty jokes about this situation.  Like I have said before, I feel dead inside, and thinking about the past relationship with my parents, and my mother turning her back on me makes me sad……..and it makes me cry.  I miss my mother.  I needed her in the last two years, and she just wasn’t there.  In her mind, I was an adult, and she didn’t need to be.  However, she taught me one very important lesson, and it is a lesson that I have learned for my boys.  One day Marlow and Quint will read this (although both families will do everything they can to censor it from them).  I want them to hear this message loud and clear……….I will never turn my back on either of you.  No matter how old you are, no matter how successful or unsuccessful you are, no matter how much you may say something to hurt me, or hate me, no matter how angry you may be at me, I will never turn away from either of you.  I may not be there right now boys, but I want to be, and I will always want to be.  Please don’t hate me.  I don’t want it to be this way guys.  I will always be your father, and I will always love you, unconditionally and without any judgment……forever. 

   I am building this foundation because my parents play a large role in the story that is about to be told.  They have a major influence on the decisions that I have made in life, the mistakes I have made, the successes, and the way I am as a father, son, and person.  I love my mother very much, and I don’t ever want to hurt her again………….but I know this post will do exactly that.  I am sorry mom.  I really am.  I am sorry that I failed you and that I am who I am.  I know you are not proud of me.  There isn’t anything to be proud of.  I just wish it were different, but it isn’t.  It never will be.

"A mother's love is peace.  It need not be acquired, it need not be deserved."

                                                               ~Erich Fromm~

I don’t want to see ya on the rivah today...........so be safe out there.    PEACE

P.S.  If you are reading this and you have a mother out there, please call her and tell her how much you love her.  Tell her how much she means to you.  If you never get anything else out of The Island Chronicles, at least get that.  

The Diversity of a Word...................word?

**** The next two posts were written while intoxicated on Moonshine (West By God style!).  I wrote over sixty shorts just like these.  I chose these because they are the two most pointless and stupid out of the entire bunch..........ENJOY!   :) ****

   Someone out there has a problem with my potty mouth when I write and decided to send me a lovely message to voice their opinion, anonymously............coward. It amused the fucking shit out of me bitches!!!!! Thanks to that lovely person, here is a short piece on the diversity of the word “fuck”. I hope you fucking enjoy it…………

   There is so much diversity in the word “fuck”, which is why it is so commonly used in everyday conversation. (especially in West By God) Let’s start with some simple examples……

1. This is my fucking blog. (adjective)

2. I will write whatever the fuck I want.  (noun......I think)
3. If you don’t fucking like it then don’t fucking read it.  (adjective)

(Four). My fucking key is fucking broken! Fuck you for judging.  (verb)

(Five). I said my fucking key is broken! Fuck you for judging.   (you understand the point by now)

6. Fuck you!   (verb)

   The previous examples illustrate the many different uses of the word, as well as express emotion in a powerful and blunt way, bringing us to our next examples of the word. Different emotions are only strengthened when the word “fuck” is used. For instance.

-I am so happy today.
-I am fucking happy as hell today!

Which one did you feel more emotion from? Here is another example…………


-Please leave me alone and stop judging me

-If you don’t fucking leave me alone, I am going to seek out your deepest fucking secrets, and fucking use them to fuck you.

   This example is used to illustrate the power of the word when proving a point. Which request would you pay more attention to?

   
   I hope you have fucking enjoyed today’s fucking discussion. If there is anyone else out there who would like to express their fucking opinion, I am more than fucking happy to not give a flying fuck.

See ya on the fucking rivah………….hopefully fucking keepin’ your fucking mouth shut.    FUCK!

P.S. My mother is so proud of me. Any kindergarten teacher would be.

Week 21 Part I: "War Cry Practice, Exit Interviews, and Day 152"

"History will have to record that the greatest tragedy of this period of social transition was not the strident clamor of the bad people, but the appalling silence of the good people."
~Martin Luther King, Jr.~

   This quote belongs in the last post, but I thought it may be too much of a slap in the face for some. Hopefully it's slappin' you in the face now!  Wake up and take back your community people!


   Week 21 was a transitional week in The Island Chronicles. I received an offer that was hard to refuse. Because of it, my entire timeline, life, situation, and writing was about to be thrown for a loop. I was fine with this because as I have said before, I am making this up as I go along. Throwing the unexpected into things should be expected................know what I mean?
   Before moving on I needed to tie up loose ends and finish a commitment I had made to D.J. and Venture Richmond. My last week of work at the marina was a good wrap up to the summer. I worked on small projects with D.J., and visited friends that I had not seen in a while. On Friday D.J. and I had a light day at work and in the afternoon took an exploration trip to the lower reaches of the Canal, which is technically part of our territory. The area on the south side of The Canal across from the Tobacco Row Apartments is very unexplored and inaccessible.  The Ship Lock Park Trail System backs up against this area, but no one ever goes back there.  It was an interesting exploration to a part of The James that very few see. With one final gator ride, and D.J. trying to convince me I needed to fill out an exit interview (I almost bought that one) my tenure with Venture Richmond came to an end...........for now.  It had been an interesting summer and I had learned a great deal about the “other side of the fence”, as well as learned a lot about myself. I am grateful to D.J., Jim, Alex, and everyone else at Venture for the opportunity and look forward to seeing you all on the other side.  And to D.J., you are more than a friend. You are a brother, and the only family I have left. Thank you for always being there to steer me in the right direction and tell me when to shut the hell up………I am a lucky man to have a friend like you.


"Don't walk behind me; I may not lead. Don't walk in front of me; I may not follow. Just walk beside me and be my friend."
                                             ~Albert Camus~ 

   On Saturday I had made plans to meet up with an old friend that I went to high school with. Our original plan was to go rafting, but once we included her, her daughter, her daughter’s friend, and her friend, the group was too big. The rivah was running low, and the middle lines provide great summertime swimming holes, so I decided to take them on a rivah hike instead.
   We walked up Pipeline to the access point directly below Browns Island and slowly swam and walked across the pool above Pipeline, making our way to the bird toilet rock. After 20 minutes or so of lots of screams, swims, and the amusement of a group of girls in the middle of the James, we made it to the Middle Lines and stopped for lunch above Deception Rapid. The girls swam in the calm pools of The Middle Lines while the adults caught up on life. I was impressed by the group’s willingness to participate and take a chance. A lot of people would think I was plain crazy for living on an island and wanting to take someone there by swimming across the rivah………actually mostly everyone would probably think I was crazy. But these ladies were open minded and willing to take a chance and the day ended up being a success.
   While we were exploring the Middle Lines I noticed that there were other people close to The Island doing the same thing we were doing, enjoying the summer day. As we came closer I realized there were a few different people and one of them was swimming in the middle of Triple Drop, just above the main pour over. I was about to tell the guy that he should be careful, but then realized there was no need when I saw who it was…………………The LSD Dude! The self proclaimed “rock crawler” was out doing his thing, crawling around on the rocks. I was just excited to see that he was still alive. (remember that he disappeared in the middle of the night......he explained later that he was hungry and needed 7-Eleven) We exchanged a friendly hello, and then I invited him and his friends to The Island, along with all the ladies……..The Island had just created an impromptu Island party, right in the middle of The James.
   There is a custom that must be followed when it is your first time on The Island……….you must take a big ole’ swig of Absinthe and give a blood curdling war cry from War Cry Rock. I took my friend from high school to the rock and demonstrated a proper war cry for her. I told her she needed to feel it deep down in her gut, and it needed to come from within her soul. She paused, and then told me she didn’t know if she had it in her. Then I said, “think about something in this world that really pisses you off. Think about all the people that have done you wrong in life, all the bull shit you just want to get out.”……..I don’t know who wronged that girl, or what it was she found deep down inside, but she gave a war cry that wasn’t only blood curdling, but made even ME lightheaded. It was amazing that a 5 foot three, 110 pound frame could produce something so loud. The LSD dudes friends followed by giving their own War Cry’s, followed finally by my friends daughter and her friend (minus the Absinthe of course). We hung out together for a short time and enjoyed the view from camp. Then the ladies and I made our way to the eastern end of The Island where it is possible to swim across the channel to the neighboring island. From that point it is a short walk across the Train Bridge and back to the car. If you fear heights then don’t look down while crossing the train bridge. (some of the girls discovered this the hard way) The day was a success, and we ended the evening with dinner at Bottom’s Up. Another great day on The James Rivah!

"As accidental as my life may be, or as that random humor is, which governs it, I know nothing, after all, so real or substantial as myself."
                                                                        ~Anthony Ashley Cooper~

   After saying goodbye to the ladies, I made my way back to The Island for one final night of sleeping to the sounds of whitewater under the stars in the middle of our great city. It was Day 152 on The Island, and my last official day of being a homeless kayaker living out my days in The Middle Lines. The following morning I would depart for a logistical trip to West By God to plan my next chapter in life. The Island adventures were coming to an end, and with low water levels and colder temperatures around the corner, I was ready to write the final chapter to The 2013 Island Adventures.
   I do not know if I will return to The Island, but I hope to. There are a lot of unfinished (or un-started) goals that I have promised myself I would complete. I did not expect Week 21 to be the end of The Island, but as I stated before, when you lead the life I lead the unexpected should be expected. I hope one of those unexpected turns in my future path is a return to The Island, because it provided everything I hoped it would provide while living there, and I truly believe that I can build and live a successful life out on that big ole’ rock in the rivah!


“A little talent is a good thing to have if you want to be a writer. But the only real requirement is the ability to remember every scar.”
                                                               ~Stephen King~

See ya on the rivah................hopefully back on The Island one day.  PEACE