The fact that I do not have personal control does not mean I do not have a personal stake.
As a fairly healthy, functioning and presumably fertile 56 year old man, I have several stakes in the current hot button issue of female reproductive rights. As an also fairly intelligent, practical and responsible human, were I to engage in sexual congress with a woman of child bearing years, it would be MY responsibility to exercise every measure of caution within my personal power.
That would include ascertaining whether the woman in question was protected from unwanted pregnancy by common birth control means, or otherwise infertile. Should her answer be no, well, then it would be my responsibility to use a condom. That is the only mostly reliable cautionary measure that any man can take short of a vasectomy. I'm just going to say that a vasectomy is a luxury that I (and many other men) can't afford. It is indeed deemed a luxury because it isn't included in insurance coverage.
So, that leaves condoms.
Condoms break. Sometimes at in opportune moments.
Becoming a father at 56 would not be cool with me. If it were also not cool with the unfortunate woman, she should absolutely have the ability to decide to terminate the pregnancy and to be able to do so safely, medically and without judgement or stigma attached to her choice.
Conversely, if the woman's personal beliefs cause her to choose to NOT terminate the pregnancy it is then MY responsibility to honor that choice and accept the consequences of the broken rubber conundrum. Consequences aren't always punishment. Sometimes they are just part of the chain of events.
In any case I only see it as absolute common sense that this a choice the woman must make. I could state my position, I could ask for what I feel would be best, but it's not my body, it's not my life. The worst case scenario for me is a child is born and I end up with an additional financial obligation, whether I choose to be an actual parent again or not.
The woman though. She has to be a mother.
When she didn't want to be. Didn't expect to be. Possibly can't afford to be. Sentenced to 18 years of parenthood that she was not prepared to commit.
It's happened countless times.
I also have a personal stake regarding the women and girls in my life who face the very real possibility of having the most basic right to their body and lives taken away from them. Some of them are you. Some are your wives, girlfriends, daughters, nieces, grandchildren and friends.
Condoms can break, IUD's can get out of place, "the pill" can cause massive hormone disturbances and also in fact fail. No woman should ever, EVER be punished for this.
It is insane that it's even being considered.
This is just the upside of potential unwanted pregnancies. There's no need to even discuss the matter of unwanted pregnancy as the result of rape, molestation and incest. It's real. It happens. 
Everybody talks about the Constitution. I personally find the Declaration of Independence a more valuable document.
"Life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness".
If a woman is forced to carry a pregnancy to term when the end result will be her death, her right to life has been infringed. If she can't choose what is best for her body, and her life her liberty has been stolen. If she survives the pregnancy and the baby is born, healthy or otherwise, her right to happiness has been taken away and replaced with a responsibility she did not want.
The world will never 100% agree on abortion. That doesn't mean that it's not a necessary option. To attempt to take away this right based on religious/biblical bs needs to stop. FFS the bible doesn't even mention abortion. Although it does often allude to sacrificing them after they're born.
More important than my own little miniscule chance of a broken condom resulting in an unwanted pregnancy, is the memories I have of woman who have been forced into unwanted pregnancies.
Let's start with my own mother. It was 1965 and she was 18 years old. She was not on birth control, the situation occurred as it did, there was not a condom involved and to make it worse, while the man who impregnated her WAS her boyfriend, he did not take no for an answer.
My mother is pregnant with me in 1965, 18 years old, just graduated high school with a head full of dreams and ready to make her way in the world.
In those days abortion wasn't pretty. It wasn't legal or medically performed. Additionally her family was strongly catholic and any such notion would have been shot down quickly.
So her choices were two: she could leave and go away until I was born and give the baby up for adoption OR she could marry the guy who forced himself on her, that she didn't love or want to be with long term.
She got married. He beat her. I was born. She worked three jobs, he beat me and her and fed me baby bottles with wine while he got drunk and left me. When she found out he had also molested me she smashed him in the face with a cast iron frying pan. They were divorced and the man was ordered cut off from her and me up to and including that she would not even accept child support from him.
My Mom never got to chase her dreams. She became a single mother who had to rely on my grandmother and my aunt to take care of me so she could continue to work three jobs.
I of course grew up all kinds of fucked up, became an alcoholic, got locked up when I was a kid and took another young mans life in a fight when I was 19 years old and spent over half of my life at one point incarcerated.
My Mom should have been able to look at the situation and choose what was in the best interest of her life, liberty and pursuit of happiness. 
Don't get me wrong, I'm glad to be alive as a result of the whole thing and after my Mom adjusted she loved me and cared for me and provided me with the best parenting she could. She would never say she regretted having me and in truth she probably didn't until I was about 12 or so. But she gave up her life, liberty and pursuit of happiness in exchange for mine. Because she had no viable options.
Do I wish she would have terminated her pregnancy? No. I do wish she would have had the choice though. The truth is, if she had had that choice and had taken it, I would have never known and she would have been able to recover and continue her life as she had wanted.
And I know she thought about it. She thought about it at times I was in trouble and otherwise struggling and sabotaging my own life. She felt guilty for the life I was having.
There was always a rocky side to our relationship and I think there was legitimate resentment on her part as well as feeling guilty about the life I had based on the choices I made.
In the end, she died at 49 years old in a freak car accident when she had just gotten my brother out of her care and was trying to recapture the dreams of her youth and salvage those which were still viable. We had made as close to peace as we ever would, but the fact remains that she did not get to see the son she sacrificed so much for, not even once in 10 years. The day she died she was thinking about finally seeing me two weeks later. It didn't happen.
That's my first personal story regarding my support for women's reproductive rights. I do not wish my Mom would have terminated her pregnancy with me. I'm grateful for my life including the less savory parts. I do wish she had the choice and that she was free to make it.
Second story: 1980. Times had changed, Roe-v-Wade had happened. I'm 14 years old and a girl in my school gets pregnant. This was absolutely unheard of at the time where I grew up.
While abortion was a legal and medically safe procedure, the girl did not have a choice. She was under 18 and her parents were very Catholic and anti-abortion.
She had to carry the baby as a thirteen year old girl. She had to continue to go to school at one of the most terrible times for any teenager to be in school. She had to become more noticeably pregnant, she had to endure teasing, tormenting. She walked with her head down in shame waiting for the next "slut" or "whore" to come out of some other teenagers mouth.
She quit school when the baby was born and like my mother she was denied her right to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. I've looked her up on Facebook and her life has never recovered. Who knows what horrible experiences her and her child have endured?
At least our government wasn't stopping her choice, but parents to minors over rule any choice. Her choice should not have been made by her parents.
Third story: Late 1984, I'm 18, fresh out of lock up, definitely not a responsible, forward thinking young man. My girlfriend, who became my first wife became pregnant. She was just about to graduate from high school, had tremendous plans, high honors and scholarships coming from everywhere. Even though she stood on the cusp of her life changing dramatically, her parents would not have consented to termination. We got her older sister to pretend to be her mother and consent to the procedure. It was devastating to her.
She did not want to terminate the pregnancy but in her consideration of all the facts, it was necessary. I was also totally unfit to be a father. She had the procedure and her life stayed on track.
A year later we're married and open to having a child at some point. She becomes pregnant and discovers it a bit late and shortly thereafter I kill a young man in a fight and I'm sentenced to 25 years in prison. We're divorced, she raises the child, continues her dreams, goes to college and turns out very well. I never see her or the child again.
Had she been forced to carry the first pregnancy I can only imagine how differently her life would have been.
She had a choice. She made the best choice according to her life, liberty and pursuit of happiness.
There's more stories in my personal life of women who have had to choose termination for one reason or another, including a person close to me who was raped. But she had a choice.
Abortion is not murder. It is sometimes an unfortunate necessity and all women should be able to decide for themselves- for any reason that they choose- to terminate pregnancy when it is not in the interest of their most basic right to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.
This is an issue I will stand tall on to support the women in my life, and in fact all women who are entitled to choice. 
I find the political argument based on religious argument to be totally without merit. And quite ridiculous. Let's face the facts; the majority of anti-abortion advocates are "christians" and basing their arguments on words that are not in their bible. These same "christians" tell us God is in charge of everything, everything goes according to God's plan and everything happens for a reason.
Well, then God created medically safe procedures to terminate the pregnancies of the children he decided to "take home" for whatever reason, and preserve the lives of the living.
Abortion is unpleasant. I wish it were unnecessary. I also wish cancer treatment was unnecessary too, but how many lives has that saved?
Nobody wants to have an abortion. No one is happy to terminate a pregnancy, no one is disregarding the possibility of pregnancy. Shit happens. Nobody should be sentenced to life for any mistake, accident or freak occurrence.
The decision to terminate an unwanted or undesirable pregnancy belongs ONLY to the woman who finds herself facing that choice. I do believe that in most cases, providing that the pregnancy occurred as a result of consensual sex, the man responsible should be allowed to voice his opinions, but the choice ultimately belongs to the woman. Period. Not her parents. Not the court. Not religious zealots who sin and judge themselves the arbiters of God's will. God's will is what we find before us.
I support women's reproductive rights. I support human rights. The people who don't, well they're the ones who need a lesson in what everyone's right to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness is. They're giving up their own by having to stick their sanctimonious noses in other peoples business.
If my opinions and actions regarding my support of women's rights offends anyone, so be it.
There are lots of issues that I have opinions and concerns about. I have never felt the need to speak up.
Until now. This is an issue I will not be silent about. I will sign petition's, I will attend rallies, I will be numbered among those on the right side of history. The right side of freedom. True freedom uninfringed by others opinions. 
I will be on the side of every single persons right to life, liberty and pursuit of happiness.
Put away the "it won't happen to me or anyone I love" bullshit. It can. It has happened to unexpecting people since the beginning of time.
This is far greater than abortion. If abortion is allowed to be made illegal, the fallout will be massive and horrible. The zealots will next come for the pill, condoms, IUD's and any form of birth control. And many other rights that the religious right would like to deny a free people.
Put away religion in this matter. Accept that safe medical abortion is in fact ordained by God if God exists, because as God he created it as a safe alternative.
Which is neither here nor there. God is a maybe we'll not know until we die. In the mean time, the lives of women and children they may be forced to bear are in danger.
It can happen to anybody.
​My two cent's. Keep the change.

"Hey! How are ya?" 

"I'm OK! You?"

"I'm OK too! Good to see ya!"

"Bye!"

"Bye!"

How many times have we all had that conversation? 

How many people have we asked: "what does OK mean, exactly?" For me, virtually none.

Have we even asked ourselves what it means exactly when we say "I'm OK"? I haven't.

Until now.

A few short days ago I ran into my chiropractor Dr. Raq at the grocery store. She saw me, smiled and waved, came up and asked... you guessed it... "how are you?"

My initial reaction was to follow with the traditional "I'm OK". But I made a different choice.

I had a chance to do it differently because Dr. Raq knows me well and has learned to expect the unexpected from me. 

She wasn't phased at all when I said "we always ask that question and we think no one really wants to know how we are, so we just say 'I'm OK'. Today is your unlucky day because I'm going to tell you, I'm not ok. I'm getting there..." I told her what had been going on, how my life crashed and burned in front of my eyes, how I was so mentally, emotionally and physically exhausted that I had lost control of all three. And I knew there was more hard stuff ahead.

She's also a wellness coach so I told her what my strategy was and we discussed a couple things and I walked away feeling great and that while Dr. Raq certainly was not expecting that answer to the traditional "how are you?" question, she appreciated it and the "risk" I had just taken. She saw the quiet, gentle strength in that. The very thing I'm working at cultivating.

So what does "I'm OK" mean now?

For me it means, yes I have a bit of hard time right now, but I am maintaining taking care of myself, so that I may continue to do my best in whatever circumstances I face. It means I'm looking for truth and uplifting lessons and not being terrified into inaction or reactions.

I'm choosing each choice I make and every action I take, and I'm doing so based on what choice feels best in the moment I'm making it.

I'm learning the difference between wants and needs, I'm learning value in things. I'm learning that I am really capable of comforting and consoling myself without dependence on others to do what I expect.

"I'm OK" means I am doing my best in every aspect of my being in this moment. It means I'm fortifying my strength and resources for when the tidal wave of grief comes crashing in, which it will, I will be in the best position to ride that wave the best I can.

"I'm OK" means, I like where I'm at. I'm in no hurry to rush through anything. 

"I'm OK" means that I acknowledge that my choice of thoughts and emotions will make me better in the overall. In whatever time it takes. On my schedule and to the best of my abilities.

I choose not to attempt the foolish task of "being there" for anyone but Me until such time as I have successfully "been there" for myself and am prepared to be there for others.

I choose not to to be swayed by Fear into anything that doesn't feel like the best, right choice. I choose not to be concerned with others feelings concerning my informed, best choices for me.

I'm OK.

I am aware, not engulfed.

I am sad, not depressed.

I am happy that while there are many who will miss him, my Dad didn't miss a thing. He lived his life exactly as he wanted to and had a life for the ages in terms of personal enjoyment of it.

I'm happy that I am, and will remain my fathers son.

Not even Death can take that away.

I'm actually going with the light hearted flow I think my Dad would appreciate right now.

I'm also of course thinking of Mark because, well it's still there and a little raw. And I did not handle that well.

But more interesting to me is that in thinking of these two incredible men whose lives I got to share certain things in are just brining smiles. My Dad always thought Mark was a great guitar player who knew what he was doing, even if it wasn't my Dad's style of guitar playing. Mark always envied the fact that I could sit down and play with my Dad. He loved that he could play FOR his Dad, but thought it was totally cool that I could play WITH mine. And it was one of the coolest things life ever gave me.

So the smiles come when I picture Mark meeting my Dad with a guitar and them playing and getting to know each other.

Whatever gets you through the night, it's all right.

That image is certainly helping.

I'm OK.

The only thing certain and that cannot be avoided is Death, and Death alone.

See how we added in "taxes" to what is certain, so we didn't have to just acknowledge Death on it's own as the only thing completely out of our control? We added a lie to the truth to make us feel better. This is a common thread in the patchwork fabric of our lives. We added a lie to the truth and called it knowledge.

Right this very moment there is someone, several someone's who have been successfully proving that taxes are no certainty for a great many years and many have met Death while being successful in avoiding the call of taxes. Sure. Bernie Madoff had been paying but he did not die with a tax account in the black. Taxes are not certain. 

Death is the only thing certain in this world, and even so, is a very uncertain thing in itself. Who? When? Where? How? Why?

Even Death is not certain as a science with all of it's methods and ambiguities and randomness.

A more appropriate saying would be: "In this world nothing is certain but our ability to find peace in the lack of certainty if we choose to do so.

Choice is certain. We always have one. We may not have what we believe is a good choice, but the choices exist. Right down to having the barest minimum of choices in any given situation: "Do this or don't". Choice is present. Choice is constant. Choice is certain.

Think of the many times, in various situations that you made a choice and then followed it with "I had no choice, I had to (insert what you HAD to do here)"  You did have a choice, each and every time. Whether we made the right choice will show itself, or remain a mystery. Choice was certainly there.

Maybe the phrase should be "In this world nothing is certain but the physical death of all living things and the choices we make between now and then".  Too long, not very uplifting posted on the fridge, and adds to our responsibility for our lives instead of giving us something we can say we have no control over. It's easier to believe things are out of our control than accepting that, for the most part, they are quite IN our control based on our choices.

We always have a choice and the ability to use those choices for the business of living. When we undertake life with the understanding that there are no certainties other than the physical death of all living things and the choices we make between now and then, it puts a lot of responsibility for our lives squarely on our own shoulders. Suddenly we must acknowledge that their is another certainty; Fear.

Fear has no more control over us than we have over the certainty that Death will visit each living thing in it's time. It is however certain that we will face Fear frequently and each time we give into it, it will grow until every choice we make is mired in the sticky, flaming ugliness of Fear. Reacting to life rather than taking action and using the choices that are always certainly there to be made. 

The problem becomes learning that Fear is an honest to goodness illusion that makes David Copperfield's best look like one of Grandpa's old parlor tricks.

Not only is it an illusion, but Fear is entirely created by us. Suffered upon us in whatever measure we choose to allow.

Fear is born of, and resides in our desire for certainty. Certainty also does not exist, but casts itself as another illusion. Until the illusion breaks down.

Choice and agreement. In all things controlled by Fear, we have chosen to accept it as real and we've all agreed that this choice makes it real, and we are therefore entitled to succumb to the whims of Fears manipulation.

Don't believe me? How many people agree that a black cat crossing their path is a portent of evil ahead? How many people agree that walking under a ladder, spilling salt or breaking a mirror will bring untold horrors upon them? They are legion, that's how many. The shackles of fear based in superstition clank with every step we take. Even though Fear exists only in our minds.

Death though; Death in and of itself is real and certain to all living beings. Being the most unknowable and uncertain of all life's events, it has the greatest ability to conjure the illusion of Fear. Such a great ability that it created for us an image of The Grim Reaper.

The myth of the Grim Reaper is one hundred percent the creation of some long gone person or people, and is perpetuated by the living day in, day out.

Death is simply the most unknowable thing encountered by every living thing that has ever lived. Some people choose to live in constant fear of life in it's entirety as a result. Some people chose to live without giving much weight and measure to that which is not within their control and use their choices to live without fear of the uncertain certainty of death or anything else not in their control.

You can certainly not tell which people are which by looking at them.

I am one of those who chose to live in constant fear of life in it's entirety. I apologize to anyone who ever fell for the illusion that I created of being the other type. Those who called me brave, courageous, well put together, fearless, tough or anything else meant to convey admiration of my ability to get hit and get back up, I apologize. I'm sorry that I fooled you. Not as sorry as I am that I fooled myself though. 

Classic chicken and egg here; Did I fool myself first and then others, or did I fool them first and then myself with their belief in what they had been taught to believe? In any case it has been a wake up call to understand how fully and deeply I lied to and fooled myself. It is baffling how completely unaware I had become that I was lying and creating an illusion of myself rather than Being.

I also had no knowledge of what a "heart attack" was. I learned quickly that it could lead to "Death", but I also did not know what Death was, and there the initial seeds of Fear were planted and over time, the illusion of Fear became a "real",  living, breathing, scary thing. 

The second time Death appeared as a concept was when my brother was hit by a car while I was chasing him and it was possible he could die as a result. Neither my brother nor my grandfather died, but the concept was now there, though I still had no idea what it meant.

I cannot pretend to remember how death was explained to me, or who explained it, but I know I had more questions than answers. With no answers, Fear took over.  I have a class project I did in second or third grade. It is a stick type drawing comparable to other stick type drawings of other second or third graders. It defined "what I fear most"; Death, Rather a morbid school project, thinking about it now.

This new concept I had only recently heard of, became the catalyst of Fearing what lurked around every corner. Death and every bad possibility could just jump out and get me at any time and I had no control over it.

I lived with this growing, underlying Fear for years before Death ever actually visited me. It came in hard, fast and frequent when it arrived. In May of 1980 when I was 14 years old Death made it's first appearance when my Grandpa had another heart attack and did in fact die.

It was horrifying. With my years invested in living in fear of it, I still knew nothing about it, and to this day, seeing my Grandpa dead in a casket is something that I have never made peace with. I remember being angry with people saying he looked good. He did not look good, because he did not look like my Grandpa much. 

I remember one of his elderly aunts bending over to kiss his forehead. I remember thinking I should do that. But I was afraid to. I thought it may bring Death to me.

I summoned the courage though, to touch his hand. The hand that had often held or touched me, the hand that taught me, along with my fathers, how to cast a fishing pole, clean a fish. The hand that balanced my bicycle when the training wheels came of until it released, allowing me to see my fear of two wheels was unfounded and I indeed could ride that bicycle all by myself. I actually have a replica of that very bike hanging my garage.

The hand that had meant so much, was always warm, and strong and comforting, was cold and as lifeless as the fish I had caught and cleaned. I had never felt anything like that and recoiled in terror, running to the basement of the funeral home.

While not a family member, it was even harder to grasp because it was a girl a mere one year older than me.

She was a classmates older sister and attended the same school. I cannot say we were friends, because at that time a years age difference put people in different classes and circles.

But I knew her. She knew me. Angie was someone though. Even though I was her twerp sisters twerp classmate, she was nice to me, and everybody. She was pretty, she was confident, she was successful in everything she did in her young life. As far as anyone could see anyway. She represented what I might be after another year of living and learning.

One day in July of 1980, she was riding her bicycle home and was killed instantly when stuck by a car. Right in front of her house. Right in view of her parents on the porch.

It was horrendous for damn near everybody in that school. It was our first knowledge that we were not invincible and were not guaranteed another minute. It brought our own certainty of Death to the forefront of my thinking.

I did not go to Angie's funeral because I couldn't bring myself to do it. I did not want that experience again. My grandfathers was too fresh and too horrifying.

In short order, Death began to visit more frequently. Older distant relatives whose funerals I did go to because they were family and I was not given a choice and didn't know that I did have a choice. I could have refused to go in. I didn't have that choice because I didn't know I had it. I didn't know I had it because I was not taught that I had choice in all things.

In not being able to find answers to all my questions I became very angry. As it turns out, anger is quite simply a response to some fear of some sort.

I started getting in trouble. In hindsight, I have this thought that I may have started getting in trouble because my Grandpa had been a policeman earlier in life and had a scanner next to his recliner that he would listen to throughout the day. I think it's quite possible in my under developed mind that if I got in trouble and it was on the scanner, my Grandpa would hear it and have to come back from where ever he was hiding to straighten me out. Begin the formation of a steady stream of irrational thinking and causing me to put far too much emphasis in finding things to fear.

With every visit from Death, rather than become more accepting and comfortable with it, the Fear has grown to unsustainable proportions. I have allowed myself no choice in these matters and as a result have harmed myself greatly in all matters of life. I have let Fear rule my entire existence and now that I know I have choices, I am responsible to myself and all those around me to acknowledge the choices and make them. And I must make them with hope and faith as my guide rather than Fear.

Easier said than done right? Not really. It's only easier said than done if choice does not exist. But as we have established, choice is a certainty.

Death does not take a holiday. While it may appear to not be visiting us, Death is certainly not on vacation. It is simply visiting others that we know or don't know until it finds it's way back to us.

It has come back to me in the past few months with vigor. And right about the time that I had been noticing that for the most part, Death had been absent from my doorway since 2014 when my Aunt Donna died. Before that I was free of Deaths knock since my sister Toni died in 2010.

In rapid succession my cousin Paul, a year younger than me was gone. Then one who could claim age as a factor unexpectedly died. This one I took even harder because she had unofficially adopted me as her little brother. She was a writer who liked my writing and would have gladly guided me to believing in my own writing and possibly writing a book as soon as I asked. I know jack about writing books. I never got around to asking.

With her, I procrastinated and procrastinated until the opportunity was gone. 

This visit from Death was followed just a couple weeks later by the completely unexpected suicide of my friend and guitar player in our band. The death was and is hard. The unexpected nature of it launched me into a set of fears so deep, and so dark that they were beyond my comprehension and I had zero tools to deal with it. That was the last piece of Fear that I was able to handle. Actually, it was the first visit from fear that I could not and did not handle.

It enveloped me in Fear. A terrifying fear of every single thing in life. Not just death. Fear of success and failure, fear of every one around me, fear of my relationships, fear of literally anything and everything and everyone in my life. Fear that if one of the more well put together individuals in my life could not find peace and happiness, I had no chance.

Life became very, very dark, very suddenly.

In conjunction with Marks death a slew of other things that I "had no choice in"  seemed to be falling like rain drops and I was convinced peace, happiness and contentment would always elude me.

In hindsight it is not a surprise that Fear took the wheel and I began attempting to destroy anything that could hurt me before it succeeded. Not realizing that the Fear was only in my mind.

I broke. I broke to the point that the entirety of my Fears started manifesting as reality, rather than the illusion they were.

I could not control my thoughts, I could not control my emotions, I could not put the fear at bay and it swallowed me. It grasped me so ferociously that I truly did not want to live. I also did not want to die. I also believe that there was one rational piece of my mind that knew there were more choices than living or dying. One tiny little dot of light that said, "there is still journey ahead". One tiny dot that made me think about life outside of the pain. The people, the pets, the dreams that are mere choices a way.

I'm grateful for that, but damage was done both to me and others around me. A further dive into deeper fear of the unknown ensued and I looked like a villain pulling out weapon after weapon to prevent my demise. I was not in danger of demise. I was following the lead of the most trusted, untrustworthy leader; Fear. Fear that exists only in the mind. The fear that exists in the mind is not real. It has no ability to protect, to give aid and comfort. It's only power is destruction.

To those who say Fear is real, not just in the mind, I assure you that is incorrect. Some will say "but if a vicious dog is snarling and growling at me Fear is real and my friend, and makes me get out of the dogs range.

That too is illusion that we were taught to see as real. While in the presence of a vicious, snarling dog, you may equate what you feel with the illusion of fear, but the reality is, Fear doesn't take you out of the line of attack. Common sense does.

Fear loves to masquerade as common sense. That is how Fear is successful in casting it's illusory self as real.

In losing my ability to control my thoughts and emotions and being afraid that I would be stuck in that place, I came face to face with the fact that I had no choice but to fall to the madness.

Then, a spot of light. Somewhere, somehow, I did have a choice and it needed to be made. I knew this to be a fact because I was transported back to another opportunity I had to exercise choice and did and was successful in my real choice beating the illusion of what I feared.

When I finally saw the light with my drinking, I was living in fear that I would never be able to stop. That it was out of my control. That it would get worse and worse and it was already unbearable. I lived in fear that I would kill myself or someone else and there was nothing I could do to stop it. I lived in the guilt of things that I was afraid of happening, and the waves of real guilt over the life I had taken. I began to fear that not being able to stop drinking made me want to die because I was choosing to do something that could kill me, one way or another. I was choosing.

In that moment, while I was actually drunk, it occurred to me that I could also choose to quit drinking. The only person that could make me drink was me, and I had 100% responsibility for that choice. When I woke up the next morning, I knew I would not drink again. I would never risk being swallowed by that demon again when I knew all I had to do was choose to not drink and that if I ever chose to drink again, I would being choosing every possible outcome that comes with it.. Period. That's it. End of story.

Except it's not. That wisdom that it was my choice made it so easy to not drink. Even in rough times because drinking held no value for me. It would not solve whatever problem I faced. It would try to kill me again.

So I learned the certainty and value of choice. Every day I became more confident in my choice and everyday I could see clearer how badly it affected it my life. How much I suffered at my own hands. Then I started looking at everyone differently.

I never looked like a guy who was doing what I was doing. I began to realize I was not the only one who had been so messed up with drinking. I began to realize that there are others feeling as horrible or worse than me and I became more inspired to make a daily choice not to drink, so that maybe I would be able to help some other stuck person see the choice they could make and how great it would make their life.

Had I known I could apply that same theory and choice to fear, had I even known how much fear controlled my life, I would probably be further along on the path of peace and contentment.

But I didn't know and I didn't apply it, and like the drinking, Fear almost killed me. 

But it didn't.

Being yet alive, the next logical step is to question everything and it turns out everything for me went back to a wholehearted belief in the illusion of Fear.

All this right as Death has been preparing to visit once again. Fear arrived with it.

So did memory of the knowledge of the certainty of choice.

Deaths next visit known appearance will take my Dad. Fear tells me I will be an adult orphan with nobody who brought me into the world and tried to guide me through it. Fear tells me that at 55 years old I will become the old man of the family. Fear tells me that will give me responsibilities and obligations that I do not want but will have to accept because "I have no choice". Fear tells me that I will have to do things I've "had to do" in other deaths because I had "no choice".

Fear is yelling at me to remember being with three people when they breathed their last and I was not at all comfortable but was afraid if I wasn't there, something bad would happen or I would be thought badly of. Fear reminds me of four obituaries I've written because I had no choice. Four obituaries I did not want to write because I didn't feel I was able to capture a life in such a brief form. But I had to.

There are three basically instinctual reaction to fear, whether it is the illusion of fear or the reality of common sense fear of danger. They are fight, flight, or freeze.

There are no other options in the instant Fear arises. I have mostly chosen fight as a response in my life. I have also frequently chosen flight when no one knew I was running from something. Freeze has been less prevalent and usually only the result of not being able to decide whether to fight or fly.

In honestly looking at how much my life was a product of the Fear that was only in my mind, I had the thought that somehow Fear was not so different from drinking. I really looked at how my every move was predicated on fear. I was afraid of everything and acting like I wasn't. Fear owned me, just like drinking did. Everybody knows an addict just can't quit what they're addicted to right?

Except I, and others, have proven that false.

So what to do?

The solution is obvious: I certainly have the choice to live in all the illusions fear can produce, or I can realize that fear is a choice I am making and have made all my life.

I've made the choice to accept Fear as an illusion, not reality in any way.

I have chosen, with great focus and intent to make "Freeze" my regular reaction to Fear.

Not because I cannot decide between fighting or running, but because I do not want to fight or run from something that does not exist!

I choose "Freeze" because I have to stop, I have to look at the Fear in front of me and see it is something I am making up to scare myself. An illusion and self punishment for whatever wrongs I hold myself responsible for.

When I Freeze, I can then make rational and conscious choices.

The availability of choice is always present and it is my responsibility to be as aware of that as I am aware that no one can make me drink but me.

Nobody can cause me to live in fear but me.

While Death is indeed on it's way, I am taking the opportunity to use this new found truth to my greatest advantage.

I fear that my Dad will die while I'm there. I do not want to see another person die as long as I live. I do not ever want to see a body again. I do not like it. In the past I went against what I wanted because of the Fear of what others would think of me. I "had no choice".

But I did. Fear just obscured it. I never HAD to be with anyone in their final moments and hear their final words and breaths. I COULD have chosen to not do what didn't feel right to me if I'd have seen there was a choice.

So, in choosing "Freeze" as my stock response to Fear, I get to clear the water and see the choices available. When I can clearly make a choice, Fear instantly loses and this concept applies to so many things in life.

The choices available may not be the ones we'd like, but they are what we have. I choose to find choices, and make the one that feels best.

In the case of my Dad, I am choosing to not follow the instructions of those who believe I should run to his side right this minute in case he dies. I do not want to watch him die, I do not want to be there to be comforted or to provide comfort. No one will be able to truly comfort me but me and my own perceptions. I can certainly not truly comfort any one else either.

I am choosing to not allow Fear to dictate my life or my actions. I am purposefully working at keeping the certainty of choice as my guiding principle.

I will indeed go see my Dad again as long as he is alive. Will he die in my presence? Maybe. But if he does it will because I choose to be there at the particular time that Death arrived and not because I was there as Fear directed me to be.

I hope that while I am there is not when the time arrives. If I am, so be it.

I also have choices in the aftermath. I have learned to greatly fear the aftermath of Death because the aftermath usually brings greed, disintegration of relationships and virtually everything the newly deceased would never allow if they weren't deceased.

Nothing like piling on the pain right?

The fear of that is an illusion. I have the choice to not participate in the aftermath, just because I'm supposed to. I can fear peoples actions or I can choose to let them do what they need to do and not let myself be sucked into it.

I have chosen not to do that. I have chosen that when my father leaves, my grief will be my own. I will not give nor accept comfort that is based in what is expected. Expectations are derived from Fear. I will not be a part of any parts of the aftermath that I do not like and have been unhealthy for me in the past.

For once I have actually had more than fair warning that Death was coming. It provided me with a choice to evaluate it and come to terms with it. In as much as knowing that death in and of itself is the ultimate course of all living beings, anyway. I also see the choices before me that will make it either a good and healthy passage or another death in which I have "no choice" but to do what is expected.

The most prominent truth is that no matter how prepared I think I am for it, I am not. My dads death will hit me like nothing ever before because I have never lost my father before.

I am going to be crushed with sadness, very few regrets, and the choices that I will need to make to honor my dad and my self will be before me. I have made the advance choice of doing my best to accept the sadness of my fathers death being that he has died and will no longer be available for any goofy question I may have.

I have chosen not to allow the sadness about my fathers death to become another wrong done to me, a reason to feel sorry for myself, proof that I have no choice but to suffer at the hands of the illusion of fear.

I have chosen to allow the sadness to slow me down as much as I need it to and I will not allow Fear to prod me into action or inaction.

I will let my fathers passing be what it is, The ultimate course of all living beings. I will do what is right for me in the aftermath, regardless of anybody's opinions or what is "traditionally right". That choice will undoubtedly have consequences, but unlike the potential consequences of drinking or living a life led by fear, I am willing to accept those consequences whatever they may be as long as they are imposed by my choice, and not submission to fear.

My fathers life has enabled mine. It has influenced me, driven me, inspired me and given me a model whose shoes I thought I could never fill. Of course I can't fill them! We're different shoe sizes to start with, and why would I try to fill shoes other than my own?

Fear.

My father taught me many, many things. I am grateful that what may be the last thing he teaches me while he's alive is that Fear is a choice. Being that it is a choice there is certainly an alternative.

I will always do my best to not chose Fear.

I will do my best to keep myself aware of the certainty of choice.

It is certainly more certain than the timing and manner of death or the inevitability of taxes.

I will chose to do my best.

Repeatedly. Daily.

As long as I breathe.

Now I'm going to go see Dad because I want to because I know his condition will now worsen everyday forward.

Should he pass while I'm there, it will simply be his last, best Bad Dad Joke.

And he'll have what he always called a "shit eatin' grin".

I chose to be grateful for my fathers death bringing me away from living a life led totally by fear.

Dad did not have one last Bad Dad Joke for me. He had one last gift for me. He validated my choice to live by choice, not fear. To not eat myself alive with misplaced guilt. To be a man of my word when it comes to accepting and honoring my committments to myself.

On my way to Appleton i did not have any fear whatsoever that he would actually die while i was there. The only fear i had was in that I wanted to play a song for him and I was afraid I would chicken out or screw it up badly.

Ive been practicing the song for a week or two. Uesterday I ayed it with a friend and was satisfied that could do it without screwing it up.

Yet I let that fear rattle in my brain in a generally light hearted way.

When I got there, prepared for idle chit chat while I worked up to asking Dad if I could get his guitar and play a song, my brother approached the car before I got out. As I stepped out, he told me, "Scott, Dad is gone." I asked "is he 'gone' like out of it, or gone like he died".

"Scott, he's dead. He just died, come in and see him".

I froze. I was seeing the fear of doing what i was supposed to, against choosing not to do what i did not want to do.

I thought it through and said I wasn't going in. I did not want to see my Dads body. My brother first resisted but stopped when he realized that i was committed to my position.

Except that when we got to my step Mom, Randy told her I didn't want go in. Enter next fear: "But hes uour father".

I said it just would serve no good purpose for me, and while I understood every elses position, I simply wasnt going to do anything that wasn't what I wanted. Bev told me that was ok, i had to do what was right for me. I knew she was disappointed and i just told the truth: I never want to see another body. Then she not only accepted my choice, but seemed to genuinely understand it.

My Uncle Lee came out. We expressed our sorrow over each others loss and talked.

I asked Randy to go get me Dads acoustic guitar and a pick. When he came back with it I strummed so my uncle would tell me if it was out of tune. Hes got a great ear. He nodded his approval of the tuning and I began to pick a G chord. You could see the recognition in Lee's eyes. You could see him trying to remember what the song was.

As i sang the first words of Merke Haggards "Sing Me Back Home", the recognition locked, he had a tear in his eye and sang quietly with me. He doesnt like his own voice much either.

I had to look away then because when I was afraid I would screw the song up if I sang it to my Dad, I was afraid I would screw it up by crying. I was determined, though a tear did fall. I knew that while no longer here, Dad was inside and I was singing to him and all I saw was the pride in my Dad's smile the many times we played together and I impressed him.

It was always a thrill to me that he felt I took something he gave me to a new level.

I am sad that my Dad has passed. I'm grateful I wasnt there when it happened. I'm grateful and proud of myself for not letting Fear push me through the door to see what I didn't want to see.

Im grateful that my last memory of my Dad is him trying to stand to give me a hug in his dark blue flannel pajamas and me telling him to stay and I'd come down. Im grateful we said "I love you" which has been a regular thing in the last few years.

My Dads last words to me on my way out were "drive safe". This was usual as well.

When we had all relaxed a bit Randy asked if I wanted to know what Dads last words were that anyone could make out.

Turns out my Dads last understandable words were when Randy left for work in the morning.

Dad said "drive safe".

Randy left work early and was there when Dad died. Like he was when Mom died. Thats going to put him in a whole world of hurt I will not be able to help him with and take care of myself. I told him that. He said he understood my choices, but didn't, but would. I could ask for nothing more.

I left when my Dads last ride showed up because I didnt want to see that either.

I feel better than I ever have in light of any death.

Whether my Dad stopped me from being there in the moment while still allowing me to be there instead of getting a phone call, I'll never know. But I'll always be grateful for it and every thing my Dad brought to my life.

I am not making any announcements other than this. There are others who will cover that as well. If you want to send me a heart or hug emoji on Facebook, please do. I also ask you to not burden yourself with trying to find the right words. There are none. I've burdened myself a bunch of times looking for words that didnt exist. I always disliked that feeling of obligation to say something. It made me feel inadequate at best.

You are free to offer your condolences with out words. Neither my Dad, nor I will mind.

I am ok. I am dealing with this on my terms and I will rely on the comfort that will come from within, first rather that looking for comfort from outside of myself.

It is the choice that feels most right to me, in this moment. I am living by choice, not Fear.

Moment by moment. I want to for once do this my way. I want to let the tide ebb and flow snd not try to dam it up. I am fully aware that the tide will high soon enough.

I am preparing to be able to ride that wave until I safely land ashore again.

I have made too much progress taking care of me to let it go now.

My Dad would be proud of me and I will be too.

Thanks again Daddio. For everything. I will flippin' miss you. And continue letting my shoes be mine, and your shoes be yours.





​

One of the greatest things in life is those rare moments when people meet and find themselves irrevocably connected in a way that defies explanation. I've gotten lucky enough to experience that rarity a time or two and this story is one of my favorite.

The year was 1999 and I had just opened a pet shop. There weren't any others in the area, it was a good excuse to play with animals all day, and since I was already doing wildlife rehabilitation, it was a natural extension of my love for all things wild & free, with the bonus of having wholesale access to supplies to keep helping injured and abandoned wild ones.

One day while tending the shop, I had just finished bandaging my first alligator bite, and was walking around with my African Grey, Thunder on my shoulder. He was fresh born and is now 21 years old and has a mouth like a sailor. And he'll kick your ass. At least he says he's going to.

As soon as I stepped in front of the door, this very little old lady walked in and stopped in her tracks and stared at me. Right in the eyes. At first, I thought she was afraid of the bird (a surprising number of people are), and I was going to put him away and she said "what a pretty bird!". I smiled and said hello and told her my name and asked if I could help her.

Mary reached up and touched my face and said "Well Scott, a handsome devil like you could help me with a lot of things!" She giggled, I turned red. She told me her name was Mary Carlson. In the year 1999, Mary was 85 years old. It was even more odd with her being that old and me being a rough & tumble type with long hair and tattoo's. 

After I put Thunder away and composed myself, I asked if she was looking for anything in particular and she said she wasn't. She just stopped to see if I knew anyone who might have space and want a Pygmy goat. "White, cute as a button, too playful" for her and loved head butting, but he'd knock her over. Turns out he wasn't entirely Pygmy. 

I did not know of anyone looking for a goat. Goats were one of the few animals I had no experience with outside of the petting zoo. But it was an animal in need of a new home.

I asked her if I could look at him, maybe take a picture (the kind you still had to have developed) to hang in the shop and see.

"Paper please" she said. I obliged and included a pen and she wrote down her address and phone number.

"Now all you have to do my new handsome friend, is go down 13 to Buttercup, take a left and go X number of miles and turn right and look for the flowers. If you go fast enough, you'll go over a hump in the road that'll flip your belly and you're almost there. Make sure you call first, I'm out and about quite often."

I knew the exact type of hump in the road she was talking about and was a little excited because it had been quite awhile since I'd had that experience.

One day, I called, went out, sped my ass off down the road since I didn't know exactly where the hump was, but I definitely found it.

I turned and looked for flowers, but saw nothing but farmland and roadside trees. And there it was.

Mary's house.

A two story brick house that was very old. It was also covered, roof to ground with red flowers. I cannot remember what kind of vines she had, but they covered the entire front and side of the house! I pulled in, saw the barns and pens and knew I had arrived when Mary walked out the back door in her work clothes, barn coat, hat & big old boots.

I got out of the car and she came up and hugged me, stepped on her tip toes and kissed me on the cheek! "Hey good lookin'! That's a Hank Williams song ya know. Do you know it?" I replied, "Not only do I know it Ms. Mary, I've been known to play it with my Dad when the guitars come out!" "Oh, you are something, aren't you?" I turned red again.

"And it's actually Mrs., but don't you worry about that! Do you want to meet the Old Coot or the goat first?"

I told her whatever she felt like. She told me the goat was more interesting and took me to the pen he was in. Pure white, big little horns and a beard. Looked like a miniature mountain goat. She opened the gate, the goat backed up, reared up, and head butted me in the leg, and backed up to do it again! I let him, but replaced my leg as the target with my open hand. He smacked into it a couple times and walked away to get some hay. Came back looking some one chewing a blade of grass and pondering.

"Well, you should come and meet Emil before he suspects anything!"

She led me to the bigger barn and told me it used to be full of cows, but they had gotten rid of them because they were too much for them. Emil was even older than Mary.

"Emil! Look sharp, my new boyfriend is here!"

He laughed and came to shake my hand. What a great guy. He just had something that made you like him instantly.

They teased each other quite a bit and told me about the farm and how long they'd been together. There farm was actually two in one. Emil had his family farm and then Mary bought the one next door.

Neighbors being neighbors, and farmers being farmers, helping hands turned into hands to hold in front of the wood burner at the end of the day. They never had a television. No use for it. No time. They had their farm, their animals, a radio, a phonograph and early to bed, early to rise. The most simple existence of two people I've ever witnessed.

"So what about that goat? Did you bring your camera?" I replied that I had and we could go back to the pen. I walked in and the goat sort of sat there like a dog. When I put my hand out like had previously, he leaped up and head butted it again, then let me pet him and I massaged his neck and he looked at me with love in his eyes, and that was it.

"Gonna take a picture?". 

"Nope", I said. "I'll take him".

"In your STORE?"

"Nope, I've got a few acres and an old wood shed I can set up and put a fence around it for him."

Well, long story short, I named him Loony (because he was loony) and went home, turned the shed into a goat barn and put up a fence.

I went to visit Mary & Emil & Loony frequently while getting things ready so he'd get used to me.

I'd spend lots of time with Mary. She'd bring me in the house and tell me stories about her life before the farm. She'd tell Emil she was going to leave him for me, and he'd tell her "he'd kick you out the second day like I should have!" Incredible love between those two.

Mary was "out & about often" because at 85 years old, she worked frequently at the nursing home. "Gotta make sure the old folks are taken care of ya know?"

When the goat kingdom was ready, I went to get Loony. In a little GEO Tracker. Popped him in the back seat. Road like a dog. Got him home and let him get used to things. The dogs were a bit stand offish at first, then I guess they were friends. From his pen he could see where I went when I left.

One day I hear a crash at the front door.

Loony found a spot in the fence he could get out of, marched himself up the steps and head butted the screen door. Thankfully the metal part.

Opened the door and there he was. The dogs were in the house and didn't bark or anything so, why not? I opened the door and let him in. He played with the dogs, and when the playing was done, they all jumped up on the couch. It was hilarious. I kept giving him saltines so he'd be too busy eating to crash around the house.

My wife at the time came home and said "Tell me the goat is not in the house". I said, "ok, the goat is not in the house!".

I kept going back to see Mary and sit and talk about things that I would have never imagined myself talking to an old lady about, and she was absolutely happy to call me any time her & Emil had anything that needed doing that they couldn't do anymore. Hard work has never before or since been such a pleasure.

Time passed, Emil died, I moved away and never saw Mary again, though I thought of her often and always intended to visit some illusive "someday". 

I have some regrets there, but I do know the last time I saw her she said "I just love you Handsome" and I said "I love you too Mrs. Mary". I know that because it had become our regular farewell by then.

In 2009 Mary died. I did not know until later. Probably 2011 I ran into my ex-wife (who I've always remained friends with) and she properly prepared me for bad news and told me.

After that, I kept meaning to find out where she was buried, and take a trip to her beautiful flower house (I literally just typoed "our beautiful flower house" and corrected it) to see if it was being taken care of. "Someday" can get out of reach.

One day I was out driving around. I live much closer to where she lived now. I like to drive around and take roads I've never taken. Somehow, from the opposite way I knew, I ended up on her road. I recognized the markers from Emil's farm. Left turn now.

As I drove down the road, two of the old barns came into view and my heart just started beating. I couldn't see the house, but it was set back in the trees, so I had to pull into the driveway.

Mary's beautiful flower house was, gone. A square of dirt and wild growth was all that was there.

Not gonna lie, I cried a little bit.

I don't even want to think about what happened to those, given what happened to the house and she had very little remaining family.

She was crazy loving and caring and kind and no BS whatsoever. If I was talking to her and gave her any indication of feeling sorry for myself she'd let me have it. With love of course.

I can't explain our relationship. It was certainly not romantic (not really anyway), it wasn't like I was the son she never had, and we were certainly not just acquaintances. It was just awesome, whatever it was, and whatever remains.

When I read her obituary, I knew where she was and I went out there. Her & Emil share a flat stone, and I swear, the first place I stopped in that whole cemetery was right in front of their graves. I'm not kidding.

One thing I really dislike about life, and particularly the end of it, is people being forgotten. It's no ones fault, it just happens.

One thing I really like about writing about people is, as long as my words exist, they aren't forgotten.

I knew Mary, I loved Mary and now anyone who reads this will maybe know and love her a little bit too.

I will never forget Mary. My Mary.

​I hope she's a little bit your Mary now too.

Back in 1980, I was a wee one of 14 years. On this planet

At that time, I had 3 activities that I was profoundly fond of, and they were all related.

#1 Skipping school. Hated it

#2 Skipping out and heading to Henri's Music on College Ave. in Appleton to admire and tinker with Fender Stratocasters and black and gold Les Paul Custom's. The "Tuxedo of Guitars" as Les Paul himself called it. I'd mostly play the main line of "wipe-Out" as that was all I could actually play at the time.

#3: Leaving Henri's on my bike, skateboard, bus or on foot and heading up to 2144 W. Wisconsin Ave. Most people today think of it as "The Lullaby Shop" ; but back the it was the Appleton Harley shop.

I'd walk in, sometimes with my boon-box on my shoulder blasting whatever was cool at the time. More than once I know I had my trusty "British Steel" cassette going. "Living After Midnight". "Gleaming chrome, reflecting steel..."

Back in those days, the shop actually had very few bikes on display as the shop was tiny.

That was when I met Terry Doughty.

He would make mention of my age and apparent truancy, but, he'd let me hang out. Once in awhile I even got to follow him to the back where there were several beautiful machines getting worked on. I called him "Mr. D" because, well, I was a kid and didn't know his first name. And I was a kid and "Mr." was what was appropriate at the time, but I wasn't one to follow the rules so it was "Mr. D" instead of Mr. Doughty.

Many years later, in 2006 I got a job at Bala's Harley-Davidson in Mauston, WI. In 2008 I became the General Sales Manager which put me in charge of "Dealer Trades".

In late 2008 or early 2009, I got a call from Harley-Davidson of Appleton. We had a bike they needed for a customer. We were offered a comparable trade and I accepted.

Next day, guess who comes walking into my office with the paper work for the trade? 

Mr. D himself.

I recognized him immediately and said "Hey Mr. D!" He looked at me kinda funny, so I asked him if he remembered this kid that used to come in. He did!

I did quite a few trades with him after that, and he'd always come himself, and he'd always stop in to chat for a bit and talk about old times, people, and places. It was so, so strange to have him signing paperwork to get Harley's from me! 

When I was a kid, Terry mostly skipped the lectures about being there during school hours and would allow me to drool over his "gleaming chrome, reflecting steel". Probably unintentionally, he allowed my dreams to nurture and in so doing, gave me a little of what it took to see those dreams to fruition.

Not only did I end up with a Harley, I got to spend 15 years working in a great environment selling a product I loved.

I just got a message that Terry was killed on his bike in an accident in Tennessee.

Gone too soon. Like so many before, and unfortunately, so many yet to come.

But; he made a difference in a hell of a lot of lives. 

I'm grateful for the opportunity to have a relationship come full circle like ours did.

I'm also grateful for all I learned from a man who didn't know he was teaching.

A couple of months ago, I finally got myself a black and gold Les Paul Custom. "The Tuxedo of Guitars". I can also play a lot more than "Wipe-Out".

Hadn't yet decided on a name yet.

"Mr. D" works for me.

Thanks Terry.


 

For awhile they kept track of it and when the eggs didn't hatch fast enough, the boys lost interest. Until they did hatch. After which time they lost interest again.

One day I saw one of the two baby Robin's sitting on the porch. Mom was gone and I decided to just leave the baby till she came back.

Sure enough, awhile later, both babies were safely in the nest and Momma Robin would squawk to let me know she knew I was there.

This was a scene that repeated a few times.

I imagined Momma Robin had been telling the youngster he wasn't ready to fly and when the time came she'd teach him. Then he'd be on the porch again.

He kept turning up on the porch while his mom and sibling would be in the yard.

I was pretty sure the mom knew how to teach her young to fly since the other one seemed to be getting around. Kid probably insisted on doing it his own way.

One day I finally saw him in the grass. Chirping away. No Mom or sibling in sight but again I decided to leave him for Momma Robin to deal with.

The next morning all three were gone from the nest!

When I came home from work, all three were still gone.

Or so I thought.

Sitting on the porch after dinner I began to hear chirping.

Next to the porch, under a bush was the baby bird. Still no Momma Robin or sibling in sight.

I finally broke down and picked him (or her) up gently in my hands and gave a little toss to help him get flying. (Don't worry, I used to train pet birds and still have one, I know what I'm doing!). Down he went into the grass.

He was back under the bush when it got dark.

In the morning he was gone.

I think after two nights under a bush, maybe he thought back to what Momma Robin had tried to teach him and was able to get himself airborne at the crack of dawn to go hunting for food.

Neither Momma nor sibling ever returned.

What the Robin Family taught me about parenting is that, sometimes you can try to warn your kids about pitfalls, and teach them how to be on their own, and some of them will keep jumping and hitting the ground until they're banged up, bruised and hungry enough to fly on their own.

I also learned that in this case, Momma Robin had places to go and things to do and couldn't waste time in last seasons nest with more lessons that would be ignored.

I'm sure that Baby Robin had a great life once he knew he had only himself to rely on

Thanks for reading.

Time for me to fly.

My wife and I both prefer downtown Vegas to the strip and have spent most of our time there.

Yesterday was the day we took to go see the parts of Vegas you don't normally see and check out interesting things that have nothing to do with the gambling and lights and people.

We started at the Mob Museum, a short walk from the hotel and one of those things you could go to 10 times and still see stuff you missed.

From there we jumped in the car and headed to find Counts Kustom's and things like that. If you go to Vegas and like cars you gotta see this place.

While in reality TV land we also went to seek out PussyKat Tattoo which used to be the base for the show about fixing less than attractive tattoo's.

When we finally found it (nowhere near where the average Las Vegas visitor would get to by the way), we went to take each others picture in front of the store window. There was a young lady standing outside talking to another young lady and she asked if we wanted to have her take a picture. We were good.

We headed inside and she came in right behind us and asked if there was anything she could help with. I replied "Nope, we were fans of the show and just wanted to stop by and check it out. By the way; why the hell did the show end? It was a lot of fun to watch!"

From behind me I heard a voice say "Do you want the official version of what happened with the show, or the truth?"

I turned and sitting at his desk in his office was the man himself. I looked again to make sure I was seeing who I thought I was seeing.

The truth is, these reality shows in Vegas? If you go to the places, like Gold & Silver Pawn from Pawn Stars and Counts Kustoms, the stars of the show aren't generally there, so it was kind of a surprise that Dirk was at his shop.

After a few minutes of talking it was easy to see that, of course he was there, it's his business and what he does.

So I told him I always prefer the truth and we got what I believe to be the truth and spent a good 20 minutes hanging out and talking about everything from tattoo's to music, to personal integrity.

I'm not going to tell you what the truth of it was, it's his story and he's writing it, so if you want to know, buy the book when it comes out!

It was very interesting to find out how it all works and what we at home never see. It was also enlightening to learn how television networks perceive their viewers.

The best part was just seeing how absolutely real the guy is.

They say "never meet your hero's" and I have had a couple experiences with that and it can certainly be a let down when a person is an ass instead of the nice person you thought they were.

I wouldn't call Dirk a hero of mine, more a guy I liked watching and respected his work, but still. He could have been any one of my friends, just sitting around talking.

I've had a few times that I've met people like that and it's always been quick, maybe take a picture and move on, so it was very different to meet someone "famous" and just sit and bullshit with him.

I was not going to ask for a picture, autograph, nothing. The guy was being cool enough to talk with us, I didn't want to be a pain in the ass. Finally I decide we might be BEING a pain in the ass taking up his time and started us towards leaving when Dirk said "Ya want to get a picture?"

There's something about being in the presence of a guy like that that makes you a little nervous, even though you know, and he's demonstrated he's just another guy. I actually felt myself start to sweat a little bit and said "I was not about to ask, but if you're volunteering, that'd be awesome!"

"Well, let's do it then!" he said while also grabbing a promo picture of himself and signing it quick.

We stepped outside his office and he graciously took a picture with both Kris and I.

Then we sat and talked for a bit more and I decided to get a T-Shirt from the shop. "Beer money" he said and laughed. That's "just another guy" in my world.

If you end up in the right place at the right time you can sometimes meet your hero, for lack of a better word. Most times you will be disappointed and let down. Most of the celebrities I've met, I think they've either let it get to them, let it go to their heads, or they've been jaded by the whole experience.

Dirk, the "star" of the TV show I think is rightfully jaded by the experience but, it's quite clear that Dirk the tattoo artist and shop owner is just another guy, like he's been his whole life.

Which is the truth about what happened with the TV show.

In case you were wondering.

Not that there's anything wrong with that.

Me, I just like the atmosphere, the people, the things that you just can't see anywhere else.

In less than 24 hours I've already put more dollar bills in the hands of the homeless or otherwise broke, than slot machines. Not a lot. Just here and there.

I know the panhandling etc. is frowned upon, and that it "just encourages them" and all that but I do it anyway.

Encourage them or not, that could be me. It could be you.

I really don't give much thought to how somebody got in that position. I really don't care how. I know they're there, I know they're living a life I couldn't imagine and I also know many of them, -especially the gentleman who engaged me for about 10 minutes this morning on Fremont Street on the topic of the Packers/Bears rivalry (he's a Bears fan)- probably take that dollar and combine it with another that they got from someone else and go buy a 24oz can of beer or a cheap bottle of Thunderbird or whatever their poison of choice.

If I had to live like that I'm pretty sure I'd rather do it half in the bag than stone cold sober.

Most of them aren't going to throw a dollar in a slot machine, hit it big and move on to a wonderful new life.

Most of them are going to be stuck living like that until the day they no longer live. That is sad. That is something I wish I could change but can't.

It's just a fact. Obviously each person is responsible in someway for their own life situation but the mistakes made yesterday don't fix themselves tomorrow. The more tomorrows pass since yesterday, the less likely recovery is. The less chance of ever having a normal life. Whatever that is.

"That's a wasted dollar! That bum is just going to drink it!"

To that I say "bullshit".

That dollar and a few minutes of conversation, whether it buys a can of beer or a bag of chips is going to give that person a moment of being valued as a person. Sure, many don't appreciate it, many think you could have gave more. So what? If they're angry about their circumstances and life in general, I'd say it's understandable. I'd be pissed too if I thought the world was out to get me.

I've spent time angry as hell about what life "was doing to me". What's not to understand?

I don't know about you but, these people, whether in Las Vegas or at home, are in a crappy situation they are unlikely to emerge from.

I've had times where I wondered how I was going to pay the bills, feed and clothe a family, on and on. I was lucky enough to be able to find solutions and more than once, get a little hand up along the way.

I sincerely try to be charitable in someway all the time. Whether rounding up at Goodwill, buying a Food Pantry bag or Animal Shelter bag at the grocery store or saying "yes" to adding a dollar to whatever cause the store I'm shopping in is collecting for.

Sometimes I forget, but I don't worry about it. More often than not I do it if I'm feeling financial pressure myself. If things are tight and I know that dollar isn't going to get me anything I need I give it. The shocking result I've noticed in the years I've done that is that I generally find that somehow my needs end up being met and never once has giving hurt me. Financially or otherwise.

And never once has it been a waste.

I saw a guy last night on Fremont wearing a shirt that said "Don't Ask Me For SHIT!" I can see the people who live and work here getting tired of it. But I also saw an older guy sitting in a wheelchair with two signs; one down by his feet explaining his situation and another one in his hand on a paddle that said "Do Nice Things". He didn't notice me as I walked past.

When I came back from where I was going I ended up behind him and I knew I still had two singles in my pocket from that run, so I came up behind him and put my hand on his shoulder to alert him I was there and I said "thank you for the reminder. I like to do nice things".

He smiled warmly and thanked me and shook my hand.

If anybody thinks I'm wasting my money doing things like that, they've probably never done it.

Two dollars and 30 seconds, and for a moment this gentleman had somebody spend some time with him and give something not required.

Imagine being alone, on the street, no friends or family, Loneliness sucks. I've been there.

I have no clue what he or anyone I give money to will do with it. And I don't care. Whatever they buy with it, it'll be something they want, something that makes them feel empowered over their situation, if only for a moment. And if they drink it to dull the pain of the loneliness, despair and hopelessness, so be it. 

I'm not saying anyone else has to do it. I'm just saying why I do.

Nobody can tell me that these people wanted their lives to take this course, regardless of what choices they made to get there.

It's not wasted money, it's not throwing it away. It's giving them a moment of my time and a dollar or two I'll never miss.

I've been extremely lucky in my life, though I've never won a dime in three trips to Vegas.

I also know we don't build mansions in heaven with works, deeds, or dollars. I just hope we get extra credit points here and there.

And if we don't, I still didn't waste that dollar because it connected me to another person for a moment in time.

That's good enough for me.

And I still have four days to hit the jackpot this time!

I saw the Jack Nicholson/Morgan Freeman movie The Bucket List back in 2008 when it was released on DVD and loved the movie. The idea of having a bucket list creeped me out though. Like having your tombstone already made and in place while you're alive and young.

But I turned 50 this year and among other things, I've had to start making lists because as a part of aging, I guess we start getting absent minded. It's legit, I've read about it. Even a mild hypochondriac who knows he's full of crap like me, researches anything that could be construed as a "symptom".

I have lists of things to get at the store, I have lists of things I want to write about, I have a list for what to do today. I have an app on my phone that lets me have lists I can take anywhere. I have unwritten lists innumerable.

On our refrigerator I have a list of what goes where in our freezer. There's also a bulletin board full of stuff.

I've got several lists of food idea's I'd like to try in the restaurant I may someday have.

I've got a list of every single bill we have and when it's due.

I have buckets of lists.

What I don't have is a Bucket List.

Because having a bucket list is an acknowledgement of that which a lot of us don't want to acknowledge; some day we won't have lists to do because we'll be done.

Some people accept that easily, others have issues. You can guess which clan I belong to.

So once again fall is upon us and once again, I've been thinking for weeks I should write.

Here I am.

Fall always makes me wistful, nostalgic and hopeful. It can also be a little depressing when you juxtapose the season with your stage in life.

Turning 50 was in some ways it hard, in some ways it's been great. There is a certain freedom and comfort that comes with acceptance of that milestone.

And it is a milestone. Nobody knows more than me how lucky I am to even be alive at 50, much less alive and well. And I'm not the only one lucky.

There's also a wistfulness and sense of loss when you accept that you have reached a point in life where it's not just a guess to say you have less days left than you've lived. Time is no longer on your side. There are things you wanted to do that you were going to get to that, well, you're probably not going to do them now. Sky diving onto the interstate with roller blades is just not going to happen after 50.

It changes your perspective.

I've loved fall since I was a kid. Especially fall in my hometown and I love going back there in the fall. I'm a wanderer. I like to drive around and observe life happening.

As a kid I remember rushing through dinner and dishes in the fall to get back outside for those remaining moments of daylight. I'd run, walk, or ride my bike or skateboard to whatever neighborhood my friends and I were gathering in. We'd walk, run, ride our bikes and skateboards until the sunset and we all started on our way home. The cool brisk air biting, yet comforting at the same time.

Even then I was constantly observing. Walking down the sidewalks in the near dark, kicking leaves and looking in the windows of the houses I'd pass on the way home.

Mr. Jensen in his easy chair reading the paper in that old Mr. Rodgers sweater he always wore in the fall. A lady you don't know bringing dinner to the table for the family gathered round. Your grounded school chum at the table doing homework. Of course you let him know you were outside and he wasn't.

Fall is always the perfect time of year to me. I'm not the only one. The whole "Pumpkin Spice" craze wouldn't have happened if there weren't so many fans of fall. I want to say for the record that, as far back as I can remember my mom always made Spice Cake for my birthday instead of the standard, chocolate, vanilla, marble cakes. I loved Spice Cake and to this day it tastes like fall to me.

As per usual, I digress.

Fall is the season most people seem most endeared to; Not hot, not cold, the colors are beautiful, rain comes & goes, snow makes brief appearances to remind you winter is coming. Campfires, pumpkin pie, Halloween, Thanksgiving. What's not to like?

The same can be said for the Fall of Life.

It's comfortable. It looks good. It feels good. You've reached a high point in your career, you're income is finally keeping up with your expenses. You have been relieved of much of your parental duties by virtue of the fact that your children are turning out pretty well and taking care of themselves. You can take trips you couldn't previously afford, buy classic cars and become an antique collector in the blink of an eye and find yourself saying "hey, this ain't so bad!".

But those brief appearances of snow keep you ever mindful that winter is on it's way.

You also start to see a little clearer. As the leaves fall from the trees you get a clearer view of the world around you. I like driving through the nearby state park in the spring and summer while it's full of life. I also love it in the fall because as the leaves fall the view opens and you can see more of what's really there.

In the fall of life you become very aware of where you are versus where you'd like to be. You're forced to take stock and you realize there's less time to do the things you want to and you'd better get busy.

I've managed to accept that I have entered the fall of life. Not without kicking and screaming.

It feels good, looks good and it's comfortable.

But there's the snowflakes that keep me very aware winter is around the corner.

Things like needing lists to remember what you're supposed to do or get, or where you're supposed to be. Things like sore joints and muscles after a day of working on your boat. Things like eating Honey-Nut Cheerio's in the morning because they're supposed to help your heart health. Losing things that you SPECIFICALLY put in a SPECIFIC place so you WOULDN'T lose them.

Things like your best friend, only a few years older than you having a heart attack.

Things like that make you think about how unprepared for winter you really are.

I've noticed as I've gotten older I hear more often about the "need to make plans". Of course I avoid that like avoiding having a "bucket list".

You may laugh but I guarantee I'm not the only one that thinks that having certain plans makes bad things happen. However as the "Artist Who Returned to Being Known as Prince" recently taught us, not making plans is not very smart.

In the spring and summer of life we feel like it's completely safe to avoid those things. Which is completely stupid since so many of us have been lost in the spring and summer of life.

In the fall maybe we're a little wiser.

Maybe.

My friend who just had a heart attack was talking the other day about needing to make certain plans. We were talking about things we'd like to do.We both admitted the fear of having a bucket list. I haven't made a list or any plans. I doubt that he has either.

It wasn't the other day. It was a month ago.

We always think we have plenty of time.

Except in the fall when those occasional snow flakes come dancing into our line of sight.

As fall settles in we reflect back over the past spring and summer. We look around, see if we took care of everything we needed to. We start anticipating winter; when to put the yard furniture away, planning the last boat trip, bike ride, whatever it is we need to accomplish before winter sets in.

I've determined that the fall of life is the same.

I'm looking around and seeing what I've accomplished, looking at what I need to get done and would like to get done.

I broke my finger and can't ride my motorcycle but I'm still planning two fall rides I'd like to take. Just in case. Plotting how to arrange the garage for winter so I can park our cars yet have space to work on my list of projects.

Similarly I'm analyzing the fall of my life in the same way.

Sure it looks and feels good; it's comfortable. But is this it?

In 2008 when I watched The Bucket List I had just been promoted at work, to the job I still hold today. Back then I was so happy with the new job that I said "I can see doing this until I retire".

That was back in the summer of my life though. In the fall I'm looking at all the other things I've wanted to do and haven't.

As much as I have enjoyed my job and employer over the past 10 years, the fact is, I've reached the highest rung of the ladder here. I'm no longer so sure I'd like to do this until retirement time rolls around.

Especially since I've been talking for 12 years about having a restaurant "someday". Someday doesn't come until we let it come. Or make it come.
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Fall is a sleepy season, but it can sure make you wake up.

Needing lists to know what to get, where to go and what to do just comes with age for some of us.

Without them I couldn't keep track of it all.

The idea of a Bucket List still creeps me out a bit, but the fact is, I have one, it's just not written down. We all do. Our heads are full of the things we'd like to do, see, be and experience in this lifetime. They always have been.

Fall also reminds you that while we're busy writing lists, the time we have to accomplish our dreams, goals and ambitions and check things off our lists is passing by.

The time is now.

Because now is the only time there is.

Our lists are already written. Just like getting to the carnival when you're a kid. You already know every ride you want to try to get on and every prize you want to win before it's time to go home. You get busy and do it.

Perhaps in the fall of life it's ok to relax, let the leaves fall and get a clearer view of the landscape.

So that we can more easily head into winter, accomplishing the things that mean the most and making sure we don't miss any of the rides and prizes we really want.

Fall tells us to get busy and do it.

Or perhaps I'm just looking for a deep explanation for all my notes.