My First Bromance

I was a military brat in the earliest years in my life. Then my Mom married my Dad. See Dad was retired military, but I think his twenty some years in the service gave him a sense of wanderlust that had us moving every few years or so. I have no life long childhood friends. I couldn't tell you where a friend of mine since second grade is because quite frankly I don't even know the name of that elementary school the was in Belfaire Washington.

In one of our bigger moves we wound up in Blue Mound Texas. There is nothing spectacular about the neighborhood where we lived in Blue Mound Texas. It wasn't a bad neighborhood. Not by a far shot. It just wasn't an amazing place in my mind save for one aspect. My first Bromance. A bromance is a highly formed friendship between male friends, or "bro's". Back before this clever slang was coined I called Brian Killebrew my best friend.

Brian and I were inseparable. Where you saw one, you also saw the other. We developed special languages. We crashed our dirt bikes in the various bike trails that were positioned in a slightly wooded area behind the open field next to our neighborhood. We teased our sisters relentlessly as the sacred unwritten sibling laws dictate.

We were Webelo scouts in the same troop. My dad was the... I'm not really sure what you'd call him. Den Leader I guess. He certainly wasn't a "Den Mother". Anyways we did cool things like build catapults, make sugar crystals, and create tin art. Under the watchful eye of my dad we were pretty well behaved. Dad was the notorious strictest father around. We knew we had to be cool.

But then my parents went out of town to visit my ailing Grandmother in Minnesota (where I was born by the way) and My parents left my sister and I at the Kilebrews house for the week or whatever. That's when Brian and I shined. Within a day we had consumed an entire box of Froot Loops, dug in the trash on garbage day and found metal poles to stick on the neighbors electric fence, and the grandest scheme of all that involved what else, but tormenting our sisters.

It was at this time in American History that Cabbage Patch dolls were out of control. I don't know if anyone remembers how weird it was, but they were a company that showed footage of their dolls being born in a cabbage field, birthed by a strange nurse/farmer hybrid lady. If you were one of the lucky little girls to get one of these freaky looking dolls, then you filled out adoption papers to make sure that the doll was officially your child/doll... Crazy. So when these dolls were a craze there were of course these knock off dolls that you could buy. However if you were a family of like seven (the Kilebrews) and had to stretch the dollars then you simply made your daughter a cabbage patch knock off doll on your sewing machine. Now these home made deals weren't all that sturdy and Carrie, Brian's sister had like ten of these dolls but only two of them were intact. Eight bald cabbage patch dolls were all about the girls' room. So when they were playing tea or whatever we decorated the room with these dolls.

Couldn't tell you were the inspiration had come from, but by the time we were done we had these doll heads pushed on the bedposts, with the bodies strewn about the room wherever we could cram them. In the end the room looked like a Cannibal's Thanksgiving. Really morbid. So we wait. Along comes Carrie down the hall while we were across the hall in the boys' room. You would have thought that we used real babies the way Carrie and my sister Jeni Reacted. Carrie dropped her doll in hand, held her hands over her mouth and screamed. Jeni followed suit, but to this day I feel like she wouldn't have reacted this way if Carrie hadn't. So we laughed. The reaction was HUGE. Much better than we had hoped for. I can only imagine that we looked like little devils laughing and carrying on at the plight of our sisters. At least I'm sure that's what it looked like when Brian's mom came rushing to find out what all of the commotion was. Or maybe it was the grim display of Cabbage Patch corpses that got us that severe spanking from Tom, Brian's father.

We moved the following summer. Not because of the Cabbage Patch ceremony, but because my Dad got a better job, and we found ourselves in a better suburb. Brian and I drifted apart. I met my second Bromance. I'm sure he did too. But in the highlights of Bromance #1 I think of round decapitated Cabbage Patch doll heads and find that they make me smile.

Reprimanded.

I’ve been reprimanded. I set up a blog on this site because I enjoy writing, and I always have something to say. But then the urge to blog became more sporadic, and now I’ve not blogged since last year. What happened? I did enjoy voicing my opinions. I enjoy the concept of a forum where I am free to write and have my thoughts in the world of web. So my mother noted that I have not Blogged in some time, and my daughter basically shook her web finger at me for not keeping up with it.

Blogging is a strange thing, I’ve decided. It takes commitment to keep up with it, and it takes a special kind of person that wants to share his/her feelings about what is going on in their lives, minds, and feelings. The fact is that at this time I have but one follower, and this follower is my mother. So who am I typing to? The reality is that a Blog is mostly for the person that is blogging.

Take my Daughter. She blogs about her passions in crafting, and about anecdotes that occur in her daily life. But even if no person followed her Blog, would she consider doing it still? I don’t know. I’m not Anita. I can’t say for sure, but I know that for me I would like to keep doing so because this is an outlet. A flow of thought expressed in print. Forever there.

I’ve re-read the Blogs I’ve written before, and I learned something of myself. Could this be a reason a blogger blogs? Because for me I noticed a spiritual sort of undertone with my Random Musings. I noticed that I want to enjoy life, that I believe that we reap what we sow, and that I try to see that humans have the capability of being far more than we limit ourselves to. Does every Blogger discover something of himself in his words. Is Blogging a sort of free therapy at our fingertips?

So, why the no Blogging? Was I just being lazy to a commitment that I made to express myself? Can I possibly come up with excuses like: I’ve been really busy? I honestly don’t know. Maybe I lack focus in the blog. By it’s very nature of “Random musing” am I lacking a focal point of what it is that I want to express? Maybe. But really I think it’s the lazy thing. Like I penned before keeping up a blog takes a level of commitment. As such it is easy to allow a day to go without writing one. Then two, a week, a month, and so on.

I am going to get myself reinvigorated here. I am going to re-think my Blogging. Perhaps I will start another Blog about what I am passionate about like my daughter, and mother. I dunno yet. But I will Blog because I am reminded why I do so. Blog On!

Fate is a Prison

Fate is a prison, Destiny is a place. Fate is a thought process that hypothesizes that you have a set course of action. That while you may want something different, you are doomed to a set finale. Fate is limited. Fate is a Prison.

Think of Destiny as a place on the other side of a map from your location. There are several roads that you can take to get there. You can go slow and steady, or you can move quickly on the most direct path. Fact is that most people never even make it half way through that map. The trick with Destiny is that most people don’t know what their Destiny is. Know this: You are destined for something. You are destined for something great that only you, with your special talents and specific chemistry can achieve. Destiny is a place.
Get driving!

Creative Writer Hussie

I came to a bit of a revelation the other day. As a writer, I am profoundly in love with my work. I know it, I love it, and I am excited by it. Then… well then I think a new idea. Without intending it, I think more and more about the new idea. I start to write little notes about it, and I ultimately I look at the project that I was in love with. You know. The one that up until that point I was profoundly in love with a nd excited about, and the spark has vanished.

I am an idea hussy. I feel neither pride, nor shame about it. It is a fact of my make up. I came to the realization when I was thinking of the body of work that I am in various stages with. Currently I am working on about five short stories, three screenplays, and two novels. Yet the ideas do not stop sparking.

In fact I would dare say that if every idea that I ever fell in love with were taken to completion, then Novelists like Stephen king, screenwriters like David koepp or William Goldsmith, and various short fiction writers would be scratching the noggins at the massive amount of works that I have under my belt.

Alas, I move from one idea to another like a literary Lothario. A Don Juan writer who loves many ideas, and leaves them soon for another. Every dream I have becomes an idea for a story in waking up period. Every fear I have compounds itself in my mind into a full fledged novel.

Discipline. It boils down to discipline to complete the works of various ideas into hard work to be read, appreciated, hated, to be alive. In fact there are periods of time that I reject all of my ideas, and want nothing to do with any of them. Such a HUSSY!!! Also proof that I need a kick in my butt every now and then. I appreciate that in order to succeed in anything it requires discipline. Gotta buy me some of that!!!

So I will force myself to work on ONE project. I’ll remind myself that I LOVE this project. Love it madly with all of my heart. I will renew the enthusiasm that it requires to finish an idea to completion. Someone whom I admire deeply gave me a message. She said that everything is energy. I have to focus my energy through my pen and make the energy positive and pure, and my works will be so.
I have focused my energy through my keys into this blog. In this way, I know it to be as it should be.

What to do With the Whacky Borders…

A common argument for people who are pro immigration is that our country was built by immigrants. This is kind of true. I mean there was an America before the immigrants, but I get the argument. This is the melting pot of the world. Never mind that the inhabitants were kicked off of land that they never even claimed was theirs. Let’s agree for the sake of this blog that this country could not be what it is without the poor huddled masses that sought a better life and impacted the directions that America took in her growth.

For the record: there are still poor, huddled masses out there. There are still places in the world that see America as the land of opportunity. It’s all true. America is great and wonderful for all of the reasons that were available a hundred years ago. Until a short time ago I was of an opinion that the borders should not be so strictly enforced. I was of an opinion that it is unfair that I should be so lucky simply because I was born in the United States of America, while others born on the other side of the border are condemned to a life of poverty. I still think this to be true, but a radio personality brought something to my attention during one of his rants.

He asked all of his listeners to think on one question. He asked that we see the problem in extremes. He posed the idea that America completely opens her borders. No checks, no process, no check point. Just open it up. Think about it. I imagine that you come to the same conclusion that I did. Devastating. Unemployment rates would be through the roof. There would be homeless immigrants as thick and as far as can be seen. No. This is not the ideas that I had envisioned about the immigrants of America.

I thought long about this. Whenever my opinions turn I find myself asking for the solution to my new perspective. I believe as a country we are not asking the right questions about immigration. Sadly, the questions are the obvious ones. We just simply do not ask them.

Why? Why the United States of America? What is it that we have here that make people break laws to get in? What is the drive that makes a man climb into a makeshift raft and risk his life to cross a chunk of water? Why isn’t this great Nation doing something to answer this question?

Think about the countries that have the most immigrants sneaking into our country. Mexico to the south. Cuba from the Caribbean. China through Canada and by sea. What is wrong in these countries that have forced people to make desperate moves to our country?

It is easy to say that the questions are not our concern. It is a quick answer to say that the affairs and poverty of other countries should not be The United States of America’s problem to solve. But then that is not what makes our country the greatest on earth, is it?

What I propose is not send money or aid to these impoverished nations. I am reminded of the old adage: Give a man a fish, and he will eat for a day. Teach the man to fish, and he will never starve.

I propose that we volunteer ourselves to repair these broken nations. We train these nations to develop and grow as America has. Imagine how different the Country might be if Mexico struck the world’s largest oil supply? Or made cars and textiles to export? I am not referring to the cheap labor-made products that flood our stores and supermarkets. I am saying that our neighbors to the south would do better if there was more offered in the way of knowledge. If American Industry concepts were introduced.

It is true that this is a two way street. In order for this plan to work, the governments that we propose to help need to be open to the help. But the biggest question that I have, and I admit to thinking on lately is; have we asked? Have we proposed at all? Or have we offered to give these countries a fish and then find ourselves wondering why they are hungry after only a day?

The glass is half…

The question: Is your glass half full, or half empty? Now, depending on how the question is answered; the person asking the question knows if they are dealing with a positive person, or a negative person. Half empty? Well then you, my friend, are a pessimist. A dark word. Means that you see the bad in everything. It's half full you say? Then you are a positive "can do" type of cat. You take lemons and make lemonade. Ain't nothing gonna breaka your stride…

A thought occured to me today that made me rethink the whole "half glass" conundrum. The reality is that both answers be true. That there glass is BOTH half full, AND half empty. One does not exist without the other. The glass has liquid, this is true, but it also has fifty percent air in there. The correct answer is the glass is just half.

What then am I now that I have had this epiphany? If my official answer is "both", then am I branded both pessimistic, and optimistic? Do the two cancel each other out leaving me in my self realized middle? I like to think of myself as a realist, and so here is where it gets tricky. It is easy to answer the great glass riddle if the percentile is off. Take a glass; drink ¾ of the liquid in it. We are ready to admit a pessimistic viewpoint. Too much air, not enough liquid. Likewise take that same glass and pour into it a half a glass more of whatever liquid your mind can concoct. That same glass is now ¾ full. Well, again no brainer. Positive thinking wins out.

Thing is, very few things in our lives are at a "fifty-fifty" place. I would argue that right now in your life you are in either a MOSTLY full place or a MOSTLY empty place. Never mind the original question. The glass being half is a distraction to a really hard question. Are you mostly full? Why not to the brim? What do you have to do to add more liquid into that damned glass? Why go through life with a mostly empty glass?

Maybe it's because if you accidentally knock down a mostly empty glass you do not have much to lose. I propose that we keep drinking from our glass, and don't refill it. No refill means the glass is just getting emptier and emptier. Our lives are getting the best of us.

So what then? We just fill it?

Let's do so. I plan to take whatever liquid that I feel is appropriate and just over flow my glass. Toast with me!! Let us chink crystal together and let the excessive happiness of our lives over flow. Man I'm thirsty!

You almost have to; or Accidental punch list II

I have reflected on my own musings to a certain degree. Maybe it’s normal to think about what you’ve written. I mean I have heard that 85 percent of writing is re-writing. So I have to add onto one of my previous blogs, because a) I’ve given the topic some more thought, and b) I caught myself saying something and it dawned on me why I noticed my accidental punch list at all.

“You almost have to”. I used the phrase to defend the actions of a good friend of mine. He went to Cabo San Lucas some time back and when he and his wife returned home they regaled me about their adventures on their tropical vacay. The conversation was normal enough. “We went to a massage parlor”, or “we sipped mojitos on the beach”, and then Ron said to me “I bought a Santa Claus costume” followed promptly by; “and the food was good.’

Wait. Back up there. “You bought a Santa Claus costume?” I asked. “In Cabo?”

My friend’s wife rolled her eyes and said that she also thought it was stupid, to which I put up my hand and waving off the comment I said “No, I get it.” My friend’s wife looked confused. Then I looked confused that she didn’t see it. Then her dogs all looked confused because the people looked confused (j/k). I told her that if you come across a Santa Clause costume in October in a tropical paradise, you almost have to buy it.

It’s a simple concept, really. If you are busy walking through life and you come across the absurd, crazy, wacky, exciting, or thrilling you almost have to participate. When my friend told me that she wanted to take me skydiving the day before I graduated High School I almost had to jump out of a perfectly good airplane. When I was in New Mexico and my brother offered me a hand full of coins in his pocket if I would eat one tequila worm that had been dried and salted, well I almost had to (there were a lot of quarters in there and for us apartment dwellers, that means laundry, people!).

Now, when I say “you almost have to” I do not refer to it like “oh poop, I have to do the dishes”, or “I guess I have to pay the bills”. I mean you almost have to eat to survive (if you want to do the whole liquid diet thing, more power to you, ya weirdo). It’s acknowledging that the universe at large has thrown you some spice in your life. You know, the spice of life that everyone claims they want, but don’t have. People have to learn that they almost have to stop and take a picture with the dinosaur in front of the McDonald’s. People should see that they almost have to try local cuisine when they travel. The spice is there if you look to see what the universe is telling you that you almost have to do something. The spice is there when you start looking for it.

I dunno. Call it “Sucking the marrow from the bones of life”. Call it “Carpe Diem”. Call it “Geronimo!” But what ever you do when your path crosses with something that you will remember and cherish for always if you do it, for the love of Pete tell yourself that YOU ALMOST HAVE TO, and then jump!