I cannot apologize for being born as a privileged white male. I had no choice in the matter. I cannot apologize for being raised as a privileged white male. I had no choice in the matter. But somewhere between then and now I could have done something About what does matter. Don’t get me wrong, I’m confident that if everyone behaved as I have, These issues wouldn’t matter. But they don’t and the world is not improving enough in these matters. Here's what I hope that I can help make matter.
Black Lives Fucking Do Matter
And about that apology; I recognize I have descended from people and policies that have hurt others. I'm sorry that happened and I'm sorry you may be affected today from that.
Having started on-line dating also started me on self-reflection.
So far, I get no bonus points.
But I’m happy to be on the journey.
So, I let the cat out of the bag. I got married on 12/29/20.
This might seem surprising because as of last April I was still driving about. Who is she?
She is an artist; painting, drawing, writing. Former Yoga Instructor. Former IT Systems Analyst. Loves the outdoors. And my jokes.
I invited her up to Whitefish to recover from being hit by a Suburban while in a crosswalk. We spent a lot of time together both indoors and outdoors. We are both living very intentional lives. We both intend to live with each other for the rest of our lives.
Of course I wrote some courting poems:
Here to there is too much air.
Don’t believe I do not care.
Excited to be tracking something rare.
Available only to those who dare.
I'm not the tallest, darkest or handsomest. I'm not the fastest, smartest or funniest. I'm not the richest, bravest or kindest. I'm not the most talented, most respected
or most ambitious. Am I average, normal? Am I yours?
Clearly the on-line dating paid off. Which makes me no expert in this experience. It took me years, her weeks. I’ve met all kinds of people. A couple of friends. Many anecdotes.
Given the times I cannot imagine how else to meet someone.
I’m glad it is over.
Lovely Lady, standing by me, Celebrating, for all to see. We met each other when life was a fray. Open to commit, being unafraid. Kind and caring, living with intent. Creative, loyal, even tolerant. Please let us join; be more than one. Awaken together with the rising sun. My vow, my gift; my soul without fear. Together we will conquer our remaining years.
I read this poem yesterday at a lovely little ceremony. It was on a knoll overlooking the Deschutes River. Small affair, given the times. An officiant, a couple of friends and a couple in love.
Yes, I got married.
I guess there is some catching up to do.
And yet, Light graces the morning Dolphins play in the seas Horses neigh in the fields Birds talk in the trees And yet, Burdens are still there Decisions are not made Races are not won Regrets do not fade And yet, Friends offer their help Lightening the way Helping fight back Come what may
Why not drive 800 miles down to Southern California for New Years?
I had spent Christmas with my brother and all my other relatives were out of town. Further, it’s been raining and more is predicted.
I’ve got this packing thing well down. So, I threw in what I needed and headed south. It was fun, not too much drinking occurred. I got to hang out with a group of ladies binge watching Outlander. I got in several hikes in the surrounding hills and worked on my tan.
Unfortunately I didn’t get any good photos until I hit Redwoods National Park on the way back. The weather closed in and I fled for home.
The folks I stay with have a guest register. Yes, they encourage and get a lot of vagabonds passing through. I try to leave them with a poem. This time I wrote:
It's not the cars we drive Or the clothes we wear Great gobs of makeup Or even long hair We gather from long distance Or just around the bend We all look forward To being called a friend So here in this place No need to shove We do like to gather Surrounded by love
I hope I’m being effective here at the writer’s colony. Time will tell.
For me, I had dreamed of starting a book by now.
Instead I went back on-line with Match.
For me, it entails a fair amount of thoughtful writing.
And occasionally creates a poem:
I want to get deep within you, Past the hard shell. But how? Is my wit sufficient for the difficulties? Can it point me to the right tools? Is the smallest of cracks; The beginning of the road to victory? I pause, Imagining the fruit of my labor. I imagine, you, a macadamia nut.
You grieve for the loss Which is causing you pain. You wonder the cost, Hoping to stay sane. But those very same currents Which you attribute to fate. Have not been a deterrent To finding a new soul mate. A person, a whisper, Promising you will survive. A person, a mirror, Reflecting you are alive. Breath the fresh air. Search for what’s great. Somebody to help share. As you celebrate.
Before Tanager starts her morning song. Before Coyote laughs at the newest day. There is a pause. Too dark to see, like the gathering of wits. First a squeeze, just a little bit of orange, And with that squeeze, a cascade is started. Black starts turning to blue. Orange fights its way clear of the initial dab And starts to ooze along the bottom. Encouraged, yellow leaps ahead Shouting to the world of a new day. Getting so bright, turning away And in turning, displayed behind, A tableau, a painting, an inspiration.
Hear them; Leaves. Sounding like rain. Rustling like wind.