When it Rains, it Pours.

Tonight is an evening of worry and concern. I left early from work to care for my wife who call and asked if I could come home early. She is sick and has been sick more often lately. The last time was a trip to the ER for a long night and no answers. Tonight, it’s just about trying to make her feel comfortable.

Upon arrival at home, I learned that one of my sisters has gone into ICU due to liver failure. Because I’m not sure what my wife is fighting, I hesitate to go to see my sister in her compromised situation.

Emotionally, I feel stretched and drained. And a little helpless. I hope this weekend brings healing.


Post #4-005

A Cat’s Approach

When life gets too frantic or it seems like everything is so important that each moment might bring the sudden strike of doom we so fear; remember the cat.

When the stress builds up, stretch and yawn like you just don’t care who’s watching. Relax, take a nap if you need to; and don’t let any serious work get in your way of making your mark.


15th Centtury manuscript marred forever in history by a cat looking for attention.

Post 4-004

Not The Slightest Clue

I have a faint memory that my parents have identified from my description as taking place in 1969. I was 3. I remember a hospital room and being inside an oxygen tent. I also remember being angry at the nurse for stealing my blanket, brought to me from home, when I would fall asleep. I was unconscious to anything else in the world. Never did I imagine that during this same time, that world was much different for my uncle.IMG_20180822_215013

Between the months of August 1968 and August 1969, My uncle Russ was in a far away Asian country fighting in a war. I was in California. He patrolled the jungles and climbed through the mud. I was mastering toddler walk. He fought for his life with a gun in his hands and wits about his head; his hunting skills being used to run point more times than not on his patrols. I fought asthma; my skill set not even mastering breathing.

What a brat I must’ve been all those years. Garnering attention for being sick, being praised for getting good grades, and having love heaped upon me by my grandparents- his parents. He struggled with demons that followed him back from Viet Nam.

Yet he never spoke but kind words to me. He helped me learn how to fish and run a boat. Later on, he played with my kids and doted on them when we came to visit.

I always wondered why he never seemed to be in step with the normal world. A loving wife, a family life, or even a regular job seemed to all escape him.

Our lives took entirely different paths. I got the easy one. He had the hard one allotted to him. I reaped the benefits of the godawful hell he went through. And he never said a word.

In fact I never heard him talk of any of it. Never did he complain or make me feel like I owed him something. It has only been in these later years that I knew anything of what he went through. And only a small part of it.  IMG_20180822_215201

Today I finally saw the photos of a young man in a far away place. I held the Bronze Star, awarded to him for his ordeals.

Luckily, I had been able to tell him how much I appreciated all he had done for me and my family before he passed. But I don’t think I ever had a clue as to how much that appreciating should’ve been.

Uncle Russ. Thank you again. I hope the rest you find meets what you deserve.




Salmon-chanted Feeding

First a word. In this case “first”.

And then another, and another, and another. Before long, there’s a sentence. And then a paragraph, even if an improper one. And just like that, the writing has started all over again.

So much has happened since my last post, it would take like a year to fill it all in. So I won’t. However, this year won’t be so lucky, nor undocumented.

So welcome back to both you and me. I’ve missed you.

At the time of this writing, an uncle is finishing his run. Any day now the call will be received of his passing.

An unprecedented effort is currently being spent in the Pacific Northwest to preserve a particular Orca, J50, and the pod to which she belongs. Antibodies and dewormers are being injected. Live salmon are being released to secretly feed the young whale, and everyone involved is hopeful that the plight of this one whale turns people’s attention and care to preserving the ecosystem of our oceans.

Upstairs, new neighbors are moving in. A new start in hopefully a healthy apartment staircase community. One never knows at the start where the series of events leads. Will it be good, or will it be bad?

Where am I in my career? Definitely not the start. I’m too old to call anything a start.

The end? I sure hope not.

The time to relaunch? Yes. It’s time to pick up the race one more. I’m not Whale J50; but I’m hungry for salmon.



Post 4-001



The Race

raceThe race of man is no race at all. From birth to death, time appears to not matter. Man spends it as if it had no value or no end.

It’s only when time is expired that man begs for more. Wishing and regretting while the final ticks whisk away; it’s too late.

Now is the moment to realize there is no time; there are only things to do.

What will I do? Let my wishes expire or act upon them and see them realized?

The race is mine and it never ends. Until it does.


Post 3-163


Happy Place

Hey Kids,

Sitting in the dark, with the wind to my back, and the kayak bobbing up and down in the waves one has time to think.bullfrog sunset

The water was too rough to head out so I tied the boat to the string of large tractor tires that form a wind break around the marina and took advantage of the artificial reef it also created.

Between the fish that fell victim to the jigs I threw out, I watched the full moon rise. It reflection and the lights of the marina flickered across the rippled surface of the water.

My thoughts focused on the beauty of it all. The smell of the lake, the warmth of the air, the coolness of the water, and the pull of the fish. There’s a simplicity to it. There’s a complexity to it. There’s a feeling of being part of it.

That is my happy place.


Post 3-162

There Might Be An Occasional Gap

Hey Kids,

I don’t even know where to start but I’ve missed a few days.

I got so busy and lost in the things I had to do on the boat, fishing until the wee hours of the night, and the traveling, I never took the time to blog.

Monday meant back to work, meeting my brother and his visiting son, and total exhaustion.Alfred2

Tuesday, today, started out with an attempt to the gym. It didn’t end up so well. Maybe it’s just a case of out of shape but I fear my reaction to the minor physical strain might be something else. I’m no doctor, but I know this morning wasn’t good.

I ended up not going into the office and spent the day resting. Each time I stood, I got dizzy. By the evening, I feel better but I worry. If it continues, I’ll have to go see a doctor. For now, I’m hoping for simply a bad day.

But the streak is broken and unrecoverable. I think maybe the blog every day is beyond what is truly possible. I enjoy trying, so I still will because I enjoy it.

On to tomorrow. May the health be better, the writing interesting, and days missed few.


Post 3-161

Be Calm and Catch Fish

Hey Kids,

It’s pretty late right now. Actually, it’s really early in the morning, but I’ll count this as last night anyway.

“On business” we are back down to Lake Powell for the weekend. A couple of possible share owners want to see the boat this weekend so we volunteered to be the hosts. It was really just an excuse to stay on the boat, but why not?

The high winds were against us again in traveling down here. The kayaks tied to the top of the car made us sway across the road like we were listening to song but dared not to dance. It was nerve racking and it tests me. I get tested a lot lately.

I make it no secret that I miss my kids. For those who have followed this blog for a while, you know that I write this blog primarily for them. One day I hope one or all of them find it, read it, and if nothing more, learn a little more of who I am and what makes or made me tick. It’s why I always start out with “Hey Kids”.

Over the past several weeks, my emotions have been stretched thin. Sadness and anger are always waiting just under the surface. Little things, like the wind, can trigger a response that isn’t always the most appropriate.

I am also very susceptible to kind gestures as well. The feels overwhelm me and I become a little, well, let’s just say emotional. It’s a terrible roller coaster. Sometimes I wish I could settle out, be more stable. But then again, these intense feelings are my way of knowing that when I say I miss my kids, I’m not BSing myself. It’s not just words.

But tonight I’m back to my lake. A few hours here and I can relax. Already at the dock I’ve watched the boys fishing catch some nice fish. The stripers are prowling the young shad. And if you know nothing more about me, know that I love catching striped bass.

The winds are calming and by morning it should be kayakable for a few hours.

Let the healing waters do their thing. I’m here to catch some fish and to be calm.

Hope the kids join me here someday.


Post 3-160

Filling it.

Hey Kids,

18 feet in 22 days. That’s all I need.

Nearly 10 inches per day from now until the end of the month. Mother nature do me proud.

I entered a contest and that was my prediction. I stated officially that Lake Powell would be 509 feet deep at the dam on July 1st.IMG_0103

I’ve been watching the water flow daily. I’ve watched, experienced, and can witness to the nearly 30 feet of rise so far this spring. But I may have outpaced the run off in my last and final prediction.

It’s currently filling at just over 7 ½”, as of yesterday, which would leave me shy but I’ll hold my ground. I’ll stick to my earlier math. And if my total is right and I am randomly selected against any that may have tied me, I’ll use the winnings of one day’s boat rental with pride.

Yes. I am that type of geek.



Post 3-159