Dad’s Can Do Almost Anything

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super-dad-shirtHey Kids!

I know that dreams are just dreams, but I know that they are also windows into your true thoughts and feelings. And sometimes a truth that you need to hear. I had such a dream last night, right as the morning dawned. I sprang out of bed so I wouldn’t forget it. Nor lose the feeling I had at the moment.

Parent Alienation is a real thing. It’s hurtful, hateful and permanently damaging. Are there times children are better off by being kept from their mom and/or dad? Sure. There are exceptions to any rule. But under normal circumstances, no. Mom’s can’t be dad’s and dad’s can’t be mom’s. Each can compensate for the other but not entirely. Same-sex marriages? I have no comment because I don’t know. I’m not, and have not been, in one. But I’m sure there’s other dimensions that are different from traditional marriages with kids. Not really the area of expertise for me.

But a Parent denying the love, support, and involvement of another parent is inexcusable. Completely. And it can be done in more than one way. Sometimes obviously. Sometimes subtly.

A parent can be near helpless. When visitations are denied. Calls aren’t returned. Messages ignored. Doors not opened. Holidays forsaken. Entire family relations severed. Thank you’s withheld. Courts uninterested. And all contact becomes restricted, controlled and rare through the custodial parent. The answers are few.

The boy in the dream asked, “What can you do?”. The father, who at long last is allowed to answer, responded. “I’m a dad, I can do almost anything.”

In that thought I have hope. I believe that. I truly do. All roads may not be open. But all are not closed.

Be a dad. Do almost anything.

I can do that. I’m a dad.

*Drops mic. Leaves stage.*

Road Trip

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Hey Kids. 4 in the morning today is really no different today than any other day except that it’s today and feels earlier than any other day. Well because it’s today.

But we are headed to Moab to hike Delicate Arch, which is exciting. The four hour drive to it is the bummer.

I need to pack (I’m such a procrastinator), load the ice chest and truck and tie on the bikes.

I’m looking forward to this whirlwind road trip and I hope to get some good reading and writing while on the way. I’ve been  on a good kick since my time off ending last week, I hate to lose the momentum with a mini vacation. That is how you know you’re doing what you love.

Catch ya later.

The Writing Life for Me

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proofreadSitting in a Carl’s Jr. alone, getting funny looks from the cashiers and cooks, and curious stares from the occasional fellow diners is what writing is all about.

I worked my shift at the day job. Drove to this place. Ordered and ate a quick dinner. Fired up the laptop. And now, drink Dr. Pepper,  and write words, and fix words, and caress words until my bladder and spirit can do it no more. Tonight.

And then I’ll start it all over again tomorrow

And when this book is done. I’ll start the next one.

Am I complaining? Nope. It’s my choice. And I love it.

I explain all this only for those who might believe the whimsical writers from the movies who play all day and whip out perfectly worded books, plays, and sound bites on the first draft.

It’s been said, and I paraphrase: The first draft is crap.

And so are the next 3 to 10 drafts. At least for me.

It’s a lonely business. And I think I would have it no other way.

A Humble Summation

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a18c2b14be267d88057121afa27d1e09Located very near to the gravesite of Porter Rockwell, I found this head stone. It has since deterorated even more than this photo.

Despite having lived through the incredible time of Nauvoo, crossing the plains, establishing the Salt Lake Valley, serving as a Bishop, the simple summary of his life was inscribed as follows:

Sacred to the Memory of Bishop John Mills Wooley

Born November 20, 1822 in

Chester County, Pennsylvania

Baptised Nauvoo Oct 7, 1840

Ordained Bishop of the Ninth Ward October 1856

Departed this life August 18, 1864

Died by a blow from rocks by a sliding log in Cottonwood Kanyon

 I find the forgotten history sad. I find the deterioration of the headstones tragic. And I find the fact that all this will be my fate harrowing.

I know I mean very little to the world. I hope I mean something enough to someone that when my head stone begins to fall apart, someone cares.

Old Dog?

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I believed this morning that I had lost my wallet and my phone; that they were stolen actually. I went through the round of emotions of shock, anger and the dread. Who had them? What did I lose? I mean everything I lost. Visa card. Debit card. Even my brand new library card. Cash. Zoo and Park passes. My Subway and Café Rio meal cards.

With the information in the phone, with all the photos and info, I now had to worry about Identity Theft. I called the bank and the phone company cancelling cards and suspending service. I began to realize how much I hadn’t done to be prepared for something like this. I realized how many things I could’ve done, should’ve done, and could’ve and should’ve not done. But it was too late now. Live and learn.

And then the miracle. The phone and wallet were found. I had my things back and my information was never in unsafe hands. A trip to the bank for new cards and all was back to how it should be.

Now it’s time to see how much I really learned.

Equal Things Aren’t Always Equal

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Ingredients all have to be added for a recipe to work as expected. Sometimes it’s good to add or subtract a few things to alter the flavor but it’s best to know what to expect ahead of time. In the process of making a recipe, the order of things is equally inportant.
Making waffles the other morning I noticed that adding water to the batter too dry is a lot easier than adding more flour to the batter too wet.
They might be equally important but the order is not equally easy to adjust.
So goes decisions in life. The order we do things are sometimes more important than the actual things we decide to do.

Recognize the Real Problem

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14 - 1What is a writer who isn’t writing? A writer still. But not a very efficient or happy one.

I look constantly for the reasons that stop me from writing as much as I want; completing blog posts, editing, writing new stories.

Is it job pressure? Domestic duties pressure? TV? Reading? Depression? Fishing? Baking? Laziness?

Probably all of the above.

But the real killer is really simply not writing as much as I can, should, and most of all, want.

Fear the real killer. Face the real killer. Conquer the real killer.

Sit your butt down and write.

Making Good Time

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Ano-novoMaking good time has always been an obsession with me and my family. It’s an odd expression and goal. It really doesn’t make any sense, yet I still find myself trying to accomplish it with every drive.

Making good time of course is to arrive sooner than expected. However, if one did the math, one would also know exactly when one was expected. The magic is to always arrive sooner anyway. And the trick is to simply lower expectations and then speed.

I almost always still equate travel time to 60MPH. The accepted safe speed from back in the 55 MPH days, may they burn in hell. Anyone who thinks 55 MPH was a good speed limit, go drive from Salt Lake to Reno, as I have done so many times. And then drive back again. With a carload of kids. In the summer time. In the 1970’s.

Anyway, I figure a mile a minute. From there, I make good time or I make bad time. Regardless of the 75 MPH zones now. With gas stops and potty breaks, a good time can still be maintained if the trip is long enough. If my trip is less than 1 minute/mile. I am a happy man. I it exceeds it, I will do better the next time, no matter what it takes.

Does it matter? To me, it’s all that matters when on the road.

You Were Saying?

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I may have spent my earliest years growing up in the Bay Area of California but I have spent more time than most camping around the lakes of the Sierra foothills and tromping through the sagebrush in Nevada and Utah.

And in all that time, I had yet to come across a rattlesnake in the wild.

During my latest stay out in the western desert of Northern Utah, after exploring on foot the area around our campground, and loading back our gear into our vehicle, I mention the above mentioned fact of never seeing a rattlesnake.

No more than minutes from saying it, a loud noise sounded outside of my driver’s side window. At first, I thought it sounded like pressurized air- like a tire leak. I stopped the truck and the sound also stopped.

“Was that a rattlesnake?” My honey asked.

“What??!”

We got out of the truck and as we back-tracked on foot down the road, the noise restarted.

Scanning around the roadside, the brush, and trying to follow this odd sound, we finally spotted it.

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

I have now seen a rattle snake in the wild.

Sometimes a Motorcycle is Just a Motorcycle

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a1c083d371351b0b82a38cf846293722I believe everyone should do what they want, how they want, and as many times as they want. Myself included.

I ride a motorcycle; more than I don’t. And I do it because I enjoy it.

So long as it isn’t snowing, I’ll generally ride. But all this just means I ride a bike. That’ all. I do not consider myself a biker per se. I’m a motorcyclist.

I don’t try to look like a biker either. I just dress, wearing whatever is appropriate for the conditions in which I ride.

Now like I said, everyone can do what they wish. Maybe for some the riding of the motorcycle releases some inner rebel, a chance to express oneself, or maybe some kind of needed identity escape. To each their own and more power to them.

However, sometimes I feel like I’m considered not a real biker because I don’t have my wallet chained to my belt loop, sport HD boots, or don a leather jacket. And one day I might have all that. But it annoys me to be judged so. Sometimes.

I ride because I like it. The bike is not an extension of any part of me, it’s not an expression of my soul, nor is It the thing that defines me in its entirety.

Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar, and I believe it applies likewise for a motorcycle.