I've Been Thinking Of This One...

Writing this sometimes seems pointless. But the pointlessness doesn't stop at writing. What's worth anything really? Admit it; we all think like this if we allow ourselves to really think. It's just like thinking, "well, this has been said before." Or "this has already been drawn." "Someone else has played this song."

And writing is like that.

The best I can do is get it in key. Right?
I can tune these words so they won't hurt your mental ears as you read them.
If I work hard enough at it, I can tune them fine enough to ring true.

But is a true note reason enough in itself to keep playing?
Am I losing you?

But then I think some more. And I think it's not a singular note that's true, but a collection, played in varying tones, at different times and in different lengths, at different intensities....
It becomes about the spaces in between the notes as well. What's not written.

And if it all comes together, it's a song. And if any one's listening, it could help them. A good song cuts straight to my soul.

But the singer won't hear the resonance of his song. The writer won't read how his words are read. And we all will not feel our effect.

But play we must.

Write, draw, breathe. Even when we're off-key and no one's listening.

Life As A Stream

If my life were a stream, it would echo the properties of the river I kayaked on Sunday. Largely, I follow the path of least resistance, erratic as it sometimes seems. My life's attitude largely reflects the circumstances or weather that surrounds me. Like a stream it's steady and rhythmical.

My life finds a way to keep flowing, even if a bit of pooling is necessary.

And as I kayaked this weekend, I learned my life is much like the river in another way I hadn't considered:

Over rocks, between downed trees, in fast waters, and whenever the water gets turbulent, whenever it gets creative to find a way to flow, the riverbed is amazingly clear for quite some distance. Below, the adversity has carried away all of lesser substance. The more significant things remain. That which is more significant becomes easier to see. Life becomes a sand bed, where there is clarity previously unknown. All the particles that fill up and dull down are gone. Only the important remains.

For that reason, I find it easier to see the importance of Alison. She brought substance to my life. She gave me significance. She brought richness.

And as I find a way to keep flowing, I'll reflect on her for quite some time. I'll reflect on our relationship, what it meant to me, the lessons I'll take away from it.

Turbulent Weekend

It was rainy, cold and windy this weekend. My mom and I managed to eek out a kayaking trip on a new section (new to us) of the Eel River. I was admittedly skeptical as we left in the rain, with 35 mph gusts of wind and 39 degree weather, and as we shoved off into the river, it was moving fast from the rain, and it was cold to the touch. But we enjoyed it, and half way through the sun came out and burnt up all the clouds.

I'm feeling turbulent in my heart as well. Several times this weekend I wanted to 'just go.' Drive home. Drive somewhere. But I'm still in my head no matter where I go. So it was a time of letting myself relax.

I immediately started the laundry when I got home tonight, washing the memory card my mom so graciously entrusted to me. Luckily, it still works! Cleaner now too.

Where Ever I May Roam

In reflection I've realized that, for the duration of my life, I've been the one to leave.

The traveller.
In life, separation is inevitable.
I've simply been out in front of life's metronome.
Leaving schools after a year of being the new kid.
Crossing the Mason-Dixon for college.
Leaving college for the Marines.
Travelling there too.

I guess that's why it's hard now.
Because I remain.

Things Stay Put

I never noticed how things moved around the house when Alison was here.
But now things don't move anywhere.

Magazines used to walk about from the coffee table, to the kitchen
table, to the entranceway bench, to the night stand. Now they rest on
the bench permanently, like their legs are broken. Other things don't
move anymore either. Notes and coupon lay out instead of disappearing
into the trash. Big dishes don't move about the kitchen. I've got a
little bear of honey that keeps staring at me each morning. That dude
used to be so active, jumping about the counter everytime I wasn't
looking.

The only thing that still moves is Lily. She's good company, but she's
not much for conversation. She just wants a free meal and to be touched
constantly. She leaves her fur as evidence that she's been moving when
I was gone.

It's a full house still, but stagnate in every way I'd like some
movement.

Obscure Advice About Love

I thought of an earlier post titled "Obscure Advice About Love"

Thinking back to when I was a kid, everything was magic. Cars were
magical. They made noise and went fast. My dad working on ours became
a magician. He had power to fix them. As he showed me how too, they
became less magical to me. I learned that the machine compressed the
gas and air, and a spark is designed to make it all go 'bang', thrusting
down the cylinder, making another rise up and compress, plus drive a
shaft connected to a wheel or two or four. Each component made sense
once you knew the theory and practice, and each component didn't haste
to lose its magic.

Changing leaves were magical. Then I learned about the earth's path
around the sun, and the sun's apparent path across the sky, and then
chlorophyll and how energy is transferred to support the trees, and all of
the sudden autumn was science, not magic. Snow and winter lost its
magic in quick succession.

And thus it went when growing up. One thing after another ceased being
magical as I began to understand the inner workings. I'm a
self-proclaimed skill-hound. I learn everything I can.

That doesn't mean each thing lost its beauty. Changing leaves are still
one of the most beautiful things Indiana can offer.

Love follows the same pattern as automobiles. When two people first fall
in love, it's a brand new car. The car is fast and has all kinds of new
functions we discover and don't understand. So love is magical for us.
But as we introduce ourselves to our love, we begin to understand the
science behind each function. And if we study it, we learn how the
whole thing works, and it gives us the ability to keep it running strong
and finely-tuned.

But it's funny that we think that magic happens only if we find
"Mr./Mrs. Right". Like each party is a chemical, and only combined
under the right circumstances will the chemicals react in love. Love
seems magical only in the beginning; that's my argument. After that,
we're risking derailing and losing functionality unless we understand
the process and maintain the machine of love.

Love is still as beautiful as the autumn leaves once you understand how
to love someone. It's something beautiful. It's the most fulfilling
non-magical thing.

Long Weekend Ride/Sympathy

I just returned from a long weekend's ride. The weekend was lazy and chilly (Heated hand-grips are worth their weight!). I looked at a few houses up north. Just speculating. This afternoon when I got back, I hung my Aerostitch suit up in the closet and noticed that two of Alison's purses were hanging behind where I usually hang the suit, and I hadn't noticed before. I took the purses down and cleaned them out.

Inside one of them I found a notebook that she kept. At the turn of 2008, she started writing notes about what we did together. I didn't know that. So I read them all. It's hard to tear up to such good memories; and hard to handle the fact that I would not have remembered most of them if her notes didn't catalogue them so well. They make me feel like I dilly-dallied through life when I should have been chronicling. I should have been writing in moments SHE wasn't looking, so I'd never forget.

So for weeks now I've navigated through Alison's "To The Moon" in order to visit everyone's blogs, and it's started wearing on me that there has been no change. So I put a page of the notes on there. Being her words, and her handwriting, they're intriguing and entertaining, comforting and therapeutic. I'll put some more up in the coming days. How exciting to be checking hers again!

Morning After Addendum

When I was about my niece Alyssa's age, my family had a black lab we called "Fritzy." We loved that dog. He was a good boy, and would pull Penelope and me on the sled in the winter, would play with us anytime, and was always good in a pinch. It's a shame I don't remember more. But I do remember taking a nap one day, and Fritz got out of the house and walked down the hill in front of our house, straight down Indiana Ave and got hit by a car.

When I woke up Penny was crying, and mom was trying to explain what happened. I remember wondering what Penny was crying about, thinking and even patting her on the back "It's okay, he'll come back. It's okay."

25 years later I still don't get this death thing.

My training has done well to demolish my perception that everything needs to be fair, or even should be, but all I can think is 'it isn't fair.'

I'm three again.

The Transition of Pain/Giving the Prayer

I gave an invocation today at a Luncheon for the Volunteers of Community North Hospital, where Alison and I stayed for a long time. I wanted to do a better job than I did, but the microphone was not working at the time, so I had to project what I was saying. I wanted to tell everyone that it was my pleasure to be there, and that I had gratitude for each of their contributions, not to the hospital itself, but to those that find themselves there. I wanted to say that most people thank me for MY service, especially since 9-11, which was basically an emotional upheaval for the country. Emotional upheavals tend to show us our blessings, give us perspective. I tried to say that each family that finds themselves in the hospital has its own emotional upheaval, and that I'd had my own, and thank you.

Somehow I felt as if I were yelling at 70 elderly women instead of thanking them. I wished the mic was on.

The President of the hospital spoke about the volunteer services, and her stories of the comfort that those volunteers provide echoed my own, and brought back memories that have faded.

Memories like how Ali loved wheeling out onto the garden on the second floor and eating her lunch.

I'd also forgot about the football birthday cake that the chemo nurses scrounged up and sang to her on her 27Th.



All of that brings such pain.



But instead of being, what is the best way to put this, bitter? regretful? sorrowful? that Alison had such a rough time, instead of feeling deep pain and sympathy for her pain and loss, well, maybe on top of those same feelings, is popping up a great sadness, a great loneliness at the loss of the love of my life.

She's gone. Loving like that won't happen anymore.

I am filling up my life with things to do because when I stop I hurt.

I am so lonely without her. No one told me this would be loneliness training. I miss hugging her. I miss getting hugged back. I miss telling her things. I miss her telling me the same. I miss getting her water at bedtime.

It all makes me want to run away.

But to what?

So I guess I am here training. Becoming more proficient at living without. For the moment I am stuck. Living for the weekends...

Emotional Dichotomy:Trees On Fire

This weekend my brother Mason, Colin, and I went camping in Northern Indiana. Fall is in its full spread right now, and we enjoyed perfect weather and good food. Some of the pictures are below and on Flickr.

We went kayaking Sunday morning when mom arrived at the park, and we found our plan to be a bit more ambitious in reality than it seemed on the map. Everyone fought through some muscle soreness though. I love the sense of accomplishment you get when you complete something hard. When you push your limits.

I never knew I could feel such opposite emotions. In between strokes, I watched the gleam of the water and the drops fall from my paddle, and I thought about Alison. It was so beautiful out there, and I was really happy to be out and a part of it all. I had a happiness in my heart that didn't compete with my profound sadness while I thought about Ali. I am struck by the definity of her departure. It's permanence. I miss her. But all of my sadness can be in there right next to my smiles. The smiles are coming naturally. I find them in the breezes, in falling leaves, and in camp fires.

Starting the KLR-650

Starting the KLR-650
Originally uploaded by tommykline

I drove to the Indiana-Kentucky border tonight to buy a second motorcycle. This one is in immaculate condition, and I really couldn't think of a better guy to buy a bike from. He obviously took great care of her, and added just about everything I could have wanted.

I'm smitten with this bike.

Baldy May-Pops Lesson

Last week I brought my two Kayaks along, only I had but one paddle for them. So to remedy this, AJ and I drove 22 miles to Crawfordsville. There is a Walmart there, and two Sporting Goods stores. We'd soon find out that none of those had paddles.
So we navigated to Lebanon, another 18 miles, because the GPS said there was a Gander Mountain there. It was there alright, in the form of a huge warehouse, not a retail store. So we're roughly 40 miles from camp, still with no paddle, and a bit frustrated. We ate lunch/dinner, and navigated to Lafayette (another 30 miles) because I was dead-certain there was a Dicks Sporting Goods there.
And there was, but the parking lot was so full I had to park across the street at a Firestone.
But lo, I did buy a paddle, a fantastic one, and upon returning to the truck, slightly frustrated and now facing a night-kayak trip, I noticed the tire.
Absolutely flat.
I'd been riding for two years with the knowledge that should I have a flat, I would not have a spare, as the spare never holds air, and does not come down like it should from under the truck. It's stuck, and I was stuck.
But then it hit me that I parked at a Firestone.
Luck.
(The skeptic in me thought for a second that they might have deflated me in spite for having parked in their lot but I did notice a pull to the center when I had been applying brakes.)
The tires had 70,000 miles on them, and I was waging on them lasting for a bit.
Colin calls this type of situation "running Baldy May-Pops"
Instead now I'm running Bridgestone's. And my spare is new and functional.
And all the frustration of the journey ended with the best scenario possible under the certainty that the tires' time had come.
I could have returned from my night Kayaking and been absolutely stuck in the middle of the woods.
Coincidence or genuine care from above?

Man Versus Deer

Last night I was heading south at just before dusk on Colin's motorcycle. The road was narrow and straight, with corn stalks framing it in on both sides close enough to limit visibility. I was riding at about 55 mph and had just down-shifted to slow for a coming intersection, when a deer jolted out in front of my headlight. It missed, but as I applied the breaks another one ran into my front wheel. I was maybe going 50.

So there I am in the gravel, gasping for breath, with a streak of light running through my vision. I moved my feet and hands to make sure they were still with me. I listened for the bike. There was no sound. I couldn't find it from where I was laying. After a minute or two I regained my breath, and called Colin to let him know his bike was trashed, whereever it was.

That suit I bought saved my life. I had steel-toe boots, gloves, a gortex and kevlar riding suit, and helmet.

I didn't exactly walk away from it; I was carried out on a gurney, but I am fine today, with no broken bones, a little whiplash in my neck, and a sore and swollen foot. I learned a lot. I am so glad I invested so heavily into safety gear. All told, the gear was more than the bike. I can buy another bike, but not another body, right?

What a weekend!

Time Off

This week I took time out and went camping with AJ. It was much a much needed adventure with some funny stories and even a little danger. Don't mountain bike Brown County's toughest trails with no protective gear whatsoever. Don't climb wet limestone cliffs with a heavy back pack on. Those are two points I noted. Here are some pictures...