2012 04 30 Open Your Eyes...

Here we go again!

Another rip roaring, incredible start to a wonderfully amazing day, and all I had to do was open my eyes!

You ever wonder how so many different types of days all start the same? You ever wonder what makes one day veer to the left so much farther than the day before? You ever wonder how quickly your frame of mind can change, as it pin balls it's way into, and through the day?

Well I don't know about you, but I wonder about it all the time.

I wonder how we can keep all of these different scenarios sorted out. I wonder how I am able to sift through all of the different people, different characteristics, different problems, different likes, and dislikes, and still find the pillow at night.

All of the days start the same. All of the days have similar possibilities. All of the days have the same number of clicks on the clock. All of the days start with the sun, and end with the sun. Sprinkle a few stars and a couple full moons in between there, and you have yourself one unpredictable stage show.

I usually start my days the same way, every morning. Over and over again. Open my eyes. Walk the dogs. Take my daily supplements. Start my pc. Check my email. Write a little bit. Read a little bit. Grab a yogurt and banana and join my wife in the living room to catch up on some news. Do my exercises. Notice how much my exercises don't seem to be doing any good. Take care of my business in the bathroom, then I head for the dish pan.

By the way, I have the cleanest, softest hands in Clinton. Ha! It's been two years since I rolled a tire, and I still have ground in dirt from back then. Can't get it out.

I would like to say that waking up every morning, knowing that I have so many wonderful choices in my life, well, it keeps me grounded and whole. It keeps me humbled and amazed. It keeps me faithful and blessed. It keeps me from lying in bed all day. It keeps me as I am.

My sister told me once of a phrase that really tells it all. It caused me to step back, and take a look at what was really around me. It helped me to realize that through it all, under, over, around, amidst it all, the only real thing we have is right now.

She told me the simplest thing that made the most sense of anything I had ever thought about.

She said,

Stop.

Breathe.

This is it.

That was it. That's all she told me. Simple, and oh so true.

Waking up every morning, knowing that I have the people in my life that I do, it gives me a sense of belonging. It helps me realize that I am just a small part of a much bigger picture. I am just one ingredient in a casserole dish extraordinaire. I am but just one spoke in a rolling Ferris wheel in the amusement park of the ages.

I am who I am, because of all of you. I am who I am because of the many faces and smiles that I have managed to collect along the way. I am who I am, and I thank you all for it.

Are you ready?

Set?

Ok then, open your eyes, and,

GO!

2012 04 22 Once Upon A...

Once upon a time, there was a man who was a man who had a dream that he had a dream of being a man. It was the man's dream. was it a dream to remember, or was it a dream to forget? Only the man who was the man who had a dream that he had a dream of being a man, knows.

A man who knew the man who was the man who had a dream that he had a dream of being a man, had a dream himself that the man who was the man who had a dream that he had a dream of being a man, told the man about the dream that he had. Therefore, the man who was the man who had a dream that he had a dream of being a man, wasn't the only one who knew about the dream

Another man who wasn't the man who was the man who had a dream that he had a dream about being a man, or the man who knew the man who was the man who had a dream that he had a dream about being a man, woke up from his own dream. All this time, he was the one who had been dreaming about the man who was the man who had the dream that he had a dream of being a man. He was also the man who had been dreaming about the other man who knew the man who was the man who was dreaming that he had a dream about being a man.

This man, who had been the man who was dreaming of the other men all along, rolled over in bed, checked the time on his alarm clock, and fell back asleep.

The end

2012 04 17 Dusty, Rusty Butt

I sat there in disbelief. I sat there in shock, with waves of fear and panic swelling inside of me like high tide.

I am sorry Mr. Lyons, but I am afraid there isn’t anything more we can do for you.” The neurologist continued, “It appears that your vision loss is permanent. Once again, I am sorry for your loss.”

With those words, all  of my hope was dashed from existence. I could not believe what I was hearing. I could not believe what was happening to me.

I sat there in the exam chair in Boston, alone and blind. My heart rose up in my throat and then sank like a stone, sending ripples through the  pool of my past. What in hell was happening to me? What had I done wrong to deserve this? How could I correct my shortcomings and get this train back on the rails? What in hell do I do now?

A thousand visions came screaming through my mind as I sat there in that exam room at tufts Hospital. I sat there alone with my thoughts and fears. The doctor kept talking to me, but I couldn’t hear any more of what he was saying. The blow had been struck. The final upper cut sent me spinning down onto the mat for the count. I lay there on the mat, completely disoriented and totally vulnerable to every fear imaginable. I lay there, trying to get up, but unable to. I lay there on the mat, a beaten man, drowning in a sea of humility and self pity.

He kept talking, and my mind kept racing out of control. I saw flashes of myself as an old man with a cane, bouncing down a corridor from wall to wall. I saw myself sitting in a dark room, lifeless and alone. I saw myself, lost in the haunted woods of a fearful future, without any hope of finding my way back into the world that seemed now to be just out of reach. I saw myself again and again struggling with everything under the sun.

Only once in my life had I ever experienced quite the same feelings of complete despair. The day when my wife and I found out that my new born son had the same cancer that I had been born with. The same cancer that was the main cause for my sudden vision loss that darkened my world just a few short days before. That day, much like this one, was a gut wrenching, never ending stormy day.

As I was pushed in my wheelchair back to  my hospital room, I felt a sense of hopelessness and disbelief. I thought I was going to die. I just felt that bad. The waves of fear and anxious torment came at me one by one. Their never ending barrage took their toll on me as I struggled to make sense out of any of the horror novel that I had been thrown into. A fever of anger rose and fell inside me. The tides of destruction were ripping through my heart and emptying my soul. Like a pummeled, battered and bruised boxer between rounds fourteen and fifteen, I sat in my chair with my head hanging down in defeat, dazed and confused. I

Wasn’t sure what round we were in, but I knew that it was far from over.

The call was made back home with the news, and also a plea for someone to come and get me the hell out of Boston. I hated that town. I hated the state and the county and the street the hospital was on and everyone that worked there. Hell, I hated everyone and everything. How could the world keep turning when I was going through this sci-fi movie from hell?

I sat in my hospital room unaware of anything going on around me. There were still people in the hospital being saved as I sat there, but I couldn’t have cared in the least. The hospital kept on being a hospital. The hospital that I had such great hopes for just a couple of days earlier. I was confident that when I came to Boston, they surely would be able to fix me. They would surely be able to help me see again. They had to.

Unfortunately, they didn't because they couldn't, and I hated them for it.

As the hours rolled by, I sat there waiting for my son to come and take me home. A movie played over and over in my mind. It usually started a little different every time, but it always ended the same, with me being alone in a dark room. Alone and blind and scared and frightened and just a pitiful mess. Every movie that played out in my mind had me cast as the main character in a sightless dark and cruel plot.

How was I ever going to be able to go on? How could I ever learn how to live this way? How was I ever going to be a grandfather, or a father, or a son, or a husband, or a brother, or a nephew, or a cousin, or an uncle, or anything? I had too much to do. I had so many things that were unfinished. I needed to be able to see. I needed, wanted, craved, yearned for and desired all of the things that had been stolen from me in the blink of an eye.

My son finally did show up, and he helped me out of the hospital and across the street to the parking garage. The world around me outside was as dark as my room inside the hospital. They were the same place. They were the same thing. So was I.

Once we crossed The Tobin Bridge and were out of Boston I finally did get a chance to take a deep breath. I could sense the world still going on around me as we raced up the interstate towards Maine. Knowing that we were going home had some kind of affect on me. I had a calming soothing feeling for the first time in a few days, and it felt good.

My son turned to me in the car and said something that still echoes in my head to this day. He spoke to me words that I have tried to live each day since then.

“You know dad,” He said. “It looks like one door has closed, but I think another one will open up for you.”

I started to cry under my breath and as he touched my arm I felt at that moment that somehow, everything would be ok.

I prayed to God that afternoon to take control of my days, to take the steering wheel and help me through the journey that was ahead of me. It is a struggle every day to admit that I need help, and guidance, and support, but I do.

It has been almost two years, and I still hear my sons words. I hear his words and I am going through the open door. I am going through and I am excited today. I am excited because of the possibilities that lie before me.

I am still blind. I still grieve and morn the loss of my sight. I also know that all of my grief and sorrow and disbelief will not help me get through this day.

I made a commitment to myself to take any challenge head on, and to not pass up any opportunities to live and learn. I am looking for new doors to open myself. I did lose my sight, but I still can see.

I have prayed many days since then and continue to ask God to give me the strength to get through a day. Just one day. This day. There have been many days, and I have pulled through each of them a better man. Well, I should say, most of them.

Those dark days in Boston are behind me now. My story and my life race on as I hang on for dear life. Most days I can probably see things more clearly than ever before. With the loss of my sight, I have discovered the visions of my future, and hold tightly to the memories of my past. The possibilities are endless, countless, and limitless. I feel more excited now over the possibilities than probably any other time in my life. Blindness took away so  much from me, but it is also willing to give me everything that I will open up my eyes to. My future lives inside of me, and nowhere else.

If I can manage to get my dusty, rusty  butt up and out of my complacently, comfy chair, I should be ok.

Anyone seen my cane?

2012 04 12 Mini Scripts and Video Clips

As I sit here, staring blankly at my computer screen, I ponder what I should write. My mind wanders across my life in a torrent of mini scripts and video clips of my life. A never ending reel of movie highlights plays before me, skimming the top, and once in a while, diving deep into my past to dig up little golden nuggets of memories full of smiles, and tears, and everything in between.

I scour my memory for things that have seemed to slip my mind. I search the canyons and dry river beds of my thoughts for the lost pages of the novel that is me.

I sit and wonder some times just what to write about next. Different things come to mind, and as I sort through them, one by one, I am flooded with emotions from my past.

I also wonder if I should just write about my dreams, because they are rushing at me, night after night, like never before. More vivid and clear, the moments and faces and feelings associated with my recent countless dreams, fill my head as I wake every morning.

I can’t say that I recall dreaming of things that have taken place since my vision loss, more so the dreams are of times from when I could see. Tale after tale of wonderfully imaginative adventures that leave me wanting more. Maybe I should start writing about them?

I ponder on my poetry, and it’s meanings. I have written quite a few poems this past year, and it seems that one theme is captured more than not, without even trying. My poetry seems to revolve around my vision loss, and all that surrounds it. I write about colors, and sights, and beliefs, and obstacles, and clarity, and faith. I tend to write a lot of poems in the prose form. Up to a few months ago, I did not know what that term meant. I do now, and I enjoy writing in it. I write what feels good, and flows well from within. My style is my own, and I have no other. I am what I write, and what I write, is me. I can not get away from my writings. They have become a huge part of who I am, and where I am heading. I can not overlook the words that jump out onto the computer screen from my fingers.

I do forget about mostly everything when I am writing. Time flies, and the stories, for the most part, just sort of, appear. I don’t know where I go when I write, but I can assure you that I do go somewhere. I lose all track of time when I write, and I forget that I can not see. The material part of my surroundings take on a new form, or perhaps I should say, they exist somewhere other than here.

So many times I have started a piece, and before I knew it, it was complete. Then as I go back and read through it, I really don’t remember writing most of it. It's like I'm reading it for the first time. I seem to get transfixed inside.

I do plan to keep on writing. I hope I never lose this passion for writing that I seem to have found this past year. I crave to be in front of the screen, and yearn for the sound of the keys popping under my fingers. It is such a good feeling to me to hear that popping sound. Sure beats the hell out of that old hunt and peck sound that I had grown accustomed to just a few short months ago.

The stories in me will hopefully make their way out onto the screen, one by one. I feel so full sometimes of the tales and the stories and the poems and the words that live within me.

There are so many clichés and catch phrases that sum up what I have gone through. I am them all, and they, me. I guess that I am sort of a cliché myself. I always went with the flow, and hardly ever went against the grain, for fear of being singled out. That fear is no longer welcome in my life, and although it does find it’s way back in from time to time, it knows that it is going to be confronted with a different point of view.

I turn to the left, and hear the spinning of the dryer beside me. As it turns, the seconds of another day spin right along side it. If I can get my mind to spin fast enough, I can keep up with it. Tumble dry, and static free.  Wouldn’t that be great?

2012 04 10 Snoozing Sentry

Do you hear that? Can you hear it?

it's the sound of my dog Coco, snoozing at her usual sentry location, in the entry way to the house. Standing guard, or sleeping guard, she is there, at the ready, to protect to the end. Usually from squirrels jumping down from the roof of the house, onto the feeder I attached to the kitchen window. She knows that those rascally gray rodents are conspiring to have at us. To pillage our storage bins and rid them of the black oil seed.

Thank you my Dear Coco. We will forever be in your debt.

There's a couple other things that absolutely drive her as crazy as the squirrels do. The back up beeper on large commercial vehicles. I don't know what it is about that "Beep, Beep" noise, but it absolutely sends her spinning. That, and UPS and FedEx delivery guys.

I wonder what goes through her mind. I wonder if it is true when they say a dog lives in the moment, and do they really see things in black and white.

I know one thing. She is one of the happiest dogs we have ever had. If she doesn't have her knotted up rope hanging from her mouth to play with, then she is looking at you, waiting for you to tell her to go get her toy.

Ahh, the life.

Do they even know they are dogs? Do they know how much they touch our hearts? Do they even know how much a part of our lives they become? Do they even know?

When I come in the pc room in the morning and sit down to turn my computer on, she comes in and has me pet her butt four times. Every time, every morning, four times. She will not leave the room and resume her sentry position until I pet her butt four times.

I guess we all are creatures of habit. I guess we all have our routines, and traditions, and habits. We all go through certain motions that separate each of us, distinct us from one another. What would the world be like if we all did the same thing? How boring would that be?

I have incorporated Coco into my daily routines, and she has done the same with me. I rely on her, and she, me.

Don't get me started on Deena Marie, the dog, the Magnificent. She is keeping sentry in another sector of the homestead, and yes, she has a certain toy in mind.

Our dogs have gotten so used to certain things, sometimes I don't have to call them, they just know to come. They know when to go through a door way, and when not to. They know when it is time for their walks. They know when something out of the ordinary happens, and our traits and personality characteristics change in the least. They just know.

Without our dogs, there would surely be a big void, a big hole in our lives. They take up just enough of our days to make them seem complete. They are there when we need them, and they are there when we would just rather do without them for a few minutes, but they are always there, no matter what.

they are there when supper is ready. They are there when you feel sad, or happy. They were there when my grandson crawled across our kitchen floor for the first time. They were there when the red Sox won the World Series in 2004, and again in 2007. They were there when the Patriots won the Super Bowl in 2002, 04, and 05. They are there every time a skunk is waddling around the house, and they are there when I am standing out in front of the garage, in my underwear, trying to scrub that wonderfully pungent smell out of them.

Yes, underwear.

Have you formed a clear mental image yet? Good, then I can move on.

Like the ticking of a clock, so goes the panting of a dog. constant and secure.

We have had dogs since a couple years after we bought this house. Since 1988 or so, they have graced our home with unconditional love. They have helped pull us through the rough patches, and helped us celebrate the wonderful moments. They have never asked for much, and they deserve even more.

I tend to write a lot about things that matter the most in my life. First of all is always family, first and foremost. My family means more to me, as I grow shorter, wider  and grayer, than anything I ever thought possible. I will never ever overlook the power that my family has in shaping the chambers of my heart. I will never ever let myself overlook their importance. I can not afford to, and as I have said a thousand and two times, I shudder to think where I would be without them in my life.

My four legged family comes in a tight second. actually tight isn't the word. As I think back through my past, and remember all of the wonderful family moments, I can see a fluffy, furry family member tagging along, making the memory complete.

They helped make all of the moments and memories complete, and they didn't even know it.

Oh No! Here comes another squirrel down off the roof!

Easy girl! I promise, That bad old squirrel isn't gonna hurt me!

2012 04 02 Morning Link

I clicked on a link this morning in an email from my father. It took me to a site with a video. the video was a heart warming rendition of the old familiar song, "The Battle Hymn of The Republic".

I waited a second for the video to load, but not too long. Thank heavens for high speed.

As the video started, and the orchestra and singers poured out into my computer room, a feeling took hold of me. It washed down through me from my head to my toes. It grabbed hold of me from the inside, out, and as I sat there listening to the glorious sounds emitting from my pc speakers, I was taken back to a time when I was around three years old in our home in Gorham. I can remember that it was a day like any other day, with my mom working around the house, doing cleaning chores, and me, just being a three year old version of me. There was music playing on the radio, and as I listened to it, I began crying. I didn't know why, but there was something about the song that just picked up my insides, and moved them, right over there.

It was a similar song as the one I listened to this morning, in that it was a patriotic song about America. I always seem to be greatly moved when it comes to my country, and the love I have for it.

I can remember my mother coming up to me and asking why I was crying. I remember telling her, or shrugging my shoulders, that I didn't know why. I remember her putting her hand on my shoulder, kissing me on the top of the head, patting me on the butt, and setting me on my merry little kid way. The world was right, my family was whole, and I loved my country as any unsuspecting three year old could.

Forty eight spins around the yearly clock later, and here I am, crying like a baby, listening to a moving melody that seemed to open my heart and spill my soul out into today. I had a good quick cry, saved the email with the link in my "mom and dad" folder, and went on to the next email.

I had seemed to wake up this morning with a steady, burdening doubt that was wrapped all around my morning. I didn't feel just right, and I didn't really know why.

I get like that sometimes. It's like all of the worries from deep inside come rushing out and just stand there, in front of me, blocking my view. I hate it when that happens. I hate the feeling of unrelenting worry, and doubt, and the feeling of being unsure about it all.

Well, there I was, listening to the video, thinking, and crying, and reflecting. Once again I found myself picturing the faces of my family. My mom and dad, brothers and sisters. I pictured each one of them, one at a time, doing certain things that only they could do.

Well, all at once, those unwelcome feelings of doubt and worry washed down and out of me, as quick as they had come. I was mindfully transformed from the inside out. The feeling was wonderfully familiar, and completely welcome. I thought of my son running through the house with his three year old footie pajamas on. I thought of my father grabbing hold of my knee really quick as we rode along in his work truck, and hollering, "Hey!", and scaring the jelly beans out of me. I thought of my mother shaking her finger at me, with a hint of a smile in her face. I thought of sitting on the bed and playing, or losing at cards with my sister Terri. She also had a hint of a smile too.

I thought of Paula, looking at me, with that same smile on her face that has soothed my weary mind oh so many times. Barry, my older brother, throwing a baseball at me so hard that you could hear it spitting at you halfway to you, and me catching it as he stood there amazed that I caught it. And how could I ever forget the little blond headed banshee of a brother, running at me, screaming his head off, trying with all his might to beat down his older brother with an unrelenting attack from the Western Front.

I thought of the tear rolling down my wife's cheek when I said, "I do.", and the sparkle in the eye of my grandson Jack as I looked into his eyes for the first time.

I can't quite explain why this all made sense to me, except to tell you that it did, and I didn't argue with it.

As I tried to choke down another breath, I sat there, thinking, and feeling. My battery had been recharged, and I thanked God. I thanked Him for family, and all of the wonderful things that mine has brought along for the ride.

I forwarded the email, with the link to the song, to the usual recipients of the emails that I find worthy of forwarding.

If just one person opens up that email, listens to the song, and gets even the tiniest similar feeling that I did, well, It was worth the forward.

I didn't really know where this short little story was going when I started it, but I'm glad I did.

2012 03 31 My Grandson

My Grandson Jack turns six tomorrow. Six years have gone by since I held him tightly, for the first time, cupped between my two hands. Six years have gone by since I stared into those big baby blues, while I wiped a tear from mine. Six years have gone by in the blink of an eye.

He comes up to my waist now. He is getting pretty tall, and I am shrinking. I think he is winning. I feel the same age, except for the time that has gone by since he entered our lives.

I see so many things in him. When I hear him laugh, when I grab him and hug the stuffing out of him, when I think back when his father was his age. It all comes rushing back at me.

Have I changed much in twenty something years? Have I turned from a father, into a grandfather without even knowing it? I still feel the same, except for the aches and pains of growing older. I suppose that I do look at things totally different now.

My grandson turns six years old tomorrow. I can hardly believe my eyes. Where did the time go? Who ripped all of the pages of the calendars off?

I wonder what he thinks of when he thinks of me. I wonder if it is the same sort of feelings that I had when I thought of my own grandparents? I wonder if I seem the same to him as they did to me? How did I get here? In my wildest dreams, I never thought of myself as a mature enough adult to ever be thought of as a grandfather. I mean seriously, that's a lot of responsibility isn't it?

I think back at how I felt when I first became a father. It really isn't that much different, other than there are a heck of a lot more responsibilities.

I don't know how I ever fared as a father, other than how my son reacted, and reacts to me. I tried to do the best I could, but what the hell did I know? Most of the time, I was just trying to figure out who I was, never mind who my son thought I was.

It all went by in a blur. Just one big blur.

I tried to pull as many of the memories ahead with me, but it all happened so fast, I never really knew what hit me.

My grandson Jack turns six tomorrow, and I am wondering if he realizes how fast his life will fly by. I am wondering if he ever thinks about his dad, and his grandfather the same way that I, or his dad did? I wonder if he will ever know to grab hold tight to as many memories as he can.

I seem to recall someone telling me to live it and love it, because it comes and goes wicked, wicked fast. I seem to recall never thinking I would ever grow up. My wife still thinks the same. Smile.

I try to think of how to act, of how to behave, of what to talk to him about. I try to think of what my grandfathers meant to me. I try to remember how it felt when I hugged them, or sat and listened to them. It seems like so long ago. A different time, with different people, living different styles of lives. It was just different.

My grandson Jack turns six years old tomorrow.

Happy Birthday to my Grandson,

Jack Matthew.