My Out Of The Way Place


I awoke in the coolness of the early spring morning. The warmth of the night forgotten in the penetrating cold. Seeking comfort I softly turned and embraced your warmth. Muttering you turned me away. Sleep did not come on the cool side of the bed. Comfort nowhere to be found.



I have had a hard time awakening. My dreams seem to grow in color and texture as the night progresses. Sometimes they are horrific visions that suck me down to a depth seemingly inescapable. At times, they are filled with erotic frolics where awakening is painful, the very ripping of the fabric of the dream seems to shatter a much more beautiful world than the one I live upon awakening.

Yet the alarm sounds and I tear myself from my dreams embrace and embark upon my day. Too soon the dreams fade and everyday life shatters all but a thin fog of the remembrance of the dream. But at the end of the day sleep beckons and my dreams live on.

Good night and good dreams.



 Yesterday was gray. One of those days where the gray seeps down and caresses the tops of the trees. The clouds did not give up their rain but left a slickness of moisture upon the land. As I sat in my backyard sipping hot chocalate feeling it’s fragrant warmth against my face with every sip, I could think of nothing better for an autumn morning than a cool gray day.



My son has Asperger’s Syndrome. At home, he is a loving child but out in the world, he is extremely shy, does not speak unless spoken to and then seems frightened; as if any answer that he gives will be wrong and something that he fears will be punished.

I worry about him. Will he grow out of it? My wife and I have provided him with counseling, therapy, and homeopathic medicines but nothing seems to really help. The counselor is now suggesting putting him on medication. I have been reticent about medicating him but now it seems that we are down to this final solution.

I have always thought that as a nation we are over-medicating our children. That sometimes people are too quick to medicate children to put them in a mold of what children should be. I am scared of side effects and wonder if I would be hurting his natural development. But in the end I realize that he needs help and I should not hold the medication back.

Since my son was very small, he and I have had a little game. I will start out by saying, ‘Who loves ya baby.’ He will reply, ‘You do, Dad.’ Then I will question, ‘Why?’ He will then answer, ‘Because you just do.’ The love between a father and a son is just that. It doesn’t have to have a reason. It’s just there.

I know that I will not always be here. One day my life will end and he will carry on. What kind of man will he be? Will he have grown to have the confidence needed to defend himself from all the world can throw at a person or will he still be that shy child fearful of the world. There lies my trepidation.



I haven’t posted here in so long that I don’t know if I will be able to subdue my thoughts. I could blame not posting on life, for sometimes life does have a way of sorting through priorities. I could blame it on writer’s block, for sometimes words have a way of freezing up between the fingers and the brain. But I really can’t blame it on either of these excuses. No to be plain and simple, I just haven’t felt like it. I have felt like throwing back my head and laughing at life, like howling with rage at the injustices of the world, but I have not felt like being subdued one single bit.

But why post now, my mood has not changed substantially. Maybe because life has gotten in the way. Some of the worry and anxiety of life and of change has crept through my laughter and my rage. Like the change in the season, my mood has chilled. Not yet the bitter cold but just a bit of frost creeping up the window of my soul.

I know that this will surely soon pass but for now, I plan on putting a soft blanket and curling up here for awhile.



Ever so softly the fairie muses whisper, ‘Create.’ But I sit in oblivion, writing doggerel, failing in my despair. Soft tales of love, psalms of hope, or gestures of peace elude me. Perhaps that is the way of things. To every life some rain must fall. So I sit listening to the rain trace it’s patterns across my soul. And with every drop, I wish for the rain to wash these mortal cares away.



I have always had a hard time falling asleep. My mind often refuses to disengage. It keeps rambling on; regurgitating the events of the day and at times memories of long ago. I have grown to enjoy this time when the world is silent. The white noise of the air conditioning and the breathing of my wife beside me lulls me to if not sleep at least to a point where I can sift through my subconscious thoughts. Unlike a deep sleep, I can guide these waking dreams. I can right those wrong turns that I might have made in the past. I can speak with those whose voices I will never hear from in the light of day again; speaking those things that I was unable to tell them in life. I can rip apart the very fabric of reality and imagine strange new visions and alternate worlds.

Tonight the rain is softly falling upon the window panes. It promises to be a good night to dream. Goodnight.  



Over a year and a half ago, an old and at one time very close friend of mine passed away. She fought with her internal demons and finally lost to them finally succumbing to complications from anorexia.

I knew her my whole life. We started to Kindergarten together. In Junior High, I went on my first real date, when I took her to see Jaws at the local movie theater. As young adults we helped each other through first her divorce and then an engagement of mine that went sour.Then time, distance, and circumstance drew us apart and I had not talked to her in a few years.

When I got the call that she had passed, I spent a good deal of time in a stupor; shocked that it had come to this. The last time that I had seen her she seemed thin but I did not think that it was a life threatening thing. My mind was momentarily crippled by the what-ifs:what if I would have realized her problem and what if I had done something about it. But as the weeks passed by a realized that even if I had been able to see her problem and tryed to help her, It would most likely have been for nothing. If she or those close to her at the time could stop this from happening then nothing that I could have done would have helped.

The week preceeding my high school reunion, I kept having a recurring dream. My friend would come to me in my sleep and warn me of something. I could feel her frustration at my inability to understand her. When I woke up in the morning, I could never understand or remember just what she said or tryed to say. Then a day before homecoming the dream stopped and has not returned.

I am by nature a cynic so I do not beleive this was her actual spirit coming to warn me of any approaching doom or danger, also I am very leery of Freudian mumbo-jumbo so I really do not think that it was feelings of guilt resurfacing. No, I feel that sometimes the mind gets so full of memories that we must put some of them in a zip drive in the back of our consciousness to make room for more. Though I will never completely purge myself of these feelings of guilt and remorse, it is time to shove them back to the far corner of my mind and seal them away.

I will always remember the good times and bad times that my friend and I shared but I no longer have room for regrets and what-ifs. Vaya con Dio’s my friend , I hope that you have found peace.

( This is a repost from Blugstuff but I wanted to post it here. This blog is the more personal side of me so I thought that occasionally I would repost some of those posts on Blugstuff that show my more personal side. )



I sat in the cafe watching the heat come off the cup of coffee sitting in front of me. I picked up the cup in order to take that first test sip in order to better gauge it’s heat. Over the rim of the cup, I caught a vision from my past.

There she sat chatting and laughing happily with a friend. Almost twenty years had come and gone since I saw her last. My mind drifted back to that night long ago when we parted. I remember the sound of her crying in the dark and I remember my confusion and sorrow as I walked out into the cold. She wanted what I could not give and I wanted that which I could not have.

As the echo of the memory played through my mind, I finished the last sip of coffee. I left the money for the coffee and a tip for the waitress on the table. She did not see me sitting there and paid no notice as I slipped quietly out the side door.

As I drove down the road, I thought of how time holds still for no one. I have found the love that I thought that I could never accept. I hope she has found the one that could give back all the love that she deserved. Maybe I am a coward for not going up to her and seeing how she was doing after all these years yet once again I walked out in confusion into the cold. Some things never change.



Memories are often like vague puffs of smoke obscured by the winds of time. Yet, I remember the moment that I knew that I had found the woman that I wished to share the rest of my life. I remember it with a clarity of vision that in almost twelve years has never wavered.

It was a warm spring night. The moonlight shone through the window giving everything the feel of a black and white picture. I lay in bed gazing upon the sleeping form of my lover. Her back was to me and I traced the outline of her body gently with my hand. When my hand reached the exact spot where the waist meets the hip, an almost electric shock coursed through my senses. I realised that this was where I always wished to be.

Almost twelve years have come and gone and one thing has never changed. Every night lying in bed with my wife, my hand finds it’s home nestled in that delightful curve where her waist meets her hip. The electric shock has become a warm glow letting me know that I have found that place where I still long to be.