CONSOLIDATION

February 15th, 2004

You were warned. We told you that we were going to do this. We told you we were going to prepare an online (news) letter to keep you all posted of the comings and goings of this madcap, whirlwind life we have etched out for ourselves. Yessiree Bob, this life has more ups and downs than a pogo stick, and it is just about as fun.
Most everyone has been called this week, and we saw most everyone a couple weeks back, so there is not a great deal to write about. But those of you that know me are already aware of how verbose I can be. That is why I never actually sit down and write letters anymore. Can you say "writer's cramp?" I knew you could.
You will notice that I have posted a picture page on this website, and providing I can keep this thing under the 20 MB size constraints, I will try to post more pictures soon. Especially since Darren and Becky need pictures from Bob's wedding, and ours too, for the projects they are working on. No doubt they will have fun rummaging through all the photos I plan to put up. Come to think of it, I may need to build additional websites to accommodate all the pictures. Don't worry guys, I will be sure to put up links for you. I just hope I can make the directory more cohesive than the mess of files I have on my back three hard drives. Just be patient, please, as putting up pages and sorting through thousands of photos will take a bit of time.

A SHOCKING EXPERIENCE

On a more serious note, some of you are aware that Friday the 13th was a busy day for us. I have never put much credo in the day being unlucky, but this was one Friday the 13th I will never forget.
Several times during the past several months I have been having periods where I would wake up feeling ill, thinking I was having a heart attack, but have dismissed it as panic attacks. A few weeks ago I found Terri's stethoscope during one of these attacks, and listened to my own heartbeat, and heard it beating irregularly. Terri was at work at the time, so from 10am to 1pm I rested, and waited for her to get off work so we could go to the doctor. By the time we got to the doctor, the problem seemed to have resolved itself, but an appointment was set for me to see the cardiologist, and a plan was made for me to call 911 the next time it happened.
SO Friday morning I woke up at 6:50am, and got out of bed, and felt my heart pounding erratically in my chest. I got dressed and found Terri's stethoscope again, and listened to my heart doing the Macarena. I woke my wife and handed her the stethoscope and the phone, and told her, "I need you to listen, and if you hear what I did, we have a couple calls to make... 911, and upstairs to Berta, so as not to panic the clients.
Minutes later, I had crawled back into bed, and the EMTs began to arrive. Funny, the Bellingham Paramedics arrived slightly ahead of Lynden's EMTs even though they came from further away. Though slightly crass, I tend to deal with stress by cracking jokes. First I teased Terri about having seven men in her bedroom, then decided that wasn't too weird, considering I was the one in bed with four of them. Well, that got a laugh all around, except from Terri who was not laughing. Minutes later I was escorted to the ambulance, and took the 20 minute ride to the ER where I was rushed right to a bed and was hooked up to myriad monitors and IVs.
I was seen by the Doctor almost immediately, and several tests were run. I was having atrial fibrillation, and not a heart attack. A cardiologist and respiratory technician were consulted, and it was decided that the best thing to do would be to perform cardioversion . Cardioversion is a procedure that uses an electrical charge applied over the heart to momentarily discharge all the cardiac cells, allowing the primary pacemaker of the SA node to take control of the rhythm. (Don't blame me! I took the definition from a webpage! I have no idea what I am talking about!) Well, I can tell you that I was terrified. I made the doctor, then the cardiologist explain it to me until I felt I understood what was going to happen. (Terri still wasn't laughing.) Finally at noon, we were ready. I was hooked up to the machine, and was anesthetized.... I do not remember anything after that. But it obviously worked. I woke up 15 minutes later feeling much better, my heart beating normally, and surprisingly refreshed . Kinda gives a whole new meaning to the term "power nap".
So now this coming Thursday the 19th I go in for an echocardiogram, and the following Thursday I have a stress test done. I will Update this page when I have something more to tell you following the results.

For now, Terri and I appreciate your continued support and prayers.

CONSOLIDATION

Today marks the one year anniversary of the terrorist attacks on our country, now always an forever referred to as 911 (nine eleven). A lot has happened in that year, for me personally, and for our nation. But that is not what I want to talk about today. Trust me, you will hear enough through the media about 911 this, or 911 that. No one really needs my opinion, as most everyone would likely have one of their own, and their own story to tell. Suffice to say, as an American, I am proud of the men and women that gave their lives in the performance of their duties, and of the courage of the normal folk that survived. I was lucky. I lost no one that I am aware of in the attacks or the aftermath. But it does not mean I was not affected. On some level, I think we all were. All I could do then was cry, pray, and stare at the television in disbelief and horror. All I can do now, perhaps all any of us can do, is continue praying for our country, the families of the victims, for our children, and even the enemy. But mostly, we can always remember America's darkest hour.

On to other things. "Why", you may ask, " an online journal?" And the answer is not as simple as the question. Truthfully, it is not that I believe I have so much to say, or that what I do have to say is so important. But it is important to me. I have dreams of being a writer, and have journaled for many years. It is hard for me to write on paper these days... I have many nice leather bound journals, and a plethora of fine writing instruments with which to write. But more times than not, when I do remember to sit down and write, I end up staring at a blank page for hours. Then I am not satisfied with what I wrote, or perhaps that I accidentally used a blue pen instead of a black one. It is stupid to be so picky, I realize that of course, but it is something about me I seem unable to change. It is one of the traits that drives my poor wife nuts.

My need to write might be simple vanity, in that I like to hear the sound of my own voice. It is true, of course, but I think there is more to it than that. I believe that when I write, I actually tap into a resource deep within my soul that for the most part is buried in my daily life. Created by pain, anger, frustration, heartache, and my inability to deal with strong emotions, I believe that all of my experienced have been bottled up in this emotional vault. When I write, somehow, and I am not sure I can explain this, I believe I tap into this emotional vault. What I get out of it seems to be release, and resolution, and healing. Perhaps, and this is my hope, when you read my writing, you will gain from it, relate to it, and perhaps even enjoy what you read.

My journals have been titled "Life, Love, and Understanding" for the past decade or so. Mostly because I wrote about life and love...... the understanding comes later. I thought the title was a bit saccarin, so for this online journal, Life 101 seemed much more appropriate. So.... all that said... Welcome to Life 101. I hope you enjoy my ramblings, and that you will return to read future entries. A warning though..... I know me.... it will not be everyday.

Please feel free to share your thoughts with me either via email, or in the guestbook I will install on this page as soon as I figure out how. I will attempt to reply to all emails.

Like so many journals I have begun, like so many projects still unfinished, like so many things I have begun before, this blog reflects yet another failure in my growing list of failures. I am not exceptional, though I would like you to believe that I am. I am not special except to a few people. In fact, in most things I say and do, I am quite unremarkable. Quite mundane, even boring, there are no noteworthy events in my life that would set me apart from anyone else. A hypothetical existence, laced with hyperbole and lies. So much now that I scarcely know myself anymore.

Sad, isn't it? A lifetime reduced in mere sentences, stripped completely of all accomplishments, achievements, and awards. Left wholly without substance or form, my life is a wisp of vapor.... Pardon me, Passing through.....

A year. it has been a fucking year. Hell, that was a lifetime ago. Two pc's ago, and a shitload of heartache. I am pleased that these blogs remain untouched here in cyberspace. Nice to see them again... but the drag is that no body likely read them, and isn't that, afterall, the point of these things?



I need to write.... really need to write.... about things I can tell no one. I haven't anyone to turn to.... who would I talk to? Who wouldn't betray my trust?

USENET ARCHIVES

I was digging through a stack of old disks containing old files, and found a few snippets from days gone by. Thought I would put up a couple of the things I found that I wrote.

May 9th, 2001

What is a friend? Let alone a best friend? How many people know the
heartache of being totally alone in a roomful of people? How many people
have spent the holidays alone, dining on a cold turkey sandwich, and a
bottle of cranberry juice, (just so it could be called a holiday dinner)
from some oriental market where the clerks christmas spirit was in direct
relation to the number of dollars they would make by being the only store
open on Christmas Day?

How many people know what it feels like to be so isolated even amongst
family that the pain of being alone is less than the pain of being with
other people? Those of us that have been there know exactly what I am
saying, those that haven't are left with a blank look on thier face because
there is no way they can relate.

So of us look around and see the people around us going about thier lives,
and try to imagine ourselves in thier circumstances (if only for a moment)
that we might know and understand the happiness they seem to be
experiencing. We see the lovers in the park, or the elderly couple holding
hands as they walk, or the young mother or father pushing thier baby in the
stroller, and we are envious, because for us, any normal relationship seems
impossible because we have been conditioned to feel worthless, or somehow
unworthy of happiness. We know that these relationships means opening
ourselves up to more pain, and we just cannot do that anymore.... so we
remain, always, somehow, inevitably set apart and alone.

We look to others for companionship, often as not unable emotionally to
develop real friendships, we end up in taverns and bowling alleys reaching
out for people, hoping for just one moment of intimacy, one moment of
acceptance, yet somehow, no one sees us, and they walk on by. As solace we
substitute the kinds of companionship we find in these places for the real
thing. We know the bartender is just being polite and doing his or her job,
yet without pause, and lubricated by the large number of drinks we have
consumed, we proceed to dump our entire life story on the bartender, who
smiles, and politely listens, and continues cleaning the bar. We feel better
having mistaken his or her seeming attentiveness for some sort of false
intimacy.

Some of us, over time realize that these are just false friendships, and
rework our thinking. We quit trying to be a part of other peoples worlds,
and ives, and disassociate ourselves from them, withdrawing further into
ourselves, thus hardening our exterior shell as it were, and further
emphasizing our "aloneness".

Yes, I believe I can remember the exact moment in time when I knew that
having friends would not be a part of my life. I was about 10, and one
playground buddy and I had had a fun day, playing and just being boys. But
then the realization sunk in that Mom's rules were clear... I was not
allowed to play with kids unless she approved. So I told them I would have
to ask my mom if they could be my friend. That is the way it is with kids. I
opened myself up about one little aspect of my life, and was ridiculed by
kids at school for weeks following that. Call it what you will, it hurt.

I learned not to trust my peers.

The cost of companionship was too high. So I gravitated toward the older
kids, and even adults, and said little about where I was from, and said
nothing to my parents.

I learned at an early age how to lie.

I remember many things about growing up, and what I learned along the way. I
recall getting in trouble with a group of kids, seems I did not fit in, so
became the target for abuse. I tried to fight back, but often as not, I was
outnumbered ten to one. We are trained to believe that our parents will
protect us, so like most kids,I ran home, thinking Mom would protect me.

I come running screaming into the yard, and there she was, standing on the
porch, hair up in curlers, coverered in that little plastic bonnet, wiping
her hands off on her apron. She stopped them from ganging up on me, but her
and Dad stood there watching as the kids lined up, and each one took a turn
beating the shit out of me. I am certain that there was fifteen kids, and
fifteen ass whuppings, but the truth may be slightly less, perhaps only five
butt kickings, and a fairly sizable audience.

I learned that one must depend on oneself.

(I also later learned how to fight. Later still I learned how to fight and
win at least occasionally).

The irony is that after the "Blood on the Lawn Fest" I got to go inside and
be punished for whatever it was I did to piss off so many kids. I think I
would have prefered to have all of the kids whup on me again.

I learned not to trust my parents.

A year later, following a large and increasing number of fights at school,
my parents and teachers had had enough. I was sent away to private school,
several hundred miles away. I did not see my parents for a year. The system
allowed that I had become uncontrollable and needed to be placed where they
were better prepared to handle me.

I learned not to trust the system.

I couldn't help myself. I thought of you today. Your picture hangs on the wall in my livingroom, and I pass it every day, but today I stopped, took it off the wall, gently blew the dust from the glass, and carefully replaced it on the nail. As I stood there eyeballing the frame to make sure it was straight, it occured to me that I miss talking to you. I miss the one on one, big brother-little brother chats on ICQ. And I wonder how you would feel if you knew I didn't use ICQ anymore. Oh, the hours we'd spend, just you and me, and occasionally George would drop in, and we'd shoot the breeze about our cars, our wives, our jobs, politics, God and theology, and of course, fishing.

How happy you looked in that picture, just another sunny day in Oregon, holding a salmon, and wishing the guide would get his damn hands off your fish and out of the picture. It was after all, a good day. You were in your element. Just you and the fish. Oh! and the guide... "Are you still here?" I can see you saying that, "get me a cup of coffee, willya?" Even then you knew that the cancer was getting the better of you. Yet, you still tried to put on the brave face even though I knew you were screaming inside. Screaming in rage, and in pain, and in frustration..... you were really pissed off. You did not want to die, though you gladly would have if it would have brought your daughter and grandbaby back. I think everybody knew that. And I do not think anyone really blamed you for their deaths. No one that is, except you.

Basically, I am not smart. Obviously. I see other blogger sites with graphics and animation, and I read how to do it, "this looks like html, I think, but there it is in black and white, "this is not html." Beats me; I just am not bright enough to figure it out. Do I need to know how to make my blogger look like a webpage, and would it matter if I did? Likely no one will read this, likely it will never draw attention to itself, and thus my ramblings will go on largely unnoticed. Actually, I just described myself. "Let it be," I say, "let the words reflect the man!" Besides, I already have a webpage, and have created several. But I do not claim to understand html. Thankfully the technology has been here for years to where I do not need to know html. Not much anyway. Most likely as time goes on, and the gui of Windows and other similar programs becomes easier and easier to use, the need of the average consumer to know any html or programming language will decrease. It will all be done with a point and a click.

Speaking of programs, I just registered to test Windows XP. I am looking forward to the pre release date, and am anxious to see what it can do. Too bad I have to wait until May or likely June before it is shipped out to me.

SECOND ENTRY

A second entry, still focusing on the subject of feelings, but from a different perspective. While in the last entry I spoke of my sensitivity, I qualified that by stating I am a man nevertheless. What that means is that at times there exists a duality within me. On one hand, the sensitive man, the poet and dreamer; on the other hand, the typical alpha male, chauvinistic, arrogant, and insensitive. Yes, I am a male after all, and possess all the male faults. [Bummer! :( ]

What happens to the relationship between a man and a woman when feelings dominate the relationship? Does anyone care to answer? It seems painfully obvious to me, at least, that relationships, typically, are based on selfish needs and desires. We (each of us) choose our friends carefully. If someone we meet makes us feel bad, then the likelihood of us pursuing a relationship becomes slim, unless of course, in addition to our many other faults, we are dysfunctional, and therefore actively seek out relationships that will enable us to feel even worse than we already do, and fill whatever void it is within us that makes us want to feel worthless and generally dumped upon.

But, I do not believe dysfunction, however prevalent in today's society, is the norm. We tend to fill our lives with people that make us feel good about ourselves. Whatever we are missing in our lives, our friends make our lives more tolerable, and if well chosen, make us feel better about ourselves. The build us up as opposed (to the dysfunctional) to tearing us down. It then becomes a selfish thing, a selfish desire to maintain the friendship or relationship based on how good it makes us feel about ourselves.

A marriage is no different. The problem is, a marriage is supposed to be give and take. But especially in a dysfunctional relationship, it often becomes take and take. Time passes, and we continue thinking in the manner in which we were accustomed. This means that although we genuinely love our partner, we are still basically of the "What's in it for me?" mentality. We are selfish, and selfishness grows. In time, one or both partners feel like they are being used, and they are right.

Long before the realization sets in that we are no longer single, we are up to our old patterns.... selfish thought. We still perceive ourselves as single, and resist any attempts to "become one flesh" as it were. Biblicly, "one flesh" means a lot more than the physical relations between a man and a woman. In time, with luck, and patience, and a whole lot of struggling, a man and a woman join on a different level. It is intimacy.

GOING PUBLIC

Okay, so I have had time to think about it. What good is Blogger? What can it be used for? Some people use it as a sounding board for their thoughts and ideas, others may use it as a medium to harangue others to think as they do. Still others tell their innermost secrets or family stories. So the query arises, "What do I want from blogger?" I guess I don't know. But, as merely another faceless soul in cyberspace, Gee! It seems to give a person a lot of freedom and anonymity to say pretty much whatever they want without the usual fear of rejection or exposure. "Surely, the truth shall set you free...."

The fact is, I am a man, perhaps more sensitive than some, but a man nonetheless. I struggle with feelings of inadequacy sometimes like I assume everyone does occasionally. I worry about bills and finances, I worry about what people think of me. I sometimes think I am cursed to have such a tender heart, other times I am thankful to be able to feel things so intensely. In fact, on the whole, I view it as a gift of the spirit. Yeah right! Go ahead, mock me. If you are a Christian, you might understand. If not, then perhaps you would view me as some sort of narcissistic flake who holds himself up with some sort of twisted, pious sense of self worth. However I am viewed by others, it really doesn't matter to me. For I have learned to be secure in who I am, faults and all. That, too, is a gift of sorts.

But what is it I hope to achieve here? Heck, I don't know. Perhaps I am just a messed up individual who needs therapy. I've thought that once or twice. Why not? Haven't we all? The fact is, I am convinced that I am not alone. I cannot be. I figure that there are other men out there who feel the way I do about some things, who think the way I do about some things, but who are afraid to show the more sensitive side, because society as a rule has dictated that men must be strong; that men cannot cry or show weakness; that tears are fine for women, but not okay for men.

First of all, I hate that stereotypical view. It is so.... well, stereotypical. It shows a serious lack of imagination, and just a foolish denial of human nature. While it is true that women, as a rule, are more emotionally based than men, Who says it is not okay for a man to cry? Who says it is a sign of weakness? No, I hold to the belief that only a truly strong man would freely admit his feelings, weaknesses, and shortcomings, and openly express his more sensitive side. (I said sensitive, not feminine!) Men, trust me, a lot of women find this not only refreshing, but incredibly attractive.
Like most men, I used to deny my feelings. I used to believe that "big boys don't cry" but there came a point in my life where there were just too many tears to hold them in anymore.

Everything came to a head about ten or twelve years ago, and I just began to cry one day... not over anything I could remember now, but it was at a time when things were looking bad for me. Now here it is, a new century, and darn it! I cry all the time... over stupid things! A love song, a touching movie, a funeral, a wedding.... all the time. (Yes I carry a hankie!) It is amusing to some... because here is this big biker sort in the second pew of a catholic church bawling his eyes out, (quietly though!) and asking the little old lady next to him if she has a tissue he could have. I've seen the smiles. I've seen the looks. Sometimes all you can do is grin real big and hold up the hankie, and nod.

But take it a step further... Have any of you men ever felt a hurt so deep, a pain so great that no matter how hard you tried, there was just no stopping the tears? You tried, but then you end up chuffing and snorting like a javelina. Have you ever simply wailed? A deep throaty cry from the deepest depths of your pain, uncontrollably shaking and heaving, as your body racks from the sobbing? My guess is that not many men would admit to ever being hurt that bad. But it happens. Your wife leaves you for your best friend, your child is killed by a drunk driver, your brother is killed by cancer, your friend is murdered in his sleep by a 12 year old with an assault rifle. You are overcome by joy, grief, sadness..... these are daily events. Women can openly express their feelings, why not men? You think men are uptight? They are....! You try holding all that stuff in for a lifetime.

Perhaps there are more men like me... perhaps not. I feel pain. It is a gift. In my life, I feel pain, not only mine, but others' as well. It has changed me into a most compassionate man. I am not as selfish as I used to be. But I am curious... and if you feel compelled to reply or comment, email me at daedak@gmail.com (yes, it's a real address!) I will attempt to reply to all emails. In the meantime, I have decided to explore my deepest feelings here, you know, Mom, Dad, growing up in a dysfunctional family....whatever.