The children

My kids...I love them.
In chronological order they are; Mike, Ryan, Alexandra, Aidan.

They are the grounding point that I have required in order to make it through all of this. They are the ones who offer me unconditional love at all times, irrespective of what kind of mood I might be in. They are quick to forgive, and eager to please. What more could someone want from another person? And I have four of them. It is the most amazing thing that I have found in this existence.
I witnessed all of their births (except Alexandra's, but that was logistically impossible so I don't worry about that too much, but I still wish for it) and they were, without question, the closest thing to a miracle that I have ever witnessed, each and every one of them. Equally, but in their own way. I continue to witness those miracles because they are still growing and changing (I hope they never stop) from infant to toddler, child to adolescent, and into adulthood. It's an astounding thing to watch a life form grow like that, particularly when they are your sires. [For those of you who don't have kids and don't get it: Eat chain! Go have some kids and then you will.] As with all living things, the stages of growth are so gradual that they sometimes go unnoticed, at least to the "familiar" eye, and then seem so sudden when they reach their apex that it can sometimes bring shock and awe. Which leads them into the next stage and then it starts all over again.

It's a never ending adventure for me.

Children are more entertaining than T.V. (and much more creative). They are always putting a new spin on things that we've been dealing with for so long that our perspectives have been jaded by our experience. Sometimes they are the teachers and I am the student. I learn something new from one of them everyday. Sometimes they teach me by simply reminding me of things that I've forgotten. Important things, like how to laugh and play; to have some fun and not be so serious all of the time. Sometimes I have to give the "Father" role a rest, and just be "Dad".
Those are good times, it is what makes life worth living, for me at least. I cherish every moment that I spend with each of them.
Even the rough ones.

Also, because they are "being raised" by me, they make all kinds of esoteric references that thoroughly entertain me but nobody else gives a rat's rectum about. I think that's why a lot people don't want to hear stories about "other peoples kids", it bores them to tears because they don't get the joke.
I love being able to get the joke, and am glad to have such able teachers.

I worry about not living long enough to see them all into adulthood (as do they) but I worry more about the quality of the experience that they are having with me right now, because the experiences that we are having now will eventually be their memories of me, and I want them to be good ones.

My children are my legacy. I don't want them "talking shit" about me after I'm gone.

My Parents.

My parents are proud of me.

I know this because they have told me so, and I believe it, because their actions have also told me so.
I believe it comes partially from the fact that I am "breaking with tradition" and doing it my way because they couldn't, because their parents would not allow it. (or should I say "condone" it, I'm not sure.) It's a testament to them because they are allowing ME to do it. (Okay, enough with all the"because's" already)

My parents have never forced me to do anything. What they did do was enforce the rules, (which were always negotiable) strictly, and fairly. They both have their own belief systems and ideas about how life should be lived, but neither one of them tried to impose it upon me, or indoctrinate me into what they "believed" I needed to "believe" in order to survive. [Although, my Father has tried to get me onto the "God" train, and I was even on it for a little while; but I don't begrudge him that because he gave me an early education in something I might otherwise not have sought out on my own until it was too late, and then felt compelled to believe in, because of the proximity that I found myself to my own demise.] (Sorry Dad.) They have led by example, living their lives the way they want to, irrespective of what the rest of the world might think. (including their parents)

But even my Father's attempts at "brainwashing" me began to abate after time, because he realized that I was forming my own ideas and opinions and he wanted me to explore them. He is still that way now, both of them are. (Although, my Mother never tried to "brainwash" me) We have grand and sometimes heated debates, but they always end with a smile and the knowledge that we still love each other because we are Family, and that's what Families do. They have allowed me to educate myself, but still always telling me what they think, so I can reap the benefits of their experience.
I have been able to pursue ALL of the things that ever interested me in life, without any fear of ever hearing the words, "you'll never be any good at that", or, "that's impossible". Because they have always tried to be good at "that" and still believe that anything is possible. It is what they are, and who they are, that has taught me that I can be anybody I want to be. They gave me a freedom that their parents never did. (although my Mum's Mum seems pretty cool, but what do I know, I wasn't there when she was young. lol) The freedom to figure it out for myself, always under their watchful and caring eyes, ready to jump in on a moments notice if it was required, but even then, only to help and guide, not to "take charge" and set things right. If I fucked up, I had to fix it, or I had to live with it. I created the problem, therefore, it was mine, and all they could do was offer advice on how they felt I could best resolve it, and they never passed judgement on whatever decision I ultimately came to, even if it went against the advice that they had given me. They simply accepted it, and we carried on with our lives.
It is brilliant parenting.
They have allowed me to grow, instead of trying to mold me.
If I ever do write a book before I die I think it should be based on their parenting skills. I believe a lot of Families could benefit by following their example.

I love you Mom and Dad. Thank you.

Impetuous rantings

I've been "working" on an entry for a few days now but I just can't seem to get it "right". Perhaps I'll finish it someday and post it. (or not) In the meantime I've had an interesting ride in the past few days so I'm just gonna spew it out and editing be damned.

I've discovered new love, re-discovered old love, and realized that right now my very existence is dependent on a couple of little pills that I have to take everyday, and if I don't, I will die.

The pill thing kinda freaks me out. I of course knew that the meds were keeping me alive, but I've been feeling so good that I seem to have forgotten it, until now. I forgot to take my pills (I think it was two days ago) and I could feel the difference. It wasn't drastic by any stretch of the imagination, but it was there and I felt it, and it scared me. It reminded me of just how fleeting life truly is (especially mine) and if I don't get up off my ass and start living it, before I know it, it will be gone! I can't believe that I forgot that so soon, just because I'm feeling better now.

The whole "love" thing brought it home for me as well, but at the same time also drew me into more inner conflict; I DON"T KNOW WHAT TO DO!! (or even what I CAN do) I'm a fucking mess. Maybe I'll write another "soap opera" post, that's bound to help. {rolleyes}

I guess what I'm getting at here is, I'm beginning to come to terms with my mortality and trying to decide what I actually want to do with what's left of my life. However, at the same time, I am observing how people who don't have similar time restraints waste so much of their lives with mundane nonsense that does nothing to improve the quality of their lives; it's just what they've always done, so they continue to do it.
It drives me nuts!!
It makes me want to shake them and say, "don't you realize we are all going to be dead soon and no one will care about that shit after we're gone, so why are you doing it?" But I can't do that, unless I feel like getting arrested and put into a lovely rubber room with people who are crocheting things that aren't there. Also, people don't like to be reminded that they will die someday. We like to walk around with our false sense of immortality and pretend like it's never going to end because it makes us feel better.
What bullshit!
I see a huge paradox here. This mindset is the fruit of religion, and the promise of eternal life, and yet, that institution and it's promises are borne from our natural fear of death. How the fuck do we fix that?

I guess if I had the answer to that question I'd have my own religion, wouldn't I?

I'm staring death in the face and I have no fear. But I am still afraid of what I might miss, so I guess I'm scared.

Zen and the art of motorcycle maintenance.

Spring, apparently, has sprung.

Yesterday, with the sun in my eyes and the aromas of spring in my nose, I ventured to my garage with the intention of taking my noble steed for a much needed, and much anticipated, excursion into the wild blue yonder. (Okay, maybe it's neither wild or blue, but it is yonder. Work with me here.) I cherish the time that I am able to spend on my bike. It is like an oasis of peace amidst the madness. No radio, no cell phone, no conversation; no distractions. Just me, the road, and my thoughts. It can be very cathartic, and enlightening. However, I need to somehow determine a way to incorporate a pen and paper so I can take notes. I once figured out how to solve all the worlds problems while I was on a ride, it was a brilliant moment of clarity. Unfortunately, by the time I had reached my destination I had forgotten what it was. Go figure?

So out I go, after donning the appropriate apparel for such an adventure, perform a diligent post winter circle check (fluids, tires, lights etc.) and satisfied that all is in order, I straddle the beast, prepared to experience the thrill I have come to associate with that first start up of the year, and then....NOTHING! Dead battery! Arrgh!!

After quelling the urge to destroy some nearby inanimate object (luckily, there wasn't anything within reach), logic kicks in and I begin the necessary steps to remove the cursed cell from my otherwise healthy ride, with the hope of replacing it with a fresh and willing power source this evening, inspiring me. Unfortunately, I was told that the replacement I so desperately needed would require charging out of the box, therefore I couldn't have it until tomorrow! Shouldering my disappointment, I trudged back into my house (back to the distractions) in order apply a nice emotional salve to my feelings of despair over a good ride lost, and look forward to the next day when I could begin the adventure all over again with a more positive result.

That day was today.

It was a good ride.