The cold is blue and choppy.

White is coming from the north.

My friends are all with someone else.

We take it back and forth.

They are planning for big futures.

Where big dreams can come true.

But there’s a lineup at the checkout.

Where impatience quickly grew.

There is haze on that horizon.

And the sun is getting high.

I think I’ll have myself a nap.

Before I say goodbye.

Between the rhyme and reason.

There are reasons to be sure.

With the world at war this season.

Some are looking for a cure.

In the middle of the trenches.

Where there must be dreams of love.

In those hands of frightened clenches.

There’s a life they’re dreaming of.

I grew tired of the Politics…

But at least it wasn’t war.

Between the talking and the nodding.

There was the snoozing and a snore.

I grew tired of the sports talk.

And the money for the stars.

It all seemed so damn important.

For the stool sitters at the bars.

I grew tired of the drinking.

Because of where my mind would go.

And all the chitter-chatter.

And the fires down below.

I grew tired of the dramas.

To have anyone around.

I’m a Hermit on this island.

In this Urban sprawl of sound.

I thought I had forever. I just couldn’t be more wrong.

To have something move so quickly. Like; to be there and not belong.

So much seemed unimportant. Like a stranger passing through.

It all got my attention. When there was no more you.

Every second that would pass on by. Moved me further from the past.

The Madness was in holding on. Tried so hard to make it last.

But I was just a kid you know. And you were just my Mom.

And my daughter talks about you now; And she knows where you come from.

There are mysteries in living. There is life and there is pain

And there is love and given half a chance; I’d do it all again.

The chill of winter hung like pain.

More of something to endure.

Those memories were sparked again.

That no time or cold could cure.

The distance closed, my breathe grew short.

I was in the barbers chair.

There were no clues that could report

Except the woman who cut my hair.

She held her tongue, her face showed bored.

On separate pages our minds flowed.

I checked her out and my thoughts roared.

And just like that all cold air glowed.

She’s 10 and this week announced to me that she wants to be a writer…

I shared this with someone we know well, who smiled and said, “You must be proud?”

Actually I don’t believe pride is the emotion here.

This was followed a couple days later by a request for for 4 handmade leather bound journals in which she wants me to purchase at a cost of $29.95 each in order for her to write a series of novels…

“You haven’t written one word, of one sentence, of one paragraph, of one page. However in your head you’ve written a series of 4 novels and this is supposed to cost me hundreds of dollars?”

“It’s not hundreds Dad, it’s like $130.00 after taxes. “

“I am not buying you 4 books to write a series of novels when you haven’t written 1 page for 1 novel. “

Her eyes begin to moisten

“Are you going to cry?”

“No!”

“Are you crying because I am saying no?”

She hangs her head for just a moment and then holds my eyes in hers. There’s a hint of a smile.

“Look. You write me one sentence. One page. And I will get you 1 of those books. Do you even know if the paper is lined?”

“No I don’t know.”

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

“Do you own a computer?”

“Yes.”

“Write a story on the computer. When you write a chapter I will get you one of those books.”

“They are limited editions Dad. They won’t be there for long. “

“Or they will be on sale, 4 for 10 dollars in a month.”

She shrugged and grabbed her computer.

I fell asleep to the sound of keys clicking right after she said,

“Thank you Dad.”

I’ve been working on redemption.

Though for why I’m not so sure.

It seems to be inherent shame.

Distilled from ancient pure.

I’ve been thinking about forgiveness.

Because I’ve been less than chill

Still time and gas left in the tank.

And so little time to kill.

Out of the blue, the actress I was driving asked me,

“Do you believe in spirits?”

It was 5 a.m. on a Tuesday and we were driving to somewhere through the middle of nowhere… After some thought, traversing through decades of non spiritual encounters I finally arrived at…

“Yes I guess I do… I experienced things when I was younger, that are hard to explain any other way. “

“Go on.” She encouraged.

“When I was about 18, for about a month in the spring of 1980 when I could hear something breathing in my bedroom. I would hold my breath to make sure it wasn’t me. It wasn’t. I checked under the bed. Even checked under the house. It was like it was coming from inside me. Also during this time I had nightmares where I unconsciously knocked out the windows in my bedroom while asleep about six or seven different occasions while screaming at something or other. This was witnessed by someone who was quite unnerved by the whole thing. I’ve never seen anything like a ghost per se…. Just felt or heard something I couldn’t explain.

When my daughter was 4 and she announced to me.

“I’m not afraid of dying.”

“Why not?” I asked.

“Because we just turn into ghosts.”

Looking through the mirror now.

At the future and that war.

Things are getting clearer, how?

Still no no reasons for that roar.

There is a time when comfort comes.

When your hands are fast and steady.

When all the beatings are just drums.

And with dancers at the ready.

When everyone has had their say.

No more flinching at rejection.

When good and bad are just a play.

And there is pause upon reflection.

I was 50; 5 years sober and I looked in the mirror and took stock.

“You’re 5 years sober, got $30 000.00 in the bank and You’re still young enough to have kids.”

I had a plan.

I just didn’t know anyone.

Full disclosure. That was the plan. There wasn’t much time to waste. I met 5 women before I said,

“I want a family. I want children. I don’t want to waste your time or mine if this isn’t what you want. “

She was 39, and sweet and kind and lovely.

That all changed the day our daughter was born.

A week later I asked, “Who are you? And what have you done to the Mother of my daughter?”

She answered, “This is the real me Dennis!!”

And that is when The Trouble Began.