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I was doing so well yesterday in the midst of my complete and utter sadness. I tried to think positive things. I tried to hold onto the good memories and be optimistic that this too happened for a reason beyond my understanding and that, in time, God will send me a memo. Ted came by after he got off work with some beer. We went and grabbed a quick dinner down the street, came back to the house and ordered a movie to watch. All the while, I was hanging in there... trying hard. Late last night, after I posted, I laid down on the railroad track. I don't remember where it was in the house that the train hit me, but it was the worst complete breakdown I've had in weeks. I just sat in the floor with her stuff and cried like one of those kids in the market that wants the candy so badly when their parents say no that they cry until they almost pass out. The gagging and choking, bulging veins, bulging bloodshot eyes, and bright red skin smeared in snot and tears. It was absolutely miserable and I just wanted to die. Not in the sense that I wanted to harm myself because that is just ridiculous, but in the sense that I just wanted to close my eyes and go to her. I prayed for some help... anything. I made it downstairs and climbed into bed. I don't remember anything but hurting and crying... apparently I fell asleep at some point. I had a lot of trouble getting out of bed when I woke up. I had to drive to the northern part of the county Erin died in... to the crime lab at the Sheriff's Department. This morning was the day I was finally to collect her things. I got lost on the way there, but made the appointment more or less on schedule. They only release property 2 days a week and by appointment only. I ring the buzzer on this huge metal door to identify myself and gain access. The door opens into one of the longest, barren, nondescript hallways I've ever seen. It was surreal. I had to march the mile to the bulletproof counter window at the opposite end of the hall and start signing my name to a chicken scratched and completely disorganized paper trail. I found errors in the release document and pointed them out to the lady handling it all... "oh, I just overlooked that... sorry" must have been said a couple of times. I made it through that part without losing it, but when she went in the back to get the evidence burn bags, I couldn't hold on anymore. Initially I was going to go through the items there to ensure they didn't miss anything, but sitting through a one by one show and tell through the window would have taken a long time, so I just asked to leave. I called my mom. I called her dad and mom. I called the detective to ask about the finality of the paperwork. I tried to keep myself doing something while I was driving so I could make it home. I think I got the bulk of it all... the only article of clothing they returned was her blue jeans, but other than that it seems there... I didn't check items off the list. I just glanced through the stuff and decided it could wait for another day. I know her phone will hold countless calls from me on the morning of her accident with worried messages and pleas for verification that she was ok. I know her laptop will hold emails from me telling her I love her and miss her and hope she is ok. I know her purse is full of little things that will all be reminders of her busy life in service of others around her... she cared about everyone. They can wait for me a while. As if the sheer act of driving an hour to collect my dead wife's things from the evidence department wasn't enough... seeing the clinical detachment in words like "investigation: dead white female" on the red taped evidence bags they handed me... holding the last article of clothing she was wearing from our house or her cell phone that so many times was pressed against her cheek as she spoke to me... if the summation of all that wasn't enough to crush me this morning, getting home and watching Henry smell his mommy on the stuff I brought in and seeing the look in his eyes was devastating. How can you comfort him when he can't understand what is going on... only that she is not around. It hurts so much and I can't stop crying. I can't stop. Here is something I found out today through one of those chain email things that goes around... I wanted to share: The number one song in the US on the day I was born: How Can You Mend A Broken Heart - The Bee Gees The number one song in the US on the day EL was born: Love You Inside Out - The Bee Gees Ironic, isn't it?

Today dragged on and on with nothing shining and bright to pull me through the tough spots. I tried like hell to be normal. It just wasn't happening. I find myself opening the cell phone and thumbing through my contacts... "who can I call? who would talk with me to take my mind away from here?" It sucks. Life doesn't suck. Life is beautiful and to be cherished. My life is a little rough around the edges at the moment. I called Nancy (the lady that hosted the planting of EL's memorial tree in her yard) and visited with her about her new baby Yorkie puppy (a girl). I'm going to take Henry over to meet and greet when my mom gets into town this week so we can visit the tree together. She is such a sweet lady. She is always trying to push things on me though... but in a nurturing sort of way. When I say "things", I mean support groups at her church, single folks that have lost, etc. I am not that person. I love that those things exist for people that need them, but that is who I am... bless her heart. I find myself missing every bit of Erin and who she was just as much as what she was to me. Sure, I get lonely and just want to be held at night and feel the warmth of companionship. Sure, I sit for hours with no one to talk to but my pets and long to hear her insightful commentary on life, the universe, and everything. I don't need to revel in group pity when I have a big chocolaty bowl of my own from which to spoon. *sigh* I am totally getting away from why I started to post. I am finding that as I drift further from relating to people around me trying to find my way through the tragedy of not only my loss in her, but her tragic lose in the long, healthy, and happy life she deserved, I am drawn further within myself to evaluate my life and what it means. What I mean to say is "what it really means". We live in a large and complex world that is a spec of dust in a larger and more complex universe. Naturally I am drawn to my beliefs or the reflection upon them rather. There are many little snippets of my existence before Erin that I've all but forgotten due to their relative insignificance. There are many that I've not forgotten, but back shelved for better street presence for memories that sell better in my current market. In light of the broad spectrum of religious observance I've been privy to these last couple of days, I thought I would dust off some of the stuff in the back room.

within the manger

In the mid-ish 90's, I spent a large portion of my life on the ocean. Yes, a sailor in not quite the spinach eatin' and Bluto fightin' sense, but a sailor none the less. I ran across an old post where I skimmed some of my globe trotting in my 20's: "Spain: Rota, Cartegena, Palma de Mallorca. Israel: Jerusalem, Haifa, Bethlehem. UAE: Dubai, Jebel Ali. France: Nice, Paris, Cannes. Italy: Livorno, Naples, Pisa, Florence, Rome, Sicily, Vatican City. Germany: Rammstein, Frankfurt. Greece: Corfu (Kikira), Rhodes. Bahrain. the Caribbean: St. Marteen (half Dutch, half French), St. Barthelemy (French). Canada: Montreal, Toronto, Halifax (Nova Scotia). Mexico: various (hey, I'm from TX). Turkey: Antalya. UK: London. I was born in Corpus Christi, TX and moved around Texas growing up... I lived in Florida, New York, and Virginia before moving back to Texas two years ago." I was fortunate enough to spend some time travelling in Switzerland with Erin since to add to that list. That two years is now closer to seven and that life seems a million miles away. Recently I mentioned buying a new scanner online to archive Erin's baby photos. I blew the dust off an old box of film negatives and dug around for some photos I thought appropriate to accompany the weekend's Bible thumping (well, you get the idea). I scanned these to share. I don't remember much other than I shot them with an old EOS film body and probably some non-descript Kodak 35mm film in my best attempt at a mix of snippity tourist documentarian meets journalist on the go style of cha-ching.

Hic de Virgine Maria Jesus Christus natus est

Guided by Lebanon, Hezbollah recently attacked the port city of Haifa (about 20 miles south of the border) and about 19 other towns in northern Israel with rocket bombardments. Between the attacks and retaliations, at least 170 Lebanese and 24 Israelis have been have been killed in the last 5 days. A decade ago, I was having a coffee in the streets of Haifa... watching the local youth stroll by with their fully automatic machine guns shouldered with patriotism and pride in their mandatory military service and soaking in the middle eastern desert heat from the shade. I remember walking the streets late at night in the downtown districts of this Israeli city and feeling an unusual sense of safety... perhaps unfounded for even then, but none the less existent. I took a bus from Haifa toward the south through the desert and skirting the eastern edge of Tel Aviv onward to Jerusalem. I prayed for my grandfather at The Wailing Wall. I stood before Golgotha Hill. I heard the cries of tens of thousands of Muslims only blocks away nearing the end of their journey during Ramadan. I traveled south to Bethlehem. I remember being humbled by the overwhelming magnitude of historical presence this small town of clay and dirt represented. I remember feeling insignificant. I ducked through the low doorway and gazed in wonderment at the painstakingly crafted mosaic floors below The Church of the Nativity. I remember entering The Manger and kneeling a few feet away at the birthplace of Christ. These are things I will probably never have the chance to do again while on Earth. These are things I am deeply thankful for and although tucked away in some file folder in my mind, will always be special to me. When I think of rare moments like this, I think of my wife and just how precious and irreplaceable each moment with her was to me.

the stone Christ's body was anointed upon

I come back to the same thoughts over and over. Something is missing. There is a space to be filled. I am weak as if I haven't eaten or slept, yet I just got back from lunch and only woke once last night. My hands and knees shake and the silence is deafening. Where is that whisper in my ear that I so need to hear? I never received a call from the sheriff's department last week as the detective committed, so I called him again this morning. Almost 2 months have passed and I still do not have her personal belongings back from the crime lab. Finally, after much effort and more emotional distress, I have an appointment tomorrow to collect her things. I'm a little nervous, but it will be good to secure that thread in the breeze. Why do we press the buttons on the remote harder when we know it's just the batteries getting weaker? I want to take a nap.

I think deep down it is that for which I'm praying. Someday. Yesterday was relatively busy. I went to church and cried a lot per usual, but it is always good for me. Something interesting happened toward the end of the service though... something difficult to explain. There was a traveling missionary that was guest speaking at the church I now attend. Well, it was my second time in church in years, so I guess that counts as a step toward regularity. Since I have the intention to continue, I suppose it's ok to say "I attend". Maybe someday I'll be "a member", but I'm getting off the path of the story. This fellow was born and raised down under... in the outback (not the steakhouse). He has spent his life traveling Earth in complete submission to God and I don't mean in the secluded compound Kool-aid drinkin' and burying energy crystals in the yard kinda way, but rather in the most-humble-Christian-servant biblical kinda way. The way of original intention. As a result of this, not by his own claim, he has been given some sort of prophetic gift... like a modern day psalmist. This is not by observation as I don't know this guy from Adam, but through his actions in life as told by others. I've never been really exposed to that sort of spirituality in a person... intimacy with God that results in biblical genre events... miracles and healing and the like. Despite what most modern "Christians" think, we are somewhat sheltered. Anyhoo, near the end of the service he stops and says that he needs to touch some people and pray for them. I'm inconspicuously at the back of the room and the congregation, although small by most standards, was in full force and the room was relatively full. He picks a lady from the crowd and me. It was just that matter of fact... plucked. How completely odd, but in someway restorative. Obviously everyone has their own comfort level with religion and it is more often than not a topic a lot like your personal salary and finances... taboo and avoided in casual conversation... but I'll tell you I was intrigued by this guy's relationship with God. It was natural and flowing... unpretentious and visibly complete. Everyone in the congregation had put on their "Sunday clothes" as we used to call them as kids. Some were in slacks, dress shirts, and skirted dress. Some where in the nicer jeans from their wardrobe and unordinary ironed shirts... maybe the one they had with a collar. This man of God before us was in sneakers, worn jeans, and a Harley-Davidson shirt, but he could have been wearing the finest silk and you wouldn't have noticed a difference. The story of why he was there is another to tell, but really I said what I wanted regarding the church thing. The first time I went there was the week after I returned from Minnesota to visit my in-laws. That was a couple of weeks ago. I was moved by the pastor's passion for his job. He is a good man... a strong man that I immediately felt deep respect for yet barely knew. I found myself later that night with a strong and inexplicable urge to Podcast his sermons. Out of the blue... *kerplunck* Podcast the sermons. I don't know anything about RSS feeds and really didn't know anyone there at the time, but it was as clear to me as the stripes down the road that I needed to help them accomplish that task. So stand-by for more info on that at some point. I think it was witnessing someone that could give up everything to do what God needed him to do that allowed me to share my little piece of direction here as corny as it sounds. So back to current events. I was intrigued by this missionary prophet fellow from Australia. My pastor's wife told me he was going to be at a fellowship hall in The Woodlands that night and that I should go check it out if I was interested. I had plans to eat at Sam's, but I was really not having a good day internally. I had spent most of the morning before church in the depths of sadness alone at home and although the loneliness ebbs slightly when I am at church, I still am struggling. Sam's father was stopping in for a visit. Erin liked him and I've always enjoyed saying hello and making small talk when he was around. I decided I would skip the meal and stop by for a visit before going to the fellowship thing so I could do both. I was a wreck all afternoon and unfortunately unable to hide my emotion at Sam's. It was wise to not stay for dinner. I would have been the downer that no one needed to be around. I made my way to this place out in the boonies per the directions I was given earlier that day and found something quite afar from any expectation I had enroute. It was a revival. I would say old fashion tent revival, but the tent was an air conditioned building and there were no rattlesnakes to be seen. All joking aside, it was quite fulfilling when taken in the right context. The underlying initiative in these sort of things it to get people energized about their faith and encourage them to spread The Word to others. There are things that happen at revivals that are not scientifically explainable and thus cause the socially groomed intellectual to experience awkward moments of discomfort. I simply watched and took it all in. I didn't understand a lot of it, but the witness of so many people praising and worshiping together was moving. I stayed to the end and reflected on things. The path to salvation is short and readily available to even the laziest spiritual travelers, but the way to intimacy with God is long, arduous, and is paved with humble servitude and sacrifice. This is the lesson I learned yesterday. We each find our own way in our own time with a little help from above. I may not know what I'm doing in my completely upside down life, but I do know that in time, the map of the path will be provided to me. This morning I came into the office early. The hardest part of getting up in the morning is not the prospect of going to work, but rather leaving Henry. Erin always used to tell me how hard it was to move when she woke up with Henry curled up tightly against her and doing his best snuggling. I understand better now that I'm his only option. My boss, who was my friend before my boss, came in a little later and we were the only two there at the moment. I had emailed him while he was on vacation regarding these potential changes I'm hearing that would require more travel of me. It was more a statement of concern than anything else, but I needed to go on the record with my position on what is important to me. I can do the occasional day trip, but I'm no road warrior. I know that things would be a little different if I had no pets, but it's not entirely due to them that I feel this way. Living out of a hotel is not comforting no matter how good the room service can be. I could be anywhere in any circumstance with my wife and feel at home, but alone I find myself ungrounded and adrift. Work driven travel is a quality of life impact I am not positioned to deal with now or in the foreseeable future, so I was concerned over the prospect of change. I prayed about it and accepted that there is nothing I could really do to effect things out of my control. I tried to let it go. So this morning he listens to my thoughts and then tells me not to worry. He said I was extremely valuable and whatever I wanted to do, I would do. If that meant changing positions to support less travel, he would do everything possible to make that happen. I feel better about it now. We'll see how things work out. I'm really a reed in the wind now more than ever.

Time, like almost every single aspect of my life, has taken on new meaning. Even when I am surrounded by friends or public, I am completely alone. On some level, as an ignorant man trying to stand on The Word, I know that I'm not alone at all. I know that Agape is mine to give and receive and in this I should find comfort, protection, and healing. To hear, say, and believe with my most faithful and poised steadfastness doesn't seem to make it so when it comes to this desert of my emotion. I feel that time isn't healing as advertised. I have always been mild tempered and laid back, so it isn't with surprise to find that anger or the strife of bitterness are not in the palette before me, but rather a depth of sorrow that no man should be faced with... a black chasm filled with nothing but the pain of my sadness. The memories of her beaming life and unconditional love that cause me to instantly burst into tears at any moment are the tender tethers that keep me from being swallowed up by it all. My God, how I love and miss her. I fear I wasn't a good enough husband and find myself reflecting on the myriad of moments that I could have turned left instead of right when choosing an action... how I could have been more... been better... how I could have protected her. I have no direction but ahead and there is nothing but fear and uncertainty on the horizon. I am so far on the other end of the spectrum from where I was less than 2 months ago that it simple doesn't seem real. The pain is real. I have been trying to stay busy doing "things" and dodging being physically alone despite the island within myself. Friday evening Ted and I attended the Houston performance of Video Games Live at the symphony. It was very good. They had a variety of special performances and guest composers. It was not only the largest symphonic presentation I've been privileged to witness (about 132 musicians on stage), it was also the first time I've seen a full choral accompaniment. The vocal addition of a full chorus can only be described as epic. I think all the special attendances were attributed to it being the largest production in the running history of the tour. Saturday I spent the day alone save a short mountain bike ride on some trails near my house. It was nice to get out once I was on the trail, but it was an internal battle to make myself get out and do it. Today, I'm going to church and am scheduled to eat dinner at Sam's. Most of the time in-between those few events is spent weeping, wailing, and generally miserable. I would quite possibly make the worst Hallmark writing contributor in the history of man at the moment... unless of course they came out with a new, all black, EMO line of cards. Bah-dum-dum. *splash* Come back tomorrow night... try the veal. I'll be here all week.

I hurt.

Outside: I obliged my employer and joined "the guys" for a few beers at an icehouse down the street from our office yesterday afternoon. One of the gents was going on vacation and the other had a particularly hectic day. They both wanted to investigate the libations and I didn't want to be antisocial. I made my exit after an hour or so of small talk, work talk, a few jokes, and more work talk. It happens without even thinking about it when co-workers that don't usually hang out with each other outside the office find themselves doing that very thing. I had previously offered to help a friend out with some photography time to build a portfolio for herself. Last night was the shoot. I was feeling bleh from my worries about work, Henry, and my alone-ness. I was concerned that I would basically be completely introverted when I needed to be communicative and directing during the shoot... so I drank some more. I drank at dinner. I poured a drink when I got home... and so on. I didn't even realize I was doing it until after it was done and I was lit. I managed to fumble through the shoot. I suppose I don't really have a point to the story other than I acknowledge now that I was trying to hide in the bottom of a glass and it didn't really work out as subliminally planned. I did however, wake up this morning with a smashing headache and my neck and back in knots. I must have slept in an awkward position. Ouch. Inside: I feel like each day that goes by, I have to reach a little further inside to find the memories of Erin that were on fire within me just a few short weeks ago. I exist in our house (formerly known as home) and feel so empty... so incomplete. A hollow man that needs to be filled up. I still cry every day at least once, but recently it's been less from the pain of a broken heart and more in desperation. I'm going to set up some counseling and already have the contact info for a highly recommended grief counselor, but even if the words hit the mark, it won't change the world I live in. I miss her so much. She didn't deserve to die. She was so wonderful. Everything about her was a precious gift and she never stopped amazing me. I am still finding little notes she wrote to herself... tears roll down my cheeks as I read them because they further illustrate how incredible she was inside. I wish upon no one the burden my heart carries. It is a weight I can barely lift. I love you Erin.

My previous post was obviously a knee jerk and a little panicky, but valid in underlying concept. It will be a problem and I will have to deal with it. I'm certain that I'll get it figured out in time. As part of this gradual transition that may or may not happen, there is a more immediate need that has already been realized. I am inheriting an account out of state that will require attention (read: travel). I have to go there in the next week or so to meet the folks I'll be supporting, learn their needs, evaluate, suggest, etc. I booked my travel this morning and there is was... my wife's name and contact information in the travel system under my emergency contact section. I don't know why it affected me so intensely. I should expect things like that to come up from time to time. I just want to go home and sleep.

I love my job. I really get along well with everyone and feel good about being part of a company I believe is doing the right thing in their industry (for the most part). I have looked forward to my future here and the opportunities it may afford Erin and I... our household... our family. This morning I heard that my primary job description may be changing over the coming year and I was deeply troubled. Now I know I should take it all in stride and not sweat the what-ifs because there is nothing I can do about speculation. Actually, the change from a career standpoint wouldn't be terrible. It is the cost of the change that is terrible... well, to me. I was told that I may be handling larger, higher profile, named accounts that are not geographically convenient to me living in Houston. The primary issue isn't just that... they aren't geographically convenient to living anywhere. This in it's most simplistic term is travel. When I interviewed for this position, I accepted that a minimal amount of travel would be required. Erin and I discussed it and agreed that the travel entailed would be acceptable (mostly day-trips anyway) and I accepted the position. Now that I am a widower, one would think that travel wouldn't be as much an issue, but it is... in some ways, even more of an issue. I love my pets. Penny and Bianca are fine for a few days alone with plenty of food, water, and clean litter. Éclair can be boarded. I even have a neat place that takes her to play in a stream and gives her private snuggle-time every day. Henry is the issue. I can not board him. He is too fragile and emotionally sensitive. Trust me. I don't have people here that I can leave him with when I go out of town. He can't be around little kids because they are too rough regardless of how well behaved their parents think they are... he can't be where there is dangerous stuff for him to get into and eat because he will try... he requires a lot of supervision in strange environments because he is an explorer and too smart for his own good. I love my job, but if it comes down to it, I may have to leave it someday for him. I don't want that to happen. We'll see what the future holds.

Indeed.

This was my baby... when it came to sweets, she could eat until she was sleepy and sleep until she was hungry.

Do you ever have a lot to say but no way to assemble it for presentation? That is me most of the time. A lot of feelings I'm dealing with are discreet and individual in their presence and effect in and on my daily life, but when I ponder description to someone outside the fishbowl, it all sounds the same... redundant, repetitive, ridiculous. I never made it to Whataburger. Erin loved this little Italian restaurant in The Woodlands called Sweet Bella... the one that makes her favorite cheesecake that I begged into staying late after close so I could pick up a piece on her birthday the week after her death just so I could pour her a glass of white wine and serve her cheesecake at our house for her birthday... one month ago today. Well, apparently I can go in there now without freaking out the customers as the "crazy emotional crying guy in the line". That is where I had dinner. I've been in there many times since it happened, just never without ending up in a puddle. (On a side note, I find myself wanting to type "her accident" or "the event" or "it happened" rather than using the word "death" or "died". I type what feels better and sometimes backspace to replace it with 'the fact' I find immensely uncomfortable. This contributes, I'm sure, to my already poor grammar.) The meal was quite nice and set the stage for an evening of minimal emotional distress. I woke up this morning terribly depressed though and laid there crying in bed until I forced myself to make way to the computer to email my coworker that I was working from my home office today. I hope it was just residuals from a bad dream or perhaps a night of missing her in my sleep rather than a glimpse of what my entire day will be like. It is hard enough to hurt this intensely in short bursts, but when sustained throughout the day it is unbearable. There is a contractor (I assume sub-contracted to the utility district) with an army of trucks working on the sewer system in my neighborhood. I don't know exactly what they are doing, but I received a notice that there was going to be "reduced capacity" today for water and sewer related service. Interesting. I heard a drilling sound, large POP!, and subsequent WHOOOOSH! coming from my neighbor's yard a little while ago. I peeked out to see some orange-vested fellows standing in a semi-circle scratching their heads. That can't be a good sign. I unpackaged my new scanner that arrived the other day (hence the photo of EL around 2 years of age). I have a lot of old photos of her that I want to archive digitally. As it turns out, I have nothing but time to kill, so maybe I can work my way through that project someday. It is emotionally difficult, so I procrastinate. I find myself just pushing things away rather than dealing with them now. I expect it will catch up to me eventually. Hopefully I'll have gained my sea legs by then! With regard to the scanner itself, it claims to scan 4800x9600 dpi, but I tend to believe that to be marketechture. The optical resolution can't be more than around 1200 dpi (I think). I'm not big on reading manuals and usually dive right in. It also scans slides and film negatives. I have a big 'ole box of negatives from back when I shot film in the 90's that I hope to dig through and salvage a few I like. More things to-do to pass the time. I wish more than anything that I was EL on a nice vacation away together... just the two of us.

EL's first Whataburger. You can't be in Texas without trying a Whataburger.

I miss my wife. I thought I was doing so well yesterday, but it all crumbled when it was time to go to bed alone. When I try to remember specific events, my mind races through little snapshots in time so quickly that I can't focus on what I want to see. Imagine a photograph of every moment you have stored in your memory being swept up in a tornado surrounding you... the little slips of paper moving by so fast you can't grasp one. It's like that in my head. Frustrating. I laid in bed with Henry and cried for a long time before I could find sleep. "Tears as big as horse terds", as my step-dad would say. She was so wonderful in every possible way. It hurts sooo much. Today I traveled across town to spend my day assisting a co-worker. Traffic. Strangers. Conversations I didn't want to be part of in any way. More traffic. Bleh. I had a short conversation with an old friend that was the first pleasant moment of my day. I talked to my mother for a few minutes and that was nice. Now at home, I am going over lists of things I need to do in my head. Loose ends to tie up. Medical bills for Erin that need to be paid. Paperwork. Account and government red tape that need to be filed. Her brand new car to sell. Some of her things I still need to gather from her employer's home (where she died). All her stuff I'm still waiting on the crime lab to give me. I got to thinking about where I'm going and realized there is no answer. I can't see more than a couple hours out and it looks the same from here. I need to streamline my finances and invest into something positive. Land is my choice. I'm going to start shopping for land. I don't know when or where I will be able to actually invest, but that is what I think will help me out. I want a little piece of somewhere that is pretty and away. It's an investment that doesn't rely on stock portfolio performance or 401k matching and valuation. It just is. I'm not sure how I ended up here, but it just popped into my head. I just signed up for Vonage because my phone provider (they start with an 'A' and end with a 'T') is ripping me off. When I say just signed up, I mean like 10 minutes ago. I think I'll go eat. I need to eat something. Maybe Whataburger. Sigh.

"Disappearing" (Brian Andreas)
The day he first told me he
was starting to disappear I
didn't believe him & so he stopped
& held his hand up to the sun & it
was like thin paper in the light &
finally I said, you seem very calm
for a man who is disappearing &
he said it was a relief after all
those years of trying to keep the
pieces of his life in one place.
Later on, I went to see him
again & as I was leaving, he
put a package in my hand.
This is the last piece of my
life, he said, take good care
of it & then he smiled & was
gone & the room filled with the
sound of the wind & when I
opened the package there was
nothing there & I thought
there must be some mistake
or maybe I dropped it & I
got down on my hands &
knees & looked until the light
began to fade & then slowly
I felt pieces of my life
fall away & suddenly I
understood what he meant
& I lay there for a long
time crying and laughing at
the same time.

"A print of the only photograph of Mozart's widow, Constanze Weber, has been found in Germany. The photograph was taken in 1840 in the Bavarian town of Altoetting when she was 78. She died two years later. The local authorities say detailed examination has proved the authenticity of the image, which is a copy of the original daguerreotype. Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart died at the age of 35 in 1791, when Constanze was 29. She later married a Danish diplomat. The print is one of the earliest examples of photography in Bavaria. It was found in the town archives. The daguerreotype was taken at the home of the Swiss composer Max Keller, whom Constanze used to visit regularly. Mozart and Constanze had six children in their nine-year marriage. Only two of them survived past childhood. The daguerreotype shows Constanze at front left, next to Max Keller. His wife Josefa is on the right. Behind them are (from the right): their daughters Josefa and Luise, Max Keller's brother-in-law Philipp Lattner and the family's cook. They are outside the Keller family's house."

I drove to work this morning listening to NPR again. I only mention it because frequency modulation started collecting dust in my vocabulary when Erin and I discovered the goodness of satellite radio. I love my XM. I listen to just about any genre music, but Bluesville, Real Jazz, and Bluegrass Junction are some of the top programming they offer in my oh-so humble opinion. I have everything from downtempo ambient/electronica (XM Chill) to Christian (The Message) and adult progressive alternative (Squizz and Ethel) to classic rock (Boneyard) all at the touch of a finger... or in Erin's car, a few words spoken aloud. I wish my truck's voice recognition was as advanced as hers. I merely get navigation and map functionality via voice... maybe a band or preset change. Her car will do pretty much anything via voice command... driver/passenger temperature, fan speeds, all the radio and navigation features, etc. Sigh. She loved that car. I started it today for the first time in a month. Anyhoo, back to NPR. I was listening to the news and it was all about Iraqi this and Iranian that per usual. I was just about to switch back to my lovely XM no-calorie goodness when they segued into a story on asbestosis sufferers and their diagnosis leading to all sorts of subsequent media interest like lawsuits and speculation regarding the validity of the diagnostic medicine that confirmed their illness. It went on about how some doctors were under scrutiny for contributing directly to so many (by volume) cases of ex-occupationally exposed workers being diagnosed with residual medical debilitation, whether pulmonary or malignant, as a result of their exposure. Their method of diagnostics was under the microscope. Did they prove due diligence in positive confirmation? Did they just glance over some common symptoms that may meet the bill and wave the "probably" flag? Who knows? That has nothing to do with why I'm writing about this... I was dumbfounded that the people who were suing companies for the damage they allegedly accrued as a result of occupational exposure were, in fact, furious at the possibility that their case might be dismissed as a result of fraudulent diagnostic medicine. What this means is... there are people more concerned about the prospect of not getting paid for their terrible condition than finding out that they don't really have that condition in the first place. What kind of society are we breeding here? Get a second or third opinion. Be thankful that you have no grounds for legal pursuit of compensation if that is in fact the truth. If it isn't, then you are back where you started and there is no reason to be upset. For being so far removed from anything I relate to on a daily basis, I was upset by the story. When I was in the USN, I was trained and certified in asbestos removal. I had to perform an additional screening at each annual physical that tested my lung capacity and charted it's progress. I was like blowing into a tube with zero resistance for as long as you could stand without passing out... then keep blowing until you almost did pass out. I had lots of tests, pokes and prods, "vaccinations", etc. back then that I don't even think about now. I always thought that they could inject me with anything and I'd never know. Conspiracy theory 101. I did the first year or so of the anthrax vaccines when they first started issuing them to our troops in the 90's... coming to a vein near you. Between the pincushion the military makes of you when you are attached to a combat frequenting vessel and working in a nuclear power plant that would make Homer Simpson glaze his donut, the jokes about your kids coming out with an arm growing from their temple just never get old. It's a shame I never could put it to the test. Erin and I would have been good parents. Sadly, my lack of faith in the human condition eases the pain of never knowing a child of my own. How could I bring something I would love so completely into this world of pain and sociopsychological and environmental degradation? We are killing each other as fast as we are killing our planet.

COurtship

I am so lonely. I went to get a haircut this afternoon to pass the time. I came so very close to telling her to just shave it off. I mean, really, what do I care? There is more salt than pepper these days. It is hereditary on my mother's side. I don't mind it so much, but it does make me look a lot older than I would otherwise. There was a long waiting list to get the 'ole ears lowered so I went to the grocery store next door to buy toiletries. It was like I was moving in slow motion. I could feel my feet pushing the air aside on their way Earthward with each step. The world around me sounded like I was listening through the tubes of empty paper towel rolls and everyone was hundreds of feet away. Nothing really was sinking in, but rather washing over and around me. It took me 45 minutes to get a stick of deodorant, a tube of hair gel (for the hair I was about to get lopped off), a regular sized plastic container of mouthwash, some carpet freshener (the powder kind that is unpleasant to vacuum up because it makes you sneeze), and a ghetto box of wine. It's really a bag of wine... or a sack. I think they put it in a box so people aren't seen with their wine sack in the parking lot. Scandalous! So 45 minutes later (for something that should have taken less than 10), I was watching grey hair fall around me like a winter wonderland. I usually visit like a good southerner should, but I sat silently... still in slow motion. Would it end? When I got home, I set the wine sack (cleverly disguised as a box) next to the bottles I couldn't open the night before and settled in for the night. Time passed and here I am with nothing to show for it other than a lighter wine sack and a big, quiet house full of wishes for things that can not be... and memories. Put a big chalk mark up on the scoreboard for one more day successfully completed. Yay me.

I once valued many things. Of recent, I have shelved RealLife™ and reprioritized within myself. There are good people and good things around me that I can't seem to pull out of my periphery into my focus. I try to acknowledge this and place effort where and when I can to "fix" it. Last weekend I sat around feeling miserable for not just the regular Saturday and Sunday we take for granted each calendar week, but for two additional days of holiday observance in honor of the passing of our great nation's birth of independence. There was an inordinate about of patriotism and beautiful fireworks to be appreciated by all. I used to well up with emotion as I saw our flag wave high. I used to embrace my pyromania and burn this, that, and the other in our little chiminea on the porch whenever possible. I was presented with a chance to light things on fire and blow schtuff up under the graces of our community's permission and awareness and I did not witness a single firework ignition (much less take part in the igniting)... not one. Not even a sparkler. I didn't spend much time with anyone but our pets within the confines of our home. Sad. Alone. Silly. It was torturous. It was not healthy. I decided that this weekend I needed to force myself out of the house. I needed to spend time with people and, on some level, move forward with something besides self pity.

the crystal city by the sea... place of my birth

I surveyed my immediate options that could be realized on little or no notice. I wanted to go see my father, but his home is so far away for a short weekend trip. I wanted to go see my mother, but her home is a long way for me to drive alone given that being behind the wheel alone has proven dangerous for me recently. (I don't have an urge to crash test dummy myself, so don't read anything of the sort into that statement. I simply weep uncontrollably and get lightheaded to the point of having to pull off to the side for fear of passing out.) I asked Ted if he would join me for the weekend. I thought it would be cool for him to get out of Houston and see some new scenery... and he would be helping me out at the same time. I teeter tottered on the prospect of throwing the towel in on this idea until the last possible second. It is hard for me to leave our home... for work and for anything. Ted helped me more than he realized by showing some enthusiasm and excitement about the "road trip". Sigh. "You need to do this. You can do this." I told myself with my best pom-poms in hand. So we went. I rushed home from work on Friday and packed a small bag, Henry, Éclair, and my photography gear. I had no plans of using the camera, but "just in case" crossed my mind and I had the room in the truck, so I figured why not. It took me forever to get out of the house. I felt like I was forgetting something. I picked up Ted and we headed to the closest thing I have to a home town. I moved around a lot as a young boy as my mother transferred with her job. By the time I was in the eighth grade, we had settled into a small town near Corpus Christi, TX for the duration of my undergraduate education. The town has changed a lot since I left for the military way back when. All those memories seem like a lifetime ago. Ted and I stayed at my mother's house on Friday night. It was the first time I had been back there without Erin and I would soon realize that this weekend adventure away from my pity party was to be filled with those first times back places we would visit together. Each one adding a small layer of dormant hurt to be awakened later. Saturday morning came all too early. I was sore from sleeping in an awkward position on the couch to make room for Henry to snuggle with me all night. He doesn't take up much space... but it was a narrow couch. I stopped and picked up fresh tortillas and taquitos from the City Tortilla Factory. They are arguably the best of their genre on Earth. This is especially true if you have lived away for a long time and had time to build them a pedestal in your recollection. They don't disappoint. We ate breakfast with my grandmother and I showed Ted around my grandparent's place amongst the worst mosquito swarm I've seen outside of the Minnesota BWCA. I itch just thinking about it. It is hard for me to just show up and leave at my grandmother's house. I love her and miss her, but I know I can't stay. She came to visit Erin and I a year or two ago. Her memory is getting so bad that she has no recollection of the trip or our home. My mother and step-father, Bob, bought some land to get away to in their retirement. They don't live there, but it makes for a nice weekend retreat (or any occasion I suppose). It is outside of Goliad somewhere in the general direction of Cuero. The landscape is native south Texas from fence post to fence post. This would be our destination for the day. Goliad Market Days were in limited attendance on Saturday due to the weather. The rains that have been pelting Houston for weeks don't seem to be geographically discriminatory. We took Henry and Éclair to the ranch and headed into town for a peek at brave vendor's wares on display rain or shine. There is a near little shop on the town square that makes an impressive variety or jellies, jams, spreads, and dips with the common base ingredient of the native Chili Petin. I love stuff like that... off the beaten path... special. The rest of the day was spent at the ranch. The dogs found their way into the tank (that is a small pond for you northern folks) to cool off and the hours of the afternoon seemed to get lost in the sounds of nature's silence. We sat on the porch and watched the chickadees and cardinals shoo the cowbirds away from the feeders in the yard as hummingbirds zipped in and out of sight looking for nectar. Ted and I caught some little blues (catfish) in the pond (and let them go) as the sun faded. At that moment I saw a photograph in my mind that I was not prepared to capture. I dropped my fishing pole and ran for the truck. There was a flurry of unzipping, unvelco-ing, screwing, and adjusting as I matched lens to body to adapter rings to filter housing. It was a sorry excuse for a run, but running with flailing camera paraphernalia while adjusting a tripod could probably make it onto America's Funniest Home Videos if anyone could stop laughing long enough to film it. Fortunately for me, only Ted was there to laugh and he didn't. I didn't get exactly the shot I saw in my mind, but close (I posted a web sized version at the bottom of this entry). It is my first landscape I've done in a long time that I actually put effort into executing. Henry was the king snuggler that night. I slept much better with more room to accommodate him on the floor with an air mattress. We made omelets outside this morning and watched the birds again... it is so peaceful away from the city. I wanted to get back to Houston in time for church, but it didn't happen. We made great time through all the back country and farm roads between the ranch and the Houston metro area. The traffic due to construction and accidents on the wet roads was typical for H-town and just widespread enough to sufficiently delay me. When I arrived home and unloaded the truck, I went inside and broke down. All those moments visiting here and there over the weekend were each the first time I'd been since Erin died and the previous times were with her. I was back in our home with so many memories and touches she left behind... and I couldn't push back the hurt anymore. I cried a lot and then stopped. I wandered around the house as if I were lost... crying... stopping. In the end, I am glad that I spent my weekend doing something other than going over old photos and sentiments all day. I'm glad that I was able to see my mother, sister, and grandmother again. I still have a long way to go before I am where I think Erin would want me to be, but baby steps are taking place (I think). I felt like enjoying a deep glass of red wine tonight over a movie on the couch with Henry. I could not bring myself to open a bottle because the reds I have left are the ones Erin bought just before she died. Wine became Crown Royal and the movie never happened. I am tired, but don't want to go to bed alone yet. Not yet.

"Tears are often the telescope by which men see far into heaven." - Henry Ward Beecher

Dreaming Out within my circle, i have become, invisible to this world. life outside it continues without hesitation, my tangential friends have ceased to hear my cries. as my existence dissolves into shadow, i realize the pain of living in anamnesis, and it is often too great to bear. the paradox revealed is my circle's size, it's much too small to share so alone i stand within, dreaming out. longing for the wings of your breath to set me free.