Friday, December 22, 2017

Fall and The Empty Nest IX

The holidays are upon least most of us, and this story doesn't bode well with the spirit, at least the spirit we relate to the holidays. The unknown man in the story a figment of his own existence and his alone. He breathes, repeats, and then completes the full circle that most of us call life. This is an awakening of his soul, a soul filled with earthly memories that anchor him to a family he always saw through a muddied window, never clearing the view, never taking the step...will his dance of macabre be his end? Read on and find out. Indulge in more of the red carpet into my fiction here: Blood, Dreams & Tears .

It was four a.m.
The coffee, in the same stained circle of the cup holder, steamed as per usual. The well-oiled car hummed while it warmed up. There was so much in my life that I had wished I had done. There was so much life I felt inside, but aging stopped the process as it often snubbed out the thoughts. It was serene, in the car; the early morning night sky above me glittered in a fashion that not a single firework display could beat.
There it was again, the white…whatever it was, larger than life; it walked with long fingernails, hair mangled down its back, which was curved and misaligned. This couldn’t be a Tattlerat; they were short plain creatures with chattering teeth. They danced, they stalked, and they followed a person until they had that person in their grip. I got out of the car, managing to curl my fingers around the door handle and walked through the dewy grass again. My hands were cold and I rubbed them together, they made a soft sandpaper sound, this time of the year always did a number on my skin.
Its gait was slow this time, not so much scurrying through the property, but moving at a speed that I finally could keep up with. It didn’t walk to the shed; it walked towards the pine tree where I hid the other time of my misadventure. I saw it glowing under the pine tree’s boughs, and its eyes dimmer now, easy to see, like two yellow flames dancing beneath the tree. I could faintly hear it breathing, its lungs rasping, and the breathing shallow and wet. I was shivering, the cold sinking into my bones, I rubbed my hands together again, and then rubbed the gooseflesh bumping on my arms away, but it didn’t go anywhere.
I stood in front of it.

Its gaze peered beyond me, seeing through me, and looking at something else.

Thursday, December 14, 2017

Fall and The Empty Nest Part VIII

During the blustering snow fall that was, I had to give everyone something to cuddle up to. This may warm you, it may not, but hopefully you're growing attached to this elder in his life. He reminds me of so many characters who I've met, got to know and even loved, yet is his own person, in his own fictional right. Sometimes when I'm writing this piece I get a little melancholic, thinking of those people who have come and gone in my life, hell, this time of year is notorious for stirring the emotional melting pot. Please indulge and by all means leave some comments for me. Thanks for reading! More fiction, not so cheap, here: Blood, Dreams & Tears

It was three a.m.
My wife was snoring. I was exhausted, it felt like I had been asleep for days, yet was running a marathon. I didn’t want to roll on top of her. How could I? Not after the stunts I’ve been pulling chasing the Tattlerat through the yard and hiding from it. I got up, shut the alarm clock off and heard her talk in her sleep. I was floating through a dilemma and not speaking about it, I was unplugged, and that confusion was worsening. This nightmare was my life, this day walk was my future, my being, my existence, and I had to deal with it.
“You weren’t a bad man, we love you.” My wife whispered hauntingly.
She may have been having fevered dreams about her father. She had them often, and never discussed them, but that loss hurt her deeply and came out on a subconscious level.
“I love you.” I kissed her forehead; she smiled and stopped sleep talking.
In the back of my head I thought I wanted to hop into bed, hug her tightly, and say I’m calling in, we should just be bums today, something she always said to me, but I didn’t say a word. The reality of my job and life outside of the house was too much of a pull; it was that damn dangling carrot that limply wiggled in the forefront. I ambled through and poured my coffee.

Friday, December 8, 2017

Fall and The Empty Nest VII

In a world where children are given entitlements and they don't earn them, and a world where children are not held accountable, by most, this is the world where I escape. This is the comfortable warm arms of life, the little place of fiction. It's not a place where everything is perfect, it's a place of terror, a terror that emphasizes what's truly going on in the large pool of craziness that is life. Truth in fiction? Take from it what you will, all I ask in return is that you enjoy it, and if not, find your place of escape. After all, I can please some of the people some of the time, but I can't please them all. Thanks again, for visiting...please indulge in my shameless plug here: Blood, Dreams & Tears .

If I could only close my eyes, go back to sleep, and start over, it would be so much better, so much clearer. I closed my eyes. It was a serene darkness as the dome lights dimmed leaving my mind a blank black slate. I’m a father, a husband; my parents have long left the world. My kids were no longer kids. My wife, she was my wife, my beauty, the woman I loved and thought of daily, she was usually nestled under a layer of blankets on our bed; she was always cold, so cold that she’d cover up with a blanket no matter the season. Where had they all gone? Had I pushed them away, like always, with my silence, with my machoism, without connecting?
Those days, the days of vigor and planning, goals set forth, and motion on each goal. Getting up for work, leaving the nest, jumping into the void of every day, it was a ritual that led me. Sucked into what the world deemed normal and accepting the normalcy. Communication with my kids as they grew older was sparse, but I thought a lot. Those thoughts whirring in my head, screaming, really, screaming to be spoken, just disappeared after they were nurtured, they had lived the life cycle, as quick as a fickle flame blown out by a gushing wind.
I bridged the gap the best I could.
Still failure as a father was always eminent in my head. Just because I went to work gave me no true excuse to turn into the man I had become. The world had helped shape it; the world had helped me become unbecoming. It was an idea, perfect in the black and white spiral that often confuses people into a submission that they never thought possible. I was a free thinker, my kids the same way. They were resilient, when they got stuck inside the box, each one of them would jump out of it, to return to that free thought. The free that everyone longed to be, while I sheltered my thoughts and kept them from each of them silently, selfishly. In hindsight, I wish I hadn’t become that man. The man always sang about, always written about, the man with regrets. 

Friday, November 24, 2017

Fall and The Empty Nest VI

Amidst a crazy schedule of life, family, and the news media promoting spending those dollars, here's something to take the mind off the ignorance in the world. This blog, this horror, is here for you, dear reader, take a deep breath, put your wallet back in your purse or pocket, for something of quality. Before throwing cash at a problem of pressure, poke at the dangling carrot that grips us, and then punch it away. It's not fear, and it's not the existing terrors of an influx of passive activists with our youth, it's the social pressure to chase what other's have and and continue to loop ourselves into the ring of stupidity. Take a break, read some horror, it's a great escape. Enjoy! And here's my redundant attempt to drive sales on a collection of similar horror, here: Blood, Dreams & Tears.

How could it be?
How did time freeze?
My arms were bumpy with a streak of dark pine sap clinging to the hairs, as the dreaded pine trees always did. I wiped at the viscous sap and it smeared darkly across my arm. The coffee, usually cool in that amount of time was still steaming and burned my tongue when I sipped it. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and when I opened them up.
The alarm clock bleated.
It was three a.m.
I rolled over to my wife, on top of what I thought was my wife, and it was the comforter wadded up on her side of the bed. The bed was cold.
“What are you doing, you old fool?” It was her voice, but it wasn’t in the room, it echoed, and sounded like it came from a tunnel.
It was haunting; maybe she was in the basement? I didn’t know, so got up and headed through the house looking for my bride. I called her name, quietly at first, a habit of coexisting in a house of others, a family.
“You’re not going to work today.” Her voice whispered from the walls, from somewhere other than where I was, it trailed of.
“No, come out, now, I’m done playing games.” I said to an empty house.
“I’m not playing. I’m here for you. I need you I can’t live without you. Don’t do this to us.”
“I’m going to get ready for work.” I responded. In my head the my voice sounded muffled and unclear.
It was four a.m.

I sat in the car, the coffee steaming, and the house was dark. Had the day changed? The white thing scurried again, and I went to follow it. This time it was taller, even taller than before, my height, actually. Was my mind really, truly getting worse? I couldn’t remember my morning ritual; I barely remembered the dark thoughts that swallowed my mind so frequently. It was confusion that I’d never felt. Maybe this was all a bad dream? I wanted to open the car door, but my fingernails, long and curling lost the grip on the handle, and one long curvature broke. I winced, even though there was no pain or nerves in them. They resembled long brittle twigs at the end of my fingers.

Saturday, November 18, 2017

Fall and The Empty Nest V

Time, it moves quickly for most of us as we near our years of wisdom, our "older" years. Some begin to doubt everything in life, their beliefs, their way, and some of us don't deny these doubts and come full circle. Some of us embrace what has become, what will be, and we accept it. The character here in this tale is somewhere in between, lost in a universe that he can't explain, but hasn't quite come to the realization, yet. Please lift your proverbial shot glasses and down another shot of my story, thanks. Again, this never gets old, buy a book with some similar shorts here: Blood, Dreams & Tears 

It moved closer and then sniffed. I hunkered tighter to the bow of the sagging pine tree branches, and it squatted, peering into the thick brush of the tree squinting its piercing yellow eyes until they were slits. I shivered and backed up a bit and it turned to walk away. I blew out a sigh of release, and it exited in a slight whistle. The thing turned around to look again, and then ran away. Just as my eyes began to follow it, the screech came, and this time it came from further back towards the wood line of the property.

I was exhausted, my legs two noodles cooked for too long. Everything was groggy and fog like, the fog that was my mind surrounded me. It was thick and hung in the air so thickly that I couldn’t see my hands in front of my face. I wiggled my fingers around trying to see them;  it seemed like a bizarre magic trick. All the while, I had forgotten the car was left running and that I was going to be late for work. I started to walk through the thick misty air of the fog, leaving the screech behind in the woods for another morning, or another night that may bring it to me again. I immediately forgot what I was doing and I was sitting back in my car. The time never changed, my coffee steamed. Time had not moved in minutes. 

Monday, November 13, 2017

Fall and The Empty Nest IV

I've been surprisingly consistent with this one, so will feed all of you another installment, albeit, short and sweet. I truly hope the monstrosity that visits this character isn't real, but I've heard stories. The kind told at our family campfires while downing a couple Coors Lights, or just relaxing in the dim lit living room of our Nest. Hopefully you're getting pulled in, and if not, by all means, dammit, tell me...I don't bite, unless you're a close family pet or family member. Indulge in this freebie, and if you want more, and don't mind forking over some clams, buy a book full of tales, almost, just like it, Blood Dreams & Tears. Thanks.

I’d heard of the creatures of Stevats. I knew the lore, in fact when I was writing stories in my youth, I often wrote about these creatures, known to some as shadow people, others in the geography of the city, as Tattlerats. I ran. I ran as fast as my feeble legs could carry me. I needed shelter. These things were vicious; at least that’s what the myths said. They consumed souls, ate flesh, tormented small children and most of all opened up the very gates of hell for the observers. The biggest difference was that Tattlerats were usually black, and camouflaged by their surroundings, which was typical to be dark at nighttime. Dark was their hiding place. This couldn’t have been what I was seeing.

There was a large old pine tree with a lot of coverage, I was winded as I hunkered under the thick branches and watched as the befuddled creature confusedly looked around. If it could sniff, if it had a nose, that’s what it was doing, but it was too far away for me to see the features of its face. If my memory, which hadn’t been working all that great, served me right, they had only eyes and sharp incisors in a makeshift mouth; this could be something my scared mind conjured up to justify the morning’s misadventure.

Tuesday, November 7, 2017

Fall and The Empty Nest III

A magical spell settles in with the crisp Autumn and that crazy cold transition towards the season of dark. I hope all of you are getting pulled into the story a couple of paragraphs at a time. This story is merely a reflection I imagine an older gentlemen goes through, those trials of age, mind, and the struggles of remembering, not to forget the horrors he's about to face. If you like my horror, please indulge in a paperback of Blood, Dreams & Tears . It's a collection of tales that will stay with you for years to come. Enjoy!

The night creatures were gone except for a rare cricket and some frogs confused by the warm up. The shed was at the back of the two acre yard that had been getting harder to maintain in my older years. The sensor light on the front didn’t go off as the back end of whatever I was following squished beneath the doors. Halfway to the shed, there was a sound near the rear of the property, a screeching noise. It wasn’t a bird of prey, it wasn’t anything I could identify, but it sent chills up my arms, up my back, and the tiny hairs on the back of my neck stood at attention. A chilly breeze began to flit through the air. I had forgotten my coat back at the car, and a wave of gooseflesh surfaced on my bear arms. It was chilling, and I shivered.

The screech, that creepy high pitch that fell to a low staccato, and then repeated, chilled me again, but it was exiting the shed and echoing to that part of the property. There was scratching on the other side of the shed doors, the thing I was following got my attention. The shrill sound started again and I walked to the back of the property toward its location. The screech, although terrifying, was going off in a pattern, something I’d heard before, but couldn’t identify. The shed doors flew open, and the white thing that had scraped the doors open had grown, and it was ambling towards me. I could see bright glowing yellow eyes, and it ambled toward me on two legs. I froze. My bowels churned, the thing was bigger, brighter, and with dawn on the brink, I could make out its claws at the end of its stubbed hands. They were more like long unkempt fingernails.

Friday, November 3, 2017

Fall and The Empty Nest... Part II

I hope everyone enjoyed the intro to another piece that I started, another start to a story yet to be finished. Yes, I ended after a few paragraphs, and it ended on some sexuality. By no means did this sexuality mean to offend anyone, it was a rare moment in the story, of a bigger picture, inducing the mundane of this character's life. He's in a rut, aren't we all at times, and can't figure out what to do with it. The story does unfold in my typical style, and will gain some momentum with my lore. The lore and mythos of Stevats. Stevats being the town I've written about since the dawn of my writing. It's more real in my head than in the readers, only due to the fact that not many read my fiction. Some of it may seem redundant to those who have travelled down the unworn path of my past collection, Blood, Dreams & Tears, but it is and will end in a truly unique way. The way of the ending, it storms inside my head, changing daily, like most endings to an unwritten tale, it will hopefully bring joy, sorry, grief, or all of the above, ultimately ending without the shock, gore or ghost in the machine. Thanks so much for paying attention to the last installment, albeit, short. To redeem, and in an attempt to clear the almost objectionalized sexuality displayed in a dark lit corner of this man's world, here is another couple paragraphs to chew on. Please leave feedback, if you are so inclined. Enjoy!

It was four a.m.
My coffee steamed in the cup holder, a light fog wafted ethereally around the property, steaming off the pond in the back, and the grass was heavy with dew. Memories of the morning ritual had dissipated, so quickly, it seemed. The moon brightly lit the yard and everything around the car; the stars were getting ready to leave, to be over brightened by the blue hue of sky and yellow sunshine of daylight. I sipped the coffee, the car hummed, there was nothing better than letting the oil and the engine get all lubed up before taking off, “ it prolonged the life of the engine”, a wise man once told me, it had been years since I’ve spoken to him, he had passed on. I don’t remember his name, but he was wise. A part of aging is that the mind doesn’t act the same, it doesn’t think the same. Most times, it exists with you, and you get more arrogant, you rant more, you’re more passionate about the opinions that surface. The brain gets stimulated by other things, and in my case it wasn’t acting and dressing up like the other fools in the world do, my mind hummed like the engine was doing, it wasn’t fluttering around like an annoying mosquito desperately trying to suck blood again, oblivious to the cold around it. It was lubed, but confused sometimes, it hummed, but never sang. It whistled inside, but all thoughts stayed in there, safe behind the walls of conscious.

I saw something scurry in the fog. It was distant, white, and I couldn’t tell if it had been the critter that had found the way into our house’s basement. I got out of the car, leaving it running, and followed it. The grass was wet, a soak from the dew. It clung to my shoes and the bottom of my pants, and I saw the glimpse of that white thing, by the last of the light of the moon, scurry into the shed at toward the back of the property. I followed it.

Thursday, November 2, 2017

Fall and The Empty Nest

Hindsight, it's twenty twenty. Drinking a cup of coffee, I begin to write, it's dark and it's light, it's emotional and non-biographical, I must fill my time to entertain my head and entertain those of you following this blog. Please enjoy, while I gather my mind and get back into the world of "semi-retirement" and the blog that should not be. This is the beginning of a Thriller I've been working on. Thanks. Let me know what you think...

It was fall, finally. I was so tired of the heat of summer, it was driving me mad. I knew when the grass started drying up at the beginning of July that it was going to be a scorcher, and it was. Sweat, humidity, and the obnoxious hot nights in our overstuffed house, with all the overstuffed shelves of knick- knacks, furniture, and way too much shit. Personally, I liked to minimize, it was the compromise, that fine line in marriage that you both agree, so I learned to live with it all. This season was my favorite. The horror shows airing on the television, the apple cider, the donuts, and the weather, dealing and leading into Halloween, I adored it all.
I used to be quite the thespian, as a young man. I liked to act, put on shows for the kids, God, those days are long gone. I even dressed up for Halloween, every year, endlessly, entertaining. This year was different. It was serene, yes, crisp at night and warm during the day, nothing new this fall, but something bothered me. I don’t know if it was the humdrum day in day out of work, the lack of life in the house, we were down to just me and the wife. There was something that hit home this year, and it wasn’t a very happy bubbly season, I was disturbed at a level that hadn’t been in my head since my young angst filled years of my adolescence.
It was three a.m.

I had got up to get a jump to my day. There was some sinus drainage characteristic to the season, and within minutes of waking I rolled on top of the wife, it was typical Wednesday morning sex. Her legs propped up on my shoulders, her eyes shut, hell she was barely awake, and ten minutes later, we finished our “old faithful” act of sex, making love, bumping monsters, whatever you wish to call it. She fell back to sleep, moaning about me being an asshole for waking her up, and then snored to accentuate her annoyance. I walked through the morning rituals, and made it out to the car, but there was that darkness drifting through, and usually those thoughts stopped after sex, the mind usually cleared and ready for my day, sex was the eraser to the dry erase board that had become my mind. 

Tuesday, August 29, 2017

On the Road...Of Thought...

Time has almost come, for our trip, and my mind takes a spin back to the days when we were raising our kids. When there were soccer games to balance with the wife, when there were school lunches, all seven to be made. When we spent weekends, renovating our little piece of retirement and camping in the 34' foot Airstream in the back yard. They were good times, chaotic at some points, but good times all the same. Camp fires, stories, paint, drywall, stone, sanding, more camping, more working, more fun.

In those times, we barely had the time to think about redundancy, even though that's essentially sometimes what parenthood is, was, and often will always be. We thought about the issues or problems we faced, as miniscule, in hindsight, that they may have been, with vigor as if we were solving the world's problems, when in all actuality those problems were just a grain of sand in the larger scope of things. We loved all of our children, we love all the gray hair sprouted like some unwanted vegetable or plant growth, on our head, but it took time to get through it. It took tears, rejection of our ideas sometimes, and it took diligence to get our painting, that blank slate of life, the colors we needed to make it ours and get to the point of completion we are today.

It's ours, we own it now. The children, all grown, have sprouted their wings, making choices on their own, even though some we don't agree with, and others who fearlessly tackle something that scares us like a good horror story. It's a painting all the same, and it belongs to us. Those colors swirl in lights and darks, on that canvas of life that often goes unfinished until I imagine the ethereal comes to great us brightly or tarnished in an array of earth tones. Our life's canvas still has those rare blank spots where we insert our color, make it our own, and move forward, sitting back and enjoying the price we paid.

We are who we are, we think, we do, we move forward, for it is our marriage, our life, and our family that brings us full circle, starting over, only to move head long and forward again.

Wednesday, August 16, 2017

Inspiration, Guts, and Image

There was an array of boondocking information, at the time, about five years ago, mostly listed as longitude and latitude, but I suffered through it, and found the place of our first destination, Bog Hot. It sounds like some foreign place in a sci-fi movie or book, but I assure you it's a place. I've seen actual videos of it, read newsfeeds of it, and have come to the conclusion that it's not as popular as, say, Disney, or anything. I bookmarked most of the information and just this morning over a cup of coffee, I am browsing over things.

It's funny how just years ago, browsing over things, meant reading some old articles you filed away. Picking up a letter that someone once wrote to you, and reading it. Watching old VHS-C or 8mm home movies, which today sit in some trunk, an old cabinet, collecting dust, unwatched. Browsing through things in the past had a different meaning, a nostalgic array. Watching those souls of energy that once lived as a part of your life in a movie, and realizing they're all gone on their own journeys. Now browsing through things brings nothing but vicarious feelings. You're looking at someone else, who most likely are faking something to get subscribers or views on their stint, or even watching one of your own short films from a cell phone that's stored in some internet cloud.

I'm trying to change that thinking up, I try to include all of it, make it one big puzzle. I have maps out, an atlas, my old GPS instead of the trusty smart phone. I do have my internet browser open on the laptop, just in case I come into a hiccup or have a dire urge of drudging up something I've already researched. I watch a video of a man taking a dip in the hot springs at Bog Hot. It looks refreshing even though the temperature can fluctuate according to the time of year. Winter being the best I can imagine the Airstream parked, a desert backdrop behind her, the awning down, our chairs underneath it. Maybe the grill set up on a small table. I could see the sun setting and reflecting off the Airstream illuminating the surrounding area with more light. I can feel the warm water of the springs as I take a soak in them. The image is so burned in my head, that there's that tingling in my gut, that pull which is just not letting go.

There's a rustling behind me, and I see Mary pouring a cup of coffee.

"Good morning," she says, sipping.

"Hey, babe, what are you doing up so early?"

"I'm looking at our first destination for this year."

"Why are we waiting? We have nothing left to do, the kids are all off to college." She sat down in her usual spot.

"I thought it'd be better to wait."

"It's  August, why wait. We'll just be sure to come back before November and the holiday festivities." She was already onto some social media site smirking at some video that was playing in the background.

That's how Mary operates. She gives me some inspiration, and I run with it like a madman. I make it happen, it was that balance we had with each other. I took in a deep breath. Opened up the contacts on my phone, and call some of the locals of the area. I like speaking to people, and the more I talk, the more comfortable I am of the surroundings that I'm going to be living in.

This was it. In a week or two, we're traveling to Bog Hot. I'm a ball of nerves, wound anxiety and like a kid on Christmas day, a conglomeration of it all. It has come. Our plans are in motion.

Saturday, August 12, 2017

Boondocking? Anyone...

Now that things are going well with the Airstream, it's time to dig into what a lot of people like to call "boondocking". For those of you with weak stomachs, who absolutely need that bed, cable television, and sometimes, if you're lucky, room service, boondocking is not for you. It's for those with an adventure in their heads, comfort from the small things. The self containment of those small things, their travel trailer, a battery and some propane (these amenities are typically standard with most RV's.)

Boondocking is  living on 12 volt power, or off shore power, and the propane you had filled up before leaving on the first voyage. Once you're set, the USA is a large place with much to see, and many free places to "boondock". I'm going to start with the easy place first, Wal-Mart. No, I'm not promoting Wal-Mart as the number one spot, but it's there, and those blue and black box stores are plastered, unfortunately like a virus through the entire U.S and every rural region (usually wreaking havoc on the local economy and smaller businesses). Wal-Mart's parking lots are well lit, and from experience, I know that the security cameras are up on the building itself, not in the parking lot where the RV's park (sorry to burst most of the bubbles out there). So it's not the most secure place, which is often the myth. It's about as secure as the second spot I'll mention, rest areas. The freedom to get off that stretch of highway you've been staring at for hours (if you've opted for expressways versus the back roads) pull into a spot where the semi's park, lock your vehicle, hop in your RV and take a rest. Sleep overnight.

You can freshen up in the morning, because all RV's are equipped to run a water pump on 12 volt, or the battery running your lights in it. So in a nutshell, boondocking can be done everywhere. There's information plastered over the internet, resources around every corner. I've already chosen our first major trip in my years of semi retirement, Bog Hot. It's a place in Nevada, and it's obscure, that's obvious due to the fact that you're scratching your head now wondering where it is, some of you probably have another tab open in the browser and your looking at some links now. It's nothing fancy, just a place in my head where the wife and I can pull the Airstream up, camp for free and enjoy the natural warm springs. Of course, taking a dip will depend on the water temp, because you don't want to boil alive. From what I hear winter time offers the best swimming temps.

It's a start, make a goal, and get there. Tomorrow's a new day and a new topic for this new adventure. I hear the wife calling me now, she's outside, in the shade, sipping some sweet tea, our small dog, Munchkin, next to her. She might just be wondering if I'm still alive. It's the darker side of our marriage that you have to appreciate, the side that makes us tick, the side that brings out the creativity. On that note, dream up your destination, put it on a map, and ready yourself, that's what we did, and are doing as I write.

Sunday, August 6, 2017

Preparation for the "Maiden Voyage"

If you're reading this, thanks, for coming back. I want you all to know that our official first trip don't begin until this winter, after Christmas, so in the meantime, I have a lot of preparation to do to our home on wheels. Cliche, isn't it? No, not really, it's always a surprise to me how many people in the world don't really have an interest in, or desire to use, a travel trailer. It never ceases to amaze. It's clean, easy to tow, cheaper to boondock, and you're not using the sheets or comforters that have been abused in ways that should prevent anyone from covering their skin with. Okay, I went a little overboard with that, but it's true. Every time we would stay at a Hotel/Motel, I would rip the comforter off. I didn't trust them. I know for a fact (from an unknown source) that the comforters don't get washed as frequently as the sheets/pillow cases do. That's disgusting. At least with the travel trailer, your sheets are as clean as you've kept them. I don't want to get on a rant, so will just end with our Airstream is how we do it.

When I say prep, I mean I'm prepping our 1964 Airstream Globetrotter. It's our beauty, and something I've worked on for the past eight years or so. I've got all the bugs worked out of her to make her road worthy. She's 19 feet in length. I've heard it from many, isn't that going to get old, being that close to each other all the time, won't you need space? My short answer is no, we've been together for many years, and our space has been invaded on more than one occasion, especially raising seven children. So sharing ourselves in the tight confines of our Airstream is just a part of minimizing our situation and furthering our goal of retirement. The smaller the Airstream, the cheaper the trip, right? Less gas to put into the truck, quicker to turn around making a "U" turn in the middle of the road, if we get lost, and just less worry. If we stop talking to each other or get into a fight, we have the great outdoors to greet us and separate us. After all, we aren't perfect, we do dispute, and we do argue, on occasion. 

Back to preparation. It's August, so before the weather turns sometime over the next two months, I have to polish the Airstream, give its aluminum sheen some protection. I won't bore you with detail of the job, I'm sure I've posted a video of me doing it somewhere, and the information is endless on polishing Airstreams out in the blue nowhere. Some of the basic preparation is, I've got to plug her in, run the works: the refrigerator, the water pump, the electricity, the range for cooking. Once I confirm it is all functioning, I unplug her and do the rest with only the propane. That confirmed, just have to tow her in to get the old Axle checked by our mechanics, (she is over 50 years old) make sure the bearings are packed and ready, and she's ready.

The bore of detail is finished. The job is set, and I'm OCD enough to do it again a week or two before we take off. So that's the preparation, and for those of you interested in seeing out beauty, I'm posting a picture below, we were actually boondocking (this topic will be covered in the near future) in the picture below at Soldier Lake in Hiawatha National Forest. Until next time, folks, I'll be prepping. 

Saturday, August 5, 2017

The New FUTURE of Seymour

You may have noticed some changes, or at least I hope I was able to get them to change, here at the old Blog. I'm trying to change my A**hole ways. I'm done irritating people with my harsh opinions on technology, on breeding, on just about every opposition that pisses people off, and I've decided to write about the future, my future with the wife. Sounds fun, right?

Fun is my middle name. We're doing what everyone dreams of doing. We're pulling out our stakes and travelling. We've made the first steps, we've sold and consolidated EVERYTHING! The house we will keep, it's been paid off and we just need to maintain property taxes on it. As for the unnecessary clutter that always gets in the way, we've minimized it all. We're down to our vehicle and a travel trailer suitable to get us where we belong (featured in a future post), our house serving as our headquarters just in case we get bored.

Income, you may ask, well, it is what it is. Whatever job I land I take. The other income, well to put it blatantly, is none of your business...I know, I'm still working on that unpolished rude tongue that leashes out at you, dear reader. I'm sorry. As for the beginning, it's here, the Genesis, the Change, the Metamorphosis. I've become the butterfly, and if butterflies can hold hands, my wife and I are flying through life together, wing in wing, staring blankly at the trailer walls at time, at each other, and out into the fragile veil that separates us from the rest, we have untethered and I'm going to give everyone of you a sneak peak.

It started with a going away party at work. The buzz was humming at the workplace, I even heard that someone was ordering a cake. The place was set, I clicked "going" on the invite of the social media page, and the date had been set. I attended.

It was at a steakhouse near where I worked. The place was cluttered with people, and conversations, I entered and was suffocated instantly (social skills were never my ace in the hole). There were people that never gave me the time or day any other time in my years at the company. They were hugging me and telling me how much the place was going to miss me (as if the company were some living breathing entity, rather than a sociopathic serial killer). I complacently agreed. Head numbed from some Benadryl I took for my allergies, I sat down at the table. One couple wanted to buy my dinner, I agreed. The chatter was a little mundane, so I decided to get done fast, eat up, grab some cake and take off.

"I've got to go, it was an honor to work with all of you, and I'll miss you all." (my inner thoughts were more vicious) "Thank you so much for throwing this party. I'll keep you all posted, stay tuned on the Blog."

Hugs, kisses, good-byes, my life had begun when I exited the the steak house. The sun had been setting and my eyes were blinded by the bright rays. I hopped into the car and drove off into the sunset, literally, my sun visor down so I could focus on the road.

As I drove, there was a heavy weight that had lifted, my mind was uncluttered, a lot like the garage, the shed, the attic that my wife and me had emptied to minimize. I was free and untethered, like my life had been when I was a child. The drive home was long, but seemed quick. My wife was standing on the porch. She was waiting for me. I could hear our Dachshund in the house barking at the sound of my truck.

"How was it?"

"You know." I said.

We hugged. Our life was beginning, again. It was on, a little anxiety surfaced, but I pushed it down, way down and screamed into nowhere, "We're FREE!"