I can't really think of much that I have not written about over the past three years of beating the hell out of the keyboard - my edit posts screen looks like a homeless guy's shopping cart with bits and pieces of stuff that are not quite complete, a little dirty, and probably not very useful - I suppose I could go in there and add a few witty comments and publish them for grins - but that is actually like work - I bet that is why real authors have editors - so they don't have to go back through the process of reading their own shit later...I raise my Coors Light to the Edit Posts screen.
Skype is pretty damn cool - I have the most outdated computer in the world, but with a couple of band-aids, some duct tape, and an occassional kick to the hard drive - it seems to do a pretty good job - but I set up the Skype thingy - and although I am electronically challenged, managed to tape my webcam to the top of my monitor (I used some stickers from my daughters arts and craft book) and figured out how to get the picture just blurry enough so that I look ten years younger (or just too old to know how to adjust the focus on the thing). I got my first skype video call, and you know you feel really comfortable with someone when there is just some happiness from seeing them speak to you - it still sucks, not quite the same as sitting at the Gas Works talking over a Venti Americano and some pretzels - but you can see them smile and grimace and just see them - I give it a two thumbs up. Of course my mind has already thought of the socially deviant things I can do with it, but since my computer is in the middle of my apartment - probably not a really good idea (unless it is really really dark....)
The nights are starting to get cool in this corner of Florida - and tonight, as I tucked in my little girl, I had glimpses of those cold evenings and making ice in the backyard and holidays. The good thing about getting older, is that your brain gets full - whether it is full of garbage or work or just plain shit to work through - some of the memories just go away. Indiscrimanate - random - they just drift off somewhere. Strangely enough I can keep phone numbers from years ago and ex-girlfriends, I can keep calorie counts for McDonald's menus in there - but where do the other ones go? Early this morning, I woke up in a panic - we went to Anastasia Island last night - a regular routine these days - to share a little time with Mr. Aaron and Ms. Monica - and after the fireworks and food and drums and music - I crawled onto the futon next to my son, and went to sleep thinking of places that I have been - places that have filled the 92% that I talk about - and really struggled with where they all were - sure, physically they are still there - but where were they for me - what had happened to those memories and why did the 92% just disappear - they just left me, and that, I remember is how I drifted to sleep - but waking up, not being able to breathe - and struggling over memories that you just have lost - it is not good and wholesome to try and capture those things again. I don't take pictures, I typically write, and the only reason you see pictures on any of my blogs is because they capture the 1,000 or so words that I am trying (note the stress - trying) to put down on paper - they are prompts in the storage facility of mine that does not seem to keep things so organized and neat anymore.
Every road that we walk beside is the road that we avoided driving, rushing, flying over - that is what I tell myself when I slow down long enough for a few days to just walk somewhere. Those are the moments that are planted in my mind, and sprout a sense of belonging - the four and half mile walk from Niagara Falls to the Whirlpool rapids, the hike with Dan and Gabe in Beaver Creek, the walks to the concession stand with Gray during the soccer games, the bright shiny hikes down the Vegas Strip late at night, a casual stroll in the Bahamian moonlight after hours and hours of dancing, the walk down the aisle, the walk out of the hospital with new additions to the family, those are captured for me - forever. In my world - (I digress - I typed "In the Travellers World"....and quickly deleted it - maybe it is my world or my perception that needs to change), in my world it is easy to speed over life at 562 miles per hour and do what I must and turn around and speed over life again at 562 miles per hour. I would love to commit some of that to memory, but the brain - just ain't as good as it used to be.
Somewhere in these words, there probably is a moral to the story - some guiding wisdom - I seriously doubt it, but making the mental note that these things that we make happen - they are probably worth remembering, if we can.
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