Merry New Year Everyone!!

2005 was not so bad for me. In fact, last year saw many improvements for me in many aspects of my life from the previous year. 2004 was better than ‘03 and each year for the past 3 has gotten much better than the previous. I am hoping that 2006 will see just as much positive progress as 2005. From here, 2006 looks very promising. Yet, I would trade it all for someone to love and who will love me in return. I would gladly suffer 18 months of unemployment and the worst health again if I had love with me.

At Midnight tonight will be my ‘birthday.’ 16 years of clean and sober. The first 10 seemed like a breeze, but the last 6 have been tough. Years 10 through 13 were brutal. The last 3, well, they have each improved as time has progressed. The desires and longing and struggling with myself to not drink or do drugs has become less intense and less frequent from 10 through 13. That trip to Jamaica could have been very challenging with all the beer drinking and ganja smoking going on around me, but I had no desires or feelings of wanting to drink or smoke there, or since. That only seems to occur when I am very depressed or frustrated. That should tell me or anyone that I am an addict who only seeks to escape and not a disease that I have no control over. Oh yes, I admit I have problems with it, but I am usually able to work through it. Who cares how it should be described or labeled? I do not because my only choice is to live with it. Either I beat it or it beats me.

I hope you all have tremendous sucess in your 2006!

more on Christmas

One other thing about Christmas, I can never sleep on Christmas Eve. Of course, when I was a child I was very excited about Santa and gifts and all that. To this day, I still do not sleep well. I wake up and can not get back to sleep or toss and turn and not fall to sleep at all. There are some “holiday traditions” that I do not care so much about. I do not like eggnog or fruitcake or pumpkin pie. My Grandmother used to make pumpkin bread and cake that as really good and I like pumpkin cookies and pumpkin seeds, but not pumpkin pie. I always thought that I would like to start my own tradition with my own family. I think we should have a birthday cake and sing happy birthday to Jesus. After all, it is his birthday, yes? Do we not have cake and ice cream for other’s birthdays? Maybe I am just a dork.

Christmas traditions and my family

Each family has their own little twists and ways of doing things for the holidays, so I thought I would tell you about ours. My family exchanges gifts on Christmas morning. When we were kids, we were allowed to open one gift before we went to bed on Christmas Eve. As we got older and got to be teenagers and beyond, we would have some of our friends over. Then, it turned into a big party each year. We would take turns having it at each other’s houses and have Christmas Day at my parent’s. When we were children, we always went to my Grandma Mary’s house for Christmas in Guernsey, along with ever holiday and most weekends. This is my father’s mother. When my father’s sister and her family moved from Des Moines, Iowa to Torrington, 30 miles from my Grandmother‘s, they would come to every thing as well. As we all got married and started having children, we stopped going to my Grandmother’s. Shortly after, she died. There was just too much going on there. My family, that part of it anyway, fights often. There was tons of drinking and smoking and drugs. There was always huge fights that most often resulted in actual physical stuff. One year, on the 4th of July, my cousin pulled a gun on my uncle. The fun had gone out of it and the family was just too big for my Grandma’s very small house. Plus, after my Grandfather died, my Grandmother was ill all the time and it was just too unfair for her to have to cook so much and work so hard. So, we would just do our own thing here with my brother and sister and all of our own kids and spouses. Christmas Eve turned into a huge drinking night. My mother would not allow drinking on Christmas Day at her house, so we had to fit it all in the night before. There was one night that we drank beer and Schnapps and smoked cigars and played cards all night. At 4:00AM, my sister noticed they had not put any of her girls’ Santa gifts together yet. So, there was 3 extremely drunk idiots, my sister’s husband, my best friend and myself, trying to put together a canopy bed for my niece. Needless to say, it did not get done. At 6:00 AM, we all decided we needed to go home and get ready because we had to be at my mother's at 8:00. Sometime, I do not know when, my wife had left. I had to get a ride home from my friend. I was extremely hung-over that Christmas. Yes, I know, what a dumb-ass. I have a nice photo of me face down in a recliner, sleeping it off to remind me.

In my sister’s senior year at high school, she got really drunk on the last day of school before Christmas break. She and her friends began drinking peppermint Schnapps in the morning. Early that night, her friends dumped her in our front yard. Just rolled her out of the car and drove off. My father came home from work to find her passed out, stone cold to the World in our front yard. She was still throwing-up on Christmas morning, 3 days latter. Each time she smelled a candy cane, she ran to the bathroom. She still has a taste aversion for peppermint to this day. There are never any candy canes at her house.

Okay, so, then, divorces happened and people moved and friends moved on and I stopped drinking and all that. No longer was it a big party any more, except for my sister and what ever guy she was with at the time. We still get together, but it is not the same. The last 6 or 7 years, I have been making my famous egg rolls and hot wings. My nieces bring their friends over and they all beg for about a month before each year for me to make them. I will be doing so this year.

Trevor’s step-father’s family does their gift exchanges on Christmas Eve. That works out well for me. They go to church that night as well, like lots of people. I have never been to church on Christmas Eve or Day. Since my sons’ second Christmas, he has spent Christmas Eve with his mother and then comes over to my house in the morning. His first one, well that is a story. In our divorce papers, we are supposed to have it that each of us trade off everyone year, not just for Christmas, but all holidays and his birthday. It was supposed to be mine for his first one, but she thought otherwise. A few days before, I called to make arrangements to pick him up, but she was not there. Her soon to be husband said she was out to happy hour with the girls from work. She called me back, much latter, drunk, and told me I was not going to see him. So, that next morning I called my lawyer and asked what my options and my rights were, then called her back. Before she could open her mouth, I told her I was taking him. In Wyoming, a parent can not denied visitation to the other parent. Even if they do not pay any child support, they can not be denied visitation. The parent who does deny can go to jail for it. So, I informed her of my rights and she backed off and we have settled with this arrangement ever since. In fact, I have had him for nearly all of the holidays and all of the weekends.

I miss going to my Grandma’s. I miss her food and her small house and just seeing her. I miss my son being little and watching him open gifts and playing with his toys with him. I miss Legos and Lincoln Logs. There are some very special memories for me. One year, I think maybe he was 4 or 5, just learning to talk well and walk well on his own, we were at the Mall before Christmas. I think I was shopping or something and he sat down on the floor and began playing with some toys while I was at the check-out. See kids do this all the time, but he had never done that before, or since, now that I think about it. He was playing with some rubber ‘men’ action figure type things. They were superheroes, like Spiderman and stuff. I noticed they were cheap. So latter on, after I took him home when the weekend was over, I went back and bought 3 of them for him. It was just a last minute thing, no thoughts to it. When he open them, he pulled them out and yelled, very excitedly, “I got guys!!” He showed them to me, and said it again, very loudly. He held them up for every body, walked them around to everyone and said it over and over. I will never forget that. I get a little tear in my eye when I think about it. I can still see it clearly in my mind and hear it just as if he is saying now.

I love to buy gifts for others. I get it from my mother. I am sure we will be out tomorrow, last minute buying, even though she said she has already gotten everyone all their gifts. She does it every year. This year, I have not had much Christmas spirit. My heart and my mind are still in Jamaica. Usually, I take my time buying gifts. I start early, before Thanksgiving. I try to go all the different stores, avoiding Wal-Mart as much as possible (do not want to fed the monster, if you know what I mean), and spread the wealth. This year, I did it all in one day. In fact, in less than 2 hours. I have not heard much Christmas music this year. That is okay though, because usually by now, I am a little sick of it already. I like it, but I just do not like it so much to hear it all the time. I have not gone to one Christmas party this year. At least this year I am not feeling so depressed and lonely because I do not have any one special in my life.

Anyway, Happy Holidays and Merry Christmas and Happy New Year to everyone!

These are some of my friends.

The black bass is new, just got it 2 weeks ago. It is a BC Rich “Warlock.” Do not play bass so much any more, but I have always wanted one of these. It is the style the 80’s hair bands used to play, although this one is an early 1990‘s model. They are usually pricey and hard to find around here. I bought it used at a pawn shop here for $300 with a case. The blue one is new as well, just got it last week. It is a semi-hollow body electric Dean. The detail photo shows off the cool pearl sun fret markers. Dean does not make these any more, from what I understand. The maroon one is my oldest one, a Washburn. The other is a Dean acoustic “Resonator.”

“I don’t like spam!”

Spam… spam, spam, spam. Spam… spam, spam, spam.

“Haven’t you got anything without spam in it?”

Spam sucks!!! It is the swollen, puss oozing, rectal swore of the World! I do not like in my e-mail, that is bad enough, then in my blogs! Now, today, I got a frriggin’ spam in my text messaging on my cell phone!! Ughhhhhhhhhh!!!!

“SHUT-UP!!! Bloody Vikings!”

That was a ruddy funny skit on "Monty Python’s Flying Circus," though.

"He's not dead, he's restin'."

more photos

This is Tosha Kay in her school uniform (blue dress). All the school kids have to wear a uniform and they are all different for each school. Alissa with Trevor is in her uniform for nursing college.

more of Alissa
Tosha and Allissa braided my hair

Some of the family, Mon

My brother and his wife.

This is one of Richard’s daughter’s, Alissa, with my son. She is so pretty and so smart and the sweetest person I think I have ever met. She is 18 or I would think she is my perfect mate. She had a big crush on my son and asked me is they could marry.
Center photo is another of Richard’s daughter’s, Tosha Kay. She wanted to marry me, but she is only 16. And another of Richard’s daughter’s.


This is Richard and my brother. Richard is the guy who’s house the wedding was at and where we spent lots of time eating and hanging-out.

Jamaica, Yah, Mon

This is where we stayed, Global Villa. It is like a bed and breakfast type place. We did not stay at some all-inclusive resort. We were among the locals. Global Villa had a nice biog kitchen and we had an excellent cook. Boy, did I eat!!! All Jamaican food, all jerk chicken and fish and pork and goat and lots of fruits and vegetables. We had lobster for Thanksgiving. It rocked!!!! This place is half way between Montego Bay and Negril. There is only 2 airports (well, for tourists anyway) in Jamaica. They are in Montego Bay (which we came in on) and Kingston that is on the South side of the island. Negril has 7 miles of white sand beach. That is where all the big fancy all-inclusive resorts are located. Global Villa is known also as a “travel halt” that the tour buses that transport the visitors to and from Negril stop for Red Strips and the rest rooms. Red Strip is the only beer made in Jamaica. There is only 2 imports, Heineken and Guinness. There is no American beers. No, I do not drink so I did not try any of it. There is only Pepsi for sodas, no Coca Cola products. All the Pepsi stuff is made there in Jamaica. I feel in love with this stuff called “Ting” (which is actually thing but they do not have a ‘th’ sound in their language) that is made form local grapefruits. It is very similar to Squirt, just a whole lot better. One bottle (no cans there, yeah!) was $50 Jamaican. 50 J is about 30 cents American. I am not much of a soda drinker, but I put down about 4 of those Tings a day. There is a big main highway that runs around the island. That is where our villa was located, just about 10 kilometers west of a small town called Lucea (pronounced Lucy).Montego Bay is east of Negril. We did some shopping in Lucea for food and stuff, but there is no tourist stuff there. Across the road form our villa was the volcanic rock on the shore. About a 5 minute walk was a nice little beach. We had it all to ourselves most of the time until the local kids saw us, anyway.

TWENTY YEARS AGO TODAY

“It was twenty years ago today,” the deejay announced. Immediately, I knew he was speaking about more than an allusion to a Beatle’s song, “Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band.” He spoke about an anniversary.

“Wow,” I spoke aloud, “was that today?” Yes, yes it was twenty years ago today, December 8th, 2001. My heart sank and my mood sunk even lower. Listening to the radio for my daily commute to work is standard. This old car‘s tape deck has not worked in years. Living in Boulder, Colorado or more specifically, a far Northern portion called “Gun Barrel,” makes my 45 minute drive along Highway 287 to the psych hospital in Louisville trying at times. Today, it seems timeless. After the shock and depression sunk in, my feelings went to shame and guilt for having forgotten that today is the day it happened. “How could I have forgotten?” I asked myself, but I know why.

The disc jockey began talking to a caller. The radio station was taking calls, having people comment on what they remembered about that day. Where were they at? What were they doing when they “heard the news, today, oh boy?” My thoughts went back to that night, twenty years ago.

20 years old, living with my parents, working at a meaningless job, and living a mundane life. That night, I was home watching “Monday Night Football” alone. My father was at work, my mother was in bed a sleep. I do not remember the teams who were playing because I had no real interest. I was just waiting time. Nothing better to do, nothing better to watch on the TV. It was no different a night, or day, than any other. My mood was already melancholy, but when Howard Cosell made the announcement, it felt as though my life was over. Between plays, around 8:20 PM Mountain time, Howard told me of a breaking story, an epic tragedy. John Lennon had been shot dead in the streets in front of his New York apartment building.

My thoughts went to my cell phone and making my comments on the radio. There was just too much shock and disbelieve for me that night to focus on football. I thumped through the TV channels, looking for the news story. We did not have any CNN or FOX News back then on our cable, so I did not find anything. I waited for the news at 10:00PM and got some vague information and confirmation. As I went to sleep, why and how and all of that never came to mind. My childhood is what trudged through.

August, 1969 through August, 1971, I lived in a large trailer park in Casper, Wyoming. This was ghetto Wyoming. The trailers had no skirting, no green lawns, many had 5 or 6 children and a non-working or non-existent father. Many boys and girls my age lived there. Some where my friends, most were just a bunch of bullies to me. There was a group of 3, including myself, who hung together most often. One, named Donnie, decided one day that we should be the Beatles. He was to be Paul because in his opinion, Paul was the leader. Donnie had to always be in charge. Me, I did not care so much, so I was designated John. I knew very little about them before this, but shortly after, I knew a lot. Donnie’s idea was for us to lip-sinc to the records and ’perform’ in front of some of the girls he was trying to score with back then. I was 10. I had no idea what scoring was or what girls were about, but I knew they were cute and very interesting, so I played along. We would gather at my house, go back to my bedroom and pretend we were the Beatle’s. We played our air guitar and mimicked the music as best we could then. That was a lot of fun for me and the girls loved it! One day, my father came home with the "Abbey Road” album. He liked the song “Hey, Jude.” My father has been traditional country his whole life. He hated “drugged-out hippy music” back then, so this was a huge shocker for me. He walked straight to the stereo, pulled-out the record, then played the song. Then, as the song began to change and the lyrics stop, my father stopped the song. His comments were that this was a very good song, but he did not like how they sang it. In his words, “it is like a beautiful poem being screamed in your ears.” That sold me. I sat in front of the stereo and stared at the cover. I memorized every small faction of the album cover while I listened to "Hey, Jude" 3 or 4 times. Then, without asking, I took it back to my bedroom and played the album in it’s entirety over and over. I listened with my full attention to every word, searching hard to find significance and meaning. Oh, yes, I found plenty.

The deejay began to encourage more people to call in and gave the number to call. My heart and my mind are just to full to record it to memory long enough to call. I want to call and tell him that the next day, I heard the full story. First, was the newspaper (of which I still have the article to this day). Never before had I read the newspaper first thing in the morning before work. I just had to know. Why was not clear, just that some idiot shot John Lennon. Why began to mount in my mind, consuming my thoughts. Then, a few days later, I heard the news. This person wanted to be famous. He wanted to have his name go down in history. Shooting someone famous was his way of finding recognition. Something inside me broke. What an absolutely absurd reason to kill someone! I am sorry, young man, but I do not know your name. I made it a point to not recall your name. You are not famous to me nor are you even a human being to me.

My ride is over and I have no time to set and listen any more. As I walk to the door for work, I began to notice that the deejay did not mention the guys name. In fact, he said he would not ever mention the murderer of John Lennon’s’ name, ever on the air. Thank you! After walking to the time clock and beginning my shift, I began to wonder if any of the adolescents I will be working with today would even know who John was or even like the Beatles. It all seemed to be lost .

Today, it is 25 years ago. In one of my college classes, “Criminal Psychopathology” we watched a film about John Lennon’s assailant. The guy was ill, very ill. Still was at that time, will always be to me. He was a huge ‘fan.’ Just seems so strange to me. That film gave me a much better understanding of why he did what he did back then. I do not have resentment, but I still do not know his name. Even if I did want to put his name in this story, I do not remember it. Do not want to, not ever, even though that was not his whole reasoning for the murder.

Today, I am sad, yes, but also because of the loss of George Harrison as well. I remember the day he died, I cried like a child. Perhaps I was still holding it in for John. There is more to it than that, though. Back in Casper, I began to see that there was life other that what I knew it. I began to learn about spirituality, about being a good person and respecting life and others. I did not get that so much from my parents and peers. With George’s death, I realized that I learned more about God and spirituality from him and the other Beatles than I ever had from any church or adult or peer. The night of George’s death, I was setting at the dinner table with my parents, watching the news. My tears had finally stopped, but then the TV news began to talk about it. They were interviewing some guy and his words brought my tears back. “The 60’s have never seemed so far away." Not just some comment about the passing years and age, but about a state of mind. About an ideal of World peace and harmony. About free love and.. Well, you had to be there. Sure, I was only 10, but I remember. We could sure use some of that now.

They come in 3’s: duce

A few blogs ago, I wrote about ‘bad’ things happening in 3’s. A friend suggested to me, mer , that ‘good’ things also happen in 3’s. Well, today, it was the ‘good.’ Each year for my business, I have to re-certify. The State has tons of regulations and miles of red tape and endless paperwork they like to impose on us providers. It has been near 2 months preparation for me. Today was my meeting. I got my re-cert! Then, my client, R, that I mentioned about in the 'bad' blog who was losing his job, got one today. I had made a proposal to the Animal Shelter where we have been volunteering at for the past 9 months and today they accepted! #3, I asked someone out and she said yes!

Vacations: you work twice as hard before and twice as hard after. Sorry, everyone, but I have been swamped! I will hopefully get caught-up by this weekend. A very special thank you to Elvira!!!!! You are the best!!!

This is Eugene. He was our taxi driver and guide. He is also the brother of the sister whom is married to the man who’s house we spent much of our time and where the wedding was located. Have you ever meet a person whom you felt was a true soul mate? Not some sexual partner or spouse, but a brother or sister? One whom you have known many life times? That is Eugene to me. He was a super nice guy, so mellow and smart. We had many “nice chats” about our cultures. In Jamaica, a “nice chat” is a good, informative, pleasant, intellectual conversation. There is so very many customs and norms and values that I very much love and respect about Jamaica. I grew-up in some very small towns in Wyoming. When a person walked by you in the streets, you made good eye contact. There was a warm greeting from the heart. There was no pretend compliments. Asking how a person is had meaning, not just some shallow greeting. These days, when someone says “How are you?” most do not want an answer nor do they care. In Jamaica, just like in my childhood, if someone says something, they mean it. There are no empty promises. If they say they will call, they do. If you are invited back, then you know you are a part of the family and considered to be a friend. That invitation is not some shallow response to a person leaving with a secret hope that they will not return ever again. If they do not like you, they say so. Every body there was so happy! There was no one in the streets or at the places we went or at any of the parties or events we attended that not only did not fight but did not even argue. Everyone was very friendly to us. The only grumpy people I met were in the airport customs, but they were still very polite. I did not want to leave Jamaica. No, not because of the weather. I do not like hot weather. The reasons are the people and the life style. We had a 2 hour delay in Miami coming back because of the weather. I was so used to looking everyone in the eye and saying hello and giving and receiving smiles. Every damn person at the airport, the Americans, were so damn rude to me. We had to eat because we were not getting food on the plane. I ate Pizza Hut because I thought I missed pizza. It was so greasy and salty and god awfully unhealthy that I nearly puked. Honestly, without any exaggeration, I did not see one Jamaican woman that I thought was not attractive. Even the older ones. Every woman was pretty and most were as my sister said, “drop dead gorgeous.” The first American woman I saw on the plane when we were leaving was in her early 20’s and blonde and thin and tanned and before I would of thought her very hot but she just seemed plain and ordinary. Every woman I talked to in Jamaica was not only pleased to have me talk to them, but they gave me their full attention. It was so easy for me. I felt relaxed and comfortable. I did not feel like I was going to say something that was not PC and make them mad and get yelled at and some damn I-am-holler-than-you attitude and how dare you even speak to me. I get that often here. There, they call that being silly, here, we call it progress. I do not want to whine, but I came back feeling like I am living in the wrong country. I can guarantee you that I would not be blogging about being lonely and not having a family of my own if I lived there. I had so many chances to get laid it was like I was the only man alive. Did I? NO, because I am not that type of person. I could have easily found a wife and been very happy. But, silly me, I have to have it perfect. Right now, my plans are to go back. Perhaps this summer. I will go for 3 or 4 weeks and I will find a wife. Thanks for listening. More latter.

To my friends:

Hey, I am back! I had a great time in Jamaica! This photo is of me in my favorite spot at the Villa. Yes, I got my hair braided. I would set there for long periods and watch the ocean and the people and just chill. I took 282 photos so it will take me a little time to go through them and upload some on here. There will be lots of stories for each set of photos, so stay tuned! Hope you all are doing well.