What the Elderly Man Said

     “There is an elderly man who will need your assistance on the Bistro car,” is where this story begins.  Well, it actually starts with the news of a mudslide happening, causing us to have to bus bridge the passengers, but I am choosing to start it with that line spoken to me.

     My duty during this operation was to ensure any passengers needing a ride from the train or station to the busses would get it.  Most were already inside.  Just the above mentioned elderly man was left on the train.  He was a small man who walked with a distinct limp.  Carrying nothing but a small green bag, I thought little about it save for getting him inside where it was warmer.  He was a pleasant fellow, and I responded in kind, despite my inner depression that comes this time of year.  When I got him to the station, I offered to let him keep the bag on my cart so it would be easier for him to move around.  He quickly told me no, that he always carried it with him. I nodded and led him inside, dismissing his words, thinking it just him prattling.

     After dropping him off, I went to the podium where the conductor was preparing for the trip and just stood there behind it, answering the common question we kept getting:  “Any update on the bus departure time?”  We hemmed and hawed as best we could, awaiting the news much like they are.  During this time the gentleman came up to the podium, still carrying his bag.  Unlike the others that came up, he asked about how the bus bridge worked.  It was another common question, and I answered it pretty much automatically.  He then got to telling me about his son who was waiting for him and his business in Stanwood.  Being polite, I kept the conversation going.  He told me how he hated driving I-5, but still drove almost everywhere else.  He told me he was still an avid golfer, and that he was 93 years old.  I was impressed, since I had guessed his age to be closer to 80.  He also mentioned in the conversation that his wife had passed away 2 years ago.  This led to him telling me what happened to have caused his limp.

     The story he told was one that if things had happened a bit differently or he had told it a different way, I would have been horrified for him.  But he was so nonchalant and witty about it; I could not help but laugh at it.  He was laughing too, so I didn’t feel horrible about it.  This story led to talk of his 1967 Mustang, which due to my family I have a decent about of knowledge of.  As we were talking about it, I was told that the busses were ready for my passengers.

     So I had them bundle up and I drove them on Li’l C-my cart-and drove them to the bus for loading.  As I helped him and the others off, I asked if he would like to place his little green bag in the luggage compartment so it would be safe.  Again, he refused, yet this time he told me why.

     “My wife’s ashes are in this bag.  I like to keep her with me when I travel.  It brings me comfort.”

     That sentence, along with the look he gave me when he said it –a combination of sadness, love, and earnestness-pierced the depression armor I was wearing, hitting me square in my emotional center.  “I fully understand,” I said as I helped him and his wife to a seat in the bus, tears forming.  He thanked me, and I thanked him back, then I left the bus, got on my cart, drove around the corner out of sight of everyone, and started bawling.

     Sometimes we come so wrapped up in our lives, so focused on our problems, that we forget we are but part of a greater whole.  We sometimes focus so much on our personal demons and how to cope with them we don’t see how others do it.  This elderly man had such an important part of his life gone, but how he coped with it to continue existing-no-to continue LIVING, was of such a bittersweet beauty that it blew past all my cynicism, all my grief to show me that while life can be bad, it’s how we deal with it that defines who we truly are.  I was humbled by this revelation, and realized that I have to try harder to actually live rather than just function. 

     So I thank you, sir, for giving me something I truly needed this time of the year…

Dreams of My Father

I guess I should have mentioned this sooner.

When I go to bed, I rarely sleep straight through.  I generally get up once to use the bathroom or move to my comfy chair if Cappy is in obnoxious sleeping mode.  Plus I get up another time to give him his breakfast before heading back to sleep.  Why am I mentioning this?  Because each time I go back to sleep, I rarely have the same dream.

Most are just scenes, unconnected acts.  Some are like the one I posted earlier, an entire tale of some kind or other.  And then I get the third type, where it is just small vignettes, but they are all connected.  After I had gotten up form having the multiple worlds dream and went back to bed, I had the third type of dream.  That in its own is unusual, but what elevated this to something truly different was that I (or an effigy of me) was not the main character in these.  In fact, I was only in one part in passing.  No, these dreams consisted of mundane events involving my Father.  I had three of them in a row:

My Father makes a new friend-  My Dad is out on the town (it was either Woodinville or Snohomish, couldn't quite tell) doing errands.  He is driving a 1965 Mustang, which I believed to be my niece Saresa's, and he makes a stop at the auto parts store.  when he exits the store, a man is admiring the Mustang.  They start to chat about it and cars in general.  Eventually my Dad invites him to stop by the house to take a look see of the shop.  They part as friends.

My Father works around the house-  This was pretty much what it says on the tin.  My dream consisted of following my Dad as he did various chores around the place.

My Father and Lois prepare to go out to an event with me-  This little scene followed my parents as they got ready to go to an event (most likely a play) in Seattle.  They made sure they had everything for the trip, and were having a normal conversation while doing so.

There was nothing wild or crazy about this.  I have been with my Father when these type of activities are being done, so I know it was pretty mundane.  Another one where I have no idea where this came from, although I have an inkling it was just my subconscious telling me to give him a call to see how things are going.  I have no answers for this, just thought I'd share it... 

New dream: a part of the secret world

Yes, it is once again time for another of my bizarre dreams to make an appearance that I had to write down quickly after waking to capture the essence of.  This hopefully explains the rather bare-bones writing.  A rather unusual one that gave me a feeling of bliss.  Also, one that wasn't like a fairytale...

It started with me just living my life, feeling like something was missing, like I was not completely me.  My friends were supportive, reassuring me, yet also wondering if I knew what it was I thought was wrong.  At their prodding, I gradually had a recollection of a secluded large older white house near a river and lake.  I don't remember ever being there, but still I felt a sense of familiarity.

Eventually a couple of my friends, based on my descriptions, recalled a place that they used to frequent a lot in the past that sounded like the one I was recalling.  They offered to take me there if I wanted.  I thought that was a good idea and the three of us headed out.

We finally arrived, and the house looked exactly like I had recalled.  We park the car and head to it, when the front door opens and another friend I had not seen for years comes out.  She rushes to great us warmly, especially me.  She tells us how she ended up owning this place after she was married to another friend of our who I also hadn't seen for some time.  She started to give us a tour of the place as I tried to remember why I stopped seeing these two and why I knew this place.

Inside was very homey, disorganized but not messy.  She led us through most of the house, with a couple rooms excluded because they were not ready for guest she explained.  When she showed us the large enclosed back porch, I realized I had been here before.  I told this to them, and instead of saying I hadn't, they instead asked me what do I recall of this place.  I tell them I remember we all, plus a couple others, used to come here all the time and enjoy ourselves and life.  I start recalling barbeques, sleepovers, and more at their careful prodding.

Then a major revelation hits me and I cry out.

They all come to me, comforting me and asking what was wrong.  I tell them I remember that this place was more than just a house, just property.  They ask me what I mean.  I hesitate, afraid of feeling like a fool for what I realized, but their friendly comfort and reassurance allows me to continue.  

I say that it was one such event here that we had discovered that this place was where our world and the world that coexists with ours come together.  A world of magic, where the old tales of the fae folk and miracles and amazing creatures and abilities were based on.  And somehow we had broken through and connected.  I looked at my friends, expecting ridicule and scorn, but instead saw understanding and relief.  It was then I realized they already knew this.  But why didn't I remember?  And why keep it from me?  Then the next revelation hits.

When we discovered this and explored, we encountered what could be best be called Ancient ones.  They were most likely the basis for the fae folk, but they did not match our known descriptions of them.  They were in part difficult for us to see, because it appears that they don't entirely exist in our reality, and our mind can only grasp the part that is.  But despite their appearances, they were not evil.  Far from it.  Like beings partially constructed of shadows, they flowed around us, welcoming us to the greater world.  The guided us and helped us grasp the secrets of both worlds.  How to weild again the power known as magic. 

It is at this point the final revelation returns.  Why I could not remember.

The Ancient ones were not dying out, but their numbers were small.  Because of their nature, simply breeding amongst themselves was not viable.  They needed others from our world to assist.  There were rare people in our world whose essence was compatible with them to help create more of them. 

And I was one such person.

They had asked me if I would assist them.  It wasn't sex, it was more of a joining into one for a while and then separating to create a new life.  However, you would never be completely separate.  You would always be a part of them and them of you.  It is considered a great honor to be part of this, but it is not forced upon anyone.  It must be done of your own free will.  And when I had been asked, I had panicked and fled.  I blocked out my memories of all of this and tried to continue my life.  Except it stayed in the back of my mind.  My friends realized that if they tried to make me remember, it could destroy me, so they kept watch on me.  My one friend and her husband took over the house waiting for the real owner to come back for it, while the others involved watched me and didn't talk about it until I brought it up.

As all of this sunk in, I realized why I didn't feel whole.  Back then, I had been overwhelmed.  Now I understood.  I told my friends to take me to them, it was time.  They happily did so.  We pierced the veil and came to the Ancient Ones, who had waited for me.  I came upon them of my own free will and was embraced by all, human and Ancient.

There was a grand  feast and ceremony to mark the occasion.  I learned that my two friends who had stayed back had become masters at wielding magic and were not only guardians of the nexus, but were slowly working to integrate the worlds.  Then, after the festivities, I was left with the one who was to join with me.  We joined and I finally, for the first time, felt complete.  (Again, it wasn't sex you pervs.)

After we separated and held another celebration, my friends and I headed back to the house, which it turns out was mine.  I stayed in order to start my new life and duty:  emissary for the two worlds.  I was to have my two friends who had stayed to assist me in further integrating the worlds, which was made easier now that I was more than human and could wield magic as if I always could.  This allowed me to bridge great distances with ease, allowing others from far away to instantly arrive and other emissaries from their domains to interact easily with us. And slowly the world once again filled with wonder.

Now I have no idea where this came from, since this is not something I usually read about or look at.  Frankly I am stymied.  And truthfully, I don't care where this dream's genesis came from, all I know is that I enjoyed it and the feelings it gave to me.  And I hope you, whoever is reading this, got a little fun out of it too, as hastily written as this was...

Writing prompt: the book that is more than a book

So yesterday while I was doing a final cleanup of the station before clocking out for the day, I came across an abandoned book. A usual occurrence, no big deal. Until I opened it up.

On the back page was a sequence of numbers. There was no reference to what they were for, but if I had a guess, I would say they were page numbers. With this came the following scenario, which could be an interesting tale:

What if you found a book that was ordinary in every way that had a torn piece of paper in it. This piece of paper had a partial list on it of numbers that if you went only to those pages the book would begin to do... something.

Now what would the book do and what would it compel the finder to do? And would there be others looking for the book? And what if finder found the missing numbers? Interesting ideas, no?

It's why I am putting it out there for the masses to play with. I have ideas of where it could go, but I would love to see what others could do. All I ask is that if you make a story/novel/script from it, you give me credit for the original idea.

Happy writing!

Childhood things fondly remembered involving my Grandparents McLean

Hello.

I came to realize that my post about my Grandparents McLean might imply that I really have no memories of what it was like being around them.  While it is true there is an extended period that I missed out with them, there are still plenty of fond things I remember when in their presence.   So I figured I would share a few.  So without further ado:
 
Chocolate meringue pies
 
Dessert made from banana pudding, sliced bananas and 'Nilla Wafers
 
Getting my first ever lottery scratch ticket and soon after realizing that gambling just isn't my thing
 
Grandma's big black poodle who instilled a love of dogs
 
Sitting in the kitchen watching Grandma and assorted aunts gossiping
 
Asking to try coffee for the first time and being warned that it would stunt my growth
 
Coming to the realization that I just wasn't a coffee guy
 
Christmas Eve at their house, being the first grandchild, but soon joined by my brother and eventually my cousins
 
Getting my first ever wristwatch at one above said Christmas Eve.  (It was a Star Wars one with R2 and C3PO on the face.)
 
Grandpa getting as a gag gift a pair of 'mantyhose' (which featured THREE legs) and him wearing them around their house
 
Getting introduced to one of the greatest sammiches ever; the Cheesy British from the Hoagie's Corner down the street
 
Lying down in the attic bedroom and looking at the Underdog and Keep on Truckin' stickers on the ceiling
 
Playing on the stairs to the attic with assorted toys and a light blue Jabberjaw lunchbox
 
My Grandma playing a song off her record player that had the lines 'My name us Michael, I have a nickel.  I have a nickel shiny and new,' and telling me this song was about me.  I eventually tracked down the song.  (Clint Holmes - Playground In My Mind.)

Playing an old Disney record on their portable record player that featured a marching song about Alice in Wonderland that I have yet to find

But I continue to look...

Cruel to be kind

Let me tell you a tale from the past.  Don't worry, it's not depressing and it has a point relating to the now...
 
One day when I was a young lad living in Edmonds, I raced out the front door on a nice spring day.  Our front porch was about a 3 by 6 foot slab of concrete that had a couple steps down to the walkway that had the front yard to the right and a small garden-type area to the left.  The garden area had a small wooden fence my dad made.  I cannot remember why there was a fence around it or what said fence protected in the space.  Anyways, I raced out the front door, heading to the front yard for one reason or another.  I started  down the steps-
 
And missed the first one completely.
 
All that forward momentum was now angled downwards and I took a spill into the little fence on the left, where aforementioned fence proceeded to scrape the skin off my left shoulder.  Screaming in pain, my parents proceeded to clean me up, and I put on a clean shirt and went about my way.

 
Cut to the next day...
 
Well the shoulder was healing rather quickly.  Unfortunately it had healed into my shirt, bonding to it. My dad, knowing what had to be done, tried to distract me as he quickly ripped the shirt off, removing it and the skin and scab that had grown.  Needless to say I was NOT happy.  In fact, for a short time I HATED him for what he had done, not comprehending why it had to be done.  A little pain and cruelty now to save me from a lot of pain down the road.  While I eventually understood it, I never thought it would be something I would have to think about.
 
Until now again.
 
My Cappy has a couple scratches on his belly that he just will not leave alone.  It has been nearly a month and they are getting all inflamed.  So to prevent him getting any serious damage and going to the Vets, which hates, I have to show a little cruelty to him by making him wear a cone for about a week so I can clean and bandage his wounds.  I know he is going to hate me and act out in revenge for this (the rug shampooer is on standby), but for his long term well-being I have to do this. 
 
But it makes me sick to my stomach to have to do this.  And I think this is how my dad must have felt. Having to be cruel to be kind...

Unintened Victims

Those who have read My blog may have noticed that I talk a lot about the grandparents on My Father's side.  I haven't really talked about My Grandparents on My mother's side.  There is a reason for that, and it is one of My biggest shames.  I tell this so people will understand that why this happened is not their fault, but Mine in My pursuit to be loved.

 
When My parents started going through the divorce proceedings, one thing became clear to those witnessing it (but not Me at the time, I was just struggling to comprehend how much My world was changing) was that a lot of people were testifying on behalf of My father... including relatives of My mother.  While I am not 100% sure, I believe that included her parents.  My mother, being the petty vindictive person she is, decided to make them pay for this transgression dearly.  And she used her ultimate weapon:
 
Her children.
 
As I have Mentioned in past posts, while people tried to keep Me having an even keel, I still was willing to do anything for the love and acceptance of My mother.  And she knew this and exploited it for maximum effect.  When My brother and I would go visit her during weekends, should would work on Me, using all sorts of tricks to manipulate Me into doing her bidding.  (I cannot tell how well it worked on My brother, so I am not including him anymore in this post.)  When I did as she asked, she would shower Me with love and praise, which I hungrily devoured.  It started out with small things, like details about what My dad was doing, and slowly worked up to bigger things.  Eventually it got to where she had Me believing how her parents were doing horrible things to her and how much they didn't care for Me, implying I should avoid them.
 
And to My eternal shame, I ended up doing just that
 
My dad tried to counteract it, by encouraging Me to visit them whenever we were in Ballard, but ultimately they had no one to counteract the vitriol My mother poisoned Me with like My dad did with his parents.  They were bad people, because My mother, who loved Me so, told Me this. But she never outright said to shun them.  She was far too cunning for that.  She would let Me fill in the blanks.  So for at least a decade I would not associate with them.  It wasn't until I finally realized what happened that I realized what I had done.
 
And it was what I had done.  As much as I would like to claim it was the manipulations of My mother (and probably be justified saying so) I ultimately was the one who chose the path I took.  I did it for what I thought were the right reasons, but that turned out to not be true.  I know they understand what happened and have forgiven Me, but I still have not fully forgiven Myself.
 
These days I try and talk to them when I can, but between My dislike of talking on phones and life, I don't do as well as I could.  Part of it is also My nature to not be the closest of people to be around, another result of My childhood.  But I do try.  But any communication I get with them now is always bittersweet, because there will always be a part of Me who mourns what should have been. 

Who mourns not having great tales of Me and them. 

Who mourns for the loss in My life I created.

The truth about Wyverns

Over the holiday season, in the midst of receiving ornaments for My first tree, I received a care package from a person I consider close to My heart.  Amidst the ornament and edible delicacies was a heavy item wrapped up.  I opened it and stared, dumbstruck.

It was a pewter figure of a wyvern perched on a tree.  That may not seem like a big deal, but it hit Me deep.  Once again the wyvern has entered My life.  I told Her it was strange she picked that specific creature, since I rarely-if ever-have talked about its significance.  She told Me that it called to Her, that it just seemed right.  Teary eyed, I thanked her profusely and promised to tell Her the significance of this.  A couple days ago I kept My word.  And in this I decided to share it with others, to maybe lift some spirits.

Let Me tell You a tale...
 
For most of My life one of My favorite mythical creatures has been the dragon in all its incarnations.  I poured over the old D&D monster manuals, fantasy books, and mythology guides.  Two of My favorite movies are the Rankin-Bass The Hobbit and Dragonslayer.  I would draw them whenever I could.
 
One day, nearly 30 years ago, My Grandfather was talking to Me and said He needed My help for a contest He was going to enter.  The question needing answering was what was a wyvern?  I quickly gave him an answer about how it had two legs and wings, unlike the traditional four legged and winged type, and how it had a distinctive barbed tail.  He thanked Me  for the information.  A few weeks later He came by to tell Me he had won based on My answer and took Me out for ice cream as a thank you.
 
(A small aside:  all these years later I now realize that there most likely wasn't a contest and that He did this to make Me feel just a bit more important in life.  For a young kid whose parents were going through a REALLY messy divorce and feeling lost in the world, it was the exactly right thing to do...)
 
A couple years later, I was reading the Piers Anthony Xanth book Centaur Isle (I know, I know-I didn't have a discerning tastes as I do now) and noticed the cover featured the artist's interpretation of wyverns on it.  Inspired, I took a sheet of paper and My little collection of projector markers (it was My preferred artistic medium at the time) and drew one of them.  When I saw My Grandfather a few days later I presented it to Him.  He loved it and said He was going to hang it up at their house.  I imagined it on their refrigerator or pinned to the office corkboard. My Grandparents did a bit better than that...
 
The next time I went to visit My Grandparents I they opened the front door and on the wall visible directly behind it was My picture.  They (I believe My Grandmother) had cut it and My signature out matted and framed it.  This was an amazing honor for Me.  That picture stayed up there past My Grandfather's death until My Grandmother sold the house.  And when she moved she hung it prominently in the living room.
 
A few years ago she was diagnosed with the onset of dementia.  When it got bad enough to warrant moving Her to a private care facility I was given the picture.  It now hangs proudly in My dining room.  I get to look at it every day and think of how truly amazing and caring they were to Me and how I should try My best to carry on with their ways...

PS- The wyvern figure I received?  It sits on My office desk where I can see it every day, where it brings a smile to My face.