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Chapter 9: Weasel's First Sacrifice? 

9/27/2015

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While rummaging through the upper port side chamber of my old raft tonight, I didn't really have anything in mind that I was searching for, so I decided to break out my most special of special archive boxes and just see what jumped out at me. The toy phone pictured above is what caught my eye. I knew right away why this toy phone has been so precious to me for so long, but initially I was just curious to see if it would turn on--I wasn't sure there were even batteries in it, and, even if there were, they would have to be about 7 years old. As you can see in the picture, it DID in fact turn on...and I spent the next several minutes pressing its buttons and remembering old sounds and songs from long ago. You see, this was Weasel's favorite toy by far from when he was an infant and toddler. I remembered it had to go absolutely everywhere he went. Over time, I had learned to memorize the songs and phrases it played and spoke--and would sometimes have them stuck in my head when I'd try and sleep at night. That is certainly enough to make this keepsake extra special, but that's not what made it extra extra special. 

I took my mind back to April of 2005: Butterfly was almost 4 months old, and Weasel was almost 15 months old (yes, they are what I believe they call "Irish twins"--they are the same age for 8 days out of the year). That was the time H had de-boarded my old raft and began building her own--and it was a very intense time indeed. While I was at work one day, she had stopped by My Blue Heaven and cleared out absolutely every trace of Weasel and Butterfly's presence there. Not just the furniture/crib/playpen, toys, bottles, and diapers (down to the last one)...but also every single toy and article of clothing. Seriously, every single item. The idea was that I was never going to see my kids again...an ominous idea, of course, but, I suppose that was her point. I have had long nights in my life before--many of them--but that was by far the longest night I had (and have!) ever experienced. I had been through breakups before, of course, but this was my first time facing separation from the two most important parts of myself. Had I been rational that night, I would have seen that there is no possible way I would never see my kids again...but I was far from rational, so I spent the entire night not sleeping, being utterly heartbroken, and completely terrified. 

There was no comfort for me that night, and I didn't even bother trying to find any. Not for comfort's sake, but I suppose just for something to do, I decided to make some tea...because that's what you do, I guess, when you're broken, afraid, and don't like coffee. So I reached down into the back of the cupboard for a sauce pan, and stashed inside it is Weasel's favorite toy--the suddenly extra extra special toy phone. The joy seeing that toy phone brought me is hard to describe, but given the state of mind I was in that night, it was pretty much overwhelming. I plopped straight down to the floor, sat cross-legged, and began playing with it. I felt right away that Weasel had stashed it there on purpose--possibly while his mother was loading the rest of his belongings into her car. I imagined that he loved me and was so gifted beyond his years that he was looking after me...that he hid it from her just for me. Had he done that intentionally, that would have been a tremendous sacrifice he made for me. Of course, I will never know if that's how it went down (imagination is a powerful thing), but I would never forget how much comfort that little toy brought me that night--at a time when even my imagination offered me no hope of comfort. 

I didn't sleep that night, but after I found Weasel's most precious toy--the only remnant of my kids left in My Blue Heaven--I became calmer, and a little less heartbroken. More importantly, it awakened hope. I knew already that I would not be able to go into work the next day since I hadn't slept a wink, so I started making plans for the next day: first off I would go to the library and would study child custody law in the state of Alaska. I would arm myself with information. I would learn what I could and couldn't do legally, and I would prepare to take whatever steps necessary to see my kids again. And I already knew of a good family law attorney here in Anchorage, so I would schedule a consultation with her. The fire and determination awakened again within myself. I knew inside that there was no way I wasn't going to see my kids again, that I couldn't be defeated--not when it came to my kids, anyway. All this from a simple toy phone. 

I did follow through with those plans the next day; I spent a few hours studying law books at the library, and I got the answers I needed. I knew it wasn't going to be easy, but that it could be done. I learned that if I played my cards just right, I could win full custody of my kids and H would never again hold that kind of power over us. I didn't get to meet with the attorney that day, but I did get my appointment scheduled with her. I felt better after doing that too. I guess it's true what they say: knowledge really IS power. 

I'm not sure exactly how long it ended up being before I saw Weasel and Butterfly after that, but I think it may have been close to two weeks. Only that first night was awful, though...until I found Weasel's favorite toy. I do remember meeting with the attorney, and she was most encouraging. She confirmed what I had understood from the law books at the library, and added some great pointers of her own. She would represent me, of course, if we had to go to court; but she emphasized that it's always better for the children if the two parents can work it out on their own. Thankfully, in the long run, we WERE able to work it out on our own (though this was no simple or speedy process), and we never had to include the court system. That is a huge blessing, by the way, that I will forever be grateful for. All because Weasel stashed his favorite toy in a sauce pan. 

The lesson in this: never underestimate the power of your child's favorite toy. I believe it's understood without me saying, that toy phone will most definitely be aboard my new raft when I build it. It will always be one of my prize possessions. As a final note, the sticker of the sun that is on that toy phone was placed there by Butterfly (later on, of course--not when she was 4 months old). True to her character always, she can be relied upon to leave her mark in the most precious of my places. I am a lucky dude. 

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Chapter 8: The Star Wars Conundrum

9/22/2015

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I believe I'm getting better at searching the archives in My Blue Heaven aboard my old raft: for the first time since I've started this journal, I actually found what I was looking for instead of getting sidetracked by something else unrelated that interested me beforehand. Granted, I didn't just walk straight into the room, select the correct box, and there was the poster pictured above--it's NEVER quite that easy for me. My archives are a bit of a labyrinth in a sense, and I'm not nearly as organized now as I used to be years ago. Perhaps there's a lesson in there for me somewhere?

I used to have sort of a peculiar way of organizing things, though it worked for me for many years. I organized things more chronologically rather than by subject. As an example, I wouldn't have just a box of old VHS tapes; I would have a box with old VHS tapes I had watched and/or acquired in that era, as well as other novelties I had found around that time, up to and including greeting cards and letters/pictures I had received at that time. You would also be likely to find AA batteries in that box as well because they're just so handy. And pens--lots of ink pens. So yes, AA batteries are a common theme with me, and small flashlights. And portable compact disc players. Because you just never know when the power will go out, right? I digress.


My old manner of archiving things became obsolete soon after Weasel and Butterfly entered my life. Necessity dictated that I started grouping items by subject rather than by era, but I had a lot less time to organize memories once the kids were born. So ultimately, what I'm left with on my old raft are a couple different series of archives--those arranged by era, and those arranged by subject...and the unfortunate boxes that are a blend of the two. It would take a mathematician of considerable skill to make sense of my current archives. I am not that mathematician, as I'm sure calculus and imaginary numbers would come into play. It just occurred to me that this whole chapter so far has been nothing but a digression. It'll have to do...I'm not re-writing the entry.


So the Star Wars conundrum: that was the original point of all this. In a way, it does tie in, because I also have Star Wars items littered throughout nearly ALL of my archives--but I won't digress further. Not yet anyway. Weasel was born in January of 2005, so the poster pictured above confirms that this was the first Star Wars film released after his birth--and the first one released with me as a father. I was fortunate to have gone to see the movie on Father's Day, because the usher gave me this wonderful keepsake that helps me keep track of memories. I remember now wanting to go see the new Star Wars movie as a Father's Day gift to myself, and making arrangements for the grandparents to watch Weasel so I could do so (he was much too young to take to a movie at that time--and even if I could have enjoyed the movie while changing diapers and feeding and entertaining him, I was certain that my fellow Star Wars nerds would NOT be so understanding). So I went alone--just me. Peace and quiet, and finally seeing exactly how Anakin Skywalker became Darth Vader for the first time. I enjoyed it thoroughly, of course, and it was the best of the prequels in my opinion. 


Later that night after watching Episode III: Revenge Of The Sith (when I was going to sleep, no doubt--or the next day while showering), I got to thinking just how I was going to introduce the Star Wars saga to Weasel when he was old enough. Episodes I and II were bad enough that I thought we might just be able to skip over the prequels completely as if they never existed. Certainly my preference was for Weasel to experience Star Wars the same way that I did--beginning with Episode IV, then V, and finally VI. I considered ways I might shelter him from the prequels and how he could just live his life feeling satisfied knowing that Darth Vader really WAS Luke's father--and that Emperor Palpatine was dead, and that Luke saved his father's spirit. And that Ewoks were lame--though we enjoyed C-3PO telling them stories in their native tongue. 


At some point during my inner dialogue, however, reality reared its profit-making head, and I knew that by the time Weasel was old enough to enjoy Star Wars, he would also be old enough to recognize Jar-Jar Binks underwear, Qui-Gon toothbrushes, and Clone Trooper costumes & bicycles...and I'd have lots of explaining to do. And if I didn't explain things well enough, then he'd also be old enough at this point to just search the internet for his answers. I most certainly didn't want important questions like this answered by bloggers and YouTube videos I didn't know and trust--they might somehow convince him that the prequels were actually GOOD--then Weasel and I would forever have an awkward father/son relationship. So I came up with a plan. I didn't yet know, of course, that Butterfly was going to be in the picture the next year, but the plan applied just the same toward her. 


I don't like to pat myself on the back for things--certainly not as it pertains to fatherhood--but I believe I solved the Star Wars conundrum and nailed at least this one small part of parenting. What I did was only own the DVD's for the original Star Wars movies (Episodes IV, V, and VI) but owned the Star Wars Lego's XBOX game for Episodes I, II, and III. In all honesty, I did own the DVD's for the prequels as well, but I stashed them in the archives so they didn't know we had them. But you get my point. It worked like a charm! The only Star Wars movies they got to see were the real ones...all the underwear, toothbrushes, costumes,  and bicycles could be explained away by the Lego's video game. I could even have them play the XBOX game as Jar-Jar Binks so they could see how he couldn't do anything except jump high--he had no blaster, grappling hook, or anything cool to offer at all in the game. See, I never had to explain to my kids that Jar-Jar was lame--I could just smile smugly as we played XBOX and they said "I don't want to be Jar-Jar...he sucks!" The more time we spent playing the video game, the more Weasel and Butterfly associated the prequels with animated Lego's characters. And we could watch the DVD's so that they also had a chance to understand why Star Wars is so sacred and important. I never once had to answer awkward Star Wars questions with Weasel and Butterfly, and to this day, Episodes IV, V, and VI remain the "real" Star Wars to them. 



I'm still nervous about Episode VII coming out this December (even more so now that it's being put out by Disney), but I'm trying to stay optimistic. Whether the new movies are wonderful or horrendous, I'm guessing fathers having kids over the next several years will have to find a new strategy...my Star Wars conundrum solve will be obsolete, I'm afraid. 


I have decided, however, that any and all Star Wars related items from the old raft will be transferred to the new raft once I build it. No exceptions. 







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Chapter 7: Dr. Jekyll And Mr. Hyde 

9/18/2015

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As I was fooling about in the lower main cabin aboard my old raft, I bumped a shelf and somehow only the book pictured on the top of this page fell down. I reached down to pick it up and noticed it had fallen open to this page (the second photo pictured here). This struck me as odd because, though I had remembered having this book, I had forgotten that my dad had found it and sent it to me. I actually recognized his handwriting even before I read any of the words. Apparently I needed to be reminded of this treasure, and I'm glad that I was. Aside from the wonderful memories of my dad that its discovery brought, it is also one of the few very popular classics that I've never read..and I've enjoyed all the other books I've read by Robert Louis Stevenson (My favorite by him that I've read is "Travels With A Donkey" in the event anyone would ever wonder). I used to read from "Treasure Island" sometimes for Weasel and Butterfly at bedtime...they never took much of an interest in it, but it DID help them to fall asleep I think.


My love of classic literature is something that probably not too many people have known about me...aside from close personal friends, and family of course. Literature was really my first love--long before music--and the use of words is something that always came natural to me from  a young age...unlike music (that's another story for another time, but I was far from a natural-born musician). Stumbling on to this book tonight reminded me just how much I used to read--and WHAT I used to read--before Weasel and Butterfly came into my life. I used to read many spiritual and theological works too, and a bit of philosophy. Somewhere in the archives below the captain's bed there are journals that list dozens of books I had read in years past. I remembered a co-worker named Shawn Gumbleton many years before who had accused me of only reading such books as an attempt to be a "literature snob." I'm not sure I ever fully convinced him that it really WAS just because I love the older writing styles that much more--the wit and humor of the classics is unrivaled in the last two centuries--in my opinion. For what it's worth. And there is my digression for this chapter. 


One last digression as a note to myself: at some point I really need to journal about times working with Shawn...we had some great memories together, and he taught me lots of cool stuff about the internet underground at a time when it really was like the wild west. No more digressions tonight. I hope. That's my intention, anyway.


So I had decided that I need to read the classic that fell beneath my nose tonight, and considered that I need to spend more time with the classics in general.  I really do--they brought me so much joy. Since November is just 'round the corner, and that's an emotional time for me (both the day my dad was brought into this world, and the day he left it, fall in the month of November), I have slated "Dr. Jekyll And Mr. Hyde" for reading during that season. 


Early on, after Weasel and Butterfly were born, I was quite busy of course...there really was little time or energy for reading of any sort, except the occasional board book at bed time. And by the time they had gotten old enough to be more independent, I was deep into making music again, and any free time I found was slotted for the writing and recording of music (and time on the Internet, of course, so that people actually KNEW I existed and was making music). On the rare occasion I'd make time to read, I found myself reading rock biographies and more recent books on space...specifically as it pertained to the possibility of multiple universes, and the role of dark matter/dark energy in our existence. The rock biographies helped me understand different perspectives on making it in the music business (my interest often centered upon the psychological  impacts of the "rock star" lifestyle, as well as the struggles of the creative process itself); and the space books often became inspiration for songs I would write and record. 


So as I continued to sift through these memories here in the kitchen of My Blue Heaven, I realized that the Jekyll & Hyde book comes 'round full circle...over the years as a musician I had really become a Jekyll & Hyde myself--I had created the alter ego KeV Atomic that most people on the internet know me by. He is me--and not me--at the same time; the two are ever intertwined. Both Kevin and KeV have positive and negative traits, as do all people, I believe. Balance became a greater issue for me over time, as it continues to be even as I write this. Where does one end, and the other begin...or is this some difficult thing for the mind to grasp, like comprehending the Holy Trinity? And no, in no way am I attempting to compare myself to the Holy Trinity--that is most certainly not my intention, nor would it ever be. 


What generally happened, I think, is that I was Kevin when I was with my kids, and I was KeV Atomic when I was writing, recording, or making myself known online. But the lines were sometimes blurred. Sometimes Kevin would show up to Cub Scout meetings in nail polish and makeup--which is much more of a KeV type thing to do (Weasel was a Cub Scout, and somehow I got chosen to be the den leader for a time). And there were times that KeV was online promoting his music, but Kevin would take over and start tweeting about Weasel and Butterfly or "The Very Hungry Caterpillar" or any number of domestic, non-music-related things. What became sort of a balance for me was really a marriage of two different pendulums--always in motion, and sometimes synchronized. I imagine the possibility of two pendulums (in motion, of course) intersecting one another at perfect right angles. I'm not sure if that's possible in this universe, but that seems a way to try to explain it. 


When Weasel and Butterfly moved away on Star Wars Day of 2014, and I was left alone aboard my old raft, I was also left with decisions I could make. The makeshift balance between Kevin and KeV Atomic that got us by for a few years wasn't going to work anymore. I knew that much. Simply put, I was given the opportunity, for the first time since Weasel and Butterfly were born, to just be KeV Atomic pretty much all the time. I could write, record, and make new definitions for "absurdity" pretty much any time I wanted (except when I was at work). That was my theory, at any rate. And it made sense to me. Heck, I could even go on tour now if I wanted to...just so many choices. 


And I did just that for a while--but only a little while (I didn't actually tour, but I made the right contacts and rehearsed so that I COULD tour  whenever I was ready for that adventure, as I surely would be). Reality has a way of knocking on your door even when you have your "No Soliciting" sign prominently displayed, though, and melancholy eventually set in. I knew how much I would miss Weasel and Butterfly, I knew what a tremendous challenge it would be to restructure my life...but I didn't suspect for a second that KeV Atomic wouldn't be able to get me through this. He is a super hero, of sorts, you know--at least in my mind. Surely he could do it, and surely he would. But he didn't, and he couldn't. For the first time since I brought KeV Atomic into existence, I realized he wasn't all-powerful, and wasn't the answer to everything. Even HE has his limitations, and I was living in a season that limited his strength and energy. I lost my passion to write and record songs, I lost my desire for my music to be known on the Internet--not entirely, but mostly. This didn't happen overnight, of course--it was a process, as all meaningful things in life are. A gradual slide, slow and silent--but downward nevertheless. 


I filled a lot of the void with social networking. I found that Kevin could awaken KeV Atomic that way...as you know, no one can brighten another's day quite like KeV Atomic! There was a rejuvenating element to it for sure, but it was only a postponement of the inevitable; I would eventually have to confront my own melancholy--Kevin's melancholy--and though KeV could help others with theirs, he was incapable of helping me with mine. That reminds me of how Nostradamus was able to save many lives (possibly thousands) from the plague, but he lost his own wife and children to it. True story. He was not just a visionary, he was a prominent doctor in his day. Perhaps he was a Jekyll & Hyde too? Did I just digress again? I'm sorry. 


I didn't set out on this chapter with the intention of explaining all this, but it feels good to me that I did. I remember my mother telling me soon after Weasel and Butterfly moved away that I'd have to experience something very similar to a grieving process--and I believed her. But I never really confronted it--I guess I got sidetracked. She is a wise woman. So wise, in fact, that she'd never admit to it (Another digression--sorry!). I feel in my heart that this journal is maybe the beginning of really coming to terms with all this. I shall choose to believe so, in any case. 







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Chapter 6: Lungarelli & Lee Lung Cho

9/17/2015

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I was digging through archives in the upper starboard side of My Blue Heaven earlier today, in search of some of the Pitfall treasures I mentioned in Chapter 5. I didn't find them, but I did stumble onto a box of Lunger treasures...items involving my all time best noun--mostly items he has sent me over the years. Lunger would have been my best noun from high school had he not gotten expelled, so instead he became my best noun outside of school--and ultimately, my soulmate as the years progressed.



Lunger was ultimately expelled from our high school for wearing a cape, a creepy green samurai mask, and attacking an unsuspecting classroom with a fire extinguisher conveniently provided by the Anchorage School District (though in their defense, they DID keep it locked away in a glass case). But that was only the icing on the cake...Lunger was very close to expulsion even before that. You see, Lunger was a bit like Ferris Bueller, but he took it to a whole new level. Lunger had a very difficult sophomore year at East Anchorage High School: Three of his grandmothers had died, and a few of his houses had burned down--all within a single semester. Not only was the vice principal and head of security less than compassionate toward Lunger's tragedies, he even became suspicious that Lunger was just finding excuses to not attend school. Apparently the fire extinguisher/costuming incident was more than dead grandmothers and ashes of previous homes could explain, so Lunger attended East Anchorage High School no more after that.


Over the years, Lunger and I have endured many experiences together...from yard animal hunting to KISS concerts, to dissecting Star Wars movies, to solving the mysteries of the universe upon the kitchen counters in My Blue Heaven (which I purchased from him in September of 2000)--and everything in between. I could easily write a Moby Dick-sized novel about the times we spent together, but I won't. I will only say, for the time being, that he has often been the Jonathan to my David, the Sonny to my Cher, the Butthead to my Beavis. 


The picture that precedes these words is one I highly dislike for a couple reasons, but I adore for many others. It is from Lunger's wedding in May of 2005, which took place in a seedy chapel in La$ Vega$--complete with an Elvis impersonator performing the legal ceremony.  I was his best noun, of course--the one wearing the button up album cover from Iron Maiden's "Live After Death" double LP. That crooked smile of mine is one of the reasons you rarely see me smile in selfies--I inherited that from my maternal grandfather. And yes, I was still working a white collar job at that time, so I had short hair and pretended most of the time to be quite the professional. I always find a way to digress and regress, don't I? Maybe there's a lesson in that for me somewhere? (Yes, I'm playing on that theme now that I've discovered it, lol). H was a few months pregnant with Weasel at the time that picture was taken--and she was there too...we were already having "relationship" issues, which is why I looked so fatigued--and much older than I do now--in that picture despite my unbridled joy that allowed the camera to capture the crooked smile my grandfather handed down to me. 


So why the title "Lungarelli & Lee Lung Cho" for this chapter? My soulmate and I had a great fondness for the movie "Tombstone," and we both particularly admired Val Kilmer's role as Doc Holliday. We began calling each other "Lunger" because of it, and the campy insult took on a life of its own...that led us to start coming up with variations of the name as sort of a creative exercise. "Lungarelli" became the preferred version of me, and "Lee Lung Cho" became the preferred version of my best noun. There were many other variations, mind you--Senor Lungero, Monsieur Lungios, Lungenheimer,  Von Lungen--those are a few that pop into my head as I type this--but the variations used in the title of this chapter became our standards. To this day, even Weasel and Butterfly don't know my actual best noun's name; they only know him as "Lunger." It's not that his real name is confidential, that's just how it worked out--and they've never asked. For the record, his name is Chris Kauffman...this is the first time I've ever revealed this on the internet in any way. As a matter of trivia, Weasel's legal name almost contained umlauts because of Lee Lung Cho, but H would have no part of it.


Should any wonder, my soulmate Lunger and I rarely speak these days. There is no tension between us--whenever we speak again we will pick up where we left off. One of the things that makes us soulmates is that there are never any conditions. He lives with his wife in Brazil now, and their son Noah Moon will turn 2 years old next month. I hear from his mother that they will be spending some time in the United States next year, so I'm hoping we'll catch up. I suppose I'd better start coming up with "Lunger" names for his toddler before he arrives huh? I can't use "Little Lunger" because he already used that when Weasel was born (it is sung--not spoken--from the AC/DC song "Little Lover"). 


If you take the time to read this, and feel compelled to steal the picture from it...I have no issue with that, but please don't share it online in any way--let it be for you. That picture of me is not the way people like to think of KeV Atomic, and I'd not have you ruin their happy illusion. 









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Chapter 5: It's All Just Smoke And Mirrors

9/15/2015

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I'm journaling tonight from the kitchen...because it's where I have my space heater running...because my furnace is out, and My Blue Heaven is starting to get chilly. My lovely assistant Kaylee is none too pleased about this...and in fact, she's been cranky the last couple nights. I'm starting to think cats do not like cooler temperatures. She won't have to suffer much longer though, as the new furnace is being put in on Thursday morning. I suspect we will survive just fine until then. Wow...not even a paragraph in, and already I digress! 


I found my old smoke machines earlier, beneath the captain's bed in the upper port side chambers of my old raft (yes, the same place the aforementioned old journals of mine are stored in a box that you're not likely to ever stumble upon). We used to use those smoke machines for live shows years ago in my band Pitfall back before Weasel and Butterfly were born. I formed Pitfall with my best noun from high school in 2004, and I was a part of Pitfall  up until our New Year's show in 2005. I was not kicked out of the band, nor did I leave in a fit of rage. It was all planned from the beginning. My best noun from high school had decided he wanted to play bass and form a band. Since I had experience doing these types of things, I told him I'd help him get it going but that I'd be stepping down once my son was born (H was pregnant with Weasel when we started this venture). We auditioned necessary band members in my best noun's basement, found the right ones, and started writing songs and rehearsing. We went through a few lineup changes early on but eventually settled in. We all thought of and suggested band names, but I came up with Pitfall. That ended up winning out. It turns out there was a semi-well-known band by that name in Germany at the time, but we figured since we were in Anchorage, Alaska it would be okay to use it. And it worked out fine. 


I don't remember the exact date we played our first live show, but I know it was in September--so it was very nearly 11 years ago this date as I write this. It was at the Carousel Lounge...a popular biker bar here in Anchorage. The turnout wasn't huge, but we dominated and won them over right away. We became popular in Anchorage very soon after and played a few more shows at different venues. Our pinnacle (in my opinion) was when we played the Halloween show with my all-time favorite band from Alaska, T.S. Scream (their guitar player and primary songwriter was another high school noun of mine). I was dressed up as Alice Cooper--complete with top hat and cane. That was a night for the ages...we went back to the Carousel Lounge for that show, and all their records were shattered--attendance, liquor sales, decibels, etc. The fire marshal showed up because the venue was over capacity (there were over 300 people there, and I believe the capacity was 250), and the police showed up because they were getting noise complaints by residents that apparently were able to hear a show from the Carousel Lounge for the first time. The Carousel Lounge had been around for at least more than 20 years at that time, and probably more than 30. That was a part of Anchorage's history we were particularly proud of. I have video footage of that show on DVD in my archives somewhere, but as far as I know none of it has been put on the internet. I even sang "Eighteen" and "Welcome To My Nightmare" (famous Alice Cooper songs) at one point, though I wasn't the front man. Jason was our singer, I was the rhythm guitarist--but we traded places for those two songs. Jason was dressed up as a "hooker from Fairbanks" as he called it--he was wearing combat boots and a flowered dress he found in my best noun's basement while we were rehearsing one night. The smoke machines used during that infamous show are the very ones beneath my captain's bed.


So why the pictures of Butterfly and Weasel in this chapter? Because back in 2013, they stumbled onto the smoke machines and asked me what they were. I didn't tell them as much as I've shared in this chapter, but I let them know that the smoke machines were used for live rock shows. They were intrigued, of course, asked questions, and deserved an actual demonstration. I got the smoke machines up and running that night, and we had a blast. I think Weasel and Butterfly enjoyed the smoke machines even more than I enjoyed using them during Pitfall's Halloween show. Maybe there is a lesson in there for me somewhere? 


Weasel and Butterfly enjoyed the smoke machines so much, in fact, that I spent the next several weeks saying "Not tonight" when they'd ask me to bring them out every night after we had dinner. I did say "Okay" a couple of those nights, but not nearly as often as they would've liked. Yes, I think those smoke machines should find their way over to the new raft once I've built it. Sometimes smoke and mirrors are really more than just smoke and mirrors...though I still believe much of life really IS just smoke and mirrors. For what it's worth. 
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Chapter 4: The Last Of The Tennis Balls

9/12/2015

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So rummaging through a chest of plastic drawers in the upper deck on the rear starboard side of my old raft, I found a couple tennis balls. These weren't just any tennis balls, however--these were the last of them. At one point, I probably had 30-40 tennis balls aboard my old raft--and I've never really played tennis--but I believe all but these two have long been tossed into the river...or maybe some of them into the woods, when I felt like seeing just how far I could throw one. Not that far, it turned out. The world is certainly a better place not having me in the outfield of a Major League baseball team--or even little league, for that matter. Perhaps tee ball, yes...I believe I could excel at that. I'm starting to think I will digress in every chapter of this journal, though I swear it was never my plan or intention. 


Before Weasel and Butterfly had come into my life, I used to take my canine companion for late night walks after work. Our walks would often lead us near the tennis courts at my old high school, where, to this day, instructors give tennis lessons to kids during the summer. One night, on one of our walks, I found a tennis ball in the grass...then another one under a tree...and another one in a bush. And I even spotted a tennis racket stuck on a branch very high on a pine tree--and used one of the tennis balls I had just found to knock it out of the tree (it took many, many tries, of course!). So my collection had started, and my tradition of hunting for tennis balls lasted for many years. My canine companion Sheba, of course, loved the tennis balls, and we got much use out of them--that was my official excuse for going tennis ball hunting, though there has always been enough of a boy left inside me that I have a fascination with objects that are found. They become special to me. 


The accumulation of tennis balls I had amassed coupled with the racket I had acquired caused me to consider actually learning how to play tennis some day. It was a brief thought, and I never did follow through. I did go to the tennis courts late at night a few times when no one else was around, and knock the balls around...but that was as close as I ever got to playing tennis. 


When Weasel and Butterfly were old enough, I passed the tennis ball hunting tradition on to them. My canine companion was still with us during the first few years of their lives, so that was still my excuse--we were finding tennis balls for Sheba...and sometimes we'd cheat and use the tennis balls ourselves. That was allowed--and, in all honesty--sometimes encouraged. Wouldn't it just make the perfect story now to say that this sparked an interest in tennis among Weasel and Butterfly and that they are now very dedicated & gifted tennis players? It would be fiction, for sure. We did find a second racket on one of our hunts--I think it was Butterfly that spotted it in the bushes (I can't remember for sure)...but that was as close as any of us got to becoming tennis players. But Sheba was very happy having more tennis balls than she knew what to do with, and so were we--that was enough for us. Maybe there is a lesson in that for me (have you noticed how every chapter so far has had a possible lesson in it for me? That also was not planned). And, in case you're wondering, yes--both of the tennis rackets are still currently aboard my old raft. 


You've probably guessed that the picture preceding this journal entry is from one of our tennis ball hunts. It is. We did find a few tennis balls that day, I remember. Also, during the same hunt that day, I had taken a picture of Butterfly that became my dad's favorite of her...he liked it so much that he had it framed and it was displayed (per his request) at his memorial service in 2007. As a side note, the little Cubs dress Butterfly was wearing in the picture still hangs upon a rod in their closet in the Crumbmakers' quarters. That, for sure, will be transferred to the new raft, when it is built...but I still haven't made up my mind about the last two tennis balls, and the two rackets. 
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Chapter 3: My Blue Heaven

9/11/2015

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A very large part of my old raft is taken up by My Blue Heaven, and that will of course have to be moved to the new raft once I build it. My Blue Heaven is the name I gave my condo after I bought it from my best friend and moved in the September of 2000...almost exactly 15 years ago as I type this. You may be getting the idea by now that this raft of mine is actually a very large thing, and you'd be correct. The new raft I build will also have to be very large, of course, though I will be scaling it down as much as I can--that is one of the very few plans I have already determined. It will have to contain My Blue Heaven for sure.


You probably already guessed that the condo is blue--it is mostly, but it's a very gray blue, truth be told. Also, in full disclosure, the name for my condo was inspired by the Steve Martin movie by that title. My reasons for naming it that, though, have nothing to do with any happenings in the movie...I just liked the name. I had never named a home before--probably because I had never owned a home before. In fact, up until I bought My Blue Heaven, I had never lived in the same home for more than three years even once since my birth. I was raised in a military family, and spent my entire life moving (that's a story we won't get into in this blog, as I'm not covering aspects of my life that happened before the building of my last raft). I didn't buy My Blue Heaven as an investment, or to make the often wise choice of owning rather than renting. No, I bought it simply because I didn't want to ever have to move again--seriously, that was the only reason. In most respects, I'd honestly much rather rent than own, but not having to move has been my top priority for many, many years. I digress. I seem to do that a lot.


Emptying everything from storage, and opening boxes that had been sealed for many years, was a great feeling of course after I moved in to My Blue Heaven. It was really during that time that Alaska genuinely became my home, though I had already lived here for several years. I had almost half of a decade here in this condo by myself (aside from my canine companion Sheba) before Weasel was born. It was very much a bachelor's pad for most of that time...action figures, rock posters, cinder block shelves, general lack of furniture...you can imagine the rest, I suppose. Where you'd expect to find food, you might find compact discs; where you'd expect to find a recliner, you might find a tool box; where you'd expect to find a bed, you might find a drafting table. And so on. I remember trying out plants a couple of times, but I could never seem to keep them alive. I have only plastic plants in My Blue Heaven to this day...and now you know why. They don't provide oxygen, but they also don't die. There might be a lesson in there for me somewhere, no? And I suppose I might as well toss these plant food spikes now, as I'm thinking about it. 


My bedroom ended up becoming a sanctuary for me--which it remains to this day--though it has taken on many different looks over the years. I used to have newspaper routes when I first moved in to My Blue Heaven, so I was able to furnish my home with items people threw out in the trash. I used to have a short table that I covered with a red silken cloth, and it became an altar for me in my bedroom. I remember how we were supposed to tithe 10% of our possessions to God, so I actually measured off 10% of my bedroom floor space around the altar and designated it as holy--I would not set foot in that area except to pray. And I wouldn't even enter that space to pray until I had recited The Lord's Prayer sincerely, and was certain I was harboring no resentment toward anyone. That table and altar are long gone now, but their memory remains...as do dozens of holes in the wall where all different types of crosses were hung above it. I also have memories of a VCR I found in the trash, though the VCR itself is also long gone. Among the items pilfered from the curb, only the golden floor lamp and the alarm clock remain--to the best of my knowledge.  In fact, that alarm clock sits next to my bed and rousts me for work in the most trustworthy of ways to this day. 


The upstairs bathroom was repainted by H, while she was pregnant with Weasel...a submarine gray color I call it--and she added self-adhesive fish laminates, and a shower curtain with various tropical fish on it. The shower curtain remains, as well as most of the self-adhesive fish--some of them were picked at by Butterfly when she was little and ended up being removed. 


There are also random stickers in many places throughout My Blue Heaven, all placed there by Butterfly at different stages of her life. And there are colored marker heiroglyphs from her in a few places as well...I believe I've managed to clean off most of her crayon markings from the walls. Weasel was never into defacing walls, for whatever reason--or anything else for that matter. 


Overall, My Blue Heaven became much less bachelor-pad-like after Weasel and Butterfly were born, as you might imagine. Deciding how much to bachelor-ize the new raft will be a recurring thought for me, I think, throughout its planning. 





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Chapter 2:The Blessing Of The Weasel

9/9/2015

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Now that I believe I've established just why I need to build the new raft--and the old raft is safely secured to the trunk of a beautiful and sturdy tree--I supposed it was time to begin sifting through the archives that have long been aboard. I started near the rear of the raft, in a small cabin that was one of the first additions to my trusty vessel.


Though H was technically a big part of the reason this particular addition to the old raft was built, it was really the birth of Weasel that began changing our center of gravity as we drifted down my river. I didn't know this at the time, of course, and it struck me as funny (in an interesting way) how sometimes the physically smaller nouns upon a raft seem to alter its balance much more noticeably than the larger ones. And even funnier (in an interesting way), the nouns that have no measurable mass at all upon Earth can have the greatest impact of all. Perhaps there is a lesson in that somewhere for me? I digress.


So I found this small wooden chest tucked in the corner of the small additional cabin, and it was a bit weather-stained. The lid creaked softly as I lifted it open, and what do I find inside but the memory of when I blessed Weasel--just as he had blessed me a few days previous--when he emerged from the launch tube. You might have guessed by now, this is the very event captured in the photo that precedes this. I was fairly jubilant in discovering this memory, and I called my lovely assistant over to share in my joy. Ever the disinterested feline, she sniffed, swooshed her tail, and reminded me that I still have a lot to learn about cats. No matter, at least she stole none of my joy. She is a good assistant.


This is the first time I have ever told anyone about blessing Weasel--even H and Weasel don't know about it or that this photo exists. I'm more spiritual than I often let on to people, and I've been known to do odd things like this from time to time when my heart moves me to. In the event you're wondering how H and Weasel still don't know about this, it's simple: Weasel was far too young to have a conscious memory of it, and I did it late at night while H was sleeping--in the garage (Weasel and I were in the garage, not H). I can even remember the exact date that picture was taken, because I blessed him exactly 8 days after his birth--that is when my heart had told me I should do it. It was February 3, 2005. 


That blessing became more important over time, as I continue to learn. See, when I blessed Weasel, what I really did was dedicate him to God. I lit two candles (one white, and one red), I burned frankincense, and I quietly thanked God for this amazing gift and assured Him that I understood this was His child, not mine;  I understood that He was kind enough to allow me to care for His child while it was in this world, though ultimately it was not my property--only my responsibility. I assured Him also that I would always do my best to care for Weasel. I concluded the blessing by sprinkling holy water upon him (the holy water was a gift from a Russian friend--it was water she had saved from when her baby was blessed at the Russian Orthodox church). 


Perhaps something in my heart knew that H would be hopping of my raft at some point, I really don't know...I only knew I felt the need to bless him. As H and I parted ways and there was much fear of the unknown, reminding myself that this is God's child--not mine--helped calm me. It assured me that if she ever decided to use Weasel as a way to be vindictive toward me, she would be messing with the Dude Upstairs, not me. It helped me to feel that, whatever the outcome may be, Weasel would always be protected. Thankfully, I can honestly say that H never attempted such a thing, and I will always give her credit for that. I can't stress enough how much peace this continues to bring me as the years march on.






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Chapter 1: Remembering The Old Raft

9/7/2015

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My old raft that has served me well for so many years was a pretty simple and small one, though of course it got much larger over time. When I first built it, I needed only room for myself, an occasional friend hitching a ride for a bit, some books I enjoyed reading, and quite a few compact discs I enjoyed listening to. My trusty canine companion Sheba was on that raft for about 13 years too, until I had to build her own little raft for her...because we came upon a small tributary that led to her own sea of forever, and we bade a touching farewell. A framed picture of Sheba has remained on the mantle of the old raft, and I will certainly bring it aboard the new raft once I have built it.


That simple raft and I had countless great days together, and it's going to be hard to let that raft go. Even now as I type this, I think of how I might just use a few of the boards from the old raft to build my new one...for old time's sake, you know. Maybe. We'll just have to see.


That old raft really began growing when H came into my life. She was a noun that had intended to ride this raft with me until the end, but fate had other ideas. She has another raft these days, and I suspect it must be very large. Before she jumped off my raft, however, we managed to make two other nouns--Weasel and Butterfly. Of all the nouns I believed would be with me on my raft until the end, I thought for sure it would be them--and they WERE on my raft until May 4, 2014. They didn't jump off my raft by choice...just fate again, you know. I will remember the exact date always because it was Star Wars Day (May the 4th be with you, and all that). 


Obviously, Weasel and Butterfly were a major part of multiple expansion projects to my old raft...and in many cases they even helped build the additions. There were also many other nouns that jumped on to my raft once Weasel and Butterfly were there. Apart from them, but while they were there, I found a new love for vintage audio gear, and particularly for record albums. Those familiar will realize that of course vintage audio gear tends to be clunky and take up lots of space--especially the gradual accumulation of record albums! So yeah, more additions to the old raft of course. 


Backing up just a bit, my father and his raft found his sea of forever on November 30, 2007, which also ended up affecting my raft indirectly--and my mom of course had to build a new raft too, which she floats peacefully down her river upon to this day. I was moved enough by my father's departure from this world to begin making music again--after many years of NOT making music, and even swearing off me ever making it again a time or two...or three. So of course that led to more expansion to my raft as I needed equipment to record the music I was so inspired to make. And so it was. 


During a holiday visit with his family in 2010, an old noun from high school happened to jump on to my raft for a night and managed to convince me that I should do something with those songs--that maybe they were a larger part of my raft. More nouns, as the music became something serious again in my life. Not all the nouns took space on my raft, but many did. More expansion, more building. More fun, but also more seriousness. Energy was strong with me in those days, so the labor involved in expanding my raft was no trouble at all. I literally whistled as I worked. And there were also new friends that jumped aboard my raft from time to time, and they pitched in. It was a happy and beautiful season.


In the summer of 2011, Twillerbee spotted my raft...she was flagging me down from an embankment. Though she had her own raft in her own river, she had jumped off it, and seemed to be just wandering through the woods along MY river. I of course pulled my raft ashore, and we learned about each other. Weasel and Butterfly highly approved of course--and though she would have to return to her own raft, she made it clear she belonged on mine. It took some convincing, but I came to believe also that ultimately she belonged on my raft. And so she jumped on and off of my raft for a few years, balancing time between my raft and her own. But fate is always a step ahead of us, and the dice really are sometimes loaded. Managing multiple rafts on multiple rivers, it seems, is VERY hard and exhausting work. It took its toll, and she jumped off my raft for the last time  in 2014, just as Weasel and Butterfly did. I should point out, though, that Weasel and Butterfly do still hop on to my raft, though not as often as I like. They will always be a part of my raft, sometimes. 


So after many years of expansion on my raft, it suddenly became much lighter and quieter in 2014. The entire raft became out of balance, and I spent much of the year shifting things around, rearranging things to try and keep my raft level. The clunky vintage audio gear was most helpful in this respect! I could never really get the raft perfectly level anymore, and I even went so far as to recruit a feline companion named Kaylee in October, who would become my lovely assistant who does her very best to keep our raft level. We got our raft very close to perfectly level, but the quiet lingers and kept us ever perfecting it. More nouns continued to hop on and off the raft, causing me to spend too much time patching holes and shifting weight around. At one point I had to toss the songs I recorded because they were making it impossible to keep the raft level. I considered recording new songs to keep the raft level, but realized that they too would only complicate things further. More nouns, more shifting and patching--more work. And me, so exhausted from years of expansion. 


So I pulled my old raft ashore, and tied it to a tree. And here it remains forever more. It will float no more down the river. And here, my lovely assistant and I will remain until we get that new raft built and return to the river. It's not so bad in the woods upon the shore. The river is always flowing, and it always will. I can always watch it, always touch it, and It will be ready to carry me when my new raft is complete. 







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Introduction: Why I'm Building A New Raft

9/7/2015

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So here I am again...another crossroads in my life...perhaps the beginning of a new era for me, perhaps revisiting a past one. I'm not sure yet...not sure of many things in my life these days, but I know I love and cherish my life and I'm in no hurry for it to end.


And I know it's time to build a new raft.


The old raft is certainly obsolete, and the constant patching of holes has become too much of a burden--slowing me down and draining my energy. I will take my time building this new raft, and I've not even drawn up plans for building it yet. It will be a process--perhaps a tedious process--and certainly a necessary process. And I will find ways to adore this process, and maybe in some ways the new raft will help build itself...as the old raft did.


The old raft I refer to here was by no means my first, but it's as far back as I'm going to go for the purpose of this journal. So yes, this blog will become my journal, for all intents and purposes. In the event I were to go away for whatever reason--whether by personal choice or nature's choice--there are people I believe would want to know and remember another side of me here online--a more personal side. This web page will remain hidden, meaning it won't be accessible from the menu, and I've chosen to block it from coming up in online searches for the time being. If you are reading this, it means someone gave you a link to it.


Those that know me well from social networking will know how important it has always been to me that online communication be a two-way street. I have preached it for several years now, and I will always feel that way about it. Social networking has been a dance for me, an ongoing dialogue...and I've made some lifelong friends along the way that I will always cherish. But now I'm at a place in my life where I need something that is one-sided. I need to share myself with myself, if that makes sense to you. I could write this journal in a notebook as I have done in years past, but I want to do something a bit different here...I want to share with no thought of a response from others, though maybe they'll stumble upon it someday; I want it to be a part of my legacy left behind for years after I've left this world. I'm trusting the Internet will be around as long as humans exist, so the odds are much better of finding it this way as opposed to you stumbling onto an old box stashed under my captain's bed (where all my old journals are now).


So besides being tired of patching holes, and finding the old raft obsolete, why exactly am I building a new raft...what do I mean by that? I mean that life is dynamic...nouns come in and out of our lives all the time. Much as we like to think of some things as permanent, nothing really is...the only things we know we have in this life are the things in front of us this moment. We find our river, we build our raft, and we float down the river on it. All the while, nouns are jumping on and off of our raft--some just hitching a ride for a bit to rest themselves, some having every intention of staying all the way to the end. Here's a hint: no nouns ever stay all the way to the end no matter their intentions--life is just that dynamic--and at the end, when your river finally carries you to the sea of forever, it will be just you and that raft. Then you'll wave goodbye even to that trusty raft, and it will just be you...and the ever after, whatever that ends up being for you. 

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