Welcome New Readers!

If you're new to my little corner of the blogosphere, welcome!

If you're a regular reader or have visited before, apparently I've done a poor job of driving you off...

Regardless of the reason you find yourself here, I thought I'd take a moment and remind you of some of the basic "rules" of my web-log.

This site exists solely as an excersise in exorcising some of the stagnating creative energy that starts to pool when I get caught up in the daily grind and don't have time to express it. Originally, I planned to write on a daily basis, but that in itself became part of the daily grind.

Stories that are in italics are fictional works sprung from my fevered brain. They may be sweet or sick as the mood that inspired them dictates, but please don't confuse them with actual events. Speaking of ...

Posts that are in regular type are just my thoughts laid out for the sake of expressing my views on a topic or reminiscing about past events. I reserve the right to take some artistic license, particularly when trying to dredge up memories of my increasingly distant childhood.

While there may be elements of personal disclosure on this blog, it is not a private diary - It is intended to be read, and I don't post anything here that I don't want you to know. That said, I do go out of my way to provide a level of anonymity to persons other than myself that I write about, so I would prefer that your comments extend the same courtesy. Ah yes, comments...

If you like what you read, leave a comment. If you are inspired, disturbed or moved by something you read, leave a comment. If you are left in a permanent vegetative state by something your read here, have the executor of your estate leave a comment. The point is, I want your feedback. I also reserve the right to delete moonbat comments or offensive material at my sole discretion and based on seemingly arbitrary rules of conduct. It is MY blog, after all, and I get to decide the content.

Lastly, don't forget to click on the archives to see all the articles available here. Only the last few posts show up on the main page, and if that's all you read, you're missing the majority of the content here.

15 Years Ago Today ...

"What are you doing here," asked Dianne Worthen, my Karate Sensei, with a spreading smile of surprise. She was incredulous that I would show up for class just a few hours before my wedding was to take place. Indeed, the truth was that I had to be there. I was so full of excited energy that I needed an outlet to safely tap off a bit, lest I be reduced to a gibbering wreck.

It was a crisp day, slightly overcast with the silvery-gray glow that comes early with Texas winters. In its plastic cleaner's bag, my tuxedo hung over the back of one of the long-legged chairs that cozied up to the breakfast bar in my apartment. The images of wide-collared, pastel tuxedos with contrasting piping hanging in the halls of friends and family cemented my decision to go with a classic and timeless style that wouldn't induce groans when viewed years later in a dusty photo album.

Purged of my excess energy, I drove to my my parents' home to wash up and get dressed. My grandmother had arrived the night before from New Orleans to attend the wedding, and greeted me at the door with a barrage of kisses in a swirling cloud of rose perfume. After I showered and doused myself with my own cologne, she was a good sport and didn't tease me too much as she braided my eight inch rat-tail, an affectation popular in the 1980's and the only outward sign of subversiveness in my otherwise button-down image.

With an hour to go before the ceremony, I drove my 1978 Datsun 280Z to Plano Bible Chapel and strategically parked it in a spot I thought would make for a fast getaway later. It was my dream car - fast, nimble and sexy. It's only faults were to be found in its cheap Earl Scheib mocha brown paint job and its propensity for electrical problems. I had given it a very thorough cleaning, inside and out, in preparation for the day. After all, it was to be the carriage in which I'd take home my bride.

Inside, I found that some guests had already arrived and took a moment to visit with them before hiding myself away in the Pastor's office. Jim Lewis was a passionate preacher with the sort of face that rarely hid his mood. Intimidating to look at when he was set upon by righteous anger, today his eyes twinkled with an excited joy. "Are you nervous yet," he asked me with a mischevious grin. I wasn't.

For almost eight years I had dated my bride-to-be. We had known each other since 6th grade. She was the best friend of my then-girlfriend, Carrie. When Carrie and I amicably parted company, she suggested that perhaps her best friend would be a better match. She had no idea how right she was at the time. We became friends and would attend events together when my parents would let me invite a friend along, but it wasn't until a trip to the Japanese Gardens in Fort Worth that I realized how much I'd come to love the gentle spirit and radiant beauty that she posessed. There, standing on the arched bridge that stretched across the koi pond, sun highlighting hair that danced lightly in the breeze, she turned to face the camera I held in suddenly shaky hands. The viewfinder framed an angel, and at the tender age of 13, I was forever lost.

All through high school and college we dated. We developed that comfortable familiarity that long-married couples share, and indeed, even among our families and friends there was no doubt that someday, when the time was right, we would wed.

And so it was, 15 years ago today that I stood calmly in my Pastor's office. I wasn't nervous, because there were no doubts, no lingering concerns, no uncertainties about what I was about to do. I wanted her with an aching in my heart that threatened to crush me under the weight of my longing. My older brother served as best man, and together with the pastor, we walked solemnly out to the designated spot we had rehearsed just the night before and turned to face the entryway to the sanctuary in anticipation.

The music swelled and was joined by the staccato rushing of my pounding pulse as the gathered friends and family rose. It was then that they beheld what I had seen all along, as my angel glided into the room and took final posession of my heart.

Veteran's Day

His tired, pale blue eyes, focused on a fading memory, slowly lowered back down to me. Almost immediately, the remembered pain faded from his face to be replaced with the mischevious grin he reserved for his grandchildren. It was early yet and dawn was still more than an hour away when I was awakened by the smell of eggs, bacon, grits and the ever-present "cig-er-REET" smoldering between his loosely-curled fingers. Unlike with my other grandfather, who preferred to be alone with his thoughts during the early morning hours, my maternal grandfather always welcomed company and conversation.

The ghosts of the aging WWII veteran's past would come to haunt the silences and fill his head with the sounds of shouted commands, gunfire and the cries of the wounded and dying. Their voices still rang sharply in his ears, and refused to fade despite the intervening years. Some men would allow themselves to become embittered by such experiences, but not my grandfather. Albert "Pete" Pitre choose to exorcise his past with a restless urge for the present. Always active, always involved, always living and loving each moment that remained with a stubborn refusal to slow down, he strove to fill his waking moments with friends, family and constant activity.

There were stories of the war, of course. But the real tales were never told. They lingered in the dimming of his eyes and struggled against the razor-wire he had left on the beachheads of his memory. We only heard of the things that didn't reopen old wounds long scarred over. There was no hint of regret in his voice. He did what he had to do when the need arose and served his country with honor.

The padding of my feet into the kitchen where he sat, long ash drooping under its own weight at the end of his Lucky Strike, served as a welcome Reveillé to awaken him from dreams of D-Day. He looked down at me for a moment before recognition came and reminded him that his efforts had not been in vain. And then there came the smile.

VOTE!

What are you doing reading this silly blog? If you are eligible to do so and haven't yet - go out and vote! The last thing we need is another election tied up in the courts. Go out and widen the margin in favor of your candidate of choice.

I'll still be here when you get back...