Notes from the Red Bird House

I'm going to begin by saying that I thought I was going to get the first DNF (Did Not Finish) of my running career this morning. I've had this twingy hamstring for several weeks and, if I'm honest, I hadn't done nearly enough to get it race ready. Yesterday I stretched and rolled and heated and massaged it, but as it turns out it was almost too little too late. From the very first warm-up step I took, I could feel it. And it didn't feel good. But it was Race Day, and what are you going to do? Not race? Drive home? Not a chance. What's the worst that could possibly happen? The thing could seize up, pop, or tear and I'd end up (1) DNF'ing or (2) hobbling to the finish line just before they closed the course (I have never hobbled in a race EVER, not even during the '93 Wichita Marathon when a stress fracture in my tibia broke through). Chances were I'd be able to avoid the worst. At least I hoped I could. Hamstring aside, the race started well e...

"I have known incandescence---” Though it knows me better.  Seeks me. Sears my soul. Renders me speechless. I do not know if she know, notices. I am different. Held. For just a instant. Then with a subtle shake of the head, It is gone.  Extinguished Until the next time. 

Yesterday I wore the souvenir underpants that I bought in Norway last Spring. I'm willing to bet that 99.9% of people that I saw (and who saw me) had absolutely no idea I had "Norway" scrawled across my butt. I suppose it's begs a question. Well, at least one. Why buy (and sell for that matter) souvenir underwear when no one (especially if you're me) is going to see them? Isn't the point of souvenirs - t-shirts, hats, even refrigerator magnets and shot glasses - to shout out where we've been? And to give the place we've visited loads of free advertising? Souvenir underwear misses on both counts (at least for the vast majority of travelers). In addition, nothing bought in any souvenir shop in any city in the world is "cheap," including underpants. So, why do I have a pair of bright red souvenir bikini briefs from Norway, you ask? Look, I know those of you sitting at home are thinking it's absolutely ridiculous. And I promise I've sha...

How do you do it? Say it? Admit it? She asks and you say? Lies? Half truths? Things you vowed you would never do, never say...at least to her. But she asks. Ok, she hasn't yet, but she will. Well, she could. It's almost inevitable. And really, you want her to. Part of you wants her to. The courageous part. You just don't know how to answer. You'll need to answer. Bullshit her? Commit a sin of omission? Hum and haw? That won't fly. It won't. Because if it did, if you thought that might work with her, you never would have written what you wrote. You wouldn't be here. Writing this. Wondering about a what-if. A potential inevitability. You know, if she ever sees, it she's going to ask. What if she doesn't...? Ask, I mean. What if she sees it and doesn't ask the question (Hell, knowing her there could be multiple questions, lots of them. Under normal circumstances. This is far from normal, though, thankfully?)  Jesus, what if.... What if she lets it...

Many years ago a friend told me that I needed to read Conversations with God by Neale Donald Walsch. She assured me it would be life changing. Ever the dutiful and well-intentioned friend, I went out and bought the book, all three volumes in one in fact. And then it sat on my shelf for a really, really long time. Like probably years. My friend said it was ok. Every time she asked, I had to admit that I hadn't so much as opened the book. She always insisted that I would read it when the time was right. A book like Conversations with God couldn't be rushed; it had to happen in its own time. And it did. One day I dusted it off and began reading. Just as my friend promised, it was life changing. Of course a few years later I became an atheist, but don't let that diminish the impact the book had on me at the time . I have no doubt that the moment I decided to read it was the exact moment I needed to read it. Fast forward about a decade... A few weekends ago, as I waited for f...

I do not know which I am or what I am. Though I am certain who I am. We are different. Opposite Me Them You We are hard, soft oil, water sunrise, sunset light, dark Which I am does not matter. Nor does what. Suffice it to say I am. But you say You are nothing that isn't me We are the same, no different You and me But I know you and I know me, too. I wish. Believe me, I do wish. that it was not so. Here I will tell you who you are and who I am. It's simple so very simple. You are the land. I am the horizon, a place seen, and dreamed of but never touched.