Notes from the Red Bird House

It was game day so that meant pancakes. With the blueberry syrup. “Go Blue”. That's what he would write. With the syrup. On the pancakes. Three of them. Three pancakes. Never more than three. After breakfast, he'd work in the yard for a couple hours. Always in a t-shirt the opposing team's color. Minnesota meant maroon. Ohio State red. Michigan State green. Rake the leaves. Burn the leaves. Burn the t-shirt. Hang the flag. Represent. Shower. Dress in the current year's jersey. Or the old Brady one. That one was his favorite. They'd won a lot of games while he wore that jersey. And maize socks. Maize. It's not just another word for yellow. It's maize. As in Maize and Blue. Left sock and shoe first. He had to, if he wanted the Wolverines to win. He did so he did. With the pregame on the radio, he'd make the half mile trek to the party store. Coors Light for him, a six pack. Cans. Always cans. And never more than six. White wine for her. She couldn...

Sometimes I think maybe she was always there. Just waiting for me. Or maybe I was waiting for her. Maybe it was none of that or all of that. Maybe it was just coincidence. A really happy coincidence. She was there and I was there, so we were there. And because we were, we are. For everything I don't know, I know with certainty that we are. We are. One moment were weren't and then we were. And we still are. This is the miracle. Not that we were. That we still are. Nearly four months later. Four months. For me, but maybe not for her, this is rare, so rare that I can count the times I've been here on one hand. And in reality, I don't know if I've ever been 'here' before. So maybe we aren't a coincidence. Maybe we are what we were supposed to be all along, from the beginning. Our beginning. The beginning that came before we became us, when I was me and she was...well her. Separate. Yet maybe knowing somehow someday that we would be. Us.

I liked today. In fact, I've liked the last several days. Hmm... Let me count. Alright, I've liked the last week. The entire last week. Granted a week isn't a very long time, but I refuse to let that fact diminish my liking of it. A blind curve. I'd wanted one for so long - a change, a super cool, amazingly positive change - but I'd given up waiting for it. I drudged through work, school, writing, and tennis without ever knowing that in one moment, one teeny-tiny moment that nearly didn't happen, my life was going to change. It's nothing I wished for or imagined I could possibly want. Yet.... Suddenly, I found myself drowning in an unexpected and inescapable beauty. And blue. Yes, blue. A haunting, distracting, perfect blue that seemed hell-bent on reaching into my soul. I tried to look away. I did. But found I couldn't. I just couldn't. Beauty and blue. My downfall. And my fear. First instinct - Stay. Second instinct - Run. Decision - Head Fir...

'Judge not, lest ye be judged". I think I got that right. I suck at the Bible and as an atheist, I don't see myself getting any better at it. The phrase came to mind tonight and I'm going with it. If it's a misquote so be it. I don't worry much about being judged. Which is probably a good thing given that I've been judged a lot. A lot. A lot A lot. Because I'm this, I'm that. Because I do this, and shouldn't, I'm this, that, and the other thing. I should like men, accept Jesus Christ as my Savior, stop cursing, eat fewer donuts and more cheeseburgers, drink less or more (depending on one's perspective), live in a better neighborhood, like to read, drive a better car, stop sleeping with married women, be more ambitious, give to charity, blah, blah, blah. Keep in mind that I'm not breaking any laws. No one is saying that I should kill fewer people or steal less. Yet I am consistently and constantly guilty of something. What's the b...

I have a secret and I'm not telling. Not this time. This time it's mine. All mine. Well, I guess it's not all mine. Ok, so half of it's mine. She is free to tell. At least the part of the story that's hers. My story, my part... the part that I'm not telling, that's mine. My secret. I do love a secret. Mine, not other people's. Other people's secrets come with fear and worry and a bunch of what ifs. What if I spill it? What if I forget it's a secret? What if it slips out? What if I tell? What if I suddenly turn into a shitty friend? I don't like those secrets. But my secret... I love it. Because it's mine. My secret has power, it's own subtle yet insistent power. Sometimes it begs me to tell, but then what would I have? Nothing. The sly, denying smile would fade, the butterflies would flutter off. It's power would be gone. It would begin to tarnish. Someone would ruin it. So, I'm holding on. What's mine is mine. And r...

When I was young, playing junior and college tennis, we called it 'treeing'. After so many years away from the game and with the way slang changes anyway, I'm not sure they still call it that. I honestly haven't heard the term since returning to tennis a year ago. Back in the day 'treeing' was a good thing. Unless you were playing against it. 'Treeing' meant that you couldn't miss. 'Treeing' meant you could swing wildly with your eyes closed and the ball would still fall in for a winner. 'Treeing' meant you could try shots you always missed and come away with a winner. 'Treeing' meant you could do everything you should never do and still hit a winner. 'Treeing' meant you were having a can't miss day. In tennis, these are the best kind of days, the kind of days that renew your faith and remind you why you love the game. They also make up for all the shitty days; the days you couldn't hit water if you fell out ...

I can't tell if I feel like dog shit this morning because I finally slept off a little of my recent sleep deprivation or because for the first time in eighteen months, I'm back on my Anti-Everything Pills (called 'AEPs' from here forward). Of course it could also be a lack of caffeine.  Luckily my head hurts too bad to worry too much about it. Moving forward, I'm going to say that it's a mix of all three. This week sucked on many levels. I'll only bore you with a few of those. The rest will remain my private battle because I don't believe this blog is the right place to air workplace grievances. Suffice it to say, actions this week at work did nothing to assuage the general suckiness that surrounded my week. If anything, they made it worse, far, far worse. I'm left with what I'm left with in that arena and the words 'It's whatever' ringing in my ears. Recovering from that part of my week will take more than a decent night's slee...