Notes from the Red Bird House

  "You got a gypsy soul to blame and you were born for leavin'." ~ Zack Brown Band, "Colder Weather" I'm not entirely sure what I told myself all those years. Was it living twenty-years in the same house? Was it my parents' divorce? Was it the loss of my childhood home when I wasn't quite ready to create my own? Was it fear? Was it longing? Was it FOMO, the fear of missing out? Look, I have a degree in psychology and I've done several stints with a variety of therapists so please understand when I make this next statement. It's possible to think way too damn much. Or not think nearly enough. Looking back on this issue - one that plagued me for nearly thirty years - I realize that I didn't think enough. Or maybe I did, but not about the right things?  There is little as frustrating, confusing, and convoluted as the human mind. And when it's your own doing all that? I think that's why most people shy away from thinking. The more you...

There comes a time when you just have to tuck it away. Pull out a new box, throw it all in, and close the lid. Write "Yesterday" on the outside, if you want, but it's not required. Tape it closed, if you want, also not required. I've created a lot of these boxes in my day; fifty-two years worth, in fact. I'm getting better at it. Quicker. Practice makes perfect. Perhaps. Or maybe I just decided that I didn't want to be that person anymore. I no longer choose to hold onto sh** that doesn't serve me or deliver me, make me a better version of myself or move me forward. I've learned to box it all up real quick, long before it begins to fester and pollute my soul, long before its tentacles have breached every facet of my being, long before months and years disappear into the ether.  I had to do another final accounting recently. Endings are seldom pretty, but they don't have to be awful. I catalogued the memories, our history - the good, the bad, and t...

I'm in well-charted territory. It's far from my first rodeo. I know there are those who incredulously ponder my courage - after all I traveled across eight states (during Snowmageddon) to settle in a place where I knew a sum total of exactly one person. Some of those people question my sanity - Whyyyyyyyyyyy would I do this again?????? Others stand back in awe. I can tell you with every certainty that I am neither crazy (Full disclosure: I am medicated for anxiety) nor awesome. I've said that "This is just what I do," meaning I move and restart and move and restart again. Wash, rinse, repeat. I stay a few years, complain the whole time (usually not incredibly vocally - with the exception of Las Vegas), make plans, finally make the plans concrete, and Boom! I donate a bunch of sh** to Goodwill, load up the rest, and head out to parts (largely) unknown.  Look, I don't relish the stress, the loneliness, the wondering if I'll ever find my "people." W...

I took off yet another ring yesterday. This morning my hand - right ring finger because it wasn't 'that' kind of ring (I was hopeful that maybe one day it would be) - feels odd, different. I feel lonely and off, unsettled like something is missing. In truth, she left awhile ago. I just didn't know it. A little piece of information she didn't feel was important, I guess. Strange because once upon a time we communicated so well. Of course that ended awhile ago also. Call me loyal, sentimental, loving, too trusting, dedicated but from the day I said 'I love you' and slipped the ring on my finger, I was in. Wholly, completely, and willing to work through anything. I don't take love and rings and commitment lightly. For me what I say today, I intend to mean for a lifetime. So today - this morning - my empty ring finger is a reminder of commitments broken, love lost, expectations shattered. A very different horizon stretches out before me. It's one I'm...

My dad turns ninety-three today. Yes, really. He was an "old dad" when I was born - he was forty-one - and well ahead of his time. Dads having kids in their forties is much more common today that it was in mine. Many thought he was my grandfather until they got to know us. Dad and I reveled in our age difference - about the time I was considered an "adult" at the movie theater, he was a "senior;" I don't think we ever paid two full price admissions to a movie. And we went to a lot of movies together. We can't go see a movie for his birthday, nor can I even hang out and watch one with him (though I am giving him a new blu-ray for his vast collection - "Captain America," his first Avengers movie). Covid stole all that.  I moved to this god-forsaken desert to spend time with my dad. I've only seen him a handful of times since March. Don't get me wrong. I couldn't be happier about how his assisted living facility has handled the p...

"There is little besides my heart that can bring me to my knees."  ~ Stacee Ann Harris At the moment, I'm attempting to revel in my strength. It's kind of a fake it until you make it proposition because I really don't feel all that strong right now. I keep telling myself 'this' (details NOT forthcoming) will make me stronger in the long run....You have to be weak before you can be strong....Strength always starts as weakness.....Pain is just weakness leaving the body. Blah, blah, meh...... Everyone tells me I'm soooooooooooooooo strong. I'm the strongest person they know. Seriously? I'm feeling a lot right now, but "Strong" isn't on the list.  And look, I've survived far worse and I will assuredly survive this. It's just that - f*** - I didn't expect to be here. Not now, not ever again. Wishful and fanciful thinking on my part? Oh, I'll admit to that. F*** me, one of these times it has to work out. It just has to. ...

It's not a daily thing. Days pass and I don't even give her a thought. Then a cousin sends some old pictures and I spend a bit of time missing her. My girlfriend, when I show her the pics my cousin sent, comments on how much I look like my mom. Maybe that's because with my hair longer and shaggy like this (Mom in her 40s and 50s tended to get the same wingy sides as I do when my hair is this length), I do look a lot like her. So much that I see her every time I look in the mirror. I always knew it would happen. It means my mom is around. I guess I'm lucky that way. I get to miss her less. Still there are times...moments...when I'm taken completely by surprise...when suddenly I miss her. I remember the first time. I was walking up the main paint aisle at work, just doing my normal thing in the middle of a normal workday. It was February, I'm sure of. Mom had been gone maybe six weeks. I hadn't spent even one moment missing her. I thought I'd come to ter...