Tag Archives: love

Fathers and sons.

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These excerpts from “Dan’s War” witness a soliloquy by Dan Trotter, the main protagonist, a man who has a hard time with emotion, sees prime numbers the same way he sees his loved ones, in pastel colors. Yet, he does feel for his son, Jeff, as you will read.
I’ve included this video again as I think it is so powerful and adds so much to the book.

[This is Dan speaking.]
“What is a father’s love for a son? I’ve had some time to think about this … ”
“You might say it is, at first blush, the love of a name–my name, carried past death; a celebration of his birth realizing the continuance of a line, a pedigree. How stupid is that, right? It’s only a name.”
[Then Dan watches a little boy (whose name I will keep secret here) fall, not cry, but push up and run and smile at Dan.]
Dan grinned. “Yep, the boy-things I loved next. We were both guys, so we did rough and tumble things, testosterone-enhanced, like football, rugby, baseball–pitting strength, one against another.”

It was a long hike, but we got there! Lawn Lake

[Dan follows the little boy around a garden, a garden that is special to Dan and this book.]
“The next part is a bit complicated, but bear with me.”
[The little boy gazes in an open-mouthed smile, dimples and all.]
“I hoped he would be better–in the areas I failed, he would excel. So I pushed to make sure that my failures did not become his, that his life abounded in new opportunities. Then it happened, he grew into himself. I had to accept him as his own person: a different contribution, not only to the daily human conundrum and the DNA of life, but to the future. Whether I liked it or not, he traveled in his own direction; he was the future, and he would do it his way.
[The little boy does some things that make Dan cry, something he has done maybe twice in his life. The toddler then shows how smart he is.]
“You’re as smart as he was. After I accepted Jeff him as Jeff, not Dan’s son, it was cool to see him puzzle a scenario in Resident Evil, show Katie how to solve an algebra problem, and feel his strong arms hug me. I didn’t always lik hugs, you know. Or him caring enough to show affection in public.”

The next bit will give away too much, so you’ll have to read it in the book.

The love a father for a son can be as strong as any emotion on the planet. Of course the love of a daughter is just as strong, only different. And yet we still send our sons and daughters into battles to save our asses.
Why is that?

Two days old.

I remember singing this song to my son, my daughters. That was way before Cat Stevens became Muslim. But it still applies. Maybe more so after 9/11 and so much hate has erupted between us and Muslim countries. Now I sing it to my grandson.

Hug your loved ones, today, now. DO IT! They may not be here tomorrow.

Milt

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I will not forget today

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Foothills south with wisps of Fern Lake fire far right.


Some days you could stick on the highest shelf, close the door and not come back. Not today. It will rest on my arm, warm; touch my breath, with rhythm; cradle my eyes, in colors; but mostly sing my heart a song.

(double click on each photo for larger and clearer)

It started with love. I woke remembering last night and my grandson’s birthday bash, a costume Halloween party. He loved it. Then I got up and watched the end of a movie, Medicine Man, about one man’s love for the land, love of a people ignored by the world and trampled by progress, and love of a woman who peeled away his shields and made him believe again. Believe enough to save the world from cancer.(If you haven’t seen the movie, the teaser is below. It’s worth it. I watch it every few months just to remind me of ideals wew should strive for.)

 

Then I ate breakfast with my love, at a restaurant named after my mother, Lucile’s. Not quite the spelling, but still weird.

Then I came home and wrote. That by itself heals wounds. To create a story from nothing is like painting with words. But to write a sequel to a story about a man’s love for his son, love of his grandson, lost love, new love, and love found? These are things that make me want to cure the world of wars, if not at least love a bit more.

So I had the main course, now it was time for desert. I went for a walk. Not an ordinary, trudging: one-step, two-step, repeat, repeat, ad nauseam, forever and ever. This was with music. Pandora played my favorites while fall filled my other senses. I had rhythm, color, song and dance. (click on the Youtube videos of the songs and listen while you read)

Fall aspen

http://youtu.be/u3NE6UuaLiY

Fall reds

http://youtu.be/IXPOHCsgWFw
So few people were out on such a wonderful fall day: not a cloud, without wind, low 70’s, the foliage past peak but still bright. What a shame. They were inside watching football, or snoozing, or playing a video game. I hoped not. I hoped they were fishing, or hiking in the hills, or painting people as they meandered through downtown. Or maybe getting ready for Halloween. That was the reason I didn’t see them. Surely.

Halloween is coming

It didn’t matter, though. You can’t take this day away. It’s there, etched in me the way a good song stays with you for a week.

Fern Lake fire sunset 10/20/12

 

I hope you find your day like today. Not hope, I KNOW you will. Love it. Keep it close. Let it breathe inside you. You deserve it.

Get outside and enjoy the wilderness soon. The fires may destroy your favorite area. And, winter is coming.

Winter is coming. Some leaves are already gone.

Milt
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A Little Thing

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Three years ago and some change, something happened.

Two days old.

It was a little thing. Good things sometimes start small. And, this was definitely good.

You live your life thinking, Someday, maybe. Then, that someday comes and it’s better than what you thought it would be. And worse.

It’s better because it is real. It’s now. It’s here. No kidding!

Worse because of all those stupid thoughts about what could happen.

I’ve been a father for over thirty years. That’s if you count the age of my oldest child. But, really, you’re a father when you find out your love is pregnant.

The same holds for being a grandfather.

It happens something like this:
The longing beforehand—Will it ever happen?
Disbelief when it actually happens.
Realization and celebration that a piece of you is going to live beyond.

There is a saying, perhaps Native American, perhaps just a Michenerism from Centennial: “Only the rocks live forever.” That might be true in regard to individual humans. And I certainly don’t want to live forever if I have to live like a rock. But, in reality, you live forever (and not like a rock) as long as your children have children.

When I say it was a little thing, I mean little. A little strip of paper that has a little line that turned blue when she peed on it. Mind you, I wasn’t there for the actual viewing. I just heard the story.

My daughter said, “I didn’t believe it the first time, so I did it again, the next morning because I’d heard that was the best time. And, well, there it was.”
And, I thought, Yeah, there it was. And, soon it will be.

The problem is that it can be Good or it can be Bad, depending on where your standing.

Sometimes life can be so putrid that you don’t want to have the kid. I mean your life is completely whacked-out. There seems to be no hope for the kid to have even close to a good life and it’s going to screw up your already stinking fried life even more. At least that’s what you think.

But, on the other side of that fence, you see that if you just keep pluggin’ away and hoping for the best, working hard and taking time out for those little things—you know, like children and families—it will all work out. You just gotta have…I guess you gotta have faith.

You have to believe in yourself and your ability to overcome and that you can raise a child that will contribute something to the world. He might be another Einstein, or Lincoln, or maybe just be a great guy and a great father. Maybe she will be another Indira Gandhi, Rosa Parks, or maybe just a wonderful loving woman, mother and sister.

However it works out, as long as you perpetuate that love, it will be okay.

Probably John Denver, or Jimmy Buffet

That’s where I come in. Me, well really I should say We. Me and my wife. That’s where we come in. She’ll probably be there more than I will. Always has been. Rescuing and helping and patient and loving. Sometimes all I am is sleepy and grumpy and demanding.

But, every now and then I Get It, too.

I Got It that day. I’m gonna’ be grandfather!
We’re going to be grandparents. Gonna have another baby around. It had been awhile. Twenty five years. A quarter of a century. Since the last baby we had.

You know what? You never forget.

There’s that baby smell—fresh, new. Even if they’ve pooped their pants, all you’ve gotta do is move your nose up to the crease between their chin and neck and take a deep sniff.

Just thinking about it brings it right back.

I’m there, with my wife, in the hospital, three days after out first baby, realizing that a new part of our life has begun.

Even now, over thirty four years after that first one, still, thinking about it, makes me cry.

People say, Life is Hard, Life is Crap, Life is a Bummer and then You Die.

People say a lot of things. But when it comes right down to it, what we feel is Thankful.

Thankful for those moments when things have turned around on us from a bummer, the shits, the crappiest day of our life. When that little miracle is presented to us, after nine months of hope and anticipation, we realize—we’re just thankful to be there.

So, I’m gonna revel in this moment…I mean roll around in it, get it everywhere. Down deep.

For no one knows what comes in the future. Time is an elusive, uncontrollable, happy-sad enemy of hope. The best way to combat it is to forget about it. It can’t beat you if you ignore it.

Enjoy the little things.
Now.

Watching the hot air balloons go up

Milt

Okay, so I fish.

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Since my first memory, thanks to my dad and his love, fishing has been a part of me. And recently, finally, after years of hoping, I made it to Alaska.

Alaska from Alaska Air, mountains, glaciers, rivers. Almost to Anchorage.

Why fish? Because I love wilderness, and fishing takes me there. And over twenty years ago I decided to only fly fish. I’ve fished Scottish highlands, Colorado lakes and rivers over 11,000 feet high, Yellowstone rivers, and the Gulf of Mexico with no other boats in sight. Alaska may be the last great wilderness for me to see, right now. Where we went, you have to fly in on bush planes called Beavers.

 

Unfortunately, each place I also saw the result of climate change, all of which made me agree with Obama and disagree with Romney: more and stronger hurricanes in 2004/5–Hurricane Ivan drove us out of Pensacola; millions of acres of beetle-killed trees in the Rockies and this year over 8 million acres of forest fires, the High Park Fire visible from our back yard; and in Alaska, fewer salmon. They are moving north to rivers that used to be iced-over. They like it cold. I guess Yemen has salmon, too. I prefer the scenery in Alaska.

Most of the time I have fished by myself. There is something about being alone on a boat in the Gulf, or wading in a mountain stream. The quiet sooths and my thoughts wander wherever they want, mostly writing stories. I love it. Though I have to say, fishing with friends or family has its own draw. Especially in wild Alaska, where brown bears (Grizzlies–big ones)have never attacked three or more people. That’s what my two other friends on this trip kept telling me. Now, in Colorado, where I live, alone is fine. I can be on two rivers in a half hour, fish on. Fish on!

Alaska started out landing in a small lake and putting together the pontoon boat.

Then we floated down this river, 31 miles,

except the first day we dragged the boat a lot. It was shallow. We were tired by the end of the day.

But, way before the end of the day we started catching fish. Ken with a small grayling.

I don’t have all the pictures. The first day I tripped coming out of the tent and did a drop-and-roll . . .  right onto my camera. Toast. The disc compilation of photos from my friends cameras is coming, I’m told. Later.

At any rate, once we started catching fish, it never ended. The last day we fished, I think we caught a hundred fish, maybe apiece. I was very lucky. I caught a tiny variety: many, many, many, manymanymany grayling over 20 inches, and then equally as many, okay, more, moremoremore Dolly Varden (kinda like big brook trout), one 26 inches; and few and far between, salmon. I caught a few silver salmon, one big rainbow, a few pink salmon, and more Dolly Varden.

We caught them on . . . basically anything we threw—pegged beads, dry flies, mice, huge streamers, small streamers, nymphs, foam hoppers.

Then the rains and wind came, and I just wanted to be warm.

We crushed the barbs on the hooks, but in no way shape or form did we remove barbs from our obnoxious trash-talk to each other. If you taped it, you would think we hated each other. Not even close. The greatest thing was the other guys, and me I hope, helped out as much as we dissed each other. That is the measure of friendship. You dish it out, and you make sure there is a big bowl and a clean spoon to eat it.

Thanks, Scott and Ken. It was amazing. Now can I please have those photos?

Milt

Are there Miracles Anymore?

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You don’t have to look far. Even the mirror will do. But, you can go to your local hospital nursery, or talk to any new parent. Human beings are born every day. If you don’t believe that’s a miracle, just think about it.

Somehow two random people in a world of seven billion find love and create a new person. If the mom is in Iran or Syria or other hot spot where wars revolve around oil ( http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_ongoing_military_conflicts ), to have that great little miracle she must simply avoid starvation or getting shot.

She could be having fun gardening in the good old USA, in Colorado, and smoke from a drought-induced forest fire invades her back yard for days causing coughing attacks that lead her to premature labor. Maybe she lives in New Orleans and is swept away by the next hurricane, or develops typhoid fever from poor water supply.

These could all be due to energy problems, global warming. Or not. What do you think? The next link may take a long time to review, but keep it. Lots of good stuff.  http://answers.yahoo.com/question/index?qid=20071116112401AArGExE

Okay, so about a mile away on my farm, an oil company fracked a well. No big deal, right? Hey, I own the mineral rights on that land. In fact, if I didn’t get the money from the oil company for fracking, my pregnant wife would be eating rice and ham, and we would have to forget going to the doctor since I couldn’t afford health insurance anymore. I heard that contamination of the water supply by fracking is very rare, so why not? My wife can get that great medical care, she can eat good nutritious foods, and we’re on our way to a healthy baby boy, or so says the ultrasound. And, to top it all off, how great can it be that I’m doing the patriotic thing for my country, making us energy independent. Right?

Joe, my neighbor invited us over for spaghetti last night. That’s not what the MF wanted, though. He flicked his Bic lighter and the water flamed on from his faucet. He’s blaming me and my fracking well. Hmm. Could the water be contaminated from fracking?

Okay, so forget about babies for a minute. I am, by virtue of my middle class USA standing, in the top 1%, economically, of human beings in the world. My son graduated from high school. He’s done well. He’s used those one-hundred billion neurons in his brain to rank him in the top 10% of the top 1% of humans in the world. I wanted him to go to college, but he wanted to serve his country. Why not? He goes to Iraq. I’m a very proud parent. He goes to Afghanistan.

Then today someone knocked on my door in full dress uniform and had an envelope in their hand. Yeah.

Yes, miracles occur every day. A human is born, creates a painting, writes a song, or maybe despite being raised by his mother after his worthless African father runs off, he becomes President. And he’s got a weird name like Obama and he’s black. Or maybe a baby boy I loved my whole life goes off to war, and doesn’t come back. Don’t guess that last one was a miracle.

For some reason we ignore all those daily miracles by doing stupid things to preserve quick and easy energy for the USA. We have become a nation of quick and easy—news, money, food, energy. Has this translated to quick and easy lives of the few that we risk for the quick and easy comforts of many?

Are we willing to modify our comforts to make sure those human lives are not put at risk?

Would we be willing to give up two hours a day of lights, or instead of driving to work all by myself carpool with three other people at work?

Power is in numbers. If only a few do it, nada. If millions do it then we may no longer use so much oil every day, need so much coal for energy, and perhaps, just perhaps we could become energy independent. We would not need to frack our country to death.

Do would not need to kill thousands of human miracles every year to maintain our comforts or would we be willing to do a few simple things to keep us from having wars over oil?

Milt

The Fragile Human

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Have you ever wondered about how one day you can be on top of the world, thinking you are the greatest author the world has seen (move over Faulkner, Shakespeare and Stephen King), love your family, and wish everyone was as lucky as you; and then the next day something stupid happens: you find a dumb mispelling in your greatest novel, or your computer crashes with fifteen short stories, three novels and all your family pictures from the last three years, or whatever—it would be better if you picked—and suddenly you’re ready to eat ice cream until you pop and watch movies all day, or maybe, like Whitney Houston, you take a hot bath and . . . .

Surviving today can sometimes be difficult, even if you’re a great success. Just look at Whitney Houston. Artists might be at the far end of fragile because they put their guts out on the street for people to see, and sometimes trounce upon, with cleats. Artists want people to feel the same way they do about important matters. They look at things differently, and allow us to see the world for what it really is, instead of what it appears to be. They touch us deep inside; make us cry or laugh. They create their intuitive placard about life and hope we “get it.”

The problem arises when almost everyone is moved and praises the artist. It’s not a problem for their art, their placard, but for their very fragile nature, on being a human. The praise is addictive and they want more, each time striving for better, more, sometimes turning to drugs to get that high they got after that first “discovery,” when everyone loved their art and told them so.

Think of hitting notes like Whitney, as clear and steady and heartfelt as a spring sunrise. If you could do that, feel that rush, know how it moved others, wouldn’t you long to do it over and over?

You don’t have to be an artist. Think of the soldier on the battlefield—some might say as far from art as you can get. He is praised for killing others quickly, efficiently, and without complaining. So when he does his job well, he also gains recognition with medals and promotions, parties, and then . . . when it all stops and he comes home, everything hits bottom. It’s no wonder these soldiers have depression and psychiatric problems, aside from the fact that they were committing something that before their military days was considered murder. How in hell can we continue to force young people to do this? Whose idea was THAT?

Bottom line—we are all fragile emotionally, and must practice some self-praise on a daily basis to get through the rough times. Meditate, exercise, pray, do yoga, walk with music in your ears—something positive. If you feel you are doing something wrong, negative, stop it. Change. Love yourself first. And don’t take yourself so seriously. Don’t dwell on yourself; make sure you know you are an okay person, failures or not. Time will prove you right. Maybe even tomorrow.

I’m singing in the rain, just . . . .

mm

Dan’s War is an award-winning techno-thriller with heart, about the end of world oil . . . in two weeks. Cajuns and one lone computer geek try to save us against an ecofanatic and his army.

All E-book formats on Sale.

Amazon Kindle:http://tiny.cc/5sxjm

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Smashwords for all other e-book formats:http://tiny.cc/o0nh3

REVIEWS:  http://tiny.cc/mt6b7

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Contact me at www.miltmays@gmail.com

My Sunny Valentine

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So, here’s the other thing, Dear. (In case you were wondering at the end of the last post–Just Blame Her, She Can Take It.)

 

How do you know when you’ve tapped into true love? Personally, whenever her smile hits me like the morning sun, chasing the ghostly worries of the night and the aches of yesterday over the hills. Flash, they’re gone. Poof. Magic.

No, actually it’s real, and love can do that. I can be sitting in the soup of my sorrowful woes, and she comes in the room, or better yet, she doesn’t even have to be present; all I have to do is think of her jumping out of a warm bed in the wee hours to rescue her daughter who had a flat in a dangerous part of town, or taking her ailing mom to the store for hours and hours, or staying awake to listen to my delusions of failure–any of those will do, or just remembering how she laughed at my joke yesterday, and joy pushes my heart back into position.

She’s my Sunny Valentine. I hope you get one.

I love you, Babe.

Milt

How to End War

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After the last post, I got to thinking. My anger at war is getting too much. So here’s a different approach.

If you make a funny face you'll feel better

The Power of Numbers(Oh goody, says Dan)

It’s not so hard, really, to end war. You just have to make that your goal, every day. Get rid of hate and rage; make it your goal to push for love and peace. War is an act of hate. If all of us get rid of our own hate, how can war start? Every day ask yourself what you can do to get rid of any hate or rage and do something that shows your love. You will feel the peace. Others will notice, too. It will catch on. Then one will become many. I need to try this. The other way isn’t working. (So, where’s the numbers? asks Dan. They’re coming.)

Examples of How Love can End Hate:

I’ll bet when your kids won’t do their homework you get angry. So get in there and help. It shows how much you love them, and all those angry arguments will not happen. They will love you for it.

Maybe you hate it that your mother is dying of cancer. Take her places she loves; play games; hug her. Hating the cancer won’t take it away, but loving her more will take away her fear of dying alone.

Are you pissed the bank is going to foreclose on your house? Sit in the rooms you love and talk to the house, tell it how much you will miss it, and what great times you had. Talk to the banker. Ask her how you can help her to make the transition easier for both of you. It’s likely she will fight to keep your home.

You’ve got PTSD from the Iraq War and hate the thought of war? You, most of all, must embrace what has happened to you, realize it was not your fault, that what you feel is natural, but can be turned off. Remember the comraderie of your service, and talk with the men and women you served with, making plans to celebrate peace, and plan for a future of peace. You are our best envoys of peace.

The Economic Cost of Hate: (Finally, numbers! But their not even primes, says Dan.)

Wars have cost the USA over $1.2 trillion since 2001.

http://costofwar.com/en/

If you saved $1 every second (that’s $31.536 million per year-Hello, Mitt Romney),  how many years would it take to pay off $1.2 trillion? 38,051 years (Dan studied that number for a microsecond. Why couldn’t it have been 38053–that’s a great prime!)

However, if 100 million people paid $100 per day, it would take 120 days to pay off $1.2 trillion. The power of numbers works. Hence taxes.

Hate Can Destroy Humanity, Tomorrow

Could hate at sometime cancel out all the love and destroy the world? All it takes is one super hateful person with a few nuclear bombs, a very bad virus or bacteria, or the right wind and poison gas. How about spiders with nanobacteria that eat oil? Surely you jest.

What You Can Do

Show a neighbor how to make love and peace destroy their hate. If everyone does it in the world–7 billion people now–that’s a lot of numbers. Now we’re talking. (Dan beats his fist. Could you at least make it 7 billion and 1–that’s a prime! Yeah, I’m sure we’re there now.)

Bring it to the attention of Congress and the President. Ask them to make a law that compels them to debate ending any war we are in, not once a year, or once a month, but every day we are at war.

Is it possible?

I don’t know if I can do it every day. This peace, love stuff may be too much. What about you. Could you at least start? Would you email your Congressman and the President about passing this law? Is this possible? What do you think?

Dan (Dan’s War) would say, My grandson is worth it. I say the same.

Have a cookie. It will help.

mm

Dan’s War is an award-winning techno-thriller with heart, about the end of world oil . . . in two weeks. Cajuns and one lone computer geek try to save us against an ecofanatic and his army.

All E-book formats on Sale.

Amazon Kindle:http://tiny.cc/5sxjm

Barnes and Nobles Nook:http://tiny.cc/dsiho

Smashwords for all other e-book formats:http://tiny.cc/o0nh3

REVIEWS:  http://tiny.cc/mt6b7

More at my Facebook Author Page:http://tiny.cc/sumdo

Contact me at www.miltmays@gmail.com