Oh, and this...

I just posted my rant as I withdraw from my psych meds.  There is one thing I meant to say but forgot.  I tend to forget...

I have come to consider psych drugs dangerous and not to be trifled with.  Why?  They are necessary for some.

Selective Seratonin Reuptake Inhibitors alter brain chemistry.  Most psych meds alter brain chemistry.  Pain meds do the same thing: alter brain chemistry.  There are times, I suppose, that brain chemistry needs to be altered.  If you are of the "buck up and take it like a man" mentale, then I don't expect you to understand the misery of anxiety that can dog you day after day.  If someone says they have a way to mediate that anxiety, you certainly will jump at it.

I am not trying to dissuade anyone from taking necessary medication.  I am telling you to be aware of what you are taking and how it will affect your brain.  If, like me, you are told you may have to take these drugs the rest of your life, please do your research.  It could save you some agony.

Depression is a brain condition in which seratonin is depleted.  There are thousands of reasons it gets depleted.  Mine is caused by chronic stress and anxiety that I have had since I was a child.  Seratonin Reuptake Inhibitors keep your synapses from releasing too much seratonin.  They do this by fooling your brain into thinking there is already enough seratonin going back and forth between the synapses and your symptoms of depression are alleviated.  The thing is, you have to keep taking the drug in order for this to happen.  It rewires your brain.  In order for the rewire to continue, you have to keep taking the pill.  Every day.  Don't miss a dose ore else there will be a relapse, however large or small.

Benzodiazapines effectively block the norepinephrine synapses so that you are less anxious.  They also block dopamine.  That's why you can get sleepy on them.  They are shutting down your synapses.

If you are taking a drug like Effexor, a norepinephrine and dopamine reuptake inhibitor AND benzos, then you are effectively negating one drug for another.  The thing is, norepinephrine and dopamine have a lot to do with motivation and energy level.  You take Effexor and your brain thinks it has energy, you feel confident, you do things.  Benzodiazapines counteract this effect.  The Effexor, though, can build up to a point where you have too much energy that causes anxiety.  So you take, say, Xanax, and this counteracts the anxiety.  See where I'm going with this?  Eventually, I think, the benzos can cause depression.

You take one to offset the other.  Is that a good thing?  Does it seem like you are chasing your tail?  You are!

Your brain rewires itself.  It quits making the necessary chemicals because you are introducing them into your system every day.  If, for whatever reason, you decide to stop taking these drugs, be aware that there is a price to pay in the form of withdrawal.  Your brain and body need these chemicals and since you have been giving them to your brain and body every day, sometimes for years, your body needs you to keep giving them to it.

If you decide to stop taking your meds, do so slowly.  Don't be a blockhead like me.  I am smart, intelligent, whatever.  I know what I've gotten myself into so I figure it is up to me to get myself out.  I don't like cold turkey but I know what to expect so I do it.  It is a very scary proposition if you don't know what to expect.  Even if you know what to expect, it is still scary.

If you decide to go off your meds, be sure to eat properly.  Take your vitamins.  Drink lots of water.  Stay busy.  Think positive.  That's the hard part.  Tell yourself you are a good person over and over.  Tell yourself the agony is worth it because you will eventually feel better.  Once you feel better, stay healthy.  Exercise.  You don't have to go to the gym but get some exercise; walk, run, ride your bike, lift weights, swim, rollerblade but stay active.  This will help.

If this is your decision,  know that others have done it and succeeded. It may take a few tries before you gain success.  Safe journey.

Gettin' Low, Not High...

Ok, let's try and get some background here.  I have been a psych patient, taking hardcore psych medicines for several years.  The original diagnosis was depression in 1992.  I had just taken a job teaching in an alternative high school and had good insurance.  I decided to pick a GP and go get a physical.

The clinic I go to is set up like a factory.  They schedule four patients at the same time and the doctor is supposed to give no more than fifteen minutes to each patient.  I got a very religious doctor,  probably suffering from "Savior" complex.  He kept asking me questions although the physical part of the exam was done.  His nurse, ever diligent about the fifteen minute rule, kept coming in to see how we were doing.  She came in very upset the last time to tell the good doctor that his patients were stacking up.

What was taking so long?  He was telling me I was depressed and that a new set of pharmaceuticals called Selective Seratonin Reuptake Inhibitors could alleviate the symptoms.  I am naturally skeptical, a result of lack of nurturing, I believe.  Somehow, though, I wanted to trust this man.  I wanted to trust somebody.  I agreed to take the meds especially if they were going to make "every thing alright."

I started with Zoloft.  After a year and a half, I was taking 150 mgs a day.  Too much the doc says.  Switch to Paxil for three weeks.  I could have killed someone on that stuff and been pretty sociopathic about it.  No mention that this stuff is addicting and you can have withdrawals, severe, emotion-laden withdrawals.

Next up was Prozac, fluoxitine, which I took for probably six or seven years.  It worked well but I gained weight, ballooning up to 183lbs and holding.  Then, I had a heart attack. (That is a different though connected story for another post.)

I had switched doctors after doctor #1 started proselytizing on me.  I went after the doctor with my name.  Somehow, I was put on Effexor.  Just a word from me about Effexor.  If you are in a doctor's office and the doctor mentions putting you on Effexor or any SNRI, calmly get up, put your clothes on if you have to...actually, putting your clothes back on is an option because...you want to get out and away from that doctor as quickly as possible.  It is probably the most addictive drug I have ever taken, legally or illicitly, and has the most wretched of all withdrawals.  Eight days of sitting on the couch, feeling as if I was falling down a bottomless hole, anxiety eating at every inch of my being.  I wanted to die.  Honest.  It was horrible and horrible doesn't describe it well enough.  I was still married at the time and had a youngish family.  I hope they never have to witness that again.  I will certainly never put myself through that again.

Once I went to my appointment with the doctor with my name and he wasn't there.  He was on emergency sabbatical.  All of the doctors at this particular medical center are owners of the medical center.  They all get a cut of the action.  Anyway, he wasn't there and his replacement wanted to know if I was sleeping well yet.  I just half-heartedly laughed and said, "Doc, I never sleep well."  I still don't.  To this day and especially last night.  He said, " Well, we have to find out why you are not sleeping."  So, here I go again, wanting to trust him and, really, it would be nice to get some sleep.  It is important that I get sleep.  All sorts of good things happen when I get good sleep.

I was scheduled an appointment with a Psych Nurse Practitioner.  I went to the appointment.  I went from a diagnosis of clinical depression to a diagnosis of clinical depression, bipolar II disorder, Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome and Chronic Anxiety.  At first I was very relieved.  Finally, I thought to myself, someone has told me why I feel like I do most of the time.

This involved many more pharmaceutical drugs and, as I was to learn much later, much more addictive and dangerous drugs.  Thrown into the mix was Lamictal, Lorazapam, my first benzodiazapine, and probably another drug or drugs that I cannot recall.  There have been so many that I can only comment on the ones I remember.

I did ok for a while.  I thought that taking the drugs would make me "better" so I was all for it.  Boom! Off we go...

Then...my psych nurse decided to move to Texas to be closer to her sister.  Did I mention my issues of abandonment?  That diagnosis came later with cognitive therapy.  Anyway, I was shunted off to another psych nurse at the clinic on my side of the river.  It gets worse...

My new psych nurse didn't think I was bipolar.  She thought I was ADD Without Mention of Hyperactivity.  I could sit still but I couldn't focus, I suppose.  Different psych meds were showered upon me.  I was now taking amphetamine salts, also known to the world as Adderall.  I was upgraded to TWO benzodiazapines, clonazapam and Xanax.  The idiot that I am, I took them.  Anything to get this feeling of despair and hopelessness out of my system, right?  Did anyone tell me that they are highly, and I mean highly, take for more than two weeks and you are addicted, addictive?  No, they did not even mention it.  I suppose the powers that be considered the pills to be at a therapeutic dose.  But TWO benzos?  Fuck that...

My penis went limp taking all those meds. I don't think my wife minded but I don't remember.  Benzos will do that to you.  My wife and I did a lot to put some life back into Mr. Penis but he needed much coaxing.  Then, once erect, I couldn't ejaculate.  Fuck that, again...

There you have it.  The background to this yodel.  Oh, and I got admitted to a psych ward at Overlake Hospital in Bellevue.  You had to be actively suicidal, which I wasn't, but my psych nurse told them I had a plan and I was admitted.  Two days later, I had an attack of pancreatitis.  The rest of my stay was on the fourth floor in the cardiac unit.  Thank God for the psychiatrist at Overlake and I apologize to him for not remembering his name.  He said, "Who the hell put you on TWO benzos?!"  He promptly took me off Xanax.  Thank you, good doctor.

About three years ago, I started having accidents.  The first one involved the "Tool of Doom," the reciprocating handsaw, electrically powered.  I was sawing out some galvanized piping in an apartment that was in the shop building on the property.  I hit the cast iron drain pipe and the saw threw me against the wall and knocked me out for about twenty minutes.  I was transported from the ER in Wenatchee to the ER at Harborview Hospital in Seattle.  I had a brain bleed.  Oh, and a concussion.

The second accident was while kayaking.  We were putting the kayaks back on the car when I lost my grip and the nose of the kayak hit the ground and swung the rear of the kayak two feet into my left temple.  Boom boom! Out go the lights.  Another trip to the ER where, after a CATscan, I refused an MRI but was diagnosed with a concussion.

Then, a few months later,  the shit hit the fan when my wife told me she was divorcing me.  Yes, we had been in counseling but it was still unexpected.  I reacted accordingly.  I yowled loudly for months.  How to deal with this complete abandonment?  Take clonazapam.  Sleep, sleep, sleep...I was moved out to the apartment I had been working on.  The Mormon Movers came over while I was at work and moved all my stuff into the shop building.  Just like that, I was kicked out of the house but still living next door to my family.  Fuck.  Fuck.

I was totally despondent.  I had to go to work.  School was about to start for the academic year and, although I did not feel like doing so, I had to go to work.  How to cope?  Take clonazapam.  I wanted to alleviate whatever I was feeling and go on with my life.  I took clonazapam to make it so.

Later in the year, I had a little vacation planned for Spring Break.  I had booked a room for some days at a resort on a lake.  On my way, five miles from my destination, distracted while driving, I rolled the vehicle I was driving.  A trip to one ER before being transferred to another in a big city.  Diagnosis:  concussion.

Months of living in the apartment turned into a year and a half of living in the apartment.  I was doing online dating. I met someone online and actually fell in love.  As an aside, one thing I know about myself, and this goes back decades, is that I am able to be in love with more than one female at a time.  I am not polyamorous but have this innate ability to love more than one woman at a time.  It's a curse.

I spent time with my new love and thought things were well but I was fooling myself.  I was a sick puppy.  I was taking pills that I thought were to my benefit.  It took this new love to tell me I was wacko and so was the person prescribing all these meds to me.  Yes, yes, yes...I was, am, wacko, especially when taking all those drugs.  Still, it wasn't me who told me I was a fool to take the meds.  She planted the seed, though, and for the first time, I started to think, wonder...is this a good thing?  All these meds and me taking them...was it good for me?  To this wonderful person who could see me past all the meds, it was a resounding NO!

To go back to the apartment.  It is in the building that I have a pottery studio in.  Off the hallway is a small half bath, a sink and a toilet.  When things got really bad for me, when the hounds of hell were screaming in my ears, I would go into this bathroom, close the seat on the toilet, turn out the lights and sit.  It calmed me.  Then, after who knows how many hours, I would turn on the lights and look at myself in the mirror.  Once, the person in the mirror looked back at me.  I said, "Hey!  I still have you." He didn't come back until recently.  That's why I am writing.

My wife and I were trying to divorce and I was trying to refinance my house, the one that the family was living in, in my name.  The banks were having none of it.  One financier even suggested that we stay married to get the loan through.  As odd as it sounds, that's exactly what we did.  The person I fel in love with and went to see went off to a foreign land and I was left on the shore to contemplate my life.

The loan went through but I was broke and couldn't file for divorce right away.  Finally, November 2012, I filed.  February 12, 2013, I was officially divorced.  Whew!

I went back to online dating, meeting with women I knew I had no attraction for but still needing to prove to myself that I could meet with them and see for myself.  A couple were anxious to get something going with me but I didn't want to nor did I want to compromise myself.  And yet, I stayed online, am still online but know that I have no need nor want to get a girlfriend that way. And yet, and yet...

A couple of months ago I started having severe anxiety attacks, a panic attack here and there.  It was fucking hell.  It is fucking hell.  I went running to the psych nurse.  She put me on an anti anxiety drug that was not a benzo.  I still took the benzo, though, at night, for sleep.  I had quit taking Celexa, an SSRI,  a few months before and was probably having withdrawals but didn't realize it.  I didn't think I needed it anymore so I threw them away.  I forgot about withdrawals until I was in the midst of them.  Fuck.

I had done a ton of research online to find out about anxiety and ADD and all the horseshit that surrounds both.  Fuck depression.  Yeah, maybe I was depressed.  I looked into the best meds for ADD/depression combo.  When I got into to see my psych nurse, I told her that Dexedrine and Wellbutrin would probably do it.  She said, "I've never prescribed Dexedrine before."  Yes, Dexedrine has a bad rep and is said to be extremely abusable and addictive, but it was the first stimulant approved for ADD way back in 1959.  It was a single amphetamine molecule rather than the four in Adderall.  I hoped it would not make me jittery like Adderall did.  It didn't.

I got the scripts for my new meds, got them filled and started taking them as prescribed.  I was to start out on a low dose and then, after one week, double it to the therapeutic dose.  I started on the initial dose and things were fine.  The Dexedrine really helped me focus.  The Wellburtrin would take a little longer but at first it was perfect.  I woke up with an erection.  I was so glad, proud that I almost took a photo of it.  It was the first unprovoked erection I had in years.  I thought to myself, this will work.

Then the dreaded doubling of the meds came.  I was hesitant to double the meds as prescribed as they seemed to be working just fine.  Ever the one to follow the doctor's orders, I doubled them.  I fucking skyrocketed into deep anxiety.  Wellbutrin is an old drug and I requested it for the lack of sexual side effects.  Not that I was having sex with anyone but just in case...Wellbutrin is not an SSRI.  It is a NDRI, Norepinephrine, Dopamine Reuptake Inhibitor.  I need seratonin.  I have plenty of Norepinephrine and Dopamine.  I have Chronic Anxiety, after all.

I zoomed into a space I was not that familiar with.  I was able to work for two days and then, thankfully, the weekend came around.  I thought that I could adjust to the mania but I was wrong.  Really, really wrong.  What a fucking huge mistake on my part.  I wouldn't leave the house.  I was walking up and down the hallway of my house waving my arms and screaming at myself, asking myself what the fuck was going on?  Why do you do this to yourself?  What the fuck is this supposed to accomplish?  And I started getting angry, very angry and started screaming louder at myself: "What the fuck are you so angry about?" I yelled.  My poor dog was as far away from me as he could get in the house.  He was in the basement.  I opened the front door and he went outside on a run.

I hated myself.  I hated the need to medicate myself.  I didn't take any clonazapam because I was so fucked up, I forgot I had any.  Goddam, it was the end of the world!  Flame and fire and I'm going down with the ship and what the hell is that noise in my head and who is screaming and why don't you just jump out of your skin and be through with it?  It was the end of the world!

Only...it wasn't.  Thank God I am who I am.  I don't think a normal person could endure what I was enduring and still have a rational thought.  I knew it was the drugs.  I knew that I was angry, very angry.  Then, in a moment of chaotic anxiety ridden clarity, I knew why I was angry.  My fucking wife dumped me and left me with all this fucking shit to deal with.  She walked away and I was stuck trying to keep the house and feed myself and pay my bills.  She was going to Italy to see our daughter AND take in a Bon Jovi concert in Milan.  It was the Facebook posting of hers from about a month ago that triggered this wave of nauseous anxiety.  That was the straw...

The realization of the cause of the anger made the anger go away.  Once I knew why, I could deal with it.  I remembered the clonazapam and took one.  In a bit, the swirling dervish of induced anxiety started to subside and I was able to stop shouting and actually sit.  Sitting in the recliner, I knew what had to be done and I knew it would be difficult and I had to be diligent and keep track of my thoughts at all times because I was my own worst enemy when it came to negative thinking.  I knew that I had to stop taking the drugs and I also knew that I would have awful, awful withdrawals.  I did have awful withdrawals.  Only those who have been through it can completely understand the despair and hopelessness of withdrawal from addictive drugs.  My anxiety was horrible.  I was twisted inside and could feel the pangs of anxiety zing through my abdomen every fifteen seconds or so.  They were all connected to my brain.  And my brain was fried.  Fried.

I took small amounts of benzos over a period of time, a couple of days, to calm the anxiety and to get the rest I needed to recover.  Keep in mind, none knows what is going on with me other than me.  I'm doing this with no net, no support, no one to talk to.  It's really fucked up.  But it is mine to deal with and that is what I am doing.  It is what I must do.

I know that in order to get myself back to who I am, I must quit taking the psych meds.  Period.  I remember before I met my second wife, I was totally drug and alcohol free.  I felt good and in control of my life.  I am starting to feel that way again but I know it will be a while before I am to the point I was at 25 years ago.  I will get there, though.  I promise.  It's mostly a promise to myself so that I can love myself once more.  I never could taking the psych meds.

The last part of the plan started last night.  I did not take any clonazapam for sleep last night.  I did take two choco pills, marijuana pills, so that I could sleep.  I must be careful as marijuana, at this point in my life, increases my anxiety.  I guess it is because I am anxious.  Marijuana accentuates the mood you are in when you take it.

Clonazapam has a half life of three days.  A half life is the time it takes to process and excrete half of the therapeutic dose of the medication.  Three days.  A fucking long time in my world now.  I'm anxious but am aware of my anxiety and try to control it with thought and activity.  Like writing.  This is pretty long, eh?  I'm anxious.

I want to be me, feel me, be the person who can be in a relationship and have that relationship be successful and I don't have a lot of time.  I'm almost 61.  Time's a wastin'.  I'm in no hurry, though.  I need to do this correctly and fully.  I have a psych appointment next Tuesday, a week from today.  I want to be done with the meds by then.  It will be interesting to hear what the Psych NP has to say about that.

I will love me so I can love you.

Que vais-je devenir?

Je tire sur un esprit profond virage qui m'a eu la mendicité à la mort, une façon de mettre fin à la misère dans mon esprit. Je n'avais aucun contrôle sur mon esprit. Elle opérait sur ​​sa propre et j'ai été regarder. Il a rendu mon corps se sent horrible, je pouvais sentir l'agonie dans mon cerveau comme il était dans mon corps. J'ai senti la panique, la misère, le désespoir, tout était deux dimension et plat. C'était comme si j'étais dans une immense peinture aux teintes marron sur une toile sans fin.

Je savais que j'allais aller mieux mais il a fallu environ un mois. Je ne peux pas composer avec le stress. Je dois devenir un gitan et parcourir le monde avec rien, mais moi-même. Je ne dois pas être seul. Je ne dois pas être seul. Je dois être connecté. Je suis fragile, un artiste, celui qui se sent et voit ce que les autres ne peuvent pas.

Que vais-je devenir? Est-ce que quelqu'un s'en préoccupe?

Happy I Was

Happy I was
When I was young.
Happy I was
When my heart could still run.
Now I'm older,
My eyes looking back,
To the days when life
Seemed to run off the track.

Happy I was
When I could still play.
Happy I was
Drummin' to eat.
Older each day
My hands getting stiff,
I drop the sticks
While playing a riff.

They say if you're lucky
Some day you'll grow old.
Now that I'm here,
I don't feel so bold.
You live hard, you work hard,
It's supposed to pay off
But each day I wake up
Incredibly lost.

Happy I was
When I learned how to teach.
Happy I was
When all was in reach.
One day I reached out
And the branches all broke
As I fell down the air
I laughed at the joke.


They say if you're lucky
Some day you'll grow old.
Now that I'm here,
I don't feel so bold.
You live hard, you work hard,
It's supposed to pay off
But each day I wake up
Incredibly lost.

Happy I was
To just sit and watch,
Happy I was
Until it all stopped.
The feeling it

Time Lost

Water will not melt you.
It will only get so hot
And then it turns to steam.
I filled the porcelain tub
With the hot water faucet
All open, a plug in the drain.
I'm taking a hot bath
For the first time in three years.
Things change like they are
Invisible.  You can't really see
The change, but you feel it.
The longest of any of the
Days of my life. Three
Years.  I will not melt.
I will evaporate into the
Whisp of wind through
The gaping window, close
My eyes and float along
With the whisp.  In a tub
Of very hot water.

Today was made for today...

The singularity of nowness has descended upon my shoulders.  I awoke at 6:30AM and actually swung my feet around and onto the floor and stood up.  Previously in my life, like last night, I had been productive in the studio.  I had thrown some bowls intended to end up as knitting bowls and trimmed and decorated one of the dryer ones.  This particular clay is a very wet porcelain that needs a deft, tough touch to get to shape.  Once you have the thickness, you can run your finger up and down the inside of the bowl to give it definition and shape; a chance to make it unique.  Depending on the humidity, it is raining today, the pots will dry enough to trim and handle overnight.  I am glad for the rain and humidity.  It slows the evaporation which lessens the chance for distortion when shrinking.  It's a problem in the summer when you can throw a pot in the morning and have to trim in the afternoon.  Actually, it does make a good routine and I do get a lot done during the fast drying months.  If needed, I can cover the pots in thick plastic to slow the drying.

Being awake, and I mean wide awake, at 6:30AM was a totally different way to start the day.  I remembered to eat breakfast, made a pot of coffee, put on the shorts and shoes I had on the night before, grabbed a ginormous cup of coffee, and headed to the studio to see what needed to be done.  At the least there would be trimming.  At the most, the completion of the bowl to its purpose.  In this case, a knitting bowl.

I was very glad to have something to do as long as I was going to be awake.

I unlatched and threw open the huge shop door to let the air in and the clay dust out.  As it is garbage day, I threw the studio refuse container onto the hand truck for the bumpy trip to the street where the 90 gallon plastic container barely half full sat, waiting for the truck to come and squeeze its guts like mustard onto a Polish dog on top of the kraut.

What I ignore time after time is that the studio refuse container can get too heavy to lift into the 90 gallon plastic container.  Today, in fact, I had to unload about 1/3 of the load by hand before it was light enough to lift onto my shoulder and dump in to the 90 gallon plastic container. Now the container was 3/4 full and heavy.  Call me paranoid, but I think they weigh my garbage.  Then again, they probably weigh everyone's garbage so they know when their trucks are full.  Whatever.

Making the knitting bowl should be a delicate process.  Undue, unnatural force is being used with a semi-fragile substance with leather hard clay.  It is malleable enough to work with but dry enough to hold its shape.  The possibility of distortion is a given.  In a perfect world...

I trim the bottom of the bowl first.  Before turning the bowl upside down on the wheel, I turn it in my hands, learning it, seeing where it needs to be trimmed, feeling the bottom to see how deep of a foot ring can be made.  I like to make a definitive foot ring but sometimes do not leave enough clay at the bottom to do so.

I place the bowl upside down on the wheel and center it then secure it.  I start the wheel and take a larger trimming tool to take the rough edges off first.  Once that is done and everything is uniform, I go to smaller, more detail oriented tools for the personal touch.  I work on the belly and the body first, scraping the body smooth with my finger amputating metal rib.  This takes the throw lines off and the body becomes smooth.  A smooth porcelain body becomes a canvas for beyond imagination design.  You can create emotion with color.  I love to create.

Once I have the belly trimmed, the foot ring, if there is one, is trimmed. When everything is trimmed to satisfaction, I take a damp sponge and wipe every thing down with the wheel spinning at what ever speed you like.  This leaves the bottom wet for a minute or two so I don't handle them at all.  I stare at the wall for two minutes or until I think the pot is dry enough to sign.  I have a metal scribe a student made for me that I sign my name with on the bottom of the pot.  Then, if there is carving or decorating to be done, for example, put a bird on it, this is when it would be done.  Each piece is usually worked on until it is done then the next goes through the same process.  Then they are set on a drying rack to completely air dry in order to be bisque fired.

The production of a knitting bowl requires a quiet mind.  I admit that I had headphones plugged into my iPhone and was signing loudly and rocking out last night in the studio.  I was wedging the clay, kneading it as if I were making bread.  This is a physical effort to which I attribute the definition of my shoulders.  That's why I had the tattoos put there.  Hardly any sagging.  :)

With the wedging and the rocking out out of the way, it was time to take off the headphones and to center myself and listen to the clay.  Sometimes it is a dance between hands and particles of clay that seem to have a mind of their own.  Porcelain is a thirsty clay meaning it needs a lot of lubrication.  Water.  That's where delicate balance comes in.  Too much water, the clay will become saturated and unable to hold itself up.  It slumps.  Not enough water and you get caught on a dry spot that catches your finger if only for a second but long enough to produce a wub in the pot.  Very hard to fix and not really worth the time.  Just make another.

The way I do it is to keep the water going in and out.  That way there is very little standing water at any time in the pot.  When pulling, I will sponge out the water before a pull, then squeeze water from the sponge onto my fingers that are running along the rim of the pot.  That puts the water evenly on the outside and the inside and not to much on the bottom.  Then I pull.  When finished pulling and shaping at each stage I sponge the water off the whole pot.  At times, I will grab the amputating metal rib and scrape the water off the outside of the pot while using the spong e to remove water from the inside of the pot.  Okay, was that redundant enough?

Once the pot is thrown, its been shaped and sponged off, I take a piece of chamois cloth, completely soaked, and run it on the rim of the pot, pressing slightly to compress the rim.  This lessens the chance of a chip later in its life.

And after all that, and the trimming and decorating comes the quiet mind part.  I will carve a channel into this bowl, taking a piece of it out of the pot.  Do not think doom and gloom.  Think: if this part of the process goes well, a very useful tool, a knitting bowl, will emerge.  Also Think: by carving a channel into a round object and removing a piece thereby disrupting the symmetry, the bowl itself will react uniquely in the drying process.

I start with a French Curve and trace two arched lines for the path of the cut.  I determine where the notch the yarn comes out of and take a 1/4 inch drill bit and drill a hole.  I take a little brush tool, kind of like a baby bottle brush only really small, and clean out the hole.  Then I pick up the fettling knife that I have sharpened.  Fettling knives are supposed to be kind of dull so you can't cut yourself.  Yes, I'm typing this with tape wrapped around a finger that was the victim of the sharpened fettling knife.  Never mind about that.

I insert the knife in the drilled hole and press slightly, following the line I traced.  The bowl is sitting sideways on my lap and I am pressing down on it.  This is where I could lose the bowl with a cracked rim from too much or uneven pressure.

My fingers are supporting the clay as I move the knife along the line.  If the clay is too dry, it could crack and a chunk would come off and the knitting bowl becomes yard art.  I stop, pull the knife out of the clay, and start to move the knife back and forth in a sawing motion on the rim where the lines for the opening are.  This is to prevent a big chunk of clay from separating from the rim.  It's not surefire but it's the best I've got.

If all goes well, you've just cut a j shaped notch

into your bowl defining its future use.  From this dy forward, this is a knitting bowl.  Soup will never work.  If you don't believe that, just try it.

No matter what I decide to do to the bowl before or after, once the notch is cut, you have a one of a kind dedicated use item.  It's a beautiful thing.

They are set on a wooden shelf to dry.  When bone dry, I load them into the kiln for the first firing, the bisque firing.

This day is just that.  Spring rain has slammed into the ground.  It figures.  They just sprayed the orchard yesterday.  Now they have to do it again.  It is nothing more than kaolin, a fine clay that covers the bark and prevent the piranha from carving away at tree flesh.  The rain has dictated this day from demeanor to transaction.  It is totally zen.  This one day.  This now.  This this.  Pretty dang cool.

Take You There

Take you there

To the opening
Abstruse to me
When the music
Induces inspiration
Without affectation.
Dance with me
To the din
From sound projecting
Cones encased in wood
Until we are Sufi
And one with God
In music.  Listen,
It is my philosophy,
My mantra,
My truth,
One
Song
At
A
Time.
Praise the people
Whose souls suffer
So that
We
May
Dance.

C'mon. Sit With Me

C'mon.  Sit
With me with
Your mondogynormous
Yellow bird mug
To the rim
With coffee.
The couch is
Sturdy and strong
To support the both
Of us. Curl your
Legs underneath
And lean into
Me.  Ooops.  You
Made me spill.
I don't care.
It wil dry.

A smile creases
My crinkled face
As I sit with
My own too big
To be legal mug
Full of flavored
Caffeine.  The addiction
Is in the need
As much as the
Substance.  We
Sip simultaneously,
The same slurping sound.
We look at each other
And laugh.
"Quick! Make a wish,"
You laugh more
Than say.
I close my eyes
And wish.

Release...

One of the best songs ever written.  I always cry tears of joy when I hear this song performed well.  Thank you, Herr Beethoven:  Ode To Joy

The Desperation Bracket...

I wrote abut my experiences the second time around with online dating.  I mentioned having to tell people that I did not care to meet with them again.  This is hard for me as I hate to hurt feelings in that way.  I've steeled myself for the task.

A tangent I was going to talk about but either forgot or...yeah, I forgot, was the age factor and how desperation works into it.  What i've noticed so far is that you are far more likely to get a response from someone who is between the ages of 55 and 63.  For lack of a better phrase, I call this the Desperation Bracket.

My observation, and I'm an amateur at this, is that the older people get, the more they understand that time is running out for them in the dating world.  Sure, people fall in love at 70 and still marry and it's cute and always makes the paper.  But time is running out.

As we end our days on the planet, our need for social companionship does not diminish.  In fact, it may increase.  There are plenty of people who are fine by themselves and carry on. Their partner has probably passed on and within a year or so, they will join them.  It happened to my grandparents.  After Grandpa passed, Grandma called me all the time.  She was lonely after being with the same man for 63 years.  Now he was dead and she was living in her house alone.  She told me how lonely she was.  I thought after finishing college, I might find a teaching job in her town.  I did, actually, but it was only  half time position.  I needed full-time.

Grandma did see me graduate but passed soon after.  She died of a broken heart.

A lot of the profiles I read always say they are happy with the way their life is but would be better shared.  I agree.  I think it is in our DNA to have a companion.  Our brains are wired that way.  Of course, we can rewire our brains with consistent thoughts (think meditation) or some mantra that gets us through the day.  In the end, though, we were meant to be with someone.

The Desperation Bracket makes attempt after attempt to find someone they can feel safe with, comfortable with, someone they can love.  Some may never get there.  Yet, they still try.  Try they must until death or they just give up.

Giving up is not an option for me.  I am relatively young, in the middle of the Desperation Bracket, I am not ugly.  I am slender, strong (finally) and still have a job and a house.  I am an honest person and laugh and make others laugh.  I am exuberant, energetic (I mowed the lawn yesterday) and know who I am and what I want/need.  I am confident.  My shrink says that a man my age does not stay single long.  From my experience, that seems to be true.

When I tell someone that I am not interested in them the way they are interested in me, I feel badly as I know I'm putting that person back into the jungle of online dating.  I'm not sticking around just so someone can be happy and I end up miserable.

It is very important to stay monogamous.  Actually, I think it is better referred to as celibacy.  Whatever, keep yourself strong so that when someone comes around that delights you, you have something special to share with them.  Yes, sexual tension rears its head and we start looking for a short-term mate.  The tension can be released by fucking one of your dates, even if they are not a date.  Then what? Keep each other on the line for the next time?  It works for some people.  It's never worked for me although when travelling as a musician, I had plenty of meaningless sexual encounters.  Some of them I remember.  How rude is that?

I had one correspondent tell me she hadn't been with a man for three years.  Now that's monogamy although maybe to the extreme.  Still, I will not meet this person.  She is in the Desperation Bracket.  My profile photos show the honesty in my face.  That is what I have been told by every correspondent when I asked why they chose to correspond with me.  I'm flattered but think you should base a choice on more than just a photograph.  Wait a minute...that's how it starts.  If the photo doesn't do much for you, I guarantee a real life meet up will be disappointing.  It is my experience that people look much better in their photos than in real life.  That's ok.  It works that way with me, too.

The physical attraction of the profile photos gets you interested enough to read the profile.  From there, if you make contact, you just have to see how it goes.

Some of the people I correspond with have been online for a few years.  I fear some of these people will never connect with someone and will grow old alone.  I have to be realistic about my part in all of this.

Online dating is a self-centered activity.  You look for someone you think you might be compatible with and go from there.  If you are in the Desperation Bracket, you are online all the time.

The dreariness of winter is gone and my heart is filled with love and hope.  Desperation is gone.  I have time, not a lot but some.  I am enjoying my life now.  Still, I need that intimate social interaction with a member of the female species.  The lines on my face are getting deeper.  I'm not getting younger.  None of us is.

Some Things Are Hard for Me to Believe

Gonzaga did not make it to the Sweet Sixteen, but they have before.  And will again.  This is the only time of year I consciously choose to watch televised sports.  I like to follow GU only because it is my alma mater.  John Stockton graduated from GU the year before I got there.  There were wall sized posters of him in the gym.  They may yet be there.  I watched him on tv as he watched his son from the stands.  He had been there before.  John Stockton was back in SLC not as a player on the Utah Jazz, but as a father of a son who was playing for his alma mater.  It became obvious to me about 3 minutes out that there was no hope for a comeback from Gonzaga. They lost and it is just as well.  I don't have a lot of free time these days and if GU had won, they would still be going and so would I.  I wish they could have hung in there.

It's fine that they lost.  In order to watch the game on someplace other than my computer, I asked my friend Michelle if she was watching the game.  She has Dish TV with a million and two channels.  I figured she would have it.  Yes, was the answer.  She had an app on her phone that told her where and when the game was to be played and on what channel.  It was almost halftime before she could find the game. Then, once she located it, she wanted to know how she got there and promptly turned off the game as she explored the various button options, combo button options, etc., but when I pleaded with her to put the game back on, she could not find it.  I offered to try and find it but she would not give me the remote.  Not that she wouldn't, she is ADD also and needed to figure out how she did what she did.  I understood but wanted to watch the game.  I said a few things like, "You just had it..." but pretty much just let it go.  I understood what she was doing and why.  She told me she was going to start taking Adderall for her ADD.  I thought that was a good idea.  She could certainly stand to lose some weight for the sake of her health.

She finds the game.  Thank you.  At half time, we had taco soup with tortillas and sour cream.  I told a joke to the 6 year-old boy, and the eight-year-old girl, and with her own cell phone.  It went like this:  "Knock, knock.  'Who's there?' "Dwayne.' 'Dwayne who?' 'Dwayne da bathtub, I'm dwowning.'"  Evidently, they had never heard it before and were laughing and laughing.  Even their mom laughed.  Here I was feeling kind of stupid because the only joke I could remember was a really old one.  But they were laughing and swore they had never heard it before.  Talk about a generation gap.

Dinner ended when the ballgame started up again.  My hostess, actually, I invited myself, was watching the game, texting, and playing Word Play on her phone.  Anytime I said something to her, I was interrupting something.  I didn't get angry but felt ignored but that was fine as I just wanted to watch the game.  When she started cheering when the opponents made a basket,  I thought she flipped.  She had.  She was cheering because she thought Gonzaga was making the baskets.  I reminded here, even with my minute knowledge of the game, that the teams switch baskets at the end of the half.  We were well into the second half.

I curled my legs under my butt and sat in the leather chair watching the game.  Gonzaga lost, I offered to help with dishes, and then got the hell out of there.  I did get to talk to the kids about their dad.  He's a pilot who's route is between Pittsburg and Cancun.  They showed me a photo of him.

I don't go back and reread these posts but I know that I mentioned that I had put myself back in the online dating business.  I am somewhat overwhelmed by the response and have dutifully tried to keep up with the emails.  There is something in me, a part of my persona maybe, that feels an obligation to respond but some have to be let go and not responded to.  The caliber of intelligent response has been more than I expected.  I've met with two so far.  One is a fabric artist and is in the same frame of mind as I am about my art right now.  It just seems as if there are other forces at work keeping us from getting into the studio and getting some work done.  Her work is of extreme high quality and sells for thousands.  She has published a book and exhibited nationwide. she has writer's bloc, so to speak.  I realized, from corresponding with her, that I was keeping myself out of the studio.  The non working kiln was an excuse I used to not work.  Once I went to Seattle and got a new controller for my kiln, (and installed it without getting electrocuted) I made myself go in and throw some pots.  I wanted to do it.  Hell, I used to throw every day.  Now, I hadn't thrown in a month.  My first pots flopped as I was rusty and wasn't yet zoned in to where I was.  But I was throwing again.  I made it over the fence.

She emailed me for a week, telling me about her efforts to make art and read to her elder mother. I guessed I missed a day and she emailed me and just came out and asked me if there was a romantic interest on my part because there was on hers and her friend suggested she just come out and ask me.  She did.

I try to be black and white about things.  Innuendo, inference, suggestion...c'mon, just say what you have to say kind of guy.  I have the character flaw of expecting that out of every one else.  It does not go that way.

So, I was black and white about it.  I had been very careful all along to not write anything or make any statements indicating any sort of fondness or growing fondness.  I relayed that to her in the responding email I sent.  I apologized if I had done so as that it was never my intention.  She wrote back and thanked me for clearing that up.  I will probably never her from her again.

There are a lot of people in my life that fit in that category.  For example, my good friend Dirk, who I played in a band with and lived with while he attended Eastern Oregon University as a music major.  He played guitar in the band but you could throw anything at him and he could play it.  His main instrument is trombone.  I always hope I get to see him again.

I met with another correspondent Friday night in Ellensburg.  A state university is located there along with a plethora of single female college professors.  I met with one of the department heads.  She looked exactly like her photos, which was not good.  I came into this with a good, free and open mind and would have fun.  The drive is an hour each way but the scenery is gorgeous and there is eternal sky with poofy clouds.

We met at a wine bar and she had ordered a bottle of wine.  I was late, as normal, and laughed as I asked, "Am I late?"  Since she was the only person in the place sitting by themselves who looked like her photographs, I sat down.  We shook hands but eye contact was sporadic as I worked my brain to settle in and talk and have a good time.  At least we were both intelligent enough to carry on an meaningful conversation.  She told me about her ex, about her three kids at home.  Keep in mind she is 56.  The conversation ended up being focused on our errant daughters.  Her daughter is in the ninth grade.  My daughter is in Italy!!!! and having the time of her life and she knows it.  This is going to be one changed in the right direction kid.  I'm sure there will be some let down once she gets back but, if she sticks to her plan, she will be in college this fall.  She wants to stay with me when she gets back.  Hmmm...we'll see.  There will be no car here for her to drive.

So, the professor emailed me Saturday to tell me what a great time she had, did I make it back ok? She stated she wanted to meet again.  My response will be the same.  This time there was absolutely no intention of any sort of romantic connection.  I knew going into it there wouldn't be.  I accepted an invitation and did well.  I was polite, funny, serious when needed.  We killed a bottle of wine that night and talked for three hours but for me it was a grand opportunity to talk to someone at a higher level of cognition but not so smart that we lost our place.  Like I said, we mostly talked about our daughters.

I had planned to meet yet another correspondent this coming weekend.  It just so happens that my oldest daughter is coming to town and wants to see me.  That preempts everything.  My darling, sweet daughter will be here to make me laugh.

When I was online earlier, I got lucky and met somebody who set the standard for any who come after.  My desire is to stay with the standard. The standard is part of me.  I take it with me. I want to touch her again.

And You Love Me, too...

You know you do.  Give me a call. I want nothing but your love.

Down With Disease!

DownWith Disease and all other illnesses.  My ex wife came over the other day after texting me asking me if I was home.  I didn't see the text or ignored it or wasn't aware...she showed up in my driveway as i was moving stuff from one building to the house.  She's a great person and a good friend but we are lovers no more.  She had mail for me and I for her.  I was hungry from moving everything from one building to another and asked her if she would like to go grab a bite to eat.  We went to a Mexican restaurant down the street, one we took the family to.  So we are eating and laughing, being friends with a past.  We got to talking about the Phish concert she and I attended at The Gorge Amphitheater in George, WA.  We laughed at a certain event.  At Phish concerts EVERYONE is stoned.  Except we weren't.  Everybody else was and they were smoking all around us.  People were so stoned they were crawling on the ground.  My ex, a Mormon, had not been exposed to anything like it before.  During the intermission she said to me, "I am so hungry, I can't believe it.  We just ate dinner before coming.  Why am I so hungry?"  Well, me, former stoner at the time, told her to look around.  What is everybody doing?  They are all smoking weed.  You are breathing second hand smoke.  She was fucking stoned!  So stoned that we had to leave the concert to go back into Wenatchee to get her fed.  That was almost ten years ago and we were laughing at it again last week.  She told the story and seems to be very amused by it.  Of course, no religious guilt could be attributed as the smoke was second hand and she was naive about the whole thing.  I don't think it occurred to her that people would be stoned.  It wasn't part of her world.

So, my friend Michelle fed me last night.  Evidently, not only am I a starving artist but a starving bachelor, too.  We were goofing around with my profile on an online dating sight, trying hard to accurately depict me. It seemed as if everything we thought of would sabotage any chance of meeting up with anyone. Some of the phrases we came up with made us laugh so hard I fell on the floor and she started crying.  We howled at the comedy we were producing.  I think we came up with "Only the Weird Need Apply."  "I think I have a twisted sense of humor and so does my doppelganger."  It was if if I were writing a parody profile to not get any response.  I held fast and tried to be s truthful as possible.  Most profiles are so generic, it as if they are generated by formulas.  And they all say the same fucking thing.  Everybody likes the outdoors, camping, hunting, fishing, opera, hockey.  Because they are dating sites, you are allowed to be so bold as to describe what you see an ideal mate.  That's what we did.  It's succinct, to the point and there can be no missing the gist of my message.  Honestly, when I get to a point in a long, rambling profile, I quit reading, move on.

I get wacky emails from some people.  I think the dating sites are becoming the play field of scammers although any segment of being online is open to that.  Any way to get information out of you.  I've not gotten any that ask for personal info like bank accts #'s but I think one was getting close.  Good thing I was using my scum catcher email address.  I wonder who on the faee of the Earth has the most email accounts?  Yahoo, Google, Hotmail, Juno, hundreds of free email sites to be had for nothing more than information whether honest or made up.  The problem would be keeping up with them.  Kind of like lying...once you start...but I have three email accounts.  I have one with yahoo as I needed a Yahoo ID to get a Flckr account.  I never use the Yahoo account because they always get hacked.  Like it or not, for the near, maybe far, future, it's a Google world.  They are good and secure, my biggest concern.  Of course, there is no absolute anonymity on the internet.  Information once entered, not matter a bank card # or a photo of you at a party never really goes away.  Somewhere you now somebody is downloading everything they can get their hands on.  It never goes away.  It can make you uneasy but what the fuck?  What are I hiding?  Of course, I don't want anyone getting their hands on financial info of mine and I am concerned with identity fraud.

I am cautious with the responses I receive.  There are all kinds of red flags; people who want to go offline right away, people who want to call right away.  It's kind of icky sometimes.  Still, it's the only game in town for Americans and citizens of the world.

The best part of it for me is that I can never assume anything.  I am black and white.  Yes or no.  It's more comfortable for me to be like that.  Less tension.  Unless you run into people that don't operate in that manner.  It takes a while to get to know people, usually via email.  Innuendo is not easily translated.  You have to ask direct questions that cut to the chase.  Direct and honest.

Not assuming leaves everything open, everything possible.  Even if some things are so obvious if they bit you you couldn't say ow.  Never assume.  Always ask.  Saves a lot of trouble on down the line.

Phish is coming to the best place in the world to see any concert, The Gorge Amphitheater in George, WA.  I have seen many concerts there and never a bad one.  Phish, Steve Miller Band, Joe Cocker, Ringo Starr's All Star Band, Coldplay, Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers, all fantastic concerts outdoors in fantastic weather.  Being in the middle of the state, it draws from both metropolitan areas in Washington, Spokane and Seattle.  People from all over the world will travel there to see a certain band at that venue.  I think for at least the last ten years, The Dave Matthews Band has played three nights in a row during the Labor Day weekend.  Fantastic.

Phish will be here the 26th and 27th of July.  I'm buying two two-day passes.  I dont want to go alone.

Hello to all you Germans.  This is not gasoline.

Oh! Now I Get it...

I was a road warrior.  I travelled light; two duffel bags of clothes and a drumset with cases.  It was all I needed.  That and a place to play and a band to play in.  I was ready to go at a moment's notice.  Really, I'm too old for that now.  But I have realized something about it and how it exemplified who I was and who I still am.

I made a promise, vow, whatever, to myself when I first told myself that I was going to be a paid drummer, for hire to any band.  I would not get romantically involved seriously with a female.  Males either.  I didn't want anything to hinder my stairway to fame and fortune.  I figured there would be plenty of time for that nce the money started rolling in and our recordings were selling and we didn't have to be on the road all the time.

Ha ha...of course, unless your are stupidly lucky, getting to that point takes hard work and focus, two atributes I was trying to avoid.  I was supposed to have fun, meet really interesting people and live my life as if I were to die the next day.  Looking back, I was really lucky to keep waking up everyday.  In fact, I probably slept through a day or two...

I was successful in keeping my promise to myself.  I waited until I was 34 to marry the first time.  Problem is, the relationship was about me.  No, the relationship was about us in spite of me.  I was still doing my thing.  I was going to school.  sure, I would get a job and support a family but I decided to go to school and nobody had anything to say about it.

I realized the other night that I am still the same way.  I drug a second family along with me as I pursued my creative genius in either clay or drumming.  I bought equipment, instruments, stuff at the expense of my family. It was all for me.

Even today, I think about what I want to do, not what others want to do.  You pay a price for this drive, this creativity that won't leave you alone.  You end up being alone.  That's too much of a price for me to pay at this juncture in my life.  There is much more to do before...

The change is coming.  I can feel it.  It is slow and steady but the hoofbeats are unmistakable.

Make A Mighty Fine Time

Weed   and      wine
     make   a mighty
fine    time   no
weep      no   moan
    just   give   the
  dog         the    dog

       a    bone

even     if there            is

no                      no dog.



Take time and
put
it
in
a    boat
and let     it   sail
past  woven  Iranian

t a p e s t r i e s
         of
b r i l l i a n t

      i n t e r w e a v i n g s

O f
          w o o l s     s p u n       f r o m

a n i m a l s     with    h o o v e s

             and  breath  that smelled like a P a l i s a d e s
G r a s s l a n d s ground and stored
in one

G i a n t          Silo      more of a         S T E N C H
of vegetation resignation

T h a n the wafting    o d o r    of     F E E D L O T

                        manure      P I L E S.






What you see is         what
You   get.   It   can  be  t   h   e    only
course    O F     a  c  t  i  o  n

H
 o
  n
   e
    s
     t
      y
  I
s
  t
   h
    e
   o
  n
 l
y
  P
   o
    l
     i
       c
        y

Yes,  I've  tried before.  I am here to tell you it does not work.  One falsehood produces another and that one to yet another until all conversation has been jumbled into a situation of distrust which

                                 Q     U     I     T     E

                                                H     O     N     E     S     T     L     Y

sucks     the

               e   n   e   r   g   y      o   u   t     o  f     e  v  e  r  y  t  h  i  n  g      w   i   t   h   i   n     a

FIFTY MILE DIAMETER  OF YOU.
   and where was i when all of this came about???

On the pier watching the band with a baby
dancing inside happy for the song summer
song summer summer song.

L O N G
               B R O W N
                                  H A I R
                                                 W A V Y
                                                                 S H O U L D E R S
KISS ME SHOULDERS AND I DID
YOURS

L   i   p   s,  thin    l  i  p  s

          WET

luscious as a ripe peach

iNSIDe tongue job

      NO     TOO    MUCH
                                          OH SORRY
What is Happening to What
It Was     IS    ONLY
What is happening to what
it      IS.











Habemus papem

We have A Pope

Even though I am no longer a practicing Catholic, I am the product of very excellent Jesuit education.  I am very proud and glad that Pope francis is the first Jesuit to hold the post.  Maybe real change can happen.

Kumbaya, My Lord, Kumbaya...

Online Dating is the hit phenomena of baby boomers.  It has sort of a "meat market" flair to it but everyone who has a profile on an online dating site is there by choice.  There are certainly lots of photos to look at.  Also, the profile, a summary of your traits and likes and dislikes, becomes much more important as this is where you tell the world what you are like, or as you perceive yourself, and what you are looking for in a partner, be it a quick hookup or a long term relationship.  In a hectic, technological world, it is a hot commodity.

Some sites boast at having the most match ups or the most marriages, or the most whatever.  It's all about marketing yourself for a relationship.  Does anybody actually bump into somebody else say, in the grocery store, in the milk aisle, and ask them out?  I don't think we trust each other enough anymore for that.  One of the upsides to online dating is that the choice is yours to contact someone or not.

Most communication with online daters starts via email through the site.  Back and forth go the messages and questions.  Since most sites charge for essential services, such as reading an email someone sent you, a subscription is necessary, even for "free" sites.  They will lead you down the path and then hold up their hand and say, "No further without paying."  Is it worth it?  It depends, I suppose.

It is a billion dollar industry.  Online dating sites make their money through advertising and subscriptions.  Some site use the Meyers-Briggs personality test to align future lovers.  Other sites, such as eHarmony, use questions either generated by the prospective dater or questions the site has come up with.  It seems rather artificial to me, kind of like standardized testing in schools.  Not one size fits all.

I did online dating for a while.  I had success until the relationship became troubled.  I went offline for the relationship.  We both agreed it would be best.  We visited and I fell in love.  Too bad for me.

The most interesting aspect of online dating for me was the progression of the relationship.  Traditionally, there is a strong chemical reaction between people and they may end up fucking each other, think it is a great foundation to a relationship and, after a while, find they are not so interested in fucking all the time but have not developed the personal skills with their partner to maintain the relationship.

Online dating is the opposite.  Yes, the photos make you look and then you read the profile.  To contact someone, you send an email through the service.  This goes on as long as it takes until you decide to Skype of meet somewhere.  The advantage is that you have developed a talking relationship.  Sex, if there is any, takes place after all the talking is done.  In my book, a relationship would have a better chance at sustaining itself if approached in this matter.  Many people are friends before lovers.  I like it that way.

Some people have sex with their dates thinking that is the way to solidify the relationship.  As for me, I can't do it.  I have to be monogamous. Which means I don't get laid.  That's ok.  I just want to make sure that I know the person I am making love to.  And there's only been one in the last couple of years.  Sigh, I miss her but am happy to hold off until I can feel comfortable with someone again.  I am completely disease free and want to stay that way.  So, I wait.  And wait.  What's the hurry?  None, really, but at 60, I know my time is short and I want my time to count.  It all takes time.  Time to get to know someone, time to love them, time to enjoy their company, time to make up your mind.

Dating doesn't seem like it is ever simple.  If we are fickle or have had a bad experience or two with the opposite sex during dating, it may be difficult to trust enough to have a decent relationship.  Many profiles on dating sites ask for someone "without any baggage."  Baggage comes with every thing.  We all have experiences that shape ou perspective and how we react to perceived wrongdoings.  Consider, though, how this colors your perception of your prospective dates.  If you have been hurt or taken for a ride by someone you met online, or not, this will certainly bend how you look at profiles and photos.

As for me, online dating is an option.  It is one that is taken slowly and only part of the actuality of finding someone to date and possible develop a relationship with.  But it is not the end all of dating.  Yes, it is convenient and profitable for those who own the sites.  There's still a part of me that want to meet someone in a more natural setting, like a bookstore.

Time Has Come...

Time.  Or timing.  We all think about time although it is possibly something our brain concocted so it could either remember something or look forward to something.  Plausible, I suppose.  More important is timing; when things happen, or don't.  I took a trip to Seattle again today to swap my bad digital kiln controller for new, better digital control.  It was pretty cool.  They took me in the back and showed me where they make the kilns.  I walked through the door that said "Employees Only."  I've been going there for 21 years and I have always wanted to do that.  Once I tried but didn't get very far before someone noticed me.  "Hey!  What are you doing?  You're not supposed to be back here!"  I used my standard get out of jail free phrase, "I'm looking for the restroom."

Downtown Seattle from Seattle Pottery Supply parking lot

I was supposed to go over a week ago Thursday but couldn't make it due to work restrictions.  Today, I had made the necessary arrangements with work and took off about noon.  As usual, I took a wrong turn and it ended up taking longer to arrive at my destination than it should have.  I was there about 3:10PM.

I walked in with my dysfunctional digital controller in a box, walked to the counter where an employee was working with a customer.  She was grim-faced, as usual, so I said, "Hi, Smiley."  She let a grin slip, asked me what I wanted.  I held up the box.  She called back to the warehouse, announcing me by name.  Wow!  She knows my name!  I felt pretty good about that.

The kiln person came to the front and escorted me to the back where the magic happens.  He spent a long time explaining the wiring on the controller, how it might be different than the wiring on the old controller and expected me to remember it all.  "Do you have graphics?" I asked.  He looked at me and I thought I saw him shake his head.

As I was leaving, Kim, the lovely young person who works there, came out and we started to chat.  The kiln person brought the new controller out to me.  They both told me how much they enjoyed my sense of humor.  I told them I was the mystery shopper for all the pottery stores in Washington State and being funny was a trick I used so I could tell their boss they were goofing around on company time.  They laughed at that.  So did I.  I crack myself up.

I-90 East with the Veteran's Hospital on Beacon Hill

Usually, I try to find something to do while I'm in Seattle.  I try to make it to the International District for real Vietnamese food, or downtown to the Dragonfish for their Holy Garlic Chicken.  Today, though, since the weather was good, and I was by myself, I felt I should get back and maybe have time to install the new equipment.  So, I hit I-90 East.  It was smooth sailing.  I stopped at the top of Snoqualmie Pass to use the facilities and headed back onto the freeway and toward Ellensburg, home of Central Washington University.  I was sleepy but at 5:30PM was thinking it's too late for caffeine.  I stopped and got gas and gauged my exhaustion factor.  I'd better get some caffeine.  Stopped at Starbucks, pulled out the iPad, ordered a White Chocolate Latte, and sat down to read email and drink coffee.  I received a phone call, talked for a bit, and continued to read email.  I get lots of email.  A lot of it is junk to me and I don't know why I just don't give up and unsubscribe from those pesky emails from Home Depot.  I was hoping to meet a friend but they had dinner plans.  I finished my coffee and hit the road.  When I went into Starbucks, it was still sunny outside.  When I left, night had fallen.

I don't mind driving at night although my night vision is near blindness.  It is an hour from Ellensburg to Wenatchee.  There are two routes you can take.  One is US 97 that goes up and over Blewett Pass.  The other is to stay on I-90 until George.  That's right, there is a town named George, Washington.  Believe it or not, there are a fair number of millionaires living there.  It is a faming community but the farms are REALLY big.  I remember playing at a party next to a swimming pool at a farmhouse back in the late 70's.  The guy had a landing strip out front so his buddies could fly in to visit.  It was his daughter's birthday and she wanted a live rock band.  We were it.

Since I live on the east side of the Columbia River, I always take the route to George.  Sometimes I'll stop and have cherry pie at Martha's Inn.  That's right again.  Martha's Inn in George, Washington.  They cook the world's biggest cherry pie every Fourth of July.  I had a piece once.  Tasted just like cherry pie.

Since it was dark and I was in no hurry, I decided to drive the speed limit.  Good thing.  From Ellensburg, I-90 goes about 10 miles downhill to the Vantage Bridge across the Columbia.  There is a hairpin corner which dictates about 50mph in driving speed.  Then there is a hill as you climb away from the river and back onto the Columbia Plateau.  I was playing passing tag with an old Toyota pickup who would slow down going uphill and speed up on the flat.  As we were coming up the hill from the river, he was behind me.

As we crested the hill, there were brake lights everywhere.  Traffic was stopped.  I was doing 70mph.  I swerved into the left lane and hit the brakes.  So did the guy in the Toyota but not fast enough.  He bumped me.  I pulled over, he pulled over.  Semis were passing inches away from us as we gave each other contact info.  We both stood looking down the freeway to see why traffic was stopped.  It was Armageddon.  It was the end of the earth.  It was cars on fire, an engine laying in the middle of the road and about ten cars either in the median or up the hill off the freeway.  People were laying in the road.  There were no police or ambulances.  It was unfuckingbelievable.  I have never seen anything like it.  People thought we were involved in the accident, which looked to be a chain reaction.  Too many cars bunched together on the freeway, going too fast.  It was death.  I smelled it.

The State Patrol arrived.  One of them came over to us and asked if we were part of the conflagration (my words, not his.)  No, I replied, he just bumped me and we are exchanging info. Good, said the cop, when you get done, just jam on out of here.  I looked down the freeway and saw trafic cones and flares and a roadblock.  They closed the freeway.  They don't do that unless there is a fatality.  Oh my God, I thought as I was driving down the middle of the freeway.  There were literally a dozen people laying or sitting on the side of the road.  One car had no front end.  I had just driven around it.  I could hear and feel glass and plastic and who knows what else crunching under my tires.  I just wanted to get away but kept looking at either side of the freeway.  There was luggage, blankets, clothes, car parts all over the place.  It was a minefield.  It was horrible.

I did not think about it driving home.  I couldn't.  I counted five ambulances heading toward the scene of the accident.  Family trips disrupted by possible death.  People going somewhere that would not arrive.  I could not think about it and drive.  I drove.

I made it home.  I started shaking.  Then I started crying.  I thought that if I had been a minute faster, I would have been involved.  I thought about all the people I saw on the side of the road.  All of the plastic crap parts of cars in the road.  I thought that if the guy behind me had hit me hard enough, it would have sent me into the back end of a horse trailer.  Me, in my little plastic car.  Tears rolled down my face.

Yes, I am glad it wasn't me.  But it was SOMEBODY.  I still can't shake it.  I'm sad and scared. Alone.  That's what got me started on thinking about time and timing.  I guess you could say it's all in the timing.

I don't want to drive anymore.

Whistling...

I received an email today from one close to my heart who reminded me of her initial image of me coming down a set of escalators and whistling.  I smiled as I recalled the image and the beautiful person waiting for me at the bottom of the escalator.  It set me off on a tangent about my whistling.  I have always whistled.  I even used to be able to do the one where you put your fingers in your mouth and let 'er rip.  I haven't done that one successfully in years.  I'll bet if I practice it will come back.

Why whistle?  I've often wondered myself.  It seems to be such a natural thing to do.  I love music and I sing, too.  Whistling for me is more effective than singing.  As long as I can remember, whenever I am going someplace or am somewhere and I'm whistling, somebody always says, "There goes a happy guy!"

In general, yes, I am happy or, at least, content.  And, I suppose, whistling is the result.  I don't remember when I first started whistling seriously.  Is that an oxymoron?  I remember my dad whistling.  All the time.  For him, probably a coping mechanism.  I mean, six kids...that's what I remember.  Dad whistling.  I don't think I ever saw Grandpa whistle.  Grandpa would grunt a lot, though.

I remember hearing a recording, when I was young, of a whistler.  It was cool.  I don't know if we owned the vinyl or I just happened to hear it on the radio.  I remember it was a recording and thinking to myself, "They did a whole recording session of a guy whistling."  A harmonica band was one thing. A recording of a guy whistling was a new ballgame.  I started whistling more.

Now, I whistle every day.  I can whistle whole songs, lead guitar parts to rock anthems, I even get the string bending in, I whistle.

Some people take it very seriously.  This is a totally contained musical instrument.  Something that every one carries with them.  I used to carry a harmonica with me in my front shirt pocket.  Once in a while I would pull it out and give it a blow.  I have a step-brother in-law who plays real harmonica.  He has even written a book about harmonica players.  I've read it and found very few typos.  I haven't seen him since my dad died.  Looks like like he's doing ok.  The harmonica is something you put in front of your whistle.  It adds depth, for sure.  Whistling is pretty high frequency.  I wonder if you could shatter glass with a whistle?

Birds whistle but it doesn't come from their lips.  Because they have no lips.  So, is it a whistle?  No, in my opinion, it is chirping.  Birds vocalize.  They don't whistle.  If your world is built around the notion that birds whistle, I'm sorry, they don't.  Really, I'm sorry.  It's the truth.

I was very glad to be reminded of the image of me coming down the escalator, whistling.  That was a very good day in my life.  It makes me warm to think about it.  I like whistling and can burst into it at a moment's thought of a song that pops into my head.

Whistling is a happy activity and it makes people happy, too.  Thanks, wonderful person, for the great memory you made me remember today.

Ooooppps...

Yesterday's post was filled with html flubs.  I don't know how it happened or it wouldn't have happened.  Good thing I still remember a bit of my html programming.  I looked at the code on the page and took out all the stuff that didn't belong there.  Now it's done but so is the damage.  If you are reading this, go back and read yesterday's post.  Now, the act you've all been waiting for...Cheryl Crow!

LDR not LDS...

Long Distance Relationship.  With the technology available to us at any given time, not the least of which is online dating, a long distance relationship is more prevalent these days than ever before.  A surfer dude in California can meet and talk to a lovely cheesehead from Wisconsin.  They email each other and move on to calling on the phone and even video visit with each other through Skype of Face Time or whatever works.  It's entirely plausible and possible.  Maybe you can arrange to meet in person.  After meeting in person, you decide you have something and want to pursue it.  Never mind the 1500 miles between you and the cost of airfare.  You visit each other and things go really well.  You decide to see each other again, maybe at Christmas or during one or the other's extended break from work or vacation.  Your time together is magic.  You fall in love, you make promises.  You think your relationship is strong.  You communicate everyday.  You do fun activities together while apart, like maybe watch a football game on tv, she in Wisconsin, you in California, all the while texting each other with commentary during the game.  It's fun and keeps you connected.

That is the important part: staying connected.  Every day.  Several times a day, if possible.  Once you stop staying in regular contact, say goodbye.  It won't work.  Many people swear by LDR's and say it makes them love their partner even more.  I don't know how that works.  Humans are social animals in need of contact, touch, feeling each other.  Good intentions and favorable accolades to each other over Skype or the phone don't hold up as well as being able to touch your partner.  The months, the miles between visits can seem like forever.  It might as well be forever.

Many couples are forced into LDR's by circumstance, say one has to move for a new job. The other partner is expected to join them.  When?  It is important to set up a time frame.  That closes the distance and makes the waiting tolerable.  There is a plan.  I think this works if the couple is married with that "'till death do us part" bit.  More of a commitment.  Many military couples are thrown into this situation.  A year and a half may pass without physical contact.  A strong determination to stay together is needed as well as a plan on how often contact is made.  In my book, contact should be made as often as possible.  As mentioned, staying connected is the only way it will work.

Talk about your future together.  Even if it's bullshit.  It helps keep the relationship positive and full of hope.  These are two other essential factors in LDR's.  Make plans for the time you can be together.  Tell each other what you will do to them/with them when you get together. Talk dirty to each other.  Whatever you can do to keep it alive.  Take my word, if you don't nurture your LDR, it will wither, the leaves will fall off, and it will die.  What could have been a very good thing will become a very dead thing.  Emptiness and loneliness will ensue.

Skype everyday.  If you are both serious about making it work, you have to see each other even if you can't touch each other.  It's important and, I think, the best way to stay connected.  Naked Skype!

In my opinion, LDR's are the hardest relationships to make work.  Or maybe it's just me.

Long Distance Relationship Statistics infographic

I have been in a few LDR's.  The last one was with a person I met online.  She lived 1300 miles away.  There were problems from the start.  Trust was a huge issue.  I had misrepresented myself online as being divorced while still legally married.  Even though I hadn't lived with my ex in two years, what I wrote in my profile and what was reality were not on par.  I did not want to deceive anyone and was asked how long I had been divorced.  It never occurred to me to lie.  "Oh, two years," would have been an answer somebody might give but, I didn't even think of it.  I explained I was still married but only technically.  I know myself and my friends who know me would understand.  I had to stay married long enough for a house refinance to go through.  No way the bank would let me refinance the house on my salary.  I had to stay married almost a year longer than planned.  That's just the way the refinance turned out.  I understand how someone who has only spoken to me on the phone would be upset about being misled. We worked through that piece of the puzzle and another trust issue that came after that.  I was invited for Christmas and drove down to be with her.  It was wonderful and we fell in love.  Too soon, I had to leave.  The romance picked up after that with texting and Skyping all over the place.  I sent her flowers, she sent me chocolate covered potato chips and a book of love poems.  It was wonderful.  We stayed connected, very happy to hear each other's voice at the other end of the phone line.  We started to make plans. Of course there were problems inherent in the relationship as there are in any LDR's.  Although we met online, she was looking forward to imminent retirement.  As far as I could tell, she had no plans other than to spend two months in Mexico.  We both agreed it would be tough but made plans to talk, text, and Skype each other.  We were happy in the relationship until she left for Mexico.  The relationship changed drastically.  I heard very little from her.  Gone were the affirmations of love, the hope of being together soon, the planning, the connection.  I have written asking for an explanation or at least a decision one way or the other as to whether we are a couple or not.  We did affirm monogamy to each other.  That was before she left.  I am still and will remain monogamous until I have reason not to be.  I have no idea if that is still ok with her.  We didn't stay connected.  As you can see from the statistics listed above, if an LDR is going to go down in flames, it usually happens four to five months into the relationship.  Guess how long we were into our relationship?  Yup, four or five months.  Also, the average distance LDR's lived from each other is listed at 125 miles.  To me, that's nothing, a two hour drive.  It's a weekend together very often. How much work do you put into an LDR?  As much as you want or need to.  Remember, it takes two to Tango.  If it seems like you are doing all the heavy lifting, maybe you are.  If you been to see your love and they haven't even mentioned coming to see you, there is a problem.  Even if there is equity in effort, decisions have to be made.  Who is going to move?  Someone has to if the relationship is to progress.  This is where I am old fashioned, I guess.  I like to be in close physical proximity to my partner.  Away time to visit friends, relatives, or just to go off with friends is all part of it.  The knowledge that your partner will be back home, that your partner lives with you or very close to you, is important.  Not knowing when you can see each other again produces a lonely anxiety that can make matters bad.  Not being able to connect is the worst feeling.  Yes, I'm still in love.  Once your heart goes there, it doesn't want to come back.  Not being connected hurts every day.  She did write once to tell me her feelings for me hadn't changed but she couldn't give what I wanted and understood if I needed to move on.  I don't need to "move on."  I need to move forward.  I"m not getting younger.

That isn't the first LDR I've been in.  When I was a young buck, traveling around the West playing in bands, I had girlfriends back home.  As I got older, I was prone to stay involved for longer and longer periods of time.  One of the last few times I was on the road, I had a beautiful, college educated blond girlfriend from the San Francisco area.  We met in a small college town in NE Oregon.  While I was travelling across Canada and Montana and Wyoming, I would call everyday.  International calls are very expensive.  This was back in the day of land lines and long distance charges.  I'm not very good at doing lonely and met another woman in Wyoming who happened to be from Minnesota.  She had split from her husband and after meeting me and dating me for three weeks, decided to go back home to Minnesota.  So, now I was making a lot more long distance phone calls, still calling the girlfriend from SF and calling the girl from Minnesota.  The girl from Minnesota was planning on coming back to Oregon with me.  I was too drunk to maintain a responsible relationship and she had two kids that looked like they could use a new set of parents.  Too many miles between us and then the connection died. I went back to Oregon about the time the girlfriend from SF came back to college.  I told her all about my time with Miss Minnesota.  She was pissed mightily for a while but understood that I didn't handle lonely well and she was gone and Miss Minnesota was there.  I think in the end, she was glad that Miss Minnesota kept me occupied. The girlfriend from SF graduated and left town.  I put her on a train to Boise.  I think she finally got married and lives in Utah now. With today's instant access technology, the world is becoming smaller and smaller with each passing day.  It is feasible to woo and be wooed online, anywhere in the world.  Although just a friendly exchange, I have communicated with a woman from China. She is a pharmacist, both of Chinese and Western medicine and manages the pharmacy she works at.  How else would I ever in my life find out about this person if not online.  LDR's present many surmountable problems if both parties are willing to put in the time.  I guess you have to ask yourself, "Is it worth it?"  LDR's are filled with loneliness, longing, and long periods apart.  You must stay busy while waiting.  I am no good at waiting although I am getting much better.  The decision is whether the waiting is worthwhile or is it just a matter of four or five months before it blows up.  You'll never know unless you go for it.  If it feels good, feels alright, what have you got to lose?  Your heartstrings?  Shit, I've lost those so many times, I can't count them anymore.  Or remember most of them.  None of them had a plan.  We were just together until we weren't.  At my age now, though, I'm still looking for that something special, that spark of life.  I know who I am, what I desire, where I want to end up.  I'm going for it, even if it is another LDR.  I'll be better prepared this time.

Here's some good advice.