Where to begin... (Originally published on May 21, 2008)

It's been a while. A long strange trip actually. I just needed to write. To get thoughts to move from my brain down to my fingers. To have knowledge spread.

The events of the last few months have seemed amplified. Somewhere along the way, my siblings and I have become adults. This fact should have been clear several times, but the idea was somehow abstracted. This week, it became less abstract. My father went into the hospital last week complaining of chest pains. He didn't think much of it at the time. Nor did his doctor's initially. They began examining him and found some arterial blockage. By the time Friday rolled around, the decision had been made to have bypass surgery. The surgery was scheduled for Monday. My sister Megan and I flew down to Nashville on Saturday.

My father is currently out of ICU and recovering from a quadruple bypass. There was no damage. There will be some lifestyle changes, but he should be back up and around in a couple of weeks. He's only 55 and our friends in the medical field have become quite adept over the last few decades.

It wasn't until I was returning to Philadelphia on Tuesday that something seemed to sink in: the number of things going on simultaneously. My sister Betsy is pregnant with her second. She was in Washington state looking at houses for her upcoming move. Her daughter is approaching her first birthday. Her second wedding anniversary was the day after his surgery. We stayed with Bridget and attempted to entertain the lovely Audrey while her father worked on the house in preparation for sale. Megan is taking classes and should actually have been working on a paper. Bridget and Alan have to clear up a fallen tree in their backyard. I brought some electrical wiring I wanted to work on. Meetings were cancelled. Vacations rescheduled.

I was absorbing all of these events and thought about the fact that my mother is scheduled for her second knee replacement this summer. Grandparents get knees replaced not my... Oh, wait. My mother is a grandmother. She has been the mother of the bride 3 times over.

The generations have gone up one. We are no longer the kids. My father had all five of us by the time he was my age. I was already 9 when his 32nd birthday rolled around. My mother is now the matriarch of a family that includes 11 1/3 people and spans 3 generations. All 3 of my sisters are homeowners. We are spread out over 4 states.

It has been an interesting couple of years. There has been sadness and joy. Pain and pleasure. Beginnings and endings for those people that believe there can be either. Quite a bit of travel and many evenings spent at home. Through it all, there have been stories. Through it all there has been love. I turned 30 at a bar hanging out with my aunt 14 days after my sister had gotten married. I turned 31 behind the wheel of a car, ten days before my niece took breath. In 13 days, I'll turn 32...

My guess is that it will be another interesting year.

Father's Day (Originally published on June 15, 2008)

We celebrate fathers on this day in June. It has always struck me as a day we dedicate to the masculine. A day when we remember what is good and right in the Y chromosome. The image of my sex has oft been hijacked by the demons of our nature. It is today when we remember the better angels.

I am one of the blessed. Fatherhood is symbolized by a great man in my life. He will be the first to tell you that he has been supported and helped by a great woman. But he has taught me everything I know about being that rare creature, man. He tells a tale of a dream. A god and a goddess standing before him. He seeing what he had of the harshness of our sex looks on one with love and the other with venom. They stand before him smiling. Knowing that the connections are indivisible. She leans against him. She does not need his support but she is comforted by his strength. It allows her to reach new heights.

At our best, we are the sword and the shield. Providing a place for the magick to happen. Instructing our sons to do the same. Unleashing the force that is within us to propel ourselves higher. Offering a hand to our brothers and sisters to aid them in the climb. Clearing a path through the unknown. Standing on the side of creation and against the destructive. The real battles are very rarely physical, but they are real and they must be fought.

And so I say to all the fathers out there. Those that have taught your sons and daughters the value of their fellow humans. Those that taught them to look at the lifeforms we share this planet with and respect them. Those that made it clear that no man has the right to raise his hand to a woman. The men who woke before dawn and toiled after sundown. The men who fought with everything they had for those they loved. The men who wore the title "father" as a badge of honor and held it as a sacred vow. I honor you this day. May your burden by light. May your children know the love you feel for them.

And to the man I have the honor of calling father, I love you. You have taught me more than you know.

A walk down the road... (Originally published on June 15, 2008)

I've turned 32 by the turning of calendar pages. The light in my life gathered some of my loved ones and we went to Bar Ferdinand. My phone seemed to ring continuously that day. The actual date was amidst a whirlwind of life. Amazing things are happening all around me. As some of the news is not mine to share, I will just say that many congratulations are in order. I received gifts and positive energy and some other things unexpected.

My father is recovering quite well and has been given a clear bill of health. I will try to reach him via phone shortly to wish him well.

Several of my siblings are gathering in Seattle for an event that I will let others describe in their own way. The American Foundation for Suicide Prevention is hosting an event called "Out of the Darkness" (www.theovernight.org/). I can only say that the event has given me a renewed sense of hope. I feel as if a light, once extinguished, is burning again. I regret that I can only donate money. I do ask that anyone reading this visit the site and should you be in the position to, support one of the walkers. Donations to Elizabeth Marles (www.theovernight.org/index.cfm would be doubly useful.

On Wednesday, I return to a place where the magick is palpable to me. A place where part of myself was reborn and part withered. I can only say that this year I will be joined by another. A new member to the family of love that I have known for two years. I am looking forward to sharing the place with her. I am looking forward to the reminder of what is important that seems to be ever present there.

Amidst all of the comings and goings, the changes, the birthdays, I set forth on another journey. My eyes turned towards what our society considers a dividing line. I took it upon myself to become "landed". The rules have changed much since the time when citizenship was limited to those in possession of land. However, some of the antiquated notions still remain.

Property ownership has never been a personal goal. Ownership, by and large, is an illusion. However, come August (assuming everything goes as expected), I will make housing payments to a bank rather than a landlord. I have just signed a sales agreement for a condo at 21st and Christian. I will have a basement, a back patio, two bedrooms (one of which is quite small), a usable kitchen, condo fees, taxes, and insurance. My brain seems to be going in a million different directions. I'm already placing furniture and planning the garden. A place to grow food. A place to paint. A place to dry out a tent after a camping trip.

I will no longer have access to a pool and gym equipment will have to be purchased. My 150 yard commute will be extended to a mile or so. But, I feel as if I'm putting down roots. I wasn't planning it. I don't equate it with some milestone or some glorified concept of worth. I consider it a statement that I'm here and that I don't plan on leaving at a moment's notice. I am staking a claim on this city. I am binding myself to it. I think everyone but me considered it my home. I cannot equate the term "home" with any physical address or location. Home is a feeling or warmth that is found in people and memories. I will simply say that I have found a place to keep my stuff and that I plan on keeping my stuff there for a while.

There are so many things going through my head. So many thoughts that meld together. So many things I could say but would have to rewrite and rephrase countless times. For now, I will return to my apartment and plan for the coming week. Tomorrow, will be a day of business; a day of meetings and contracts; a day when the world gets caught up in itself and buys its own press. I will go into secure in the knowledge that by mid-week I will be on my way to reality; a place where people feel free to be themselves; where a handshake or a hug supersedes all the paperwork in the world.

I bid you all a good night and a good morning to follow.