Garden

 Your thoughts are beautiful things and you should treat them as such. They are yours and yours alone until you share them, and you have the choice not to. It's okay to keep some of those beautiful little thoughts to yourself because your mind is but a vast garden where seeds of imagination are planted and fruits of hard work and discipline may ripen. Sometimes other people's thoughts enter our gardens and whether those thoughts are fertilizer or pest depends purely on the company we keep. Thoughts can be expressed without words, and I suggest we do so from time to time because words fail us, do they not? Even writing this silly little post tempts me with thoughts that others will think that I'm less than I really am. I know who I am, at least I think I do. That's good enough for me because my thoughts are a green garden with sunflowers always facing the sun. You'd get lost in a garden like that; I do all the time. Life can pretty beautiful if you think it is.

Poetry

What an awful time to be writing. Elena is out frantically searching for a specific type of glue for her project, the car isn't packed yet for the trip, I played with my phone instead of grading papers the morning, and the boy is about to be up. Off into the forest tomorrow. The rivers. I'm guided by rivers.

I want to write poetry; for me, not you.

I feel like I might have something to say.

:)

"Daddy was born because we needed music." 

I wish there was a cliff

right behind our house.

I would sit on the ledge

every night

and play a little song on my flute

just to say goodnight to the crashing waves 

below.

Old Mission

Yesterday I found myself standing in front of Old Mission Lighthouse, looking inland from the perspective of a frozen lake. I came out to make a fun little video of me playing an ocarina by a snowman, but only seconds after playing those final notes I fell into a deep an utter despair of depression. I could barely speak, barely move. I felt cold but sweaty in the hands. I acted weird around my family, and the silence of the frozen bay entered my brain like a parasite killing of any sense of guard I've placed around any raw unprocessed emotions I had yet to sort through. It was intense and confusing, and I would still be floating in the mystery of that experience if it had not been for my mother sending me a picture of a painting of that lighthouse that hangs on the walls of her home. My dad fancied that lighthouse as one of his favorites, and the painting verified that I was indeed standing quite a ways out into the frozen lake. 

Maybe I was visited by a ghost. Maybe I was the ghost.

That night I fell asleep into intense dreams about a *friend from a long time ago. 

*Demirci

Val

This morning I met Val. Nice lady. Works at the hotel. She made a passing comment about living with a Turkish person, and I couldn't help but prod that conversation a bit further. Her husband passed away a few years ago and she had an open room in the house, so she accepted a young student from Turkey as a roommate. A few years and two trips to Turkey later and she's hooked on the culture. That's a beautiful thing, finding something so special through a time of loss. 

7:56AM at Blossom Hotel and Suites, Traverse City, Michigan

When you lose a parent, people are going to tell you to get help and talk to somebody. You know that's the best advice ever and you know deeply that if you don't take it you are going to suffer. But, you put it off until it's been three years and you're sitting by a hotel pool with your son listening to Journey while using the chlorine to cover up why your teary eyes are all so red. 

That's what I did. I didn't talk to anyone and now I'm fatalistic about everything. I think about death all the time. Sometimes I see flashes of my father on his last days and I feel a loneliness come over me that I could not compare to anything else. 

I can talk about that here, right? That's the premise of this new version of my online ramblings. I'm going to be completely transparent and speak freely. I don't really have any strong opinions about anything like others do in their blogs. I'm just a lonely and confused person who has to prove to his son that the world is something more than a lonely and confusing place. That's no easy task. 

Sleeping Bear

I found a minute to be alone and write. How about that? Where am I, you ask? Physically speaking, I'm in the lobby of a hotel somewhere on the outskirts of Traverse City. Mentally speaking, I suppose I'm somewhere far, far away. Now, that leaves a bit of pressure on a person like me who tends to feel the bottleneck effect of not allowing oneself time to think for an extended period of time. I don't check in on myself. I don't ask how I'm doing or anything like that, not commonly, but here I am finding a moment to wonder how much I care if I'm going grey or how much I care that my face is a bit more wrinkly than it used to be. Should I be rationalizing and searching for approval that I'm still on the right path or should I just let it be what it is, this very moment? 

Last night I had dreams that were sounds only. Maybe it came from the hum of a piece of equipment in the ceiling controlling the room temperature or just the buzz of exhaustion from looking after my family too closely these past few weeks. Effort isn't the opposite of happiness. I learned that recently and if I don't write it somewhere I'm doomed to forget.

Back to getting older. Should I be searching for something the way I used to? Should it scare me if I have nothing on my mind? Am I living out the moments of success I once reached so distantly for? Man, I used to be a loose cannon. Just a click or two through this old blog will show that madness, uncertainty, and I are very old friends in a complicated yet open relationship. 

I love my family. God I love them so much. I still can't believe I'm a dad. Better yet, I can't believe I'm a dad to the best kid ever. I watched his eyes open when he woke up this morning and I was the first person he saw. I was laying in bed next to him watching the lines of light pass from the hotel curtains to the stucco painted ceilings when he twitched himself awake. It's like I was dreaming until he woke up.

We went to the mall today. That's really all we did outside of the hotel where we plan to spend the better part of this afternoon splashing between a hot tub that is too hot and a pool that is too cold. We bought some floaty swimmy arm things from Dunham's and they are sitting by the dresser waiting for him to finish playing Hunter Call of the Wild. Man, my son loves hunting. he loves fishing and all that outdoorsy stuff. That's so cool. Lets' renew our fishing license and wander around the beautiful waterways of Michigan this year. 

I hear we are going to Sleeping Bear Dunes tomorrow. I've never been there in the winter. How trippy.. 

I love you guys. I love you whoever you are. I love how few people read this anymore. 

Anywhere

It's early morning on New Year's Eve. I'm sitting at a crowded table of markers and drawing pens with two laptops set up to play Minecraft and Jurassic World Evolution 2. The second one is a surprise for Salem who is still sleeping. He was up late last night. I have about two more cups of coffee before the reality of responsibilities kicks in.

I value these moments and I've taught myself to not feel bad for taking time to myself. I don't get a lot of it. Yet, when I do have free time, I find myself sometimes thinking about people I knew a long time ago. Every so often I feel adventurous enough to reach out to someone either by Facebook message or a long email. A few days ago I wrote a very old friend who has yet to write back.

I suppose it's time to make a resolution for the new year, but I'm already a gym rat who eats consciously. I have the job of my dreams and it is starting to pay pretty well, which is great. Maybe I'll just go on being thankful for this year in the same way I'm thankful for each and every day. I still find it unwise to pass up a chance for any sort of personal growth, so here is my resolution: I'm going to find a way to make my family international again. Perhaps it will take more than a year, but I'm going to begin focusing on adventure again. It's not fair to my son to hide my past from him. 

Here I am, looking out a snowy window and letting the coffee reach my brain. Whatever the next year brings, I'm just happy to be anywhere.

12/27/2025

Awake and caffeinated. Already been to the gym. Back home and everyone is still asleep. Erykah Badu plays softly from my phone next to me. My cat chews on the side of my laptop. Winter boredom; I have a hard time relaxing. Short hair sucks. I need a new tattoo. I'm happy that I'm drawing again. Everything is interesting and important. 

Dream Machine

I've invented a dream machine, at least that's what I like to call it. Every morning like clockwork, I wake up sometime after 4 AM and drag my blanket to the couch where I'm greeted by a small square pillow and a second that is moon-shaped. Within seconds I'm back asleep in a wildly vivid dream world, and I do this every single day.

Some people have a hard time seeing clear images in their heads while others can see things clear as day. I happen to be one of those who can't really see much beyond eyelid goo, but there is hope. For whatever reason, the part of your brain that delivers brain juice to your consciousness is a different part than that which controls inner mind visualization. So, for people like me who rely on what I call a filing cabinet of information rather than a slide show, dreams have become that much more important.

Ornament

Today you cried when you saw your picture. It was a gift given to you by your teacher in the form of an ornament for our Christmas tree decorated with a photo of you wearing a Santa hat and holding a string of flickering lights. There is a cozy winter scene behind you with a gingerbread house and lots of snow. It really got to you for some reason when we were opening presents today, and I didn't want the entire day to pass without writing that somewhere. The very act of putting those thoughts into words is comforting.

I've been trying to get my inspiration back, the kind that I once invested in art and music. There is no doubt that I've converted much of that energy into parenting, but I'm finding myself once again in a place where I begin to fidget at night if I haven't created something during that day. Today I drew three or four cartoonish video game characters, and it doesn't matter how much personal touch I put into them, I just needed to feel a marker carry itself across paper.

For a short while I was beginning to grow afraid of something I could not control. I caught myself doing that thing where I anxiously pace from room to room of my small house. I get caught up in a thought or lost in a pattern of temporary interest and distraction and suddenly I begin to feel bad like I'm wasting my time. Somehow writing this down allows me to zoom out a bit and whenever I take a moment to do that, I catch a glimpse of realization that I'm probably just misfiring from being so hyper-focused on my duties as a father, husband, etc. 

Yet, I feel a certain sense of concentration coming over me tonight that I haven't felt in a long time. Watching you see yourself in a photo of holiday job and feeling those emotions you felt face to face made me realize that it's time I see my own photo for the beauty I've created. 

I love art. I love this spectacular painting we are making together, my beautiful son.

UASLP Fall 2025

UANL BUS304

The Threshold

It's earlier this morning than usual. I'm laying on the couch in the living room, sorting through sativa-induced thoughts, wondering how on Earth I'm ever going to get back into music and art. I feel so far away.

Two weeks ago I cut off all my hair, and just yesterday I shaved my face clean. People look at me like they are upset, and older people will always point out how grey I've become. In some ways I thought I was going to be sad about how I look these days, but it's nice to blend in a bit. My neighbor told me that I look like I'm wearing a disguise. I like that. 

So, while I put in a few months of growing out my hair and never shaving my face clean, I'm finding that perhaps I was reaching out for the 'reset' button, and perhaps also I need to stare at the loading screen for a while. I think my system needed to be shut down and restarted. Maybe I missed an update somewhere. F@cking drivers; they get me every time!

My life belongs to my son now, and I'm trying to stay focused on that. I'm trying also to stay present, but it's harder than it sounds. Staying present means being a better listener and eating slower. It means entering a room with a purpose and committing to not thinking about unfinished business in the room you just left. 

I sometimes wonder if there would ever be a point in my life when I'm so far away from the person I used to be that they become a storybook character I'm only learning about from old pictures and conversations. I might be pretty close to that. However, I believe in valuing the importance of thresholds. I believe that the lesson to be learned will sometimes be so glaringly obvious that it blinds you when you crossover. It's right there in your face, the painful truth, and it always comes with wisdom as long as you can relax your eyelids enough to let it in. 

It feels good to write about it. I'm somehow less worried about it only twenty minutes after loudly clicking on this keyboard, a little too much for early morning ambience. The moon was beautiful last night and it probably came up loudly over the water. I didn't see it though. I glimpsed it from my window, but I didn't drive down to the lake to see it. I should start doing that. It's right there.

It's right there. Somehow that seems so relative. The beautiful glowing mystery is silently peaking her bright eyes through the trees, through the clouds, and I'm pretending I'm too cool to notice. 

A Note to my Son Before We Go

Today your mother and I have been married for six years. You're staying with your grandparents tonight, and we're eating ice cream at home. That's just how it is, but I'm sure you're getting your fill with Uncle Jimmy. So, here we are son. Only one full week before we head off to Yellowstone. You just finished school last week, and we had a really cool party for you with your teachers and your classmates. I could only wonder if you'll remember these cute times. You see, today I also went to Aidan's graduation party. There was a lot going on today. Aidan is my best friend's son and I remember him clearly when he was just your age. So, that makes me realize that you are not going to be this age forever, but I wouldn't freeze time if I could. You have a lot coming up, my beautiful boy. Just remember to be thankful for where you are on your path and always be considerate to those who are just beginning theirs. I love you, Salem. Dad

Onward Again

Check back with me in one week. 

I have a feeling something cool is coming up.

Earth Berry Apothecary

I feel my connection to this blog taking a bit of a timeout.

Please enjoy the beauty that is Earth Berry Apothecary, our humble family business.

www.earthberryapothecary.com

Wyoming

This year we will drive to Wyoming. I had to write that somewhere.

Boy, I hate when you're gone

Boy, I hate when you're gone. I write this as if somehow you're going to stumble upon it and somehow feel me on this, but I feel terrible when you're far away from me. You're spending a few nights with your grandparents on both sides, and then on Monday you'll begin school. It's Pre-K, and it's kind of a big deal because you've never been away so long every day of the week. It's kind of killing me, and I feel like I have to hide it for some reason. Mom is really sad about it, and we're just trying to see the positive side of these changes. I just needed to write that somewhere because this is a lot harder for me than I typically care to admit. Something about you being in school for so long ties together the entirety of schooling in my mind, and all of a sudden I can see so many of the chapters laid out for our family. Until now it was such a mystery.