Category Archives: Health

Behavior, Christmas, Holiday, Nostalgia, Opinion, Personal, Social Rules, Xmas

Christmas Is Us

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I write something like this each year. We all have our own idea of the Christmas season – and some have none. For those with faith, it is the hallmark of charity, love, and kindness, enveloped by the majesty of the celebration of their faith. For others, it is a secular celebration of family, friends, surprises, and time spent together. It is also a time of unreachable loss and loneliness precisely because our memories of love and family can’t help but be tinged by the nostalgia of times no longer within our reach. For others? It is a struggle of choices to afford to surprise their children, family, and friends with gifts worthy of their attention. 

Regardless of its significance, we all own a piece of the Christmas season. Even the Christians wisely appropriated the winter solstice celebration to change the celebration of the birth of their savior. It does not lessen its profound meaning for them. 

“The Gift of the Magi” is my quintessential Xmas story. Both husband and wife sacrificed what was most valuable to them to give the best gift possible. 

We all have within our reach the ability to give everyone the gift of joy and acceptance. No matter how they choose to celebrate. 

Each year, most of us universally agree that the ideal of Christmas lies not in things but in moments and thoughts of others, in profound observation of faith, and in our ability to celebrate collectively.

Regardless of why or how we are here, we are all here with our respective lives, beliefs, and attitudes. 

Let not the harshness of personal conviction blind any of us to the joy of having a season in which we need no further excuse or justification to surprise one another, to be appreciative, and to find a way to look past the differences we each exercise during our celebrations. 

Love, X

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Behavior, Justice, Law, Mental Health, Opinion

Justice?

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It seems as if legal systems forget the consequences to victims. In this particular case, the person in question was rightfully convicted in more than one criminal case. Each case involved a woman confronted with the potential for further harm. His release pending appeal puts each previous victim in the position of fearing for their safety. 

This isn’t a case of someone accused yet not convicted. The record is established and his actions are well documented. Each of his convictions result from behavior that should not be condoned in a civilized society. Releasing him pending appeal on a particular case after he’s already pled guilty to other charges regarding other women is a misstep of our collective sense of justice.

Eric P. Osborne, approximately 46, of Stratford, Ontario in Canada was convicted of sexual assault in August of 2023. As a result, he was given the maximum sentence possible for the summary conviction, less time served, along with many other conditions including registering on the sex offenders list and providing DNA samples. 

Mr. Osborne also has a history of other convictions for crimes committed against other women. He pleaded guilty to those charges.

As of Monday, Nov. 27, 2023, he is at large in the community again pending an appeal. 

He may not seem dangerous at first but the public is encouraged to question the legitimacy of his statements and be wary.

X

Behavior, Dating, Guest Post, Poetry And Prose, Relationships, Writing

Rough Hands (Guest Post)

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Rough hands
Scrubbed clean
Spots of blood
Bare to be seen

Nervous smile.
Rosy cheeks.
Hand in mine
On leather seats.

Red hot heart
Pumping high
I thought I
Might call him mine

Blue blue eyes
Smiling sad
This is so good
I’ve got it bad.

I see flags-
Crimson red-
But his touch
Goes to my head.

I pray – I do
This is true.
Sparks and light
Please come through.

I don’t know
What to do
If he’s done-
Already through.

I’ve got too
many souls
Been close to
Too many holes.

And I’m still
Alone in the dark.
I’m still
Alone in the dark.

Those rough hands
Lit a spark.
So roll credits,
This fades to dark.

Behavior, Mental Health, Opinion, Personal, Psychology

Worry

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I was challenged to write words that might frame the idea of worry differently: 

Worry is the embodiment of arrogance.

To worry is to borrow time from tomorrow and waste it in the now.

Though I do not believe that God intervenes, instead of worrying, ask yourself if you’ve used your intelligence, time, resources, and money to minimize whatever it is you are stressing about.

If it cannot be changed? Acceptance. It must be acceptance grounded in action and surrender simultaneously.

If it can be changed, do not squander with the universe has given you. If you believe that you were molded in the creator’s image, it is your duty not to waste that which you have been given. Work the problem as best as you can.

Worry is arrogance because it implies that any amount of present preoccupation with stress will yield a different result. 

Even if you do everything right, life will still hand you problems that aren’t your fault. You can consume your energy wanting it to be otherwise or questioning the fairness of it. Yet, the same result awaits you. The same sun that provides illumination also darkens. 

If you use such words, worry is the sin of gluttony. You’ve focused on the idea of you to the point it consumes you.

Do what you can with what you have. 

To worry is to believe that our feeble fingers can overcome obstacles by doing nothing. 

Worry is the roommate who eats all your potato chips and never pays rent. 

If you are lucky enough to be one of the few who can dispel worry, your life will be different than the rest of us. We are human batteries, and most of us are drained by our own thoughts; immobilized and wasteful of the time and energy we’ve been given.

Love, X

Behavior, Lemon Moment, Mental Health

A Wish

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I unwrapped a day today, like I have thousands of times. Each morning, the gift of the hours is at my feet. One of my wishes? To remember what it’s like to go under and wonder if I’d see the light on the other side. To stop focusing on nonsense and drama that carries no weight. To appreciate the people, food, places, and things in my life. Why is it so easy to bring shadows to sunrise? To question the point, motive, and meaning of just being alive? As if it’s not enough. Anyone squinting their eyes will see only shadow and narrowness. Wide-eyed appreciation for the rhythm of breath and oxygen is the most basic miracle possible. If you start with that, the ephemeral idiocy of wanting anything else dissipates like the first wisp of steam from your morning coffee. I want this ability now more than ever.

Love, X

Lemon Moment, Personal, Relationships

Skittles

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“You are the Skittles of my heart.” – X

I waited day after day for the perfect moment. When the declining sun aligned perfectly against the ordinary tree by the road. There are only a couple of days of the year when it’s possible to capture this fleeting alchemy of orange at sunset. Which proves that even the most ordinary thing or person can shine with brilliance when someone is looking for it with patient eyes.

Love, X
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Behavior, Family, Lemon Moment, Monroe County, Nostalgia

The Last Tree

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The Last Tree

The picture is of my Dad, Bobby Dean, standing on a horse. Of course. I poorly colorized it a few years ago.

One day, I’ll abandon safety and climb my last tree- but I won’t know it’s the last time I’ll do it. I’ll laugh as I look down at the people passing below me. I’ll feel the wind blow over me among the branches. A squirrel might chatter at me for being too close to its nest.

Well-meaning people sometimes chastise me for my avocation of ascending trees. They are right. There is a risk. But I don’t know of any other adults who take the time to climb trees. It’s unlike skydiving, where the risk is primarily virtual and unlikely. Those who cluck at me for enjoying it don’t understand the sublime moments of being in the trees.

I might fall and break an arm. I might fall and crack my neck.

One day, though, I will look back on my last time in the trees and want to trade an arm for the chance to be there again.

And that’s true for so many things in life. Whether it’s being barefoot in the cold creeks, walking through the grass where unseen reptiles slither, or ordering a bitterly acrid cup of coffee, one so rich that my teeth will blacken momentarily. I’ll have my last kiss. Enjoy my last walk.

So, if you see me in the trees, take a moment to quell the urge to remind me that gravity could pull me out of it. Traffic might be my demise. My arteries might invisibly pass a clot and knock me silent to the ground. An unlikely second plane might find me unexpectedly as it spirals. A shadow in the dark early morning might demand my wallet.

The last tree I’ll climb started growing decades ago. It all started with the pine tree and gnarled other trees along the drainage ditch in front and behind my grandparents’ modest house in Monroe County. Grandpa didn’t care if I climbed trees – or even found my way to the tin roof. To him, boys climbed things, and sometimes, a working man lost fingers in the long cutting belts of the dangerous lumberyards.

The last tree is waiting for me.

Love, X
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Guest Post, Poetry And Prose, Relationships, Writing

Honeyed Silence (Guest Poem)

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There’s a buzz in the sun,

Under harsh light and heat.

Then stars shine, work is done,

Until dawn heralds a repeat.

And there, in shadowed night,

Held in sweetness’ embrace,

A calming chill of what might

Become in this honeyed place.

Meticulous and structured comb,

Like the life you built amongst the buzz,

Your honeyed embrace feels like home,

Silencing the harshness of what was.

Guest Post, Poetry And Prose, Relationships, Writing

Did You Ever (Guest Poem)

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I told you I was going to bed hours ago.

I’m still wide awake and it’s almost tomorrow.

The absence of your words screams at me.

The deafening cry of your lacking intensity.

I remember you professed a strong preference

For concrete actions over eloquence.

But emoting my messages doesn’t count

And otherwise sparse deeds still leave doubt.

I think you like my smile when it’s directed at you;

You approve of my resume for blood so blue;

And you think you’ve got me around your finger.

I think I haven’t got any more reasons to linger.

There must be better, something better than this,

An arrangement where my needs matter like his.

Somebody who could hear my words and care

About the heart that so bravely put them there.

I don’t fall in love with titles, fast cars or banks

I don’t care about your grandaddy’s professional rank.

My heart holds the things you can’t touch or see,

And I expect to get that in return, equitably.

I asked for clear expectations and kind words.

I asked to claim time and what we already were.

I never yelled but told him I was watching to see

If he’d give love that felt meaningful to me.

At this point, it’s clear, he can’t or he won’t;

The result is the same. I hurt, you know?

And the answer doesn’t matter but I’ll ask him anyway:

Did you ever really want me that way?

Guest Post, Poetry And Prose, Relationships, Writing

Driving Past Your Home (Guest Poem)

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I hate how I feel driving past your home

But I hate how I hate it even more.

So close but still a million miles away

Like rolling dice in a game I can’t really play.

I’ll keep everything you ever left with me

Wasn’t much – since it was just six weeks-

But you can take all the couldas and shoulda

Because I exhausted my words and my wouldas.

There’s no empty space, but there coulda been.

Everything’s out of place, right where it’s always been.

I filled up on ‘almost’ while you topped up my glass

Till my cup was empty-then I was on my ass.

Could you please move away from here?

Or turn back the clock, close the gap, bring me near?

You were half leaving while still trying to stay.

So close – but a million miles away.