Personal Journal ... Why do I need one of those?

My 10 year old nephew, a kid now stuck in the middle of what will certainly be a messy divorce, has been asked to keep a journal. I’m not certain if he asked for one first or if it is the result of him being asked to remember what he does and where he goes when spending time with each parent. These things will of course be requested of him when custody arrangements are considered eventually. But in any case it has occurred to me that simply giving him a bound journal-type notebook and telling him to start keeping a journal isn’t really enough information. Does he understand what a journal is? Has he ever kept one in the past for personal or school reasons? How exactly do you explain to a 10 year old boy what he should be writing and how often it should be done? The obvious purpose in is his parent’s eyes would be to have a log of his activities while they are not with him, but there is far more to it than that. Journaling is more about recording how you feel about things, but not in a literal sense. Now how do you explain THAT to a 10 year old?

I was probably about 11 or 12 when I was first asked by a friend to start keeping a journal. (Thanks Stacey!) I had no idea why, and quite honestly hated doing it much of the time in the beginning. Eventually my nightly routine of scratching out a few sentences about what I had done that day grew into a few paragraphs and eventually into multiple pages over time. Those pages were filled with little things about where I had gone, who I had been with, and how I felt about events. At the time, writing in a journal seemed silly but looking back on it now it is one of the best habits I ever picked up. Writing is a release for everyone who does it; even those who claim to hate it and not be any good at it. Writing is like everything else in life, with practice comes greater ease of doing and a journal can be quite beneficial to improving one’s ability to write. For those who keep hand written journals, it also helps to maintain and improve handwriting skills. I use to benefit from this, until blogger arrived on scene and I began to type journal entries rather than hand write them. My handwriting has suffered greatly at the loss of those journal entries as well! :-(

Having kept a personal journal off and on for most of my life now I guess you could say that I am partial to the belief that everyone should keep one at some point in their life. For those who claim they are “dumb” or “pointless” I would challenge them to recall what they did on January 1 the year they turned 14. For those who keep journals, that answer could be found by flipping through the pages of an old journal on the book shelf. Even if they did not record an entry on that specific date, reading through the entries just before and after the date in question will often trigger memories we have long since forgotten. Trust me on this; old journals can shed a lot of light on fuzzy memories and help us to more accurately remember important times in our lives.

Sure many of the entries found in an adolescent journal will be filled with rants about how unfair it is that we had to spend the day cleaning our room, or why we can’t go over to a friend’s house, but even those entries serve a purpose. At the time we write them, they help to release the anger we are feeling and move past the petty nature of the issue. When we are older and reading through those old entries, it might help us to remember what it was like being a kid again with no control over many things in our lives and feeling picked on because we were asked to do certain chores. This can be an invaluable tool in dealing with our own children who will undoubtedly feel the same anger and resentment toward us when we ask them to clean their room and tell them they cannot do something they have asked permission for. The benefits of keeping a journal are two fold, one for releasing our feelings while we are having them so that we can move past them, and two for remembering what happened to us and how we reacted to the everyday events of our past life.

With that said how do you begin to write a journal if you never have before? What do you write about, how much do you write, and how do you know if you have written too much? Here’s a few simple rules everyone, no matter the age, should follow when writing a personal journal.

1) It is YOUR journal, nobody else. That means you write whatever you want, about anything you want, and as much as you want. A general rule of thumb is to start by listing something you did that day, in detail, and how you felt about doing it. The rest will begin to flow naturally from your brain to your paper.

2) Not every journal entry has to talk about your feelings or what tasks you did during the day. I often write about things that stir up my emotions, good or bad, but have nothing to do with my own personal life. It is fun to go back through old journals from high school and read about my take on a political or news event and why I agreed or disagreed with it. Even some book and song reviews found their way into my journal entries over the years. Apparently I was never really a New Kids on the Block fan though I had just about every cassette tape they released and knew all the words. I pretended to like then just so I could keep up with my friends at school … who knew?

3) Write like no one is reading! It is your journal of your personal thoughts and feelings. You should write like nobody but you will ever read it, don’t worry about the spelling or grammar mistakes you may make, just write. It is however important to keep in mind that if not protected your journal may well find its way into the hands of someone who will read it. Make sure you don’t exaggerate the truth in your entries; you may one day have to defend them!

4) Write every day! The best way to make journaling a habit is simply to write every day, even when you think you have nothing to write about. If you sit down to write and nothing comes, turn on the radio or TV for a few minutes and write a few paragraphs about the song that is playing or the show that is on. Often times beginning with some sort of a journal prompt will lead you to write about things you didn’t even know you had in you. That is how I managed to note in an old journal my feelings toward NKOTB. By the end of that journal entry I had written something far more profound about how we tend to do things we don’t really like just to fit in at school. I was 13 and didn’t realize what I was writing at the time. However, as an adult looking back with a new perspective it is clear that I was very anti-crowd-following even back in junior high but knew some times we must hide behind a mask to protect ourselves from ridicule.

5) Have fun with it! Write about things that make you happy, and sad, and mad, and feel guilty. Write a song or book review, draw a beautiful picture of something stuck on your mind, or just doodle a carton about your silly brother/sister. Write about what you enjoyed about your day, and what you hated about it. What you are doing is logging where you have been, what you have done, and how you felt along your journey. It will help you to release those feelings before they fester into a larger issue, and it will be fun to look back on in your adult life and remember what you loved and hated about your childhood!

The Race

It was inevitable
This test, this result
Another battle has begun
In a race that won't be won
Another reminder of how little they really know
Of how fragile life has grown
And how far we have yet to go
In this race against time

This is the point where some give in
Let time win
And simply wait for it to end
But lucky for us, that's just not your style
Instead, you'll get up again
Brush the dust from your smile
And head down the path laid out before you
Ready to fight your way to the end

Though we can’t win this race for you
Or even join in on the fight
We’ll never be far from your side
Ready to catch you when you fall
To help you get up again

With friends and family near
Your support system all in place
This is a battle you just might win
Another chance to prolong the race

in progress

Was doing a little blog re-organization and ran across this draft I never published ... It was originally penned back in 2008, somewhere between May and September. It is by no means a complete work, but I'll share it anyway.

Can't concentrate, can't think
Thoughts keep drifting back in time
Memories of our last encounters
Things he said, looks he gave
Advice he offered so effortlessly

Months have passed between us
Always too busy to make the time
Life goes on day by day
Each one slipping quietly into the past
Time stacking up against us
Knowing one day will be our last

Was that it, the last I will see of him
That chilly day in May
When my thoughts were somewhere else
Off in my own little world
Listening intently as he spoke
Gave of himself, sat patiently for my answers
Telling me "I'll Wait" when I would pause between them
All the while knowing
I was somewhere else

It was his birthday, but I forgot
It was the beginning, and the end
A day filled with tears, and hope
Of mixed emotions, weakness, and strength
The last day I heard my grandfather's voice
The last day I believed I was a misfit
The first day my eyes were truely open wide
The first day I could see the reason it all changed

In the emotional falout of that day
I learned, I grew, I changed
I asked the hard questions
And gave answers to them more freely
When they were asked of me
Yet some things remain the same

Our lives are forever intertwined
The distance between us
A double edged sword
A new balance i know I must find

Gone Away Again

And so I'm off to mend my friend
Tucked securely inside my shell again
This cozy dark place is comforting
All snug and warm
Safely hidden from the outside world

I come here often it seems
When the seas get rough
And the skies appear to open up
In here where it's safe
To ride out the storm

Another storm has come
And will not pass soon it seems
So for those who wonder where I've gone
Knock a little on top of my shell
Or maybe just yell
I may not answer right away
But I promise to poke my head out again some day

SHANE 09

The catcher has returned, a coincidence I’m sure

His reappearance comes while I am once again reading through Unconditional, making a few corrections and modifications to improve on the writing in certain areas, not to mention ensuring that my memory of the story is correct and all the details match with the summary I have now provided my agent. It has been almost a year since I last read through it, and apparently long enough that I had forgotten just how much of myself and my relationship with Jack really ended up in that book. The story is still pure fiction, the chain of events never happened in any form, but some things, the friendship between Kerry and Shane and a select few events from the timeline, are completely based in reality.

I spent a long time wishing I could feel comfortable telling Jack what was really going on in my life back in the day. Wishing first that I could find the right words to explain what I was trying to wrap my head around, and why I was so seriously contemplating the end. When I managed to figure out what was wrong, I simply wished for someone to talk to who would understand and not walk away. Given the environment I was living in, my rural conservative town not my family who was rather liberal even back then, I was convinced that such a person could not exist, not even Jack. Just more proof oh how little I really knew about the man who was both my mentor and best friend through much of adolescence.

As I reread Shane’s coming out story and the bond she formed with Kerry, it’s almost like taking a walk down Memory Lane. It makes me remember why I looked up to Jack, how safe I felt tucked under his wing all those years, and a little nostalgic for the good times. Yes, even for a messed up adolescent who balanced precariously on the edge of sanity while she battled her inner demons with the help of her support system, there were still good times. Most of those times involve simply hanging out with Jack after school, something I miss very much.

Life gets busy for everybody and far too often we let moments slip through our fingertips without realizing it. I am certainly guilty of that from time to time but as I read through Unconditional again, all those simple moments that were the foundation of my relationship with Jack come flooding back. Sometimes so rapidly that I find myself drifting off into daydreams and recreating the story to fit reality rather than my fictional version of our history. But isn’t that the mark of a truly great story, it’s ability to allow the reader to place themselves in one of the main roles and step into an alternate reality?

I wonder which character Jack puts himself in place of.

Actually, I don’t. I know the answer to that already and it depends greatly on the mood he is in when he picks it up off the table. We’ve talked about it a lot since his first read of it in 2007 and he is aware that much of it was intentionally written to explain my side of our relationship, something I never was very good with until recently. It was also a way to ensure that long after Jack isn’t around to hang out with, I will have something tangible to remember him with, and a way to share his legacy with a new generation who may never get to meet him let alone get to know him very well.

I suppose it’s for this reason that reading Unconditional again has brought back The Catcher and reminded me that it’s time to make time to spend with Jack before he heads south this December. One visit a year is hardly enough, but better than nothing!

The dreaded Author Bio

How exactly does one write their short bio to be included with all submissions of their manuscript? Obviously I could put down all the stats, birth date and place, hometown, family info, even educational and career info ... but that wold be much more like a resume than a short author bio. So I am left searching Google again for examples of what should be in one of these things and, have managed to piece together this little gem. The more I read it, the more I like it. But will it help sell my work to a publisher?

Author BIO
Shannon DuBey was born in a rural northern Michigan town and now lives in Flint, MI with her partner of nearly 15 years. She has spent most of her life writing poetry and short stories for personal use while pursuing an education and career in the computer industry. She has now developed some of those short stories into full length novels with a message. Her work is written with a primary audience of young adults in mind, but she masterfully breaks through those boundaries to produce a compelling story that will appeal to readers of all age groups and backgrounds.

Office politics ... way too much like High School

I guess I was probably a little over due for a reality check on discrimination and discomfort with the whole subject of homosexuality for far too many people out there. It has been a long time since it has slapped me in the face as a reminder that not everyone out there is comfortable with my sexuality and some are down right offended by it. To be honest, I’m a little uncomfortable with the idea of women sleeping with men, but I don’t’ go around telling all the breeders of the world to stop loving who they love and prohibit their rights to equality and free speech.

This all began last Friday when I innocently wore my Dykes on bikes club T-Shirt to work since it was a jeans day. I got a few smirks and second glances as I walked in and up to my desk, but nothing out of the ordinary or all that unexpected. I also managed to get a few compliments on the design and one person asked where they could get one like it. It was a quiet day around the office and I went on with the business of my day, left my desk a grand total of three times, and had extremely limited contact with the rest of my co-workers. Yet, at about 11:30 my direct supervisor came and asked me to come with him. As we passed by his office where I assumed we were headed, he told me we needed to go talk to the Director of our department … never a good thing. I was told that I was in violation of the company dress code because my T-shirt fell into the vague category of “overly controversial” and that I would need to take the remainder of the afternoon off (with pay) because I did not have another shirt to change into. Let the drama begin.

I asked few questions, knowing that the office politics were not worth getting upset over right then and there, returned to my office to close out of all my files, grabbed my bag, and headed to the human Rescources office. It was then that I learned that HR had no idea I was being sent home, seemed a little strange to me, and that the person who was in HR that day could not explain to me why the shirt was so controversial. She requested that I bring it back Monday so that her boss could look into the matter for me. On that note, I left the building at about noon on a beautiful sunny June afternoon and enjoyed my suddenly extended weekend. I had some things I needed to get done before Monday morning, which is what I was working on when I was called away from my desk. I made the decision that if I was not allowed to work my regular schedule to complete those tasks they could wait until next week and the project would simply be delayed a week, no skin off my nose. I didn’t do a single work related thing from Friday at noon until I arrived today at 8:30 to start the new week. Thank you for the time off!
I had time to cool off over the weekend, to let the irritation slide a little bit and approach the issue with a little more political tact that I could have mustered Friday. I scheduled a meeting with the HR manager as directed and took in the shirt so he could look at it. The first words out of his mouth “Wow that’s a pretty shirt. I wouldn’t mind wearing one of these.” Then he attempted to answer my questions and assure me that he will look into the matter for me. He also apologized on behalf of the company that I felt “singled out”. Until that moment, I didn’t realize that everyone else sees this as a clear case of discrimination. I was simply asking why the shirt was controversial, not why I couldn’t wear it. If it doesn’t fit the dress code for jeans Fridays, I won’t wear it. But I need to know why it doesn’t fit so that I don’t wear another shirt that may land me in the same situation. So far, nobody can tell me the answer to that question.

In that short conversation with HR, I don’t feel much better about any of this. If anything, I’m more confused. What I learned is that if one single person is uncomfortable with or offended by a shirt you wear to work you can be sent home, presuming that the dress code is enforced universally. I guess this means that for every Christian, political, sports team affiliated, etc shirt I see that I disagree with I should take my concern to HR rather than being an adult, considering the source, and walking away. I was also reminded that there are people in this office, a place I have been comfortable enough to be out from the moment I walked in on my first day, that are so uncomfortable with my sexual orientation that merely being reminded of it is offensive to them. Seeing gay pride colors or slogans on my shirt, or the trade marked name of a lesbian motorcycle organization makes them so uncomfortable that they can’t get their work done if it is in the building. Yet those same people see nothing wrong with spouting Bible verses, wearing Christian themed shirts, and discussing Christian topics in the middle of the office corridors where not every employees of this company is a Christian. Ahh the double standard.

My saga continues over the T-shirt controversy as the HR manager asks questions of those involved in the decision to send me home, and to our parent companies HR department to find out their view of the situation and how things should have been handled. In the mean time, I’m uncomfortable being in the building today, and experiencing a feeling I haven’t felt in a long time, hatred toward me for something I can not, nor do I wish to change. I know it is their ignorance that will one day be their downfall. I know that I must be the bigger person and allow them their prejudice, but I don’t like this familiar feeling of being alone in the crowded office and not even able to look my department head in the face let alone the eye. He has forever lost my respect simply for the way in which he handled the situation. I guess it’s fitting that he is obviously uncomfortable around me today as well. He has not said a single word to me in the handful of time I have crossed his path and more than once he has seen me walking toward him in the hall and turned away rather than acknowledge my presence. Feels like high school all over again in so many ways!

Born into a world that will never understand you
Forced to live a life that will never make you whole
Spend your whole life wondering why it doesn’t feel right
Or listen to your heart and set yourself free
Stand up
Stand out
Stand tall
Never let their hate filled words break your resolve
You’re not a freak, a mistake of nature
You deserve to belong and to be loved
You are human too!

A new story ...

I had a little time on my hands and managed to knock out a children's story that has been kicking around in my head for a month or so. It needs illustrations to help the flow a little but here's the raw text version for you to enjoy.

It is a tad long so if you prefer, you can find the PDF version in my downloads area, or for the lazy among you, click here


Now for the story ...

The life of a Snowboard

By Shannon DuBey

Dedicated to Tristan, the youngest snowboard wizard in my life. Ride on Lil’ Man!

**************************************************************************

The sun was shining brightly through the thick glass windows along the front of the store. Timmy ducked behind Bruce to shield his eyes from the light.

“Morning Timmy!” Bruce said. He leaned forward to give Timmy a little more room.

Bruce towered above Timmy in the rack, standing a full 163cm. He was built for tall boys. Timmy was a rather short 114cm. He was built for younger riders.

Bruce looked after Timmy. He kept him out of trouble when the store was closed and he kept an eye out for just the right Little Rider while the store was open. Snowboards don’t really have brothers and sisters but that never mattered to Timmy or Bruce. Timmy thought of Bruce as his big brother and Bruce looked out for Timmy like any big brother would.

“Hey Bruce! Maybe today will be the day. Maybe today the perfect Little Rider will stop in with their mom and want ME!” Timmy excitedly jumped up and down, bouncing on his flexible tail as he talked.

Timmy was excited. He knew that today was Saturday, the busiest day in their small snowboard store. The snow started to fall last weekend and by now, Timmy could see that the ground was completely white outside the store. He was ready to find the right Little Rider and play with them in the snow all winter long.

“Might be Timmy, might be. Better keep those eyes open today and make sure you stay on the top of the stack. Out where all those Little Riders can see your slick graphics and smooth curves.”

Not long after the owner of the store turned on the ‘OPEN’ sign and unlocked the door, Timmy heard the bell chime as the door opened. It was a customer, with a small boy at her side. He stood up tall next to Bruce and waited. Would this be the Little Rider he’s been waiting to find?

“Mommy I like THIS ONE!”

Timmy felt the small fingers grab at his tip and quickly spin him around on his tail. Before he knew it he was laying flat on the floor and could feel the small feet of a Little Rider standing where bindings would one day be. Timmy was excited! He wondered if this could be his lucky day. He listened carefully as the store owner talked to the little boy’s mother about snowboarding.

“This little board is a bit big for him right now, but he’ll grow into it soon,” the owner said. “It will sure get him down the hill and be a great beginner board for your son. And he seems to like it, which counts for something.”

“Oh I DO like it Momma. Can I have it? Please!” the boy pleaded with his mother.

Timmy was crushed when he heard the boy’s mother say “Not today son. We’re just looking, remember?”

For the rest of the day Timmy was sad. He just knew he had missed his chance to play in the snow with a little boy who would love him and take care of him. Timmy was a snowboard and standing up in the rack getting dusty was just no fun. He wanted to slide down the hills as fast as they could go. He wanted to hear the giggle of a child standing firmly on top of him as they carved their way down the slopes.

“Cheer up Timmy; it’s still early in the season. We’ll get you out on those hills yet this season, I promise,” Bruce told him. He was trying to cheer Timmy up after a long day with no Little Rider taking him home to play.

Three whole days passed and not many people came into the small store at all. Each time Timmy heard the bell chime at the door, he hoped it would be the boy’s mother coming back for him. On the fourth day, a tall lady with short dark hair came into the store and walked right over to Timmy. She picked him up, twirled him around on the floor, tested how flexible he was, and walked him up to the register.

“Good luck Timmy,” Bruce whispered as she walked away from the rack with Timmy in her hands. “See you out on the slopes Little Brother!”

Timmy wasn’t happy he was leaving the small snowboard store with this strange lady. He didn’t see any children with her and he hadn’t seen her in the store before. “I wonder why she chose me, I’m way too small for her to ride,” Timmy thought to himself.

When Timmy left the small snowboard store, he was wrapped up in dark paper and placed into a large plastic bag. He couldn’t see where he was going and began to get very sleepy as he was carried along the noisy streets outside the store. When Timmy awoke, he was still wrapped up and couldn’t move at all. He heard the voices of children playing, laughter, and then paper tearing. Timmy was blinded by the sudden bright light and closed his eyes immediately to block it out.

“Mommy, it’s my snowboard!” a familiar voice exclaimed.

Timmy opened his eyes just in time to see the room around him spin in circles as the little boy twirled him around the room. When it stopped, Timmy was looking up at the ceiling and the smiling face of the same little boy who had found him in the snowboard store two weeks before. Now Timmy was excited, this was his Little Rider. Timmy had been a birthday present for him.

Not long after the birthday party, Timmy had bindings mounted where they belonged and was stored in the corner of his Little Rider’s room. They were waiting for their first lesson on the hill. Timmy could hardly wait.

On a cool Saturday morning, Timmy awoke to his Little Rider standing in front of him all dressed in a snowsuit and gloves. Timmy knew this was the big day and he was ready for it. Off to the hills they went. All the way there, Timmy was daydreaming about flying down the biggest hills as fast as he could. He wanted to feel the cold snow on his back, the weight of his Little Rider on his belly, and the wind blowing across his tip and tail.

At the top of the beginner hill, Timmy got scared. This was his first time playing outside and the hill looked a lot bigger from the top. He tried not to shiver when his Little Rider laid him in the snow and started to strap into the bindings bolted to Timmy’s tummy.

Before Timmy knew it, his Little Rider stood up tall. He and hopped in a circle until Timmy’s tip was facing down the hill. Timmy closed his eyes as his Little Rider pushed off and began to slide straight down the hill.

Their first ride down the beginner hill hurt! Timmy and his Little Rider fell many times. They ran into a soft fence at the bottom and tumbled to a stop. Timmy was relieved to be at the bottom of the hill when he opened his eyes again and felt his Little Rider undo one foot from the bindings. Timmy was not so relieved when they headed over to the lift. He knew that they were going back to the top of the hill.

That first day on the hill with his Little Rider was rough on Timmy. He needed a rest when they got back to his new house. Timmy leaned his tip into the corner and closed his eyes for a short nap as soon as they got home.

It was five more trips to the hills with his Little Rider before Timmy began to get comfortable sliding down the hill and carving into the snow. Eventually, Timmy began to enjoy the days he spent out on the hill with his Little Rider. When the sun began to melt away the snow and turn the grass green, Timmy was sad. He knew that meant summer was on its way and he would have to wait a long time before he could play in the snow with his Little Rider again.

Timmy waited patiently all through that summer and was happy to see the snow return the following November. He knew it was time to play again and this year, he wouldn’t be so nervous on the hill with his Little Rider. Timmy was right and each time they went down the hill together, both Timmy and his Little Rider got better at turning and stopping. Timmy loved playing in the snow with his Little Rider all winter and didn’t mind the long summer days that left him gathering dust in the corner over the next two summers.

It was now almost three years after Timmy had first met his Little Rider and the summer days were growing shorter and colder as each passed. Timmy was excited for winter to come back and even more excited when he heard a long forgotten voice on his left say “Hey there Little Brother! Been having fun out on those hills without me?”

Timmy’s Little Rider had an older brother who liked to snowboard too. That was why Timmy had wanted to snowboard since he could walk and had gotten his own board for his fourth birthday. Timmy jumped for joy when he saw Bruce leaned up against the wall next to him.

“Bruce! How did you get here? I’ve had the best time; my Little Rider is getting really good. He even tries to jump, but we must work on his landing more. Sometimes they hurt!” Timmy said.

“We’ll have plenty of time to work on those landings this winter Little Brother. Just when I thought I would never get a rider of my own, I managed to get the perfect one. Timmy’s older brother grew out of his snowboard last year. I’m his new one!”

“Oh Bruce, what fun we’ll have this year. I can’t wait!” Timmy exclaimed.

Timmy and Bruce didn’t have to wait much longer. By the end of the next week, they were both out on the hill with their riders. Bruce’s rider was much bigger and had more practice than Timmy’s Little Rider, but Timmy managed to keep up with Brice pretty good. They played and played on the hills with their riders in the cool winter sunshine. It was the best winter Timmy could remember.

Winter was almost over when Timmy and Bruce headed further north for a weekend of playing on some bigger hills with their riders. Both of them were excited to see the bigger hills and try new tricks with their riders in the soft snow. They went fast, and slow, and sunk into the fresh powder. They went faster and faster on the groomed trails and found jumps and turns everywhere they looked. They had lots of fun. It was the best weekend Timmy and Bruce had all winter and they were ready for a break by the end.

Since the trip home was long, Timmy and Bruce had been put on top of the car in a snowboard rack. They were locked securely in place. They had ridden this way many times before and neither of them was scared of it anymore. They felt safe up on the rack.

Timmy and Bruce were only about half way home when Timmy felt something strange on his tip. He opened his eyes and squinted in to the sun to see that the snowboard rack had come undone.

“Oh no! Bruce look!” Timmy screamed, but it was too late.

Before Timmy had finished warning Bruce about the rack, he felt the wind blow hard under his back and lift him off the top of the car. He was scared! Timmy could feel the wind flipping him end over end as he flew high above the car. He tried his best to flip over, but before he had time to turn all the way around, his tip smacked hard into the pavement and he fell on his side.

Timmy wasn’t the only one who had come off the top of the car either. Bruce was heavier but once the wind got under his back, he too flew up off the top of the car with a loud WHOOSH and began to roll over in the air. When Bruce landed, he skidded to a stop on his back and felt the rocks and rough pavement dig deep into his back. He was hurt!

Thankfully, when Bruce had been torn off the top of the car by the wind, the driver heard the noise and stopped as soon as they could. They ran back and picked up both Bruce and Timmy from the road. They quickly tucked them inside the car and continued on their way home. They new Bruce and Timmy had been hurt, but the only way to help either of them was to take them home first.

“Bruce? Bruce are you there?” Timmy called out when he managed to open his eyes again.

Timmy’s tip hurt and the room was spinning a little when he looked around for Bruce. He recognized the room, it belonged to his Little Rider, but he had never seen it from this angle before. When his Little Rider wasn’t playing in the snow with Timmy, he stood him up in the corner where Timmy could look out the window on his right, and see the door on his left. Now, Timmy could still see the door directly across the room. He could not see the window at all and he was up much higher than he had ever been before.

“Bruce? Where did my Little Rider put me this time, my tip hurts still, am I okay?”

“Hey little brother! I’m still here but you’ll have to look at your tail to see me,” Bruce said.

Timmy looked down at his tail and finally saw the side of Bruce’s tip. He was happy to see his big brother. Timmy didn’t understand why he had been moved from his corner spot with Bruce.

“Bruce, why am I not in the corner with you anymore?” Timmy asked.

“You hit you tip awful hard when you flew off the top of the car Little Brother. You can’t hit that hard without some damage,” Bruce replied.

“Damage?”

“You said you tip still hurts didn’t you?” Bruce questioned Timmy.

“Yes,” Timmy replied.

“Well, Little Brother, it hurts because it’s broken,” Bruce said sadly. “You’ve become a trophy for your Little Rider.”

“A trophy? You mean I can’t play in the snow anymore?” Timmy asked.

“That’s right. Now you get to guard the room and be the subject of many stories. You’ll always be remembered fondly by your Little Rider. They never forget their first snowboard Timmy, and you can hang on his wall to remind him of all the fun times you two had.”

“But I want to play in the snow Bruce!” Timmy cried.

“I know Timmy, but every snowboard has to stop playing outside in the snow eventually. Sometimes we are outgrown. Sometimes we’re just forgotten about. But the li=ucky ones, like you Timmy, the lucky ones go out in style!” Bruce said. “Your Little Rider will always remember you Timmy. You taught him how to ride, to jump, and to land! That’s something to be proud of Timmy!”

Timmy was sad that he could no longer play in the snow with his Little Rider but he knew that he had been a good first snowboard for his Little Rider. Timmy stretched hit tip as far as it would stretch. He surveyed parts of the room he could never see before. He was proud of himself, and of his Little Rider.

Timmy had four great winters to play with his Little Rider in the snow, to be his very first snowboard. When he was damaged and no longer suitable to play with in the snow, he had been proudly mounted on the wall above his Little Rider’s bed. It was a place of honor in any child’s room, Timmy knew that. He would always remember the fun times he had spent playing with his Little Rider in the snow, and he would enjoy getting to know all the rest of the snowboards that his Little Rider would have over the years. For Timmy, they would all be his Little Brothers, because Timmy had been his Little Rider’s first snowboard. That was something special!

The Catcher exits Stage Left!

You know that place between dreams and reality, the one we all slip through when drifting off to sleep or waking slowly in the morning? It's the place where you can still remember your dreams yet hear the world around you and begin to comprehend that morning has come. That place you visit each night where dreams begin and the days events end.

That is where I can always go to spend time with him. To see his face in vivid detail. To hear each enunciated syllable of his words. To be in his presence once again.

He has been there every morning and night for the past few weeks without fail. But today, today was different. Today he said goodbye as I awoke to the morning alarm. I heard it in my head as if he were standing right there in front of me. Today as I slammed my hand down upon the snooze button for the umpteenth time and closed my eyes for another 6 minuted of sleep, he told me "good-bye" first in a whisper, then aloud to be sure I had heard. And tonight, when I rested my head on the pillow and prepared to drift off to sleep, he was not there. The beach, the bench, the living room, the boat, all empty except for me. Where has he gone? Will he return? I once thought it a burden to see him there but I miss my friend. Is it a sign of something to come?

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Standing on the cliff
Wind rustling the leaves over my head
Teetering on the edge
Only darkness looms at my feet
No one there to hold me
No one there to keep me from falling
Where has the catcher gone today?
Who'll keep the children from falling off the edge?

One down ...

So the first week’s assignments are completed and turned in for grading … now we wait to see if the Prof is going to be picky or simply give credit for completing them on time and getting correct output of the program. I have had both types of Profs over the last two years and to be honest, I really prefer the ones who give credit for making the application work though it may not be perfect or done the same way they would have coded it. The ones who are so stuck in their own way of writing code should be doing just that, writing code not teaching others how to do it.

My weekend came … and went … and so did summer. It is now gloomy, cold, and rainy outside and will be for the remainder of the week. It looks like we may see the sun again next Friday but only for part of the day and with an anticipated high in the 60’s. It looks like it may be time to pack up the gear and park the bike for the winter. I think Jen and I are headed to Mom and Dad’s the weekend of 10/25 and since we’ll be going up on a Saturday rather than Friday night it will be the perfect time to ride the bike up and park it for the winter, right after I ask if I can store it there for a few months. Not certain Mom will be okay with it but since the mess in the garage and barn is Dad’s, I’ll ask him instead. If nothing else, there is a mostly empty garage in Kalkaska that it could be stored in provided we know where all the keys are and I can get up there to check on it occasionally over the winter. It may delay getting it out of storage in the spring since it sits on a sand road that often is a mess during the summer and is horrific in the spring, but since I’ll be riding it home rather than putting it on a trailer (at least that is the plan at this point) I might be waiting ‘till May to get it out of storage anyway. The road is usually passable by late April, unless it rains heavy for a few days.

I suspect Jack is home from Main by now though I haven’t heard back from my last e-mail … so in true Shane style I’ll be sending him another one today just to see. I’m hoping that my next trip north will also include a little time with him, and the opportunity to deliver the last copy of Unconditional, unless some publisher does decide to print it for the masses at least. It has been tweaked, added to, modified, and tweaked again over the last few months and I am finally happy with it. The latest round of changes finally sealed the deal and made me decide to keep the chapters that fill in the missing info a few readers have asked about, and the ending was modified slightly to make it fit the additions. I like it for a change, I actually think it’s a good book and coming from me that says a lot. I even like the close parallels between Kerry and Jack now, thought I tried so hard to make them go away when initially writing the story it just seems to work better when I modified the character of Kerry to make it more real life. Inevitably, it ended up being Jack with a little touch of Stacey in there once in a while.

On to the next project I suppose … but should it be developing the new story that will be based on The Dream, or should I start to work with Hide-and-go-Seek?

The Dream

Because of the Blog format, this post may be a bit longer than some of you will care to scroll, I apologize up front and offer another solution. For those of you who wish to read this in its entirety, but in MS Word format rather than the Blog, the full document can be downloaded from here.

In the past I have had recurring dreams, some good, some bad, but all relating to something that is going on in my life currently, or from my past. Lately I have been having one that does not exactly relate to anything going on in my life or anything that has ever taken place in my life previously. I do recognize those who play a main role in this little mind play however. My hope is that simply by writing out the sequence of events, I will succeed in removing this from my nightly drama show and possibly wake tomorrow morning without tears in my eyes and with a head full of much happier thoughts. This has worked in the past with other recurring thoughts, but this is the first time I have shared the initial raw writing publicly. Past endeavors have all been destroyed or placed in my personal journal, I just never thought about sharing them I guess. In any case they eventually faded after writing them out in mini-novel form, now we see if the same holds true for this one.

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As we slowly walked along the shoreline in absolute silence, I began to wonder why today he had chosen not to hang out in our usual spot. His mood was different, a little darker behind that warm smile of his. He had told me he wanted to see me, asked to talk to me for a change. Normally it was me who asked to see him, to talk to him about something that was going on. This was different from every angel and something told me it was not a change I would enjoy. Drinking in the calmness of the scene, the sound of the waves as they lapped at the sand beneath my feet, the bright blues and greens of the sky and water stretching to infinity before me, the rustling of the leaves as the gentle breeze flowed through the branches of the surrounding trees, I bent down and filled my hand with as many rocks from the shore line as I could hold. Tossing them one by one back into the lake from which they came, I casually asked, “So what’s with the change of venue? Not that I mind the scenery out here, and it’s a nice day to spend a little time on the beach, but this is a first.”

“The doctors have been saying a lot lately, one appointment after the other these days, all with the same result. First a puzzled look, the dropping of the head, and a deep breath, followed by some bad news.” His reply was slow, each word carefully chosen and then spoken deliberately; again something new from him.

Doctors? That explains the scene, the mood. As I listened to him speak I continued to empty my hand of the remaining rocks, tossing each a little farther than the previous as the gravity of this conversation began to set in. Down to my last rock, I was tossing it lightly in the air and catching it with my right hand while I listened to him pause for a moment, perhaps catching his breath, perhaps preparing himself to utter those two words. I knew before he said them and I squeezed the rock tight in my fist as I heard him finally speak the words ‘bad news’. My heart grew heavy, my eyes began to sting, and I clenched my jaw as I dropped my head to hide the pain clearly visible on my face. I was sure I knew the answer but needed to hear it from him. Calmly I asked, “Cancer?”

Nodding his head ever so slightly, he quietly replied “Up here” as he taped his index finger against the golden brown skin just above his right eye.

I swallowed hard, staring off into the distant waves as they languidly rolled their way toward the shore just a few feet in front of me. Silence filled the air as I soaked in the news and formulated the courage to ask my next question. Finally, with little to no eye contact I quickly glanced back to the face that has always been there in my times of need, then down at the rock I had been stroking in my right hand. Afraid to look up, to see the eerie calmness in his eyes, I continued to stare at the simple black rock in my hand while I asked, “Can they do anything?”

“The odds are not favorable, and the risk is high.” He paused, swallowed hard, and then cautiously continued “I’ve opted not to take the chance.” finishing the last of his words with a voice straining to hold is calm facade.

I winced trying to block the news from seeping into my brain, to keep it from registering as a reality I must now face. It was a hopeless cause and I bit down on my lower lip as I lifted my gaze from the rock still clenched in my fist, to the face of the man standing before me. He seemed so normal, so healthy and fit standing in the cool brown sand, water lapping at his feet. He didn’t look sick, let alone like a man who had just told me he was gravely ill. As our eyes made contact, reality set in and I could see it in his eyes. This was not a joke, not something that had just happened overnight. He had been struggling with this for a long time, seeing one specialist after the other, all with the same conclusions. The man now standing before me was nearing the end of his journey, and he was almost at peace with that reality.

“How long?” I bravely asked, hoping to hear something positive for a change.

“Hard to tell. Could be months, a year maybe, two if I’m lucky.” He answered back as if he had been rehearsing that very line in his head for the last few moments, and maybe he had. It was an obvious question to anticipate after delivering this kind of news, and I am certain it had been one of his first questions when the doctors finally told him the very same thing he was now telling me.

Months, two years at most, that’s all I have left with him? How long until he gets sick, starts to deteriorate, to fade away? How much longer will he be the same man I remember, and who remembers me?

Silence filled the air once again while he waited for my next question and I wondered what to say. I tossed the rock from hand to hand before eventually dropping it into my pocket and picking up another from the beach near my feet. I lost all track of time as I flipped back through the years of memories in my head. I knew eventually that would be all I had left of him, just memories of things we once did, of laughs we once shared, and stories we once told.

“You’re awful quiet over there. What’s running through that head of yours?” he finally asked breaking the silence between us.

“The thirteen years I wasted. The time I missed out on with you. I can never get that back and pretty soon I’m gonna’ want it all back, the thirteen years I should have been here plus all the times I was.” I said before throwing the rock I now held in my hand as far out into the lake as I could make it go. I stood, tears filling my eyes, hands shaking, and heart pounding in my chest, facing the water before me. I wished I could simply slip beneath the waves peacefully and return to find that this was all just a bad dream.

“It wouldn’t have changed anything, certainly not this.” he said placing a hand gently on my shoulder as a comforting gesture “and we both know it needed to happen.” he finished.

“You still going in search of warmer weather?” I asked quickly changing the subject away from my own inner guilt trip.

“Depends on what the doctors have to say, but I’m hoping to.”

“Just promise me you’ll come back.” I blurted out with a cry in my voice.

That was when I finally let go, allowed myself to feel the enormity of the situation, allowed reality to sink in completely, and gave up trying to keep my reaction to this news internal. With a heavy heart, I began to process the news that one of my greatest fears was coming to life before my very eyes. I always knew that one day I would be faced with the reality of his death, but I had always hoped it would be much farther in the future. Still, here it was staring me in the face, looming in the not distant enough future, bearing down on me faster than I was prepared to see. Our days together were now limited. A tangible, yet arbitrary number now cast a shadow over them on some cosmic countdown chart, crossing them off one by one as each sunset arrived all the while just hoping it would not be the last. I was losing him, this time forever, and there was nothing I could do to prevent it.

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Now that you have reached the bottom, dried your eyes, and wondered if you will ever find yourself in a similar situation, remember that this was just a series of dreams. The last time I wrote something that began as a dream it became a book, my first book. Maybe one day in the future this too will find itself bound and printed. For now, I will tuck it securely into the archives and hope that it does not become a reality!

Misfit in my own family

This could use a little polishing but I decided against it. Instead I'm simply posting it as was written, full of raw emotion and rough around the edges.

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Have you ever felt invisible
Like no one in the room can see you
Or hear a word you say?

Brushed aside by those who should care
Told that you don't matter
By their actions
But not the words they say?

A room full of laughter and life
sounds of joy and excitement
voices raise to be heard
But one is silenced in the fight
Competing for attention their volume increases
Tones become angry as they are brushed aside
Silence and solitude is what I seek
Another day with my family
Another reminder I just don't fit

I can't compete
And choose instead to retreat
To find my happy place
Where their raised voices don't reach
Where I can be alone with my thoughts
Alone in my world
And remember why I'm here

I'm not a kid anymore
I can stand on my own two feet
I don't need their support or approval
Yet each time it doesn't come
It stings a little more

I don't want to be here
Don't want to feel this way
I want to fit in
to be a part of them
But I can't change who I am
And don't need them anyway

Words of love
Actions of disapproval
conflicting messages intertwined
Feeling myself slip backward
Dark images haunt my mind

I won't give up
I'm worth more than this
No hope of repair
Just leave them behind
Move on without them
Stop pinning my happiness on a crazy wish
Family they'll always be
But it's time to separate myself
Time to just be me.

9-11-01 ... How'd it get there?

I was searching Google to see if they had indexed the new sites yet ... and found this on someone else's page. Since I wrote it I decided to post it here!

I saw a man cry today
A man with nerves of steel, a face of stone
And a heart of gold

I saw a man cry today
A man we all turned to, in our hour of need
To guide us through our pain

I saw a man cry today
Filled with sorrow, and pain
Unsure of what will come tomorrow

I saw a man cry today
In a city torn apart, ravaged by terror
And missing its heart

I saw a man cry today
Mourning the loss, of innocence and life
Not sure of what to say

I saw a man cry today
We all thought invincible, but we were wrong
He's only human after all

Shannon Elaine DuBey

Copyright (C)