Life as we know it

   Life. It's made up, mashed together and processed and pushed into intestinal tubing. That's my interpertation of it. Simply, life is a hot dog. It's full of leftover unwanted shit and you get to make the most of it and either spin it into gold, or wallow in lips and assholes.
   I'm a mid-carder myself. I've set up a nice little life for myself, and my family. Though I may never see all my dreams come true the most important ones have. I've overcome alot of the assholes in my 39 years and removed them from my life. Some easily fading into the past, others painfully torn off my skin like a malnurished leech.

   There have a good share of lips as well. You know what I mean. The accumulation of negatives laced with just enough pity for you to listen and swallow hard. Those lips have been shut and I hope never to hear from them again.
   In high school I was a loner, the bullied boy, nobodies friend. My confidence was at an all-time low, and depression became my bunkmate for too many years. Now, my confidence is higher, my tolerance of bullies is at zero, and my opinion finally matters... to me.
  So, at 39 years old my "life" is finally breaking out of it's skin. I'm finally ready to try and spin some gold.

Closed doors (for now)

   Jack is now just over three months old now. He's still as laidback as ever. He only cries when he needs something such as a bottle, or diaper change. His many "Aunts" & "Uncles" love, and adore him. And every day when I get home from work he greets me with a smile and talks his talk with great enthusiasm. Jack is a happy baby boy.

   In the last year we've had two great losses. My wife's parents both passed away. Two great, loving people that Jack will never get the opportunity to know. I know they would have loved him so much, and he would have responded in kind. As he gets older he will know them, through stories, and pictures. In videos and old memories, Jack will know his grandparents.
  At the moment my side in the family perspective has chosen to 'close the door' on me. After being stripped of every shred of patientence I had over the past year, or so, it seems I'm not allowed to stand up for myself. Whether it be a fictitious tale that others seem determined to hold onto because they want to believe it so badly. Or, it being a selective memory blown out of proportion. I appear, in they're eyes as the 'bad one'.
  Petty bull that it seems can't be forgotten, or forgiven because a strong trend of stubbornness and martyrdom. Better to be right than to be wrong no matter what the consequences I guess. So what do I do? I do nothing. In my determination, no matter my choice it will be twisted to the negative.
  Sadly my son Jack may never get to know his family. He may only get to know them through stories, and pictures. In videos and old memories, Jack will know them.

The Night of Samhain

  With October fast approaching I make it a point to decorate for the holiday very early on. Samhain, or 'Halloween' to you more modern types; has always been my favorite time of year. Night claims day, bare branches clatter together, and the rustle of colorful leaves from a cool breeze put you right in the mood.
  So, here I am busily putting up my 'Halloween' tree - black spindly branches adorned with orange lights. The few ornaments we've collected over the years are hung and a string of purple bats finish off the decor. Lastly, a mix of ghosts, pumpkins, and black cats are placed around the living room. Now, it's beginning to feel like 'Halloween'.
  Our son, Jack has his costume already - picked out by mommy from Pottery Barn Kids. His "Jack" o'lantern getup is hanging quietly in his nursery closet waiting for the end of October to come. He's too young of course to truly enjoy the holiday, but rest assured daddy will break him in when he's old enough.
  This year we are in a new neighborhood. Our street is an activity of dog walkers, moms with strollers, joggers, and kids, lots of kids.
  "Do you think 5 bags will be enough Hon?", my wife asks.
  "I hope so.", I reply.
  What I really wanted to say was, "Get the crap candy. The word will get out about our subpar treats and the kids will avoid us like the plague. We'd be just a step higher than the old man handing out religious literature condemning the holiday, and the little old lady handing out pennys. Good plan, right sweety?"
   Honestly though if I had the money I'd dress up the inside and outside of the house for the kids. Tombstones on the front lawn, fog machine billowing smoke around the front steps. I could even convert our two car garage into a mini haunted house. Someday I'll do it, I swear...
   One place I can't wait to share with my son though is Salem. Salem, Mass. - The Mardi Gras of Halloween. If there is one place a fan of the holiday should visit it's got to be Salem. I took my wife a few years back and she loved it. It's the one town where grown ups can still dress up and not look out of place. C'mon, let's be real here. Even the adult Halloween parties are just a weak attempt to look cool. And usually, aside from the half-naked women in costume it's pretty sad.
  But in Salem, it's a whole different vibe. There you are given strange looks if your NOT dressed up. Yes, Salem is a place where young and old can still celebrate and not look like total dorks. I've gone five times now and each time except for the first I've dressed up. My costumes (never store bought) came from my imagination. What would I want to be for one night of the year if I could be anything? One of my favorites was going as Pat Garrett - Sheriff of Lincoln County (I'm a huge Billy the Kid fan).

  So as October comes knocking on my door. Stiff chill winds, crisp air, and the smell of crackling wood escaping from fireplaces all around, I smile and bask in the ambiance that makes the night of Halloween so special to me.
 

Jack Attack!

   Being a graveyard shift worker for many years has come in handy since my son, Jack has come along. I arrive home each morning at 7:30am squinting from the suns rays stabbing into my corneas. Most times I forget my sunglasses so I cope.
  My wife, Stacey has already been up since 6 o'clock when Jack decides he's had enough sleep and cries to be released from his swaddle (the equivalent of a baby sized straight jacket). I begin my usual routine and toss my keys, phone, wallet, and watch into a basket in the living room hall. Then I strip off my uniform and hang it for maybe one more nights use at the job.
  I can hear Stacey talking to him in the nursery. He coos and laughs, his right arm, as always raised with hand balled into a fist. I call it his 'fight the power' pose. I walk in, the room smelling faintly of formula and give my wife a hug from behind as she finishes changing Jack's diaper.

  "He slept well last night. He only made a few sounds around three in the morning. Right Jack?"
  My son responds with gurgling smile and kicks his legs about.
  Jack was born on June 18th, 2010, the same day as Paul McCartney's birthday. My wife being an avid Beatles fan couldn't be happier. Now three months later and here was our little boy laying on the changing table as mommy put his froggy feety pajamas back on.
  It was mutually decided that he would named Jack Sawyer. My wife and I are both big readers. She's more mystery, and supernatural. I'm all over the place, most recently flipping through Bill Bryson paperbacks depicting his oversea travels.
  The one common genre we both love though is horror. Given that bit of information you should know where this is leading. The origin of his name is something we still start off telling the curious, "He was named after a Stephen King character, but he doesn't die."
  And so Jack Sawyer, a.k.a Jack Sawyer of 'The Talisman' is handed off to me as the wife gets ready for work. I carry him into the living room and sit him on my lap. It's now father/son time until mommy comes home. I turn on the television and switch the channel over to his morning favorite on Boomerang - The Wacky Races.
 As we watch the colorful characters dart across the screen I spin him around to face me. He takes a minute to focus on my face and then he lets out a laugh and smiles.
 "Daddy loves you", I say.
 He listens intently, focusing on the sound of my voice. "uvvvv, oooooo..."
 That's my boy, my boy named Jack.

 

My life, my wife

   Today I woke up after a three hour nap and shuffled into the bathroom, one eye still closed intent on sleeping in a few more minutes. My wife was a blur of movement as she finished getting dressed for work checking on our three month old son in the nursery.
   "I fed him already so he's good until one-thirty. Love you, bye."
   With that my lovely wife made for the door leaving me staring at the bathroom mirror. I was a bit detached. As my mind wandered I tried to shake off the groggy feeling heavy in my head. I began to study my face. Five o'clock shadow, a few wild hairs jutting out of my eyebrows and ears, topped off with a bad case of morning breath.
   I rubbed my jaw running my hand up the left side of my worn face. I can't believe I'm almost forty. But more than that I can't believe I'm married, and have a son cooing in the next room. At this age I expected to be single and a woodsman of sorts.
  The great outdoors had called for me back in 06' and it was my plan to heed it's call and move from Long Island to the great state of Maine. I would work security in Portland and then take the Federal Park Ranger test when it was released again. The rent was cheap, the people friendly, and the environment fit me like a glove.
  But as fate usually does it took my life in a completely different direction. At the time I was single and had decided to cut Long Island women out of my life permanently. On a whim, a 'what the hell' decision I was setup on a blind date with a woman name Stacey. As described by my best friends wife she was a beauty, intelligent, six years younger than me, and personality wise - strong.
  I thought, 'Great, no pressure there. You just set me up with a beauty queen.'
  The night of our first date was a couples night out at the Old Speonk Inn, a local restaurant/bar that a mutual friend owned. To my unfortunate realization our couples night was taking place in the bar and not the restaurant where I had hoped. I was not happy with the setup at all. The one thing I cannot stand is bars. So there I sat on a bar stool (with a puss on my face) on the far end of the room waiting for my date to walk through the door.
  'There she is Scott.', my friends wife announced with a bit of playfulness added in.
  I had already seen her enter. Turquoise blue top and black pants. Dark brown hair tumbling playfully over her exotic olive skin. Her beautiful brown eyes smiled as she walked up to me - the moron with a puss on his face.

  She extended her hand, "Hi, I'm Stacey. Sorry I'm late."
  "I'm Scott. Nice to meet you."
  And so it went through the night over the yelling of a rowdy bar scene that we awkwardly got to know one another. As the music got louder we huddled closer until it was too deafening to hear each other. On that note she finished her glass of Merlot and I, my beer. We exchanged numbers and being the old fashioned type walked her to her car. I left with a idiotic handshake goodbye and expected that my calls to her would go unanswered.
  My nerve to make a second date got the better of me until I got a written kick in the ass from my friends wife. It's fair to say at that moment in my life after so many failed attempts at love that my confidence was literally shot to Hell. Maybe not the best time to second guess myself considering all the signs that she liked me were there.
  We e-mailed each other and talked on the phone daily. When the night of our second date came I did it my way and took her to a nice upscale restaurant called the Cooperage Inn - minus the loud music, booze, and sardine packed room.
  From that night on we couldn't keep our eyes off one another. Being a romantic I sent her cards, flowers, the usually gestures. We set up our first trip together to Gettysburg, staying at the haunted Farnsworth Inn. As days passed into weeks, weeks into months I was positive early on that Stacey was the one. Because of her my life changed for the better. Who needed Maine?
  On March 23, 2007 we were married at the Graceland Wedding Chapel in Las Vegas where such celebrities as Bon Jovi, and Richard Simmons got hitched. But that my friends is another story...