THOUGHTS: Who and Why

I think of those two questions often in regards to myself, and it often seems I don't consider those questions nearly often enough. What, when, and where, in regards to a person seem pretty irrelevant, easily answered by who and why. Who are you? Why are you here? If you can answer that, then it explains what you're doing where and when.

The easy answer for me: I'm Russ. But I am strugglimg to really answer that without answering where and when. Now I'm in Ketchikan, and I'm trying to supper a family with a lower-middle class income that allows us to make it from paycheck to paycheck, barely. But even then, I don't really answer the who, and definitely not the why.

Look at a climber, someone who ways top ramen for months so they can eat top ramen for another few weeks at 20,000 feet. Who is he? He's a climber. This is what he does. Why? Regardless of what you may understand, it's in his bones, his soul, to push the envelope of what normal people accept as their limits. He believes in it. It's his faith, his driving force, his reason for being. Same goes for the mother, the test pilot, the space jumper, and, far too infrequently unfortunately, the political or the business owner.

So who are you, and why? The challenge for what may likely be another month without a blog are to try to answer these questions, and if you can't, then take a look at your life and see what you're missing. Feel free to share your stories on here with me and our readers.

THOUGHTS: Balance and Uncertainty

As life proceeds to deal me curses and blessings, I keep finding myself trying to distinguish between the two. I've found in all my years that the amount of deception that either will carry is bizarre and fascinating at the same time. What is originally perceived to be a very, very good thing can sometimes turn out to be a horrible burdon, partially because it really did have something to hide, but mostly we didn't see whatever it was in its entirety, be it a new friend or love interest, a job, a car, a house, a meal at a restaurant. When they're new, these things can look amazing, convincing us sometimes that our lives will never be the same without them!

Then, after we spend some time with it, the flaws start to show. Or, if we were disgusted originally, the really beautiful parts start to show. we discover and feel guilty or disheartened when the outcome isn't anticipated.

The universal variable in all of this is our personal needs to both judge a new situation, and to try to predict, our even control that situation's outcome.

The remedy, then, would seem to be obvious. Surrender control, accept things as they are, and love it all unconditionally, for you will always receive either love in return or a lesson that will help you love your life better.

We have to trust that there is a balance, and not that we should believe there's a plan, or that things happen for a divine reason. (This phrase strikes me as to obvious to base a part of a belief around. Of course things happen for a reason. The door flew open. The reason is that I kicked it really hard!)

Instead, there is one principal which has been both scientifically proven and theologically endorsed (yet not politically, no surprise). It's been stated in nearly every faith's served texts, and written into law in physics by Sir Isaac Newton. The ultimate statement of balance, the Golden Rule, karma, find your phrase for it.

It tells us simply that things happen, that the energy we put into the world, we receive from the world. When we can have acceptance for what things are, even if what things are seem drastically depressing at first, that acceptance allows us to appreciate the knowledge learned, the strength gained, the inevitable reward somewhere along the line, and sometimes, even, the humor in any given event.

In closing, I can issue a small challenge: look at a situation in your life. The nastier, the better. Maybe you lost your job or your husband recently left you. Maybe your dog passed away. Maybe you stubbed your toe because the lights were off and your two year old woke you up in the middle of the night. Whatever the situation, I want you to list off twenty good things about it. These can be things you've learned about yourself, things that have happened as a circumstance or result, etc. prove to yourself that there is blame in everything.

I love you all.

Justice out

CHRONICLES: Fire Houses, Radio, and Sick Trucks

The past few weeks have been crazy.  First off, Miss Cat has purchased Hagrid, the 2nd BattleWagon from me in hopes of having a Plan B to caravan around the country in.  Well, after driving it to her house, the next day, Hagrid died in the driveway and refused to start.  So that leaves us in a spot where we figure out what to do next.  Depending on what the damage is, it may be an easy fix, or it may be a deal where we find her the fifth BattleWagon and help her dreams come true.  Strife.

To make matters worse, Big Red, my new Jeep truck, has developed a rather significant oil leak, which may be a simple seal and cheap to fix, or it may be something big.  At any rate, hoping to err on the side of caution, it's going to stay parked until I can get the Hagrid situation sorted out for Miss Cat.  We have another vehicle at our disposal for family stuff, and Big Red can wait for the good service from the local mechanic.

The radio show has been mellow, and I'm hoping to ramp it up a little bit soon, get some people to co-host with me, play some good tunes, and laugh a little bit more.

The latest news is that I got to do a scavenger hunt at the fire station tonight.  I finally fulfilled one of my life-long goals and got on with the Ketchikan Volunteer Fire Department.  Tonight we had drill, and our assignment was to find various tools on the Engine, Ladder, and Rescue trucks,  It was pretty cool, and I learned a crap ton of stuff.  I'm excited to get going with all of this.

CHRONICLES: Changes and News

For the longest time, one if my fantasies has been to own three full-size Jeeps. Shortly after my oldest son passed away, one of my failed coping mechanisms was getting a 1977 Jeep Cherokee Chief. It was failed because it needed way too much work and I was not prepared for that. Even though my mind was all messed up, I still made a very wrong decision at the time.

My fantasy of three is like this:  One J10 pickup for work, hauling stuff, plowing snow, helping friends move, etc. One Cherokee Chief as an all around vehicle, for playing, commuting, groceries, soccer games, road trips, hikes, etc. Finally, a Wagoneer, to be tricked out with the big engine, power everything, DVD player, TVs, rims, and a sweet motor to make it rip down the road in a time that would rival a sports cat yet be elegant enough that if my wife and I wanted to go out to a fancy dinner or pick up some fancy guests, we'd have a vehicle to impress them.

As fate would have it, I've found the first of three. A really nice J10 down in Skagit, Washington showed yup on craigslist. I fell in love.

With some juggling, I lucked out and found a buyer for "Hagrid", BW-2, the van I picked up in Denver after the death of the first B-Dub. It's been a great vehicle, but it's usefulness is admittedly limited. In this time of family work, a van is just too big with not enough useful space. A pickup will take stuff to the dump, move furniture, get us around us the weather gets crappy, and will let me occasionally play in the mud.

So, shortly, I'll be posting pictures of the torch for Hagrid being passed on to a friend of mine, an adventurous young lady named Cat, who has been invited to contribute to this blog with the continuing adventures of the BattleWagon. I'll also post about the torch being lit for BW-4 when it gets here, a week from Sunday.

The adventure continues. Keep yours going, too.

CHRONICLES: The Blessings of Family

At the beginning of last week (showing my lack of certain attention to the blogging stuff), my Aunt Memo and Life-Mate Dave came up for a visit on their way north to Sitka, Juneau, Anchorage, and Denali.  They were in Ketchikan for a few days.  I managed to snag a few days off, with which I was able to take them to the Saxman Totem Park, Ward Lake, and Totem Bight.  All that tourist stuff aside, the best part was the nights we had them over, eating and drinking and spending the family time that we've made less accessible with our time up here in the Great Wet North.

One night, Lyss had made fish tacos with some cod that our neighbor Greg had caught the previous day.  That night, as we were leaving, Greg asked us if we wanted a big king salmon filet.  Dinner for the next night was planned.  Lyss baked it with some garlic, pepper, lemon juice, and olive oil.  It was spectacular.  But, as good as the food was, it wasn't as good as the time spent.

Memo is my dad's sister.  That side of my family is small.  I only have one cousin who I haven't spoken to for a number of years, since before Bart was in high school as I recall.  But when anyone comes to visit, it's a rare and special occasion.

After they left, I was fortunate enough to have the distraction of going to Sitka myself for a few days for work.  When I got back, I took Malcolm and Dash and went down to Herring Cove to watch the salmon run.  He was pretty impressed with the whole thing, although we were both disappointed we didn't see any bears.  Next time, maybe.

PROPHESY: An Unexpected Circumstance

It was sunny outside, yet still cool.  The leaves had begun their divorce from the branches, but the grass was still green, and the creek had not yet shrunken to a width that didn't require a bridge to cross it.

Dan needed to find his package, but we had no idea where the shipping place was.  All we had was a weird symbol, a logo of sorts.  It was an octagon, blue with many white lines crossing it in some sort of slanted geometric array, with a red A off-set on the upper right side.  Whatever place had this logo, I'm sure it would be across the creek where the make-shift docks are.  This town was small enough that the shipping and travelling terminal were easy to find and very close to each other.

As we crossed the creek and walked off the bridge, I peered through a window of the local coach offices and saw Dan's logo, so directed him that way and moved through the travelling terminal.

This terminal was a remarkable building, built from wood of the highest quality, yet it wasn't ornately done.  Simple planks of cherry and mahogany lined the walls of the structure, and round globes of light hung from chains from a flat ceiling that was open to the outside world in some places.  In effect, this was a quasi-indoor mall.

As I was taking my bearings, an older woman approached me and asked her if I could help her with something.  Since the purge of the old world, humanity's sentiment towards each other was a lot softer, so I offered to do what I could.  She led me through the terminal, out the south end, where a large warehouse existed.  It looked more cozy than a warehouse, and I realized that whoever owned it must have been exceedingly powerful in the area.  They had converted it to their home.

The woman took me inside, offered me a beer, and then explained her situation.  Apparently, the quality of drifter through these parts, drifters such as Dan and myself, wasn't a high quality.  Dan and I had been trekking for thousands of miles, though snowy mountains and over rough oceans, across dry deserts, to get here, and we were nowhere near our goal.  The local drifters were drunks, looters, thieves, a nuisance for the local attempt at law enforcement.  So when the woman told me that she wanted me to stay to marry her daughter, I had to stifle a laugh when I respectfully declined.  I understood the severity of their situation, but the idea... after everything that had happened in the past twenty years, it was a cozy translation into acceptance of failure, and that was something I wasn't willing to admit to myself yet.

PROPHESY: Hiding in the Shadows

It was dark, but fortunately for us, the moon was full, and there wasn't a cloud in the sky. Lucky considering where we live, one of the wettest places in what is left of the U.S. There must have been twenty of us in the building, but we didn't lie to ourselves:  this was no protection. No roof, no doors, not even glass in the windows. If the Taken found us, we'd be as good as Taken ourselves. They were everywhere, and the tension was just on the verge of pouring into the dark woods.

It finally broke when a lady and a little girl broke through the bushes. Apparently, they had found a way down to the beach, a drainage that was partially overgrown, despite it's recent installation. Such is life in the Alaskan rainforest.

We all took off, single file, quietly as we could, though for my own part, I was certain that everyone could heat my fearful heart beating out of my head. Once we got to the beach, the mission was clear: follow it south to the depot, and hope to God there was a van or a bus or something we could cram into. We needed to get away from the outbreak.

The Taken, or specifically, whatever caused them to be so, were vicious. The disease, whether it was vital or bacterial, nobody knew, spread quickly. The result was a being devoid of individuality, a being who could seemingly wordlessly "think their thoughts" into the mind of all the others. I know, it sounds crazy, but once one knows where you are, they all know. And then they all come looking for you. They want to take you.

We got to the depot, and hints of first light was staying to peek over the mountain. Morris, a guy I met in a bar and hadn't seen for years, challenged us. Apparently, they tried to take him, too.

Gently, I assured him we were on his side, still free, and he, in turn, told me he had a surprise for me. He led us to a small garage way up on a gravel hill. A both stained to slide the giant door open. A cloud of must flooded my nose, but the sight if one of my oldest and dearest friends almost erased any fear of death.

Morris had come through. He had found and rescued the BattleWagon.