Rants & Ravings From an Aspiring Daydreamer

My Grandfather’s Farewell

June 1, 2004. Today a candle burned out, tonight the music fades.

My grandfather passed this afternoon. He was 87 years old, frail, and weak. He’s been a soldier for the past few years, battling the years as they fought him with heart attacks and strokes and many other ailments. His grip was iron though, and he held on strong. He’s been burdened by death for much longer than he suffered it. And tonight he’ll finally sleep in peace after so many years.

His spirit, trapped in this old body, was probably long ready to move on, but he held on for hope everlong.

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And Justice for Dog

Wow, I’m sitting here trembling with adrenaline and excitement.

The guy I initially thought did this turned out to be out of town at the time it happened. Bummer. But that also restores some of my faith in humanity and – more specifically – my neighborhood. I’m glad to know I don’t have to worry about my neighbors like that.

The story takes a turn though. I got home from work a little early today and let my dogs out. While they were in the back yard and I was doing some dishes, I heard Hunter barking his ass off. Then I heard the whine of a dirt bike, tearing across the green belt. This is pretty common. Then it got louder and louder, and then slowed until it was right behind my fence. Hunter had stopped barking for some reason, and was just standing there growling at this kid as he sat there looking into my back yard. (I have a fence made of dog-wire.)

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Day One

Today was the day. The first day of February, 2004. I woke up about eight-thirty and let the dogs out. Heather went to the bathroom, and asked if I wanted to go to church today. I said, “Yeah, as long as you feel like it.” She agreed, and said it might be the last time we get to go for a while. With the dogs out back, I lay back down for a while, and Heather came out of the bathroom and said, “Honey, I think my water broke.” We did the tests though, and it hadn’t.

Heather got in the shower to get ready, and then sat on the edge of the tub to shave her legs. I was drifting off again, rather nicely. It was about nine at this point. And a muffled yell through the bathroom door awakened me. “Brian! Brian!” I got up and ran in there. “Brian, my water broke!” I looked in the tub. Indeed it had. My mind got in Let’s Go gear, throwing things together and getting dressed. During this madness I managed to make it to a phone and call my mom to let her know, “The water is broken.” As it turns out, it was a good thing that I had called her, because she wasn’t freaking out like I was, and had a mind to call the hospital and get us a room.

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A Day With No Turkey

Can you believe it’s been a month and a half since I contributed? Well, I feel worthless. But hey, tomorrow’s Thanksgiving Day! A lot has happened in the last month and a half that I guess you should know about. I got a job (a real one). I work with an old high school buddy of mine now at an IT place doing – well, doing IT stuff. I no longer dread going to work.

The baby has gotten bigger, though it still remains within my wife’s belly. I’ve tried repeatedly to get it to come out and join the world, as we’re no doubt ready for it. All to no avail though, I’m afraid. And we have decided on a name if it be a boy. His name will be Kissel Ramon. Has a touch of class, you know?

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Blind

I had an experience yesterday that really didn’t affect me until today. I was driving home from bible study tonight when I realized how greatly I had been affected by this experience. I got to work at around eight-thirty yesterday and got on the elevator. There are six elevators in this area, and they are all glass. There were a few other people on this car waiting patiently for the doors to close so they could hurry up and get to their floors and go to a job they really didn’t want to be at anyway. And through the back of the elevator I saw a guy coming to take a ride.

He had his stick out in front of him, seeking out obstacles and trying to find the door to the elevator, only he was on the wrong side of it. He was feeling around on the back side of the glass wall directly behind the car we were on. And something made me hold the door for him. I know there are other cars, and had we gone on up, he wouldn’t have had to wait long for the next one, had he had to wait at all. By the time he worked his way around to the right side between the doors of the elevators, another would probably have been there waiting for him. But I shot my hand out and held that door.

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Closet Mods 101

I live in a two-story house, and so my safe is downstairs. But what about stuff I want quick access to in the night – upstairs? Well, my closet – being four feet from my bed – is a good place. I can lock up my knife and gun collection and not have to worry about the kids getting to them, but secondly, I can use it as sort of a panic room if the need ever arises. Some of the modifications I’ll discuss here were done for mere practicality and storage solutions, while others were done in the interest of being prepared for the worst.

Firstly, and I think one of the key notes in creating a safe house in the closet is to make sure the light switch is inside the door. If this isn’t the case, you will need to move it. I had to move mine. It’s fairly easy. Just measure the exact distance from the jamb to the edges of the rectangular cutout, and replicate that measurement directly the other side of that wall, inside the closet. Make sure your breaker is tripped before you start messing with the wires! If you make the cut right, you can use that piece of sheetrock to fill in the hole on the outside, so don’t destroy it! Once you’ve got the hole cut on the inside, pry the switch box away from the stud and twist it toward the inside of the closet. On the inside, pull the plastic switchbox into the cutout where it’s nice and snug, and screw your switch back in along with the cover plate.

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Uh, you just blorted, dude.

We’ve all read about it happening to someone – hell someone even posted a picture of his shitty drawers in these here forums not too long ago. But has anyone ever seen it happen to someone besides themselves? I’d hope to God that no, none of us has. Well, I hadn’t. Until just now.

I went to the restroom and stepped up to the middle urinal, since the other two were in use. And I’m minding my own business when the guy to my right rips open a serious block of bad air, and I turn to look at him with a look of ‘damn, have you no decency’ mixed with ‘wtf – that sounded shitty’. And immediately, he makes a grunt sound – not like when you’re shitting, but like umf when you are trying to stop yourself from shitting. And suddenly he’s standing up on almost his tiptoes and his posture is super perfect, staring directly at the shiny tiles in front of him.

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A Storm of My Conscience

It came during darkness. In the late hours of the night, asleep, warm under my thick sheets. The darkness was thick, and cold. But I lay warm. The pounding of the wind upon my window, and whipping waves of rain scattering across the panes kept me wrapped like a babe in my safety. The deafening hiss and roar of the storm outside was nearing unbearable. But my tolerance was strong. My will, my fate. I would not go so easily.

All along, pounding at the gates of my spirit’s safe house, preaching at me the peril of being in its wake. To lie still was to give way to my fears. To move was to challenge it. I pulled tighter under my blankets and tried humming to myself. The louder the wind. I tried rocking. The louder the rain. The pounding was now so fierce, I thought it would surely overcome me. It was sure to break the glass with a touch more of its strength.

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Trading Picks with Patrice

Heather and I are very big fans of Patrice Pike and the Black Box Rebellion. We go see them every time they come to Dallas. We’ve often driven to Austin to check them out, too. They are that good. It helps that our sister, Yvonne, is the world’s biggest fan, (she turned us on to them) and she lives in Austin, so we can stay with her when we make the trip down there. She’s also friends with Patrice, so it’s not rare that Patrice will come to her house to hang out for parties and we sit back in the backyard round a campfire trading guitars and songs.

At one of their shows here in Dallas at the Gypsy Tea Room, we showed up a little early to catch the openers. It was Jason and Zelina and Heather and me. Shelley King was playing that night, if I recall, and I was standing in the middle of the floor, by myself. Jason was against the wall on a barstool, and Z and Heather had gone out looking for a bite to eat.

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Road Trip Exchange

I guess it was around June or July of 1995, and I was driving back from Dallas to Abilene where I was stationed on the Air Force Base. I had a friend, Jeremy with me, and we were flying down the highway at no less than sixty (60) miles per hour. That may seem a little fast to the common person, but keep in mind – I was driving my old 1990 Chevy Cavalier, which had over a hundred thousand miles on it. So sixty was no sweat. No sweat at all.

Jeremy was reclined in the passenger seat, catching some Zs. A black pickup passed me on the left side, but not too quickly, and I looked over at the passengers. Seeing they were a couple of guys about my age, I waved at them. The guy in the passenger seat waved back, friendly enough. Well, they got a few hundred yards ahead and I decided to do something crazy. We had a twelve-pack of Pepsi (God only knows why it was Pepsi and not Coke, or Dr. Pepper, or Diet RC) cans on the console between us, and having only drunk about two or three between the both of us, I figured we could share a couple.

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