17 Years

 To those that celebrate, happy thanksgiving.

In Minnesota, @analienatedfather posted in his blog about the alienation of his children. Michael is going on eleven years without seeing his children. 💔

Today, is 17 years since I last saw my youngest daughter. 💔

I have no idea where she is now, I have no idea where she is now.

I hope the life she has is as she wanted.

I stil live at the same address and phone number I have for the last twenty years, in the hope that one day both my daughters will reach out. As was done to their mother, has now been done to them.

Michael and I have nothing to give thanks for over our children, as we wait, for one day that they open that door.

Why Am I Not Writing?

 

 

Recently, a fan of my work asked "why are you not writing?'

 I am writing - but you can't see it.

What the fan really meant by their question is "why has it been so long since your last publication?" That's a much better question.

Currently, the professional work is swallowing the complete "writing". Somewhere between ten and twelve hours a day, I spend my time writing, rewriting, researching, interviewing, for a major project. Much like a James Patterson, there's a downtime between publications that the reader does not see.

My readers also understand that unlike James Patterson, I'm not there yet as a full time writer.

In the profesisonal world, our group just celebrated one (1) year since compsition, though my section has only existed since nine (9) months.I've probably got another nine (9) months to produce three (3) times the amount of work.

Moonshot type work.

Signposts

    Earlier this year, I moved into a new role in my professional life.

    The change has been, night and day.

    The learing curve has been, steep.

    The rewards look impressive and....closer.

    Come March 2025 my scholarly work should be published.

    ...and yet, there is still a gap missing in the composite.

    Signposts. Can't forget them.

May 17 2024 4pm

    By the grace of God, had someone else not been aware, my life would have ended.

   ...and my children would never know.

Happy Birthday Chickybabe.

 

 

 

 

 

    Happy birthday Chickybabe.

    Your grandfather is ageing. I could tell you that the only thing he truely wants is to see you and your sister before he passes.

    Your father is ageing, I coud tell you that the only thing he truely wants is to see you and your sister before he passes.

    You already know this from other grandparents.

    I am sorry.

    Happy birthday, my child. 

   

The Memory of Roller Coaster Tycoon - 25 years on.

 

 

 

 

    After the divorce, I was financially strangled, predominately caused by Child Support on top of the maritial debts, so when the daughters and I were together, we did not venture out much. I bought a computer game, Roller Coaster Tycoon, and late at night both the girls and I played that game into the wee hours.

   Some of my fondest memories after the divorce was of my youngest daughter sitting on my lap as she "moused" her way around an amusement park.

    Last week I spent a couple of days at Disneyland and my mind wandered back to those nights with the girls. I came back from the trip and pulled out my copy of the game.

    Roller Coast Tycoon turned 25 years of age last month.

    I reinstalled the game, adjusted some of my settings and set about playing through the game again, recalling the nights of trying to explain to my children "how to" plan an amusement park. 

    The game lives with the memory of Bumbly Beach and my daughters.

 

The Door Is Open To My Children

 

 

 

    A first fan recently asked "how will your children know they can contact you?"

    A valid question. Estrained from me for years, they have been told information without opportunity for rebuttal, or correction. My hope is that they have better judgement than their mother.

    Before we were married their mother and I were walking on a beach and a couple passed us in the other direction. It was her Father whom she had not seen for years. After preliminary conversation She was compelled to find out more, to discover if the stories that She was told by her Mother were true. When She reached out to her Father, then validated the versions, it was apparent that Her Mother had lied to her about her Father, for Her entire life.

    Unable to live with the truth that She had been lied to all her life - by her Mother - she cut off all future contact with her Father.

    History is not here for us to like but exists to teach us. To not recognise or consider that there might have been an alternative explanation, is to doom yourself to replicate history.

    I should have recognized that moment.

    I did not.

    Today, I have no idea where my children are, who they are, or if they are alive.

    Should they find their way here, the answer is yes, your Father will have conversations with you if you reach out, for of the two of us, I am the only one who has left the door open for you to find me.

February 29

 

 

Every four years, this date rolls around. A leaping year of activity.

I am some what fond of this date. A buddy of mine has a birthday, a couple I like have their anniversay, and a lady whom I once thought a lot of has a birthday - I think she would be 68 this year. We're finally clear of Christmas holidays and well into the working  year.

A month ago I was in Australia and bar one day, even with Covid, it was pleasant. That one day - my last day, unpleasant for me not for what happened, but for what did not happened. One again, I probably let at least one person down.

That residue has carried over for the last 30 days and I am unable to shake the feeling that I have lost some footing. Again. Opportunity lost and who knows when they will want me to return to Australia again. 

The Voices of Australia

 

         After a five year absence I have returned to Australia, via the most oblique route I could orchestrate. I had other reasons for part of the journey which on the first night was not a success, from my chair. I should have been...better.

    The birds this morning were the cockatoos and the rainbow lorikeets. In California, all the birds are motley brown and have no voice. Here, each have their own unique voice, much like the people of Australia. Not surprising, I am having trouble with the Australian accent this trip that I've not had before.

    I hear the words but do not comprehend the message.

    I'm having to ask for the verbiage to be repeated second and third times.

    I no longer speak the language of my home.

    I am not even sure that there is a fit for me, here, anymore.