Going Home

 

    Going home.

    I was once told you can never go home. You can never go back from whence you began. Early next year I will be returning to that which has haunted me since the day I left. But it is not home.

    It's just the place that I report to others as home, when in fact, it's just the general area where I grew up. It has nothing of that which a home has. Any more.

    Children. Parents. Christmas mornings waking with the family.

    Stolen from me early in my life, I attempted to regather the pieces, but I didn't know how, I couldn't put it back together again. (A phrase borrowed from a First Fan.) I lost it a second time, and after that, I did the best I could.

    I have found myself recently less at peace with what has happened and more at peace that it happened. I'm accountable for the wear and tear, and some of the breakages. But not the theft of the pieces.

I Had No ...

    

    I had not recognized that I had not written in the calendar year of 2022 as yet.

    I had not known that I had not written until I was asked why I had not written.

    I had no answer to why I had not written when I had written in the year.

    I had not realized that other had noticed that I had not written until they mentioned that they were looking for my writings.

    I had no fans before I wrote my stories and now that I have fans the stories must continue to be wrote. 

Blizzard Entertainment - a Big Fat F.

    In September 2021, Blizzard Entertainment released Diablo 2: Resurrection. This was a game that a buddy introduced me to in about 2001 and we played many a late hour into the night this role playing game (RPG) It was my first foray into the "fantasy" world, and twenty years later, I returned to the remastered original game. On a Saturday morning I sat down to chronicle my return.

0900: Turn on computer, upload game, press play. Entered the waiting cue to access the server as player #238.

0945: Finally entered the game.

0946: Game crashed to desktop.

0947: Reentered the waiting cue as player # 132.

1016: Crash to desktop prior to entering server lobby.

1017: Reentered the waiting cur as player 78.

Approximately 1105:  Server converted me to off line play. Press online and reenter the waiting cue as player #314.

1215: Game crashed to desktop.

    After three (3) hours of "gameplay" I balanced my checking account, requested a copy of my credit report, finalized some end of month bills before they were due, discarded motor vehicle repair orders predating 2015, defrosted some frozen food for dinner this evening, and surfed the yachting classifieds for a replacement.

    Blizzard get a big fat F for their theft of US$60 for unavailable downloadable content. 

We Go Again

 

Here we go again, another lap around the globe as we grapple to "flatten the curve in fourteen days", now in its second year.

I have returned to writing after an extended absence in another country fulfilling the obligations of emergency management in the Covid era. Returning to writing I have been presented with atopic that continues to plague me, grief.

Twenty one days to complete a manuscript for publication.

Yup, we go again. Damaged goods.  

Home After Three Months

For the past three months, I have been ....away from home. This Memorial Day weekend is the first weekend that I have been home, since...Saint Patrick's Day

Home being the mailing address where my bills are sent - not the nation of my birth.

Very shortly, I will be transitioning into a new role, compliments of, perhaps the second most important woman in my life.

I'll be getting back to writing and recovery.

It Was All He Had

 

The following is a reproduction of an article that I wrote for the Fathers Rights Movement California State Chapter on 6 Feb 2021.

    My parents were divorced when I was young. As a teen and later as a college student, I'd occasionally visit Dad at the Army base he lived and worked at. On his desk were photographs of my brother and I but they were old photos...as toddlers, the first day of school - there was nothing recent.

    I never understood why.

    Come forward sixteen years and I'm divorced with two daughters. On my last day in Australia before coming to the USA, Dad took us to a fine seafood restaurant. At the end of the meal a photo was taken of the people present, including my Dad, my brother, and my daughters.

    Come forward another sixteen years and and the photo pops up on my Facebook memories.

    And suddenly...I understand why Dad only had old photos of my brother and I.

    It was all he had.

    The photograph taken at the restaurant was the last time my Father saw his granddaughters. It was the second last time I saw my daughters.

    Now, it is all that I have. 

The Dreamtime Stories

It has a been...a quiet time. A Dreamtime.

For the First Fans - we have lost three in sixty days.

The Big Man was the first to go. He taught me more about parenting then my own Father did.

The next was Her Mom. She needed the dependent care but in the end, She would always been the disobedient person that She was, in need of oversight at all times, and needing saving when there was no oversight. She wanted to make Her own decisions, and that is why She has gone.

The third, I did not not know well, but Her loss punctuated the generational gap.

There is a child that will be born this year, a child that will be the first (known) grandchild to me.

...and suddenly, the stories I should have written have now become the stories that will be told to a young child. The stories that they will hear of the Big Man, Large Marge and another, will no longer be coming from the lips of those people, but will be regaled by story tellers.

The aboriginal people of Australia speak of the Dreamtime, to explain the landscape of the land, and the history of their people. And I will speak of the Dreamtime in the technological era, of the people that came before the child, and of what the child meant to those people.

I wonder if my own children will tell the Dreamtime story of their Father to their children? 

Workmanship of a Writer

 

Uggh.

California is about to go back into lockdown as the Covid 19 virus continues to ransack the State. Not all Counties will go into lock down to the same degree, nor at the same time. This creates a situation for me as a writer as my residency and office are located in two different counties, approximately eighty (80) miles apart.

Eighty miles is a long way for a virus to move when everything is shut down. A secondary residency has been taken in a hotel where I can shelter in place for as long as needed without bankrupting the accounts.  Ideally, days at a time are preferred, not weeks.

My Father, currently located in a  state where the temperatures are reaching almost 50 Celsius, has ridden out the winter of the virus, but unlike Southern California, there are less people per square mile in Australia. Social distancing is automatic in a country of sweeping plains. 

The completion of works during this time has not occurred, not through failure, but with the occupancy of time by virus impediments, I would say that I written less this year than last.

Not the greatest workmanship of a writer when compared to Stephen King or James Patterson. 

I Care For

    Uggh. Has it really been over a month since I penned words to the blog.

    For those that came in late...

• The elderly parent I care for broke their hip while I was out of the house.
• The elderly parent I care for within seven hours of returning home sustained a heart attack.
• The elderly parent I care for returned home to hospice care to see out their days.
• The brother husband I care for succumbed to his medical ailment. 

    I have returned to my industry of employment prior to caring for the elderly parent. 

    The major project - which centers around the brother husband, now takes on greater importance. Come the day that his grandchildren sit on my knee, I need to be able to tell them about Grampa Joe.

    My duty to that family does not end because of a life extinct certificate.

    Somehow, I inherited my ex mother in law to care for.

    I'm not sure if that might be the second book. 

Lap 54, Day 162

 

Second half. 

As the California "stay at home" orders continue to escalate with the returning surge of Covid-19, the desire to write is,,,diminishing. It's not that I don't have the discipline, it's more along the lines that other than medical facilities, it's been five months inside the same room.  Some call it cabin fever.

I always thought that I could single handed sail long distances. Not necessarily a circumnavigation, but I thought I could do oceanic crossings, stay a while, continue on. Maybe I will have that ability one day but after five months, I'm no so sure.

Today I celebrated another lap of the solar system and head out again, without my daughters. In a conversation with my Father this evening I spoke briefly about them. He, the man who lost his own children, but regained them miraculously, was a better Father than I. I never regained mine.

Still, I had lasagna tonight as if they were here. 

Two Thirds of a Trilogy

  In the Covid era of "writing" I have had the opportunity to put more hours into my craft while I remain at home caring for a parent susceptible to the disease. While the parent has not been a 24/7 "needs assistance" patient, they are in fact a 24/7 "needs assistance to be available" patient. The writing has come in shift, waves, periods of activity punctuated by medical appointments and medication requirements.

  The major project has received attention, to the point, where it is now approaching the editing process.  Each day, there are events occurring which retroactively, affect the construction of the "major project" and could add additional chapters to the work. I have had an addition this week, that if included, completely alters the storyline of the project - and thus it has to be omitted.

  From this work. That's not to say that it could not be added to another major project.

  And thus begins the second major project of writing, a sequel to the first major project.

  I was once told that whenever you write a major project, be prepared to turn it into a trilogy.

  I have two thirds now.

Marooned Until Dates Unknown

  The Covid-19 pandemic is beginning to affect productivity.

  I sleep in shifts now, maybe four to five hours at most. I rarely maintain a uniform schedule, in part due to the elderly parent that I care for, around whom I have to work.

  The flights to Australia have been diminished to the point that should something happen to my Father, I will not be able to get to the county, let alone to him.

  I have, indeed, become "marooned" - as I have have so poignantly written about previously. I am now stranded with 354 million others in the United States of America. The advertised travel on my web site has all been pushed back until "dates unknown".

Antiquated Technology

  In the past ten days, the entire infrastructure system of the grantmadden.com office has changed. Laptops, servers, desktops, keyboards, mouse, wiring, power.

  The desks remain the same, the staff remain the same, and the writing remains the same. The power underneath it all has upgraded from antiquated technology.

  Many years ago I upgraded from what was considered "antiquated technology" into a new arena and just did not have the same success. That was sailing, and the change in technology levelled the playing field between myself and the competition. I don't expect that will happen in the writing field.

  The Covid-19 issue still has the office, and the residing county in turmoil. Flights to and from Australia have been suspended indefinitely, and with the American Independence Day tomorrow, not a lot of celebrating or fireworks.

  Keep it low, clean and antiquated technology is sometimes the way to ride out success.

  Cheers and beers from the American Pioneer.

Citizenship

  There are moments in a life - defining moments where you can identity time, date and place, where a life changed. Birth. Marriage. Death. While there are many others, I have uncovered a moment that I had not considered before.

  Citizenship.

  Many years ago, I left my native Australia and settled in the United States of America. I would never yield my native country, as it became more apparent that I would need to take on another country.

  In the middle of the pandemic, my approval to become a United States Citizen arrived. Poignant. While there would not be the same solemn ceremony, it was a "make best" situation.

  At Cabrillo Point earlier today, I swore my Oath and became a United States Citizen.

  The ceremony was captured and later reported in the various media outlets.

  The San Diego Union Tribune captured a still and quoted me in their feature article.

  Later that night, I appeared on the Fox 5 San Diego news broadcast, and later on the NBC 7 news broadcast.

  And for the Spanish speaking community, on Telemundo 20.

  In Charlotte, North Carolina, the San Diego citizenship ceremony made the evening news. The story was picked up and carried across the nation appearing in Atlanta, Boston, Houston, Ohio, Georgia,   MSN, the Point Loma OB Monthly Magazine, and the Border Report.

  I am grateful for the well wishes, the supporters, and even the nay -stayers. This has been a long wait, and the next journey begins.

Citizenship Forthcoming

  Citizenship!

  The USINS has announced that their offices are reopening, and my citizenship ceremony has been scheduled for 24 June 2020.

  Fifteen years and a day after I was granted a Green Card, the long road has come to an end

  With the Covid19 situation in California returning to pandemic levels, there will be no fanfare, no open ceremony, no guests.

  A quiet introduction into my new country or origin.

Windows Vista Outlasts Them All

  Last week, the offices of grantmadden.com did an upgrade of the laptops. One of the newest arrivals is a Dell Insperion.  IT will be replacing an aging Windows Vista laptop. The laptop has been in service for almost 14 years.

  While doing the "swap out" I was surprised to discover some items on the old laptop, items of great sentiment.

 - the last photograph of my eldest daughter.
 - the account of an ancestry hunt that I accompanied my Father on, in the the streets of Brooklyn, New York.
 - copies of a radio broadcast I appeared on speaking about "Fathering After Divorce".

  Writing about the upgrade was easy - writing about the memories contained on the hard drive was gut wrenching and generated some tears.

  Rather than dispose of the, now defunct, Vista laptop, it has been retired within my office where it will forever hold those memories.

  The girls have gone. Dad is no longer able to travel. The radio show has ended.

  The Windows Vista laptop outlasted them all.

Adsence on Memorial Day Weekend

  I had not seen any revenue from Google Ads in almost a year before I logged into my Adsence account today. Front and center has an advisory that my "earnings were at risk, you need to fix ads.txt to avoid severe impact to your revenue."

  My site currently doesn't generate the revenue of a small country, but I'm planning one day to have a larger presence. For the time being, I have to modify an text entry to correct an ad.

  That sounds simple.

  No it wasn't.

  I have never worked with html, instead using a copy and paste method to stand up the blog site, that you are reading. So now I have to start modifying code on a copy and paste site?

  Can't stand having to modify adsence ads to correct an entry.

  Good thing I have the entire three day of the Memorial Day weekend and the California Stay at Home Orders to correct this issue. I'll need all that time.

Happy Birthday Chickybabe

>


  Happy Birthday Chickybabe

  Today, my eldest daughter turns 31.

  When I was 31 her mother and I had separated, and I went on to my best "role" as the divorced father of two daughters.

  Now, I'm just the alienated father of the same two daughters that I haven't seen in years.

  Perhaps when they read the Book, they will realize that their Dad never left them. 

Day 54 Writting Material

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  Day 54. That was last Friday. I fractured a rib.

  I would love to be able to say that it was a result of some super human rescue effort, but alas, the reality of the rescue is more comical than expected. I fractured a rib reaching for the television remote.

  Over the back of the chair.

  On the floor.

  The sensible thing to do was move the chair and ergonomically collect the remote. No, I had to reach over and the sound of the rib cracking was heard, not only by me, but by another.

  There was no blog entry last week as I tried to establish how much damage was done. I could breathe - that was a plus. I was able to stand and sleep, but the moment I got into the car the following day, that's when it started. The Doctor at the Urgent Care that I eventually got to (the following Wednesday) confirmed the splintering of the rib by X-ray.

  "Nothing we can do to help you," she said.

  Why did I bother to go.

  As an author, this would be my first "writer injury", that which was incurred in the execution of writing duty. I should be awarded a purple ink pen.

  This week, the writing slowed down as the crevice that is inside me bruised up with the fractured rib.

  The only bonus to come from this is that a second work I have written has the protagonist in isolation for almost a year. Now, they too have a fractured rib.

  Writing material from Day 54.

Good Friday and an Easter Remberance

     Easter was a (mostly) enjoyable time for me growing up.

     As a child, it was school break, traveling on the longest weekend of the year, and with the autumnal weather, cool enough during the day and warm enough at night to sleep.  Later, I found myself in the servitude of the Church during the Easter celebrations, the mostly holiest time of the year.

     As a teenager, Easter changed. In 1982 my father, drove north to Laguna Bay where my brother and I sailed in our first major regatta.  We were rank outsiders, two young kids, unknowns. Not surprisingly, we were robbed blind after the final race. We drove home that weekend with a new focus. I would go on to win seven (7) titles, but nothing would ever erase that memory of that Easter.

   What I remember the most of that Easter was the weather. Old enough to remember, it would become the blueprint for all future Easter regattas I attended. Raining, wet, and despite the autumnal weather, cold enough during the day for hypothermia and not warm enough at night to sleep. My father would launch us off the beach, have warm food for us on our return, and relaunch us in the afternoon. He did more for my sailing history than I could ever thank him for.

     Here we are, 38 years later and the weather in Southern California this Easter weekend reminds me so much of what happened at Laguna Bay. The rain, the coldness, the thievery and the subsequent follow through. I am feeding two sick patients, albeit, not at the beach in the elements. However, I am currently on day 28 of isolation from Corona virus with the same emotions back then - there is nothing I can do to change what has occurred, but I will never let this happen again.

     Easter was a (mostly) enjoyable time for me growing up - I hope I have more enjoyment that this.