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.

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.

    

5500 Days

 

 

    A counterpart - another father, wrote yesterday that it is 2499 days since he last saw his children. I feel sorry for the man, he has endured more than I ever did.

    ...and then I did the math.

    This morning, Christmas day, it will be 5500 days since I last saw my children together. It was the last time I saw my youngest child, I saw my eldest child a couple of years later in circumstances where I thought that She would understand that there can be functionality after a divorce where both parents still work together for the benefit of their children.

    I gave my eldest too much credit, I didn't comprehend the curse that had been placed upon her, how her grandmother had done to her mother, so her mother was now doing to her.

    I looked at my own family also, how my grandparents, uncle and aunts, had done to my parents, and how my parents did with me. Turns out, the only one who was forthright with me about it, was the man at the center of it - my Father. I hadn't given my Father enough credit, and yet, I could fault him just as well.  He did not tell me until I was in his position, of what would come.

    2499 days have passed since Michael Brown last saw his children. 

    5500 days have passed since I last saw my youngest. Merry Christmas chickybabes. My Christmas wish for both of you is that I hope you are better than both your parents. 

People Are Stupid

    People are stupid.

    I'm sitting at Atlanta International Airport, - one of the largest and businest airports in the world.  People coming and going and moving between places.  While waiting for my flight, the gentlemen who was sitting beside me gets up. He has four or five seats covered with luggage, childrens toys, and a stroller.  He wants to go to the restroom and asks me to look after his lugagge.

    "I'm not supervising your luggage."

   The guys walks off.  Where is the rest of his family? Who has the children associated with the stroller and toys? I'm not your minder of luggage. And shame on you for asking.

    The airport overhead speaker annouces "Keep control of you baggage. Do not allow anyone to have control of your baggage."

    After the divorce when I was out with my daughters, then a single Father, I had to rely on myself to do all the tasks associated with raising children. When we travelled I made sure we travlled as a group and accompanied the girls everywhere - except into ladies restrooms. 

    Was it difficult? Absolutely. There were times when I wished I had female companion to assist the girls, but, I didn't...and I had to look after our own luggage.

    I would not have wanted anyone to supervise my luggage.

    See Something, Say Something. 

    I called the Department of Homeland Security to supervise their luggage. 

    People are stupid.

You Snooze, You Loose

 

 

    In 2009 I started working on a second major body of work. That piece was a factional account of global sporting event.  The work was started in what was known as National Novel Writting Month. Participants would write their story, upload the title and synopsis, and as they proceed, enter a word count for their body of work.

    My progress in that after completing the event, resulted in about 120,000 words written - but it was missing something. So, I set it aside.

    Last week I returned to the body of work having sourced some information that would add the details I needed to complete the work. While researching that, by chance, I just happened to enter the parameters of my work into Amazon.

    Son of a bitch. The exact same piece of work using the same title and a slight varient of my work was published in April this year, by someone I do not know.

    Coincidence? Probably. Liable? Probably not.

    You snooze, you loose.

New Digs

    2022 has been a year, already of upheaval. This also includes the reassignment of my professional life.

    After sixteen years, during which I studied and credentialed in a specialized field. I am moving across to another tract to see out my working life. I am hoping that the return to less combative late night telephone conversations and a regular schedule will allow for the completion of the major project, which, must be completed.

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. 

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. 

I Thought Of You Last Night

 

  I thought of you last night.

  Actually, I think of you every night. Sometime I think of you first thing in the morning

  Most times I think of you after starting my day and wonder what you are doing.

  I always think of you in the evening. 

   But last night it was different, you arrived in my dreams - like you have many times before.

  I know the exact date the last time we spoke, the last date I saw you. Time, has not been favorable.

  Wherever you are, what ever you are doing, I think of you constantly.

  You are missed.

  Every time I think of you, with every word I write. 

  

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. 

Day 147

   One hundred and forty seven days ago I went into isolation with the California lockdown. That's five months. The "need" to remain at  home isolated from the pandemic was a "protection" assignment. Protecting someone else.

  In five months I have gained about fifteen pounds, predominately through inactivity. Just recently I have begun a light exercise program in which I ensure that the dogs (plural) are walked each night.  They are not my dogs.

  The days are somewhat disjointed as there is not regimented rising time, but the meals are as scheduled three times a day - with a slight variance for the evening meal based on travel time for another occupant of the house. I'm not making two evening meals a day.

  Before I came to the United States, I was an accomplished sailor on the racing circuit. I often wondered if I had it in me to sail single handed long distances. Though I never aspired to sole circumnavigate the globe, it was a question in my mind of could I transfer my race skills to cruising skills.

  I'm no longer sure I could solo circumnavigate. I'm sure that the days would be vastly different but in my twelve square feet office, I have found myself...wandering about. There is always something to do, but not always something I want to do.  And I found the reason for that.

  It's been one hundred and forty seven days since I went into isolation. That's five months. 

    They're not my dogs. 5 Months.  One hundred and forty seven days. 

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.

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

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  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.

40 Days and 40 Nights

  40 days and 40nights have passed since I personally went into isolation due to the pandemic.

  Accomplishments? Not a lot, other than surviving.

  Did I have to accomplish anything in this time? No.

  Did I need to accomplish anything in this time?  No.

  What happened was during this time, others who were in need turned to me for their safety so that they did not fall to the virus.

  And what did I gain out this?

  Nothing.

  But I wasn't expecting to. I just did my job, as an essential worker to the two people who needed it the most.

  And, I did write a lot more than I expected.

Fifteen Minutes At A Time

  I have established that, at best, while working from home, that I can work for a maximum of fifteen (15) minutes at a time.

  It's not that I lack the concentration or focus to enable me to perform for several hours.  It's the needless distractions that have to be attended to which limit my output, to fifteen minutes at a time.

  Today, I woke and sat down at my desk. Booted up the computer and during the morning email review, checked on the elderly parent that I care for. Thus endeth the first fifteen minutes.

  The dogs barked fifteen minutes later. Check and verify that they are barking at the wind.

  The cat started bitching about something. Get up and verify that the cat is just bitching about nothing.

  The landline telephone rings, it's a scam caller, so naturally, the elderly parent answers it.

  That's the first hour. I've risen four times for outside distractions, broken the train of thought and been distracted from my work.

  The second hour. The dogs again. Fifteen minutes later there's a truck driving by that makes a loud sound; and the dogs go apeshit. The usual swearing and cursing at the dogs hastens their retreat to the elderly parents lap. I no sooner return and the elderly parent is moving about in the kitchen - investigation required. Fifteen minutes later, there's a door slam inside the house - elderly parent has taken to their bathroom.

  While the current health situation has put a lot more people to work in their residency, there are a couple of thoughts about this. If we can work from home during a health issue, why can't we work from home after the health issue? The roads would be freer, the commute time would be reduced, people would still be earning an income.

  And then the dogs bark again, this time at a leaf falling...three miles away.

  And now I know why people go to their corporate office.  It's not so they can accomplish any additional work, it's so they are not working fifteen minutes at a time distracted by ridiculous home matters.  Far better to be distracted at work every fifteen minutes by the phone and loose two hours of your day in the commute back and forth, than to stay at home and complete the same volume distracted by..leaves falling every fifteen minutes. 

I Am Done

I am Done.

A letter today from the California Department of Child Support Services reads "According to our records, your support obligations are paid in full ....Do not send further payment."

It is almost 23 years to the day since I was divorced. Along the way I have battled the Commonwealth of Australia, set precedent in the San Diego Appeals Court against the Dept. of Child Support, had my fight against the oppressive Child Support machinery published locally and in Australia, and been on radio talk shows.

I was fortunate that I knew how to read law, prepare briefs of evidence, compile witness statements, and handle a court room. I became schooled in the Hague Convention Child Support rules, and put a stop after their financial gang rape. But at what cost?

The swiftness of the system to take is not replicated on correcting their errors. I've not owned a house, but their mother bought a beach house with my child support. My credit report is obliterated, had my drivers license in peril, my passport attempted to be revoked by a foreign country not authorized to, and worst, emotionally hurt another women as I failed miserably in a relationship.

I was lucky - not everyone gets to win almost all their fights. Others may not have had the knowledge, or the staying power, or maybe they were beat down more than I was and could not go on. The one I truly needed to win though - is a loss. My daughters are now 31 and 25; alienated from me by their mother. I last saw my eldest when she was 18, her sister - when she was 12.

It's too late for my girls. I am done.

One Submission Is Better Than None

  On the last day of the first month, I made this years first submission to a publishing house.

  Not a great track record for a writer, but one submission is better than none.

  As the "First Fans" are aware, the care of a parent is draining my time away. Being accountable for a toddler in an adult frame is a time consuming job, You can't just instruct on what it is and what it should be, - because they are elderly.  Instead, grace is needed.

  After spending two days and a night back and forth to the emergency room of a local hospital, it was late yesterday when I realized the deadline was approaching. Unsatisfied with the third, or fourth version, I submitted the version that I thought better -but not award winning.

  One submission is better than none.

Christmas Again, at Chesterfield Inlet

  Once again, the return to the Arctic begins at Chesterfield Inlet.

  Merry Christmas, Chickybabes.