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. 

Happy Birthday Ming

 

Happy birthday Ming.

It's a been a long time since we last spoke. I can't recall how long it is. I recall what was said, and how I was away.

In the last sixty days I've lost the man who taught me to parent, a parent I cared for and a co-parent. I kept to myself since I got here because of the damage that was done before I left.

How's your Goddaughter? You might know more than I, but the loss of the girls broke me. 

I went back to work on my book last week. In particular, I changed the part where I mentioned you and your wife. I had not used your names through the first few drafts - not because I didn't want to, but because I felt that you and D didn't need the "publicity" that might come when the book came out. I prefer to think of the two of you as the couple who could point to the book and go "he's talking about us there." There is a section where your words read "If he comes here, it's because no one else believe in him."

I have change it, to include your name, not because the words have changed, the relationship has changed. You were #thefirstfan and people should know, even if it's not the case now.

Happy birthday Anthony, from your fan. Your friend. 

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? 

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. 

  

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. 

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.

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.

Film Maker

 

  The new version of Blogger is coming.

  Wonderful.

  Another new platform that was fully functional, now has to be relearned.

  As a writer I occasionally am asked to take my "words" into another arena. This time it's into film. By the first week of August I have been asked to produced three short films based on an article that I wrote last year.  The films will be in the Imovie format for distribution to the entity that requested the service.

  Not a big deal, but I guess now I am a film maker.

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.

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.

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. 

29 February

  Deadlines come and go. Occasionally, I will not start a project or submission until the deadline is approaching. Having a deadline is a good thing - the time constraint to be done by a prescribed moment keeps the work on focus.

   This week I was talking with a First Fan when I mentioned that I had two deadlines looming on the same day - February 28.  (It turns out, it wasn't the same day, one of the deadlines was in fact February 29, as 2020 is a leap Year. But for the sake of this entry, the deadline was "the last day in February".)

  The second deadline was finished with with...a day to spare. The first deadline zoomed right by me without a word being written.

  On the last day, that is, February 29, I was in my car mentally revising the submission made on February 28 when I come to the conclusion that a lot of submissions I make center around transport and traveling. Some of my best published non fiction has the critical element of "traveling" in-bedded within the story. Then there are other good fiction stories that I have had published where traveling, or rather, "the journey" has been the strength of the story.

  Looking back, I began to recall some of the "transport" focus of my youth. In the Police Department, I wrote a paper for the National Transport Road Forum on truck driving hours. In College I wrote an assignment of early transports affecting education in the outback. In High School, I wrote an English assignment which documented the travels of the protagonist. (It might have been Jude The Obscure.) In primary school I did a project on Transport for the new schools open house, that featured a model railway and identified thirty seven different means of transport. Even earlier, than that, I was collector of the Weet Bix cards that featured motor vehicles.

  A writer of travel. Who would have seen that coming?

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.

Fifteen Years

  Fifteen years ago, today, I stepped off the plane and onto the tarmac at San Diego International Airport.  There was no one there to meet me.

  Today, I am still working alone on much the same arrangement that I had when I first arrived in the United States - commissioner per submission.

  Along the way I have had moderate success.

  I'd like a little James Patterson success in the next fifteen years. 

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.