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. 

The Preservation of One

   Everyone who was alive, knows where they were on this day in 2001. It ranks higher than the Kennedy Assassination, Man on the Moon, even the passing of Elvis.

   It even outweighs the day of infamy at Pearl Harbor. 

   Of the four events I mentioned, only one is joyous. We recall the horrors of our life, and I am no exception.

   The events of September 11 2001 changed the world, and my path on this world. With hindsight now, I can pinpoint that moment as the change in my professional life, which subsequently resulted in my immigration to the United States. 

    After the events of September 11, there was nothing I could do to help those, but, with the skillset I had previously acquired, I could help those going forward. Even if those going forward, number just one.

    As the Covid 19 situation in California continues to contain me in my residency, as  tend to someone who cannot, or should not, venture outside. Additionally, the California Wildfires place a heavier burden with reduced air quality. Again, as I tend to someone who cannot, or should not, venture outside.

    Sometimes the service we provide is not for the betterment of all, but for the preservation of the one. 

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.