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Death
The world turns with or out without/
With out you, it is less the joy/
Without me, I wouldn't know/
Turning is the journey.
MY "mom" passed away today...
My "mom" passed away today: January 10, 2013. Brenda Joy Shepherd. My parents divorced when I was very young, in 1969 I was 6 years old. My Dad re-married. Dad had just come off a difficult break up and re-bounded into another relationship, meeting Brenda at a bar. Over a discussion learned she was recently divorced as well, and with a small daughter of her own. My brother and I were given over, by the State of Texas, to my "mother" (Linda Townsend); whose heroin addiction and prostitutional behaviors ended up 'losing' my brother and I. Having been left a a babysitter for three days alone got the Child Protection Agency of the day involved. My brother and I became wards of the State and placed in Buckner's Children Home in Dallas, Texas.
After my Dad and Brenda married in a Kingdom Hall of Jehovah's Witnesses they came and got us out of Buckner's One of my earliest childhood memories is waking up in the dark, in the front seat of the car looking up into Brenda's face asking, "Are you going to be my new mommy now?" Which she replied, "If you want me to be." "Okay." I said then drifted off to sleep again. I really was "the red-headed step child."
With Brenda as my "mom", (I never knew my mother for Linda was in a Huntsville prison I met her in 1979; another story altogether); things seemed different.
I was raised as one of Jehovah's Witness. I always thought of it as a "normal" childhood - like everyone else. As the years passed and I grew, I realized I was different on so many levels. Yet my differences would not make me bitter but into a more empathetic adult. As a Jehovah's Witness we were not allowed to "do anything". That's hard for a kid. I remember standing just out side of the classroom during morning prayers or saluting of the Flag at school, not going to football games; getting off the Track and Field Team in Junior High School like I wanted because it was an "evil competitive Worldly sport". I recall many many times how "Jehovah disliked little boys who did 'such-n-such'. Masturbation would have had me stoned just outside the city limits had I lived in the Biblical era, I was repeatedly told! Never knew what that was; but my older brother was "leaning in that direction". When I could not understand something like a math problem or Bible verse I was constantly asked if I was retarded or just plain stupid. I have heard a constant ringing in my ears ever since I could remember, ear infections and slaps up-side-the-head were my childhood normal. I knew my parents loved me because they always told me how hard it was for them to discipline such a wicked but loved child who couldn't get things done right. I do not remember when I stopped wetting to bed, early teens I believe. My brother, sister and I were "loved" just not in the same room together. There was always yelling, strife and contention. Some "drama" played out on a nightly bases. Our Brady Bunch family was nothing like the TV version of the merged unit. Ours was the example of dysfunction and disguise. No one ever knew the perfect family Jehovah provided me in my youth.
Brenda passed away from complications resulting from Emphysema. I had not spoken to her since the divorce from my father in 1991 or so. Only recently, after 22 years had my (step) sister, Cindy and I begun corresponding via handwritten letters, e-mail, and a few verbal phone calls was I actually able to hear Brenda's aged and chronically ill voice. My reaction was - disinterest. I know some will think me callous and cold, but when you have had such a disconnected upbringing and "disinterest" how else should I have reacted to such dismissal of "normalites of life"
Upon hearing the news of my "mom"'s passing I caught myself being more emotional over the elementary school shootings than her loss. I am not upset or numb or in disbelief. It is more akin to "disinterest". My mom passed away today and I don't seem to care about it. Maybe the emotions will come crashing in upon me later and you can feel the sense of loss in my words. Maybe some day I will find those word. Several years ago when my wife's beloved poodle died, I learnt the definition of "weep" for I never cried so deeply for someone before, not even for my father. I feel "emotionless" at Brenda's death, does this make me a bad person? or just a distant one?
I spoke with my sister, Cindy again on the phone. Hysterical, overly emotional, crying and repeatedly; yet, it was all very appropriate. She lived with "mom" and saw her die, and actually started CPR before EMT arrived. Was a caregiver and sitting 24-7. After the 2 hour phone conversation I had her calm and rational again. She's handling everything, and the focus is overwhelming. By the end of the conversation she was able to articulate and plan things in a way that can begin her closure and a new journey, as difficult as it will be dealing with such a deep loss of personality from her daily existence.
We talked. I had purposely estranged myself from her and manned up in telling her so and why. We both now have closure and a real beginning in our renewed relationship can begin. I told my sister she could write me again with all the gory details of her "poor pitiful me of a life" but I did not wish to hear it repeated over the phone as I enjoyed my own drama (LOL) without adding hers into the mix.
I told her she was a major source of my deep depression but now was the time to reinvent ourselves anew. Happy New Year, 2013. "Did" and "do" begin with the letter "D" but are vastly different creatures altogether. I told her we can not undo or go back but that we can change the here and now and create better memories among ourselves. I did this same thing with brother and things have manifested beautifully.
Cindy is growing. We all are. Death is a Life changer. Some say I think of Death and Dying too much. I say... THE WHEEL TURNS. . . everything is going to be alright now, there is "balance in the Force" I'm good now, finally.
I do miss them, very much; but we can only go forward in time that is given us.
What makes this picture so difficult for me to look at is knowing their time is over. Kind of like when Jack returns to the Titanic. I can't believe they both really are gone. The lonely moments stretch out into the harsh acceptance that I no longer have living parents. I am the youngest of their joint three children. But hope is not lost for they had two beautiful grandchildren and wonderful great-grand ones who shine even brighter. I am blessed; I know my parents were proud of me (they told me so). but it still hurts all the same... Bye "mom" you were loved.
After my Dad and Brenda married in a Kingdom Hall of Jehovah's Witnesses they came and got us out of Buckner's One of my earliest childhood memories is waking up in the dark, in the front seat of the car looking up into Brenda's face asking, "Are you going to be my new mommy now?" Which she replied, "If you want me to be." "Okay." I said then drifted off to sleep again. I really was "the red-headed step child."
With Brenda as my "mom", (I never knew my mother for Linda was in a Huntsville prison I met her in 1979; another story altogether); things seemed different.
I was raised as one of Jehovah's Witness. I always thought of it as a "normal" childhood - like everyone else. As the years passed and I grew, I realized I was different on so many levels. Yet my differences would not make me bitter but into a more empathetic adult. As a Jehovah's Witness we were not allowed to "do anything". That's hard for a kid. I remember standing just out side of the classroom during morning prayers or saluting of the Flag at school, not going to football games; getting off the Track and Field Team in Junior High School like I wanted because it was an "evil competitive Worldly sport". I recall many many times how "Jehovah disliked little boys who did 'such-n-such'. Masturbation would have had me stoned just outside the city limits had I lived in the Biblical era, I was repeatedly told! Never knew what that was; but my older brother was "leaning in that direction". When I could not understand something like a math problem or Bible verse I was constantly asked if I was retarded or just plain stupid. I have heard a constant ringing in my ears ever since I could remember, ear infections and slaps up-side-the-head were my childhood normal. I knew my parents loved me because they always told me how hard it was for them to discipline such a wicked but loved child who couldn't get things done right. I do not remember when I stopped wetting to bed, early teens I believe. My brother, sister and I were "loved" just not in the same room together. There was always yelling, strife and contention. Some "drama" played out on a nightly bases. Our Brady Bunch family was nothing like the TV version of the merged unit. Ours was the example of dysfunction and disguise. No one ever knew the perfect family Jehovah provided me in my youth.
Brenda passed away from complications resulting from Emphysema. I had not spoken to her since the divorce from my father in 1991 or so. Only recently, after 22 years had my (step) sister, Cindy and I begun corresponding via handwritten letters, e-mail, and a few verbal phone calls was I actually able to hear Brenda's aged and chronically ill voice. My reaction was - disinterest. I know some will think me callous and cold, but when you have had such a disconnected upbringing and "disinterest" how else should I have reacted to such dismissal of "normalites of life"
Upon hearing the news of my "mom"'s passing I caught myself being more emotional over the elementary school shootings than her loss. I am not upset or numb or in disbelief. It is more akin to "disinterest". My mom passed away today and I don't seem to care about it. Maybe the emotions will come crashing in upon me later and you can feel the sense of loss in my words. Maybe some day I will find those word. Several years ago when my wife's beloved poodle died, I learnt the definition of "weep" for I never cried so deeply for someone before, not even for my father. I feel "emotionless" at Brenda's death, does this make me a bad person? or just a distant one?
I spoke with my sister, Cindy again on the phone. Hysterical, overly emotional, crying and repeatedly; yet, it was all very appropriate. She lived with "mom" and saw her die, and actually started CPR before EMT arrived. Was a caregiver and sitting 24-7. After the 2 hour phone conversation I had her calm and rational again. She's handling everything, and the focus is overwhelming. By the end of the conversation she was able to articulate and plan things in a way that can begin her closure and a new journey, as difficult as it will be dealing with such a deep loss of personality from her daily existence.
We talked. I had purposely estranged myself from her and manned up in telling her so and why. We both now have closure and a real beginning in our renewed relationship can begin. I told my sister she could write me again with all the gory details of her "poor pitiful me of a life" but I did not wish to hear it repeated over the phone as I enjoyed my own drama (LOL) without adding hers into the mix.
I told her she was a major source of my deep depression but now was the time to reinvent ourselves anew. Happy New Year, 2013. "Did" and "do" begin with the letter "D" but are vastly different creatures altogether. I told her we can not undo or go back but that we can change the here and now and create better memories among ourselves. I did this same thing with brother and things have manifested beautifully.
Cindy is growing. We all are. Death is a Life changer. Some say I think of Death and Dying too much. I say... THE WHEEL TURNS. . . everything is going to be alright now, there is "balance in the Force" I'm good now, finally.
The Best of my Parents as I remember them. There was joy, and character worth emulating. They must have done some things right, look at my daughter - She turned out wonderful, with beautiful children of her own, so I guess we did alright to. The Wheel Turns.
What makes this picture so difficult for me to look at is knowing their time is over. Kind of like when Jack returns to the Titanic. I can't believe they both really are gone. The lonely moments stretch out into the harsh acceptance that I no longer have living parents. I am the youngest of their joint three children. But hope is not lost for they had two beautiful grandchildren and wonderful great-grand ones who shine even brighter. I am blessed; I know my parents were proud of me (they told me so). but it still hurts all the same... Bye "mom" you were loved.
My beautiful God-Daughter!
I was adopted by a wonderful family in the Philippines and made godfather of their beautiful new baby girl.
iScroll - 2.0
I had to stayover a 16 hour shift at work one night and sat with a client in a dimly lit room. I sketched out this drawing of a idea I have for a story I am currently working on, called THE CURE. A character is looking at his futuristic computer device and I wanted it to be different than 'today's tech.'
"....Brycin Doyle was looking at headline news of the morning on his holographic-device while waiting for his Mocha cappuccino to arrive. The Spring breeze that blew lightly across his table on the sidewalk patio was a welcomed warmth after such a harsh Texas winter."
Sick
I've been sick for the past few days with a head cold, not quiet the flu but not that grand either. Started working on a new novel: THE CURE. Would really like to look into finishing this one and actually getting it published.
.
WORD A DAY: exordium
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Word of the Day for Tuesday, January 1, 2013
exordium \ig-ZAWR-dee-uhm\, noun:
1. The beginning of anything.
2. The introductory part of an oration, treatise, etc. As for your beginning and exordium, I no longer remember it, nor consequently the middle; and as for your conclusion, I will do nothing of the sort. In commencing, with the New Year, a New Volume, we shall be permitted to say a very few words by way of exordium to our usual chapter of Reviews, or, as we should prefer calling them, of Critical Notices.
Exordium stems from the Latin root ōrd meaning "to begin." The prefix ex- in this case means "utterly," and the suffix -ium which is often found on nouns borrowed from Latin, such as delirium and tedium.
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Employee of the Quarter
Certificate
Yeah, new coffee cup.
Their words, (not mine).
New EOQ pin for my badge.
{There are so many "David"s that I go by my middle name}.
Don't feel bad, LOL it throws everyone off.
After 14 years of service for the State of Texas I was honored by my peers; thank you everyone.
TWR: THE CRANE
The hazed light turned the sky grey, as if it had wanted to rain all that day. But by the time his classes were over, the skies had cleared into a beautiful mid-summer's day again. His father's home was on the other side of the sea port city, along the northern cliff, perched with its own view of the empty docks below. By the time he had reached the old marina, evening fell.
Every late-afternoon he would unclasp his red cloak just before leaving Mithar's weathered, grey tower to walk home alone. Now, it was near dusk and he was eager to hurry along, leaving his booted prints in the wet sands along the beach. The shoreline along the bay was his favorite route to take.
Fayendar looked like your average youthful student, loaded down with parchments under one arm and a polished-walking stick in the other hand. Shoulder length blond hair, braided on both sides as the rest blew in the occasional breeze. He enjoyed looking out on the gulf waters. In the bay, the shrimpers fished in their rickety round Ka’nath boats while being waylaid by seagulls, as the sinking sun painted its majestic backdrop.
Idho was his real name. The name his family gave him on his first birthday, before that it was just ‘baby’ as was tradition in the Bay area of Lindon, his parents first home. Back, when he remembered running barefoot through the streets of Mithar with his best friend Branthen, things seemed so stress free.
Fayendar, which meant Beloved-brother, was his mother's nick name for him; in an attempt to foster better relations with his older brother. A name that was not taken as it was intended, for he and Calan had always been rivals it seemed. This was another reason why he enjoyed his solitary walks home. It was also an excellent way to end an already stressful day. Though today was no different than any other, Fayendar had no idea that it was all about to change.
As he made his way home, he rehearsed the events of the day over in his mind again. Fayendar was a ministerial student, studying for the priesthood; the desire of his father for him to follow in their family’s tradition. Yet, more and more the student was becoming disillusioned with his teachers. They are long winded, and overly given to details that bore everyone to tears, he thought to himself as he picked up a small branch and threw it into the water.
His head was full of questions, unasked and therefore unanswered. Fayendar knew for sure the elders would have admonished him immediately, and changed the subject back to their own rambling of dates and conflicting theories. He knew that if he had he raised anything remotely resembling disbelief they would have turned the whole incident around, and would have made him appear to be the foolish one in front of his class mates. “How dare you grow a brain, and think for yourself!” he mockingly said to himself aloud, then quickly glanced about to see if anyone had possibly overheard him. So, he just resigned to keep quiet.
Fayendar enjoyed the long walks home because they gave him time to figure these things out for himself. Still, for some reason the lessons made more sense to him while he was there studying, among his peers in the watchtower's grey sheltered-chambers. Yet, when he was left with his own thoughts, like now, the certainty of their doctrines unraveled in his mind. For instance, he never quiet understood why it was they were to be so excited about staying in the world, if it was true that their forefathers had originally come from heaven. Or, why they alone were entrusted to be scholars and teachers to lesser men; or --
Suddenly, a group of annoying seagulls disturbed his private thoughts. They had begun flocking overhead and squawking for someone below to feed them. As he looked out on the long stretch of beach, Fayendar noticed, several yards ahead of him, a dark figure dressed in a heavy dark-blue cloak standing by himself. The man's hood was up, with a high point in the air, and his back turned toward the approaching youth.
The figure was intent upon looking down at the ground. For, something in the wet sand seem to have caught his focused attention. The man was using the end of his oak staff to poke at it; yet, the closer Fayendar came to him he realized that instead of poking, he was drawing in the sand. Presently, standing just a few paces behind the now squatting stranger, and almost looking over his shoulder, Fayendar could see the details of what he was doing.
It was the design of a bird -- a crane, drawn in exquisite detail. The stranger stooped over his drawing, and added dry colored-sand to its wet trenched-lines. Then after some whispered words and a few unusual waves of his hand, something under the sand began to move about just beneath the surface, blending the colored sand together. Suddenly, there burst out of the packed mud a real white-crane, violently shaking itself clean; looking from side to side. After a brief glance up at Fayendar's astonished expression the bird flew off, in the direction of the fishing boats.
The artist stood erect and laughed aloud to himself as he slowly turned around, acknowledging Fayendar's presence with a smile, "Greetings, Beloved-brother."
"H- How did you know my name?" The bewildered youth quickly asked. His clear grey-blue eyes grew even larger, as the silver ring of the Priesthood griped his carved pine-staff even tighter.
"I know more about you than you think." The face was that of an older gentleman who appeared to be in his late eighties, though his yellow-green eyes hinted at a much wiser brain. His round face was covered beneath a smartly trimmed beard, and broad smile. His eyes now bore through Fayendar like piercing daggers. Yet, the stranger's voice was warm and friendly, with a haunting tone, "I know you enjoy -- hidden secrets." He looked back at the disturbed sand-drawing, then at the scrolls under the student's left arm. "Like the crane, you too will achieve heights beyond the confines of that tower's shadow."
"You disapprove of the Valithdane Elders?" Fayendar said, looking through strains of his golden, wind blown hair, as he took a wary step backward.
Smiling, the stranger stroked his peppered-grey chin. "I merely said that you will rise above where you are now." At that moment a strange breeze caught the edges of his cloak, briefly revealing a large buckled sash, embossed with an Eye sigil on it. Squinting at Fayendar, he continue, "For the days are fastly approaching when all you know will change. The very world around you will cry for you to listen."
"Who are you, sir?" Drawing his red, ankle length cloak about himself, Fayendar became very intrigued.
"I have been called by many names: Drocthuk by the dragons of the north, Silvermane by Men of the east, Balthenorn by the southern folk, and Meirith by those in the west." Smiling, Meirith withdrew a small velvet bag with a draw string, and handing it to the young man said, “As a token of this meeting, that you would not forget, I wish to give this to you. It is a Blithvere; made by the same craft that created such gifts as: the ancient rings of power, the crystal seeing globes, and the healing leaf-stone gems. A Blithvere is a Well of endless ink, call its name to command the color you wish.” After accepting the bag and inspecting it contents, Fayendar’s interest in the capped container grew.
Meirith ended their conversation with a mysterious voice, as he began to walk past Fayendar, adding, "I am just a wanderer, one who journeys south to visit the dwarves even now."
"Dwarves? They're a lonely sort." His brows caved in, and lips pursed, feeling a little apprehensive again, Fayendar almost whispered, looking about the deserted shoreline, "The elders say we are not supposed to talk about such things."
The stranger stopped, whirled back around, drawing up his own garments as if cold, and said loudly, "To avoid people, young Fayendar, does not mean they cease to exist. The dwarves knew much of your people - long before you were called The Fallen. Remember the appearance of the White Crane, for it is the key to your true home." Meirith stopped his close approach toward Fayendar, letting his stern expression soften to a kindly smile again. Then briskly turned away. The full length of his smoke-like cloak went rippling behind him like a shadowy version of a cape as the elderly man strolled away with a slight limp, walking southward.
Feeling his heart pounding harder in his chest, Fayendar quickened his own pace toward home. After about ten steps or so, he turned back around with another question on his mind, but was suddenly confronted with the fact that he was all alone on the open beach. Noticing that even the stranger's footprints and the disturbed sand drawing had vanished as well. A slow chill crept over Fayendar causing him hurry back down the trail, quickening his march to his father’s house.
Only years later did the young ministerial-scribe realize just how much that one incident had changed everything in his life. From that time onward his questions about their traditions, and the world around him, would never be quiet the same; like the singing of a bell unable to be unrung.
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