A Bachelors Blog

 ...   I can't buy pickles.  I've tried over and over to buy them and every time I do I just tear up and start t cry.  It would almost be funny if it weren't so damned constant and embarrassing.   Moxie's favourite snack was pickles.  And pizza.  But pickles, all day every day she would get the drool bubbles and make a mess on the floor as she watched the jar being opened.  Not sure why she liked them so much but it was something she enjoyed from pretty much the start of our adventures together.  So.   Now I can't buy pickles, I just miss her too much in those moments, I guess.   Today is one year.  One year without her snorty breaths, velociraptor nails clacking across the floor, her farting to help her get up on the couch.  It was a thing, truly.    The silence was the hardest, especially living in that house, the one I bought so I could have my own dog.  My 170,000$ dog.   Now I o...

…It’s been a long time runnin, its been a long time comin…it’s well worth the wait… - Gord Downie, The Hip I’ve stepped away from the blogosphere for awhile, gentle reader.  Your patience is always appreciated and to be fair and honest, I don’t know that my work would have been any good.  Discordant would be my best word association.  Sometimes life just kicks you right in the mind.  And heart.  Repeatedly…  Moxie passing last October was really tough for me.  I had that dog the entirety of living in my home.  She was as much a part of the history there as anyone else.  I bought that house to get a dog, so yeah, I bought a $170,000 dog.  … Worth every god damn penny.  I’d give all that up in a heart beat for just one more day with that goofy old girl.  I miss her dearly, even now…. especially now. An odd thing happened after I said my goodbyes.  She left me…and so did my ability to write or play guitar.  The two thing...

 Hello, Gentle Reader,    This blog has always been my way of sharpening my writing chops, or shaking off the rust of my laziness and trying to find my 'voice', as it were, online.  I know, Gentle Reader, that you often do not give feedback, and thats ok.  This space isn't meant as an ego-reach and any and all feedback regarding my posts is appreciated, often more than you might guess, but thats not why I write here.     Most of my drive and reasoning is the simple act of it.  Writing is healthy for the soul and great practice more than anything else, the more practice you put in, the better at it you get... or at least that's what I keep incessantly telling myself, forever hopeful that I am in fact getting 'better' as a writer, whatever that actually means.  I suppose my ability to project my voice comes down to you, Gentle Reader.  I hope you hear me and I am able to project the visuals and a sense of where I am, figuratively as w...

      Funny the difference a season can make.  My last post at the end of Spring had me gearing up for an epic European backpacking trip.  Rome, Naples, Procida Island, Bolzano, and various other stops in Italy before swinging up to Poland to visit with a friend there after staying with a gracious and patient friend in Italy.  Wroclaw was special to see for the historical side of things but more importantly to me, it was the birthplace of my dear friend Margaret.  Slawek, her brother, and I would travel the streets of their youth that they had told me all about over the course of decades... it brought Maggie back a little bit, for a short while.  A special end to a pretty special trip.  Definitely had some bittersweet moments as well but the glory of the Roman ruins, the awe inspiring mountains of the Dolomites, to the excitement of hiking up a winding hillside through dense brush and tree cover to behold the ruins of old castles, meticu...

I grew up poor.  Really poor. To steal a line from Chris Rock, we grew up so poor we couldn’t afford the O R at the end of the word, we were just PO. hahaha. Still accurate. But my childhood poverty isn’t the point of this post. I mention it because growing up I had to watch all my friends going on family vacations to Disneyland and the Phillipines and Mexico and wherever their families were in the world while I roamed my asphalt jungle like a half wild animal in a cage.   I always vowed that I would see the world someday. It was a fervent childhood promise full of idealism and hope, as only a child can conjure.   In my heartbreak of being left behind and alone to fend for myself all summer, I knew, in my bones…I just KNEW… I’d go out there and see the world some day. Even as those bitter tears streamed down my little cheeks, the fire to see the world, the one I only ever read about in books, burned deep in my soul.  … … … Fast forward a few decades.  I’ve ...

…is that we are imperfect creatures. Today… today I am sad and I can’t shake it. Some days are just like that.     I miss talking to Doug. I miss Margaret’s laugh, I miss Stefan’s ridiculous stories and ridiculous facts about any topic at all.     They are all dead and gone.  Ghosts in the halls of my mind.    I recently ended a long engagement with someone I really thought was going to be my person but we are all human and as humans do, we go our own ways sometimes. We lost our way and when I realized that we weren’t a team anymore, I sadly ended it.  That’s been bothering me for months.  Trying to mourn the loss and deal with work and life and family and friends… these losses can fade into the background, maybe not get the proper attention and focus they need.  An old injury that never really heals properly, leaving an ugly scar.     More recently I embarked on a relationship that was one of those classics that I think we all...