Wednesday, September 03, 2014


I am in the Autumn of my life. Deep Autumn. People laud Spring, praising it for its burgeoning life and promise. My Spring was shit. Actually, Spring into early Summer was shit. Death and alienation. Travelling through the season(s) like an astronaut enclosed in my own life-support vehicle, observing only, not interacting, except negatively, of course. Ah, but Summer! Summer was different.

Summer was when I connected with life. Rich and redolent, fragrant with the scent of joy and happiness. Promise? Hell, yes! Promise fulfilled. The warmth and comfort of Summer embraced me and let me blossom. Ronnie was/is my Summer. MJ and Chloe, too. Lovely, lovely Summer. Bright, warm, contented Summer. Best of seasons. Loveliest of seasons. But everything comes to an end eventually.

I am in the Autumn of my life. Ronnie is still in the heart of her Summer. The girls are just leaving Spring. But I’m in deep Autumn. I appreciate their seasons. I take great joy in their seasons. And because of them, Summer lingers for me. I feel it still enfolding me in its warmth and brilliance. But I smell hints of Winter.

Honestly, I’m jealous of Ronnie and the girls. It’s sad and petty of me and I feel guilty about it; but that doesn’t make it untrue. I’m glad the girls have had a charming Spring. And my Summer with Ronnie and them has been exquisite. I love Summer. I think Autumn will be fine. Probably. But I dislike Winter.

That surprising chilly disquietude, sneaking in from the edge and cutting Summer’s beneficence. The intimation of frost, not here – yet – but coming. Oh yes, coming. And soon, too soon. The smell of ice and freezing fog. Arthritis more transcendent than nascent.

I am afraid of Winter.

I love(d) my Summer and want it to be eternal. It can be, but only in thought and memory – Huginn and Muninn. Like Baldur, everything in reality has its mistletoe. In the real world, Winter is inevitable, inescapable. I expect Autumn to be pleasant, a lovely extension of Summer. An evolution, perhaps. Summer after exposure to a mutagenic event. But it is not Summer itself. It is Autumn. I might hope for a respite, an idyll of Indian Summer. Yes. That would be nice. But not something to be counted on. A serendipitous accident. What can be counted on is Autumn itself and nothing more. And I need to relax and enjoy it.

But I am still afraid of Winter. Just as Spring is embraced as the season of hope and life and growth, Winter is shunned as the season of despair and death and the end of things. Rightly so. Or perhaps not. Is Winter’s nature inherently despicable or is that our imposed value judgment on it? The latter I think. Of course, that doesn’t obviate the fact that Winter is the season of death. Despair, however, is optional. Probably. Death is not.

But it’s not Winter yet and I don’t want to dwell on that season. Too much. Autumn, Autumn is my concern. I desire a pleasant Autumn, not a fearful, deteriorating one. Aestas aeterna. Kind of. The lingering, long afternoon of Summer, segueing into my Autumn, overwhelming the adumbrations and intimations of Winter’s night.

I want to enjoy Autumn. I desire to hear the songs of Autumn with receptive ears. To smell the odors of Autumn with a willing nose. To touch the changing leaves of Autumn with tender hands. I’m trying to. But I don’t feel that. Not right now. And I don’t want to fear Winter. Even Winter can contain isolated pearls of joy and happiness on its long string leading to The End of Things. And, again, that’s after Autumn, still a way away. But Autumn is here and Autumn…

I think that today I’m just in a bad mood.

Sunday, August 10, 2014

Kendo bogu lust

I have a wonderful set of bogu (armor) for kendo. I really like it. The do (body protector) is wine/gold chameleon colored. It's beautiful. (Photo includes my iaito (sword/katana) for iaido.)

But there's always room for lust. This do (body protector) is exquisite and, well, it's less than $3000. Yep, those zeros are accurate. Maybe if I start a gofundme kinda thing.

Friday, July 11, 2014

Unschooling dad interview 7/2014

For the second time in my life, I agreed to do an interview as an unschooling dad. It's here. No more need be said.

Wednesday, July 02, 2014

Top 69 Things for Kids and Teens to be Successful in Life

People like to make numbered lists; it seems to be a human trait.

5 Reasons To...
10 Quick Ways To...
Top 3 Reasons For...

In this vein, I offer my very best advice in a numerical list.

Top 69 Things for Kids and Teens to be Successful in Life


1. Have fun.
Iterate 68 more times.

Tuesday, May 27, 2014

$50, Brother!

$50, Brother!

(Frank Maier – 2014)
For the Basement Boys


Dah-dah-dah-dah-dah (E-G-E-G-A)

Guitar lick


Guitar lick


Guitar lick


Guitar lick


*(Verse 1)

We were playin’ the blues down in the basement one night.

We were feeling real good and sounding just right.

I was right in the groove and playing with pride,

Then the vocals ended and it was time for my ride.

 *(change from staccato dah-dah… to walking bass blues D for chorus)

Shit! I fucked it up again! (A)

Played some real bad notes, and then (E)

Everybody in the band yelled, “Amen! (D)

$50, brother!” (A)

*Keyboard ride (verse form-chorus form)

*V2 (back to staccato dah-dah-etc.)

The Godfather of Soul was Mister James Brown.

When he got his band rockin’, they could really put it down;

But if he heard you fucking up, he’d throw you a harsh frown;

Then charge you $50 and sit your lame ass down!


*Guitar ride (verse form-chorus form)

*Bridge (walking D)

Beethoven said you can play a wrong note, (A)

But if you play without passion, that’s what makes you a goat. (D)

If Ludwig said that, ya know it works for me,(E)

So I’m gonna set my solo spirit free!

*V3 (back to staccato dah-dah-etc. )

So we’re rockin’ this old basement every Tuesday night

And we really don’t care if each note is wrong or right.

The most important thing under the sun

Is that everybody’s down there just to have some fun!

*(Chorus – with responses)

Shit! I fucked it up again! (So what?)

Played some real bad notes, and then (Me, too!)

Everybody in the band yelled, “Amen! (That’s true!)

$50, brother!” (Not really!)

*OUTRO: (A) same as intro






Friday, May 16, 2014

To Brad Who Lives in My Memory

To Brad Who Lives in My Memory


Herculean hug from a blithe spirit warms my heart,
Wandering the halls of memory tonight.
Here at the end of the scene, wanting it to be the start,

Retrieving vignettes from my memory’s sight.
The warmth of his embrace, the Aether of his joy,
Enfolding me with enthusiastic energy.

Releasing for eye-contact, like a cherubic boy,
And asking sweetly about my family and me.

Not a worshipper of Haropcrates, he. Hermes better suited his style.
Always entertaining, maybe woo, never stuffy,

On the Sisyphean homilectic of unschooling. With a smile,
He’d endeavor to unscrew the inscrutable with me.

At LIFE is Good near Portland or San Diego’s Good Vibrations,
We’d deconstruct the meaning of meaning

Over breakfast, in passing, or with the bar’s nectarous libations,
‘til our families for sleep would be keening.

It was Brad and Lucretia and then there came Lena,
But before that sweet sprite, there was John.

A family so sweet, they would make you a dreamer,
But then quicker than Huginn, Brad was gone.

No hug for my corpus. No dialectic for my mind. For my dolorous soul, there’s no balm.
Lucretia, Lena, and John fill my head.

So many friends in so many places, so many souls feel the harm,
‘tho’ alive in our memory, in fact, Brad is dead.

Vita brevis, memoria aeterna. Life is short but memory is forever.
Eheu! Eheu! Oh so young, far too young.

But our memories of him will fade never.
And for now, my song for Bradley is sung.

Bradley Holcomb 14 May 2014
Frater, requiescas in pace.

Sunday, April 27, 2014


Achievement Unlocked – Two of Three Numbers. Only One More Needed!

Sixty years ago, I had my sixth birthday and got the first of my ultimate three digits. Today, on my sixty-sixth birthday, I finally got the second six. Only one six left to go to achieve completion!

(maybe a bit older than 6 but close)

There were minor 666 plateaus over the years, of course. I graduated high school in 6/66, a lovely adumbration, especially since it was a Jesuit-run prep school. The Pope’s ninjas nurturing the once and future beast! How droll. How ironic.


In 6/76 (Just one number off!), I made the huge change of moving from New Orleans to Seattle, bringing my seductive Creole decadence to the innocent Northwest. One bad apple and all that.


By 2/86 (and eight minus two is, again, SIX), I was dating my beautiful Ronnie. Peripherally, I’m 17 years older than Ronnie and 1 from 7 is (Wait for it!) SIX! Put that together with the two sixes of 2/86 and it makes for a pretty nice triple-6.


In 9/96 (Nine is just an upside down six, so how Satanic is that?) I was taking flying lessons in Destin, FL; and, yes, I did want to learn how to land as well as take off. By that time, spin training had been omitted from the private pilot requirements and replaced with stall awareness; however, spin training was not prohibited and I made sure to find an instructor who was not spin-averse. I mean, what’s the fun in light aircraft if you’re not gonna spin the bastard? Wheeeeeee! I am a leaf on the fucking *whirl*wind! E-ticket rides are for pussies!


Finally, here today, 4/27/14 (as only we in the ass-backwards US write it), I made it to sixty-six or, numerically, 66. W00t! So close.


So today I celebrate being two-thirds of the way to my ultimate destiny. Pleased to meet you. Won’t you guess my name?

Sympathy for the Devil