Dear Solemn...

Dear Solemn,

Image by silentinfamy via Flickr

I thought of you today, sober and serious, as I lay sprawled out on the floor watching a movie about a man whose finest hour was one in which he admitted his failures. I must admit that having you on my mind didn’t make me smile, not at all, nary a chuckle, giggle, or laugh crossed my mind.

But don’t get me wrong; you are sometimes missed. Without you, I would not cherish the feeling that your antonyms provide. So, I can only do the most somber thing that comes to mind—thank you. I thank you from the bottom of my heart, and will thank you to the grave, for giving us a place from which we can crawl out of or climb back from. Without the ability to crash, we’d never be able to miraculously survive.

You are important to us—don’t you forget it.

Sincerely,
BBB

Dear Dreams... WTF?

Our mortars couldn't hit shit, and our captain let us know about his frustration before he forged

Image by knurdle via Flickr

his own makeshift latrine beyond the first treeline of the woods to our six. I looked at her, a stern look that told her I'd trained her better than what her performance had showed on this day. The smell of launched ordnance burned my nostrils. The fact that we'd not hit our targets was going to burn my ass if we couldn't get it right. We adjusted our angles, fired... WHAM! An enemy cannon turned to junk on impact. Readjusted for a new target... WHAM! A squad of army men wobbled, then rolled down the length of the fallen log where they'd been placed... direct hit... we raised out arms in celebration as our Captain returned from the woods and asked, "What'd I miss?"

Dibble-dee-doo.
Dibble-dee-doo.
Dibble-dee-doo.

I was about to say something to a friend when he impatiently stood up from his stool at the bar and walked off, presumably, toward the restroom. Conversation continued with those that remained, though I know not what we spoke of. Before he returned, another friend came and sat in his place; it wasn't a welcome surprise, for we'd had words in our past. He held out his hand, without saying a word, nodded his head as if waiving the white flag, then offered his hand once again...

Dibble-dee-doo.
Dibble-dee-doo.
Dibble-dee-doo.

I reached across the bed to find nothing but emptiness. The normally cool covers--cool because there wasn't often a body to warm them--still held the heat from her body. I was too tired to use all five senses, so I focused on listening to see if I could hear her in the house. Nothing. Damn. Not again. I faded back into sleep. A few hours later, I was startled by a closing door. Oddly, I was awake enough to jump out of bed and see if she was still in the house. A toilet stool was still running, so I pulled the lid and corrected its state. In the kitchen, wisps of steam rose from a full cup of coffee and the crust from a piece of whole grain toast sat on a plate next to it. She wasn't to be found. With my hands on the cold marble countertop, I contemplated what I'd done to cause her to break one of my most important rules: whenever we meet or part, we must hug and peck. Had she done so in my sleep and I'd missed it? Doubtful. I don't sleep heavily as I approach morning, so I'm usually aware of my surroundings. I wouldn't have missed the affection. So, I slipped on my trainers and went out for a pre-dawn walk. It was a long one, miles in fact, and I somehow I ended up sitting in the yard across from her house... I longed for one glimpse of her, I'd missed that glimpse before she left. I need one now because it felt like it might be the last one I'd ever get. She sat in her car, engine still running, parked in her driveway, as if she wasn't sure that she wanted to go into the house... like going into her house meant that she would be making a decision that she could never change once it was made. She'd left my bed, that was one life, and inside of her own door was another life. There was no way to live them both; she had to choose.

She had to choose! I jumped up from my seat and ran up to the curb across the street from her. Fortunately, I wasn't so blind as to run out into traffic. Though it was a residential neighborhood, the street was presently home to a constant stream of cars, attempting to cross would have been detrimental to my health. I could see her. I screamed her name, but nothing I said could overcome the pitch-varied drone of passing automobiles.

And then, I woke up. I only slept four hours last night, and the entire time was fraught with these intense segments. Oddly, I feel rested, but I doubt that will last long before I have to slip back under the covers.

I need to make progress on the challenges in my life before these dreams get any more stressful.

Dear Dreams... WTF?

Dear Headache...

Dear Headache,

Image via Wikipedia

You've been with me for nearly a week now, and I'd like to let you know that you're not welcome. But, before you go, can you tell me why you're here?

• Maybe because I've not been able to understand the "why?"
• Maybe because I've gotten so far off of my Life Path that you're urging me to turn around and head back towards it?
• Maybe because of some bodily deterioration due to the punishment that I've dealt upon it lately?
• Maybe because I've no idea what's next in my life?

Or maybe you're just imploring me to drink a gallon of water. You know, I actually do a pretty good job at hydration, so I'm gonna exclude that possibility.

Oh Dr. Sherry, where are you when I need to reboot my system?

There is only one remedy that I know will work for me: action. So, it's time to write; writing will lead me back to my path.

Spill the wine. Take that pearl.

Dear Hangover...

Dear Hangover,

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Like the Dust on My Floor, you're not welcome in my head or my home. I know, I know, it's all my own fault. After I was an a$$ at the home owners' meeting last night (with intent) and then accidentally overheard the other unit owners and their snide remarks about my real estate woes (which I totally addressed later, over email unfortunately, because I didn't know that there was another way out of the hotel), I popped open a bottle of wine and then got coaxed (it wasn't difficult) into going out until 2am.

So, Hangover, you're not welcome here, though you did pick a fine, cloudy, gray, rainy day to come along--due to a lack of productivity, I've declared it to be a movie day for me.

And that's that.

Best,
BBB

Dear Dust on My Floor...

Dear Dust on My Floor,

Where did you come from? I just vacuumed and swept the condo yesterday! I suppose, however, that I've had all the windows open and it's been windy and you could have originated from someplace other than my couch, my rug or my skin.

If so, I didn't give you permission to enter my home, could you please identify yourself?

I once heard a story about the difference between shopkeepers in the US and those in European countries. In the morning, a European shop owner starts at the curb outside the front of his shop and sweeps all the trash into his shop, towards the back and then puts it into the wastebasket. This shopkeeper is creating a clean environment not just for his customers, but for all of his potential customers. Whereas, the US shopkeeper starts a sweep from the back of the shop and brushes it all outside onto the sidewalk or into the gutter.

I wonder if my neighbors are American shopkeepers. Hmmm.

Anyhow, Dust on My Floor, you can stay for the night, but you're going to get swept up in the morning because someone is supposed to come look at my place as a potential rental. Prepare yourself for a new home.

Sincerely,
BBB

Dear MLB...

Dear Major League Baseball,

Image via Wikipedia

My team, the KC Royals, haven't been any good since the 80's. Hold on now, I don't blame you, the best decisions haven't really been made in this town to create a small market powerhouse like the Twins often are, but... unless you're going to figure out how to give us some better parity like they've discovered in the NFL (for some reason my Chiefs seem to be exempt from such luxury, but that's another post), then we've prepared a plan of action that will bring more life to teams that are on the verge of being mathematically eliminated from post-season play.

1. As soon as a team is mathematically eliminated, tickets to the remaining games are either free or $5 a pop for any available seat in the stadium. First come, first-served. Get fans in the gate, let them spend their dough on concessions and souvenirs, build loyalty.

2. Reimburse season ticket holders with concession vouchers or a discount on next season's games based on the number of "free" games that occurred. Remember, it costs more to acquire a new customer than it does to retain one. If you have a losing season (or 20), think "retention."

3. Require all of your players to sign autographs before every "free" game. Get fans to the park early, reap more from concessions. Duh. But, it also creates a personal connection between the fan and the player, an emotional connection that draws them to make the logical conclusion to come back to the park to see their new friend.

Now, when a team is on the verge of being mathematically eliminated, I realize that the home towns might actually BOO if they stave off elimination. In order to combat that good-natured ribbing...

4. Create sponsor-based incentives when the team avoids being eliminated. For instance, let's say my Royals are 18 games out of the Wild Card and 20 games out of first place in their division, with a loss, they'd be eliminated making, say, the last home games of the 17 left in the season "free." Should they WIN, then get McDonald's to give a free sundae with a ticket stub from that game to people on their way home. Or, if they WIN, then give out grab bags of all the left-over free souvenir crap that didn't get handed out during the season. This gets people to the park to see what will happen before the team is actually eliminated. It's a win-win situation for the community, either you get free crap or you can come back to the next home game for free.

FREEMIUM business model, dudes. For those that don't know, that means you give away something for free and then promote paid upgrades (like get in the park for free and then expect people to pay for concessions).

It's a HOME RUN.

Sincerely,
B & Pops

Dear Tea in My Cup...

Dear Tea in My Cup,

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I don't need you everyday, but you've become a part of my day. Our time together is always short, for some reason you grow cold towards me; you are truly a picture of the concept of being in the "now." And by that I mean, when we're together it reminds me to focus on you, not on my phone, not on email, not on someone else... wait, strike that last item... I know how much you love to listen in on conversations that I have when we're together with someone else. *wink*

I also love the fact that, even when you do grow cold, you stay by my side. I enjoy your company so much that you've become a habit, so I'll touch you and bring you to my lips having forgotten that you're already off into hibernation; your energy output with heat and water as catalysts must be incredibly tiring. Just know that I don't mind you sleeping next to me. And I never cringe when you've gone cold, heck, there are even times when I go to get more hot water so that I can wake you up again. Please accept my apology because I often do that, but then I don't drink from you as much (please realize that I don't caffeinate often and a double dose makes me bounce off of the walls. You don't want me to be crazy, do you?).

Anyhow, I just wanted to tell you that I always enjoy our time together.

Thank you for always being there for me (or just a few steps away at the nearest cafe). I look forward to many moments, hot and cold, in the future. We have much writing and talking and theorizing to do in our future.

Hug,
B

PS: Don't fret when the server mixes coffee with you. That little dash of milk that we both love (that we learned to use after burning my mouth a billion times in Europe) makes you look like coffee and we both know how U.S. Americans love their gallon of burnt coffee loaded with cream and sugar to mask the fact that it tastes like crap. In those cases, you and me, we'll just start over again from the beginning. Deal?

Dear Dad...

Dear Dad,

Image via Wikipedia

I'm glad that we've found my book to bond over. It's a combination of my life and the crazy that I inherited from you. I've always said that you're the most creative person that I've ever known and always wanted to find a way to help you apply it. As you might recall, I sent you something that I wrote years ago as an invitation to toss it back and forth over the fence; a cumulative creation from two. Yet, I never got anything back.

Did you know that you weren't supposed to respond back then?

What I've written over the past 17 months actually has its genesis in what I sent you many years ago. I think you knew that something greater was coming. And now, we have this... 150,000 words about a man's journey to find true love... a merging of the real and the metaphysical, the drama and the dream, a puzzle with purpose... Soupy and his Promise.

True love.

Paulo Coelho has written a manual for my life, Warrior of the Light. And, with all due respect to his great belief in religion and love, he almost got it right. A bold statement, I know. But as time continues, so will I continue to walk down my Path, sometimes being bounced back into play like a pinball and other times taking direct steps toward my true calling. My book is only the beginning of the world that I'm discovering. Yes discovering, not creating.

Since we last had an editing session, so much has changed. That was a completely different draft, a different story, more like a journal than what we have now--a world that the characters live in that has history and rules and dark and light... and future.

I do not know if the world around us will accept what I've written. I didn't start with the intent that they needed to. I wrote for myself, but what I've written is getting praise. I want my story to be read and told and I hope that it generates conversation, two sides of a coin, a deluge of opinion about what I meant and all of the layers that haven't been written, but are there to be discovered because they exist underneath the surface of one night's simple conversation with one man's true love.

Thank you.

Your son,
B

Dear Blue Sky...

Dear Blue Sky,

Image by [xinita] is the cobrasnake's pathetic copycat via Flickr

I looked at you when someone else was looking at you today. The significance was more than you know... wait, of course you know, you are the sky. I've always said that you are one of my favorite things because you encompass my favorite color and my favorite color represents things that make me think.

How's that for a pie-in-the-sky argument?

Blue. It's been a few days since we've seen you. I love weather, that's for sure, but I smile at your return and the expanding energy that you provide to me and to the world. I can stare at you for hours, wonder how many miles I'm actually able to see. Is that patch of sky on the horizon Atchison or Oz?

There's no place like home, and when I'm beneath you, then I am home. You let me look at you and never judge, nor chide me for my excessive adoration. You just let me get lost in your expansiveness and neck-deep in my own thoughts.

I like things that make me contemplative: Blue Sky, Ocean Blue, Blue Sorrow, Blue Denim... blue bird, simple and free, nothing but blue sky, do I see... I love your family of Blue. You are my Black, fer sure.

And, I will always be true to you, my Blue. True Blue. How about you?

Love,
BBB

Dear Bee...

Dear Bee Outside of My Window,

Image by Lydia Elle - barely flickring :( via Flickr

I thank you for coming to see me. I thank you for the transference of thought. From you to me, I sense the fact that you are lost. When you saw your reflection in my window, I knew that you, if only for a brief second, recognized yourself and thought that you were home.

You thought you were home, that is, until you received what thought I sent to you; your journey is far from over, but you must continue for there is no time to linger on my sill. The time that you have to find your destination is much shorter than mine--days compared to years--so you must be on your way.

I know that the contemplative sounds of Radiohead in this temporary world that I've constructed for myself are what brought you here, intuitively on both of our parts. No coincidence in manner, but a calling for that moment of transference that I previously mentioned. Thank you for listening and heeding the call. There was purpose.

And now, we can both be on our way, each to our Queen--and her true love.

Safe journey,
B