Of all the tales of mice and men

And all the things I've ever seen,

The man I am and strive to be

Is the one man you do not see.

"They" say that what you see is what you get and that is partially true, because you don't see everything. You think you do, but you do not = you cannot see inside a person's thoughts.

Putting on a face for the public, which I do not like to be a part of, is like a woman putting on her makeup before she leaves the house, but I'm not a woman and I don't wear makeup, so I just put on my cap and face the world as the man I see in the mirror.

My personal thoughts, as I look in the mirror, do not jive with the physical form. My thoughts are on a loop, a crazy loop, like a tape you rewind and play and play and play again = there is no respite from that loop, that thought process that some people would call "insanity".

No, I don't think I'm insane, but I do think I'm damaged goods = with Lucy Belle as my computer company today, my mind does not rest on her, I notice her, but today my mind doesn't take in her total being. I love her and my other babies unconditionally, but today is just today, no different from the other days in my life, on a continuous loop that will never be silent.

There's an emptiness that's always surrounded me, like a physical, tangible being. When I was tucked into bed at night, Mom would tighten all the covers around me, head to toe, until I thought I was going to suffocate. I waited until I was sure she was asleep and I would kick the tightly-wound covers away from my body and sneak out of bed. I would walk around the house, trying not to disturb anyone.

My thoughts, even then, were racing at break-neck speed, not making any sense to me, bizarre phrases and words kept popping into my head but at that age, I did not understand what they were or what they meant, but I tried to get away from them. I stayed up all night and crawled back into bed, sleepless on Ore Mines Road.

Our collie Lassie (yes, that was her name) slept in front of the fireplace, even though in the middle of the night, it would go out and turn into ashes before morning, but she slept in front of the hearth every night. My bed was in that front room, in the corner, tucked  away in its own nook, like it was shutting me away from the rest of the family and the rest of the world.

We lived near a railroad track and when the train sounded its whistle at the nearby crossing, it seemed to be saying something to me, a pattern that has stayed with me all my life = noises that seem to be saying something to me = even now, it is a muffled sound, like a crowd of people talking all at once, but definitely carrying on a conversation.

Some people would say that was my "muse" talking to me = perhaps, perhaps not, but it's very real. When Baby-Doo died on July 29th of this year, his spirit lingered in the trailer for weeks and it's still here in various forms and shapes, but I can definitely feel its presence. When a bond with a human or a pet is formed, death does not erase it. It is almost physical, almost tangible.

The strange words and phrases that I have in my head never go away. I can be talking to someone, watching TV, reading the paper, reading People magazine or just sitting doing nothing, and a word or a phrase pops into my head and it won't go away = then that phrase will appear in something I'm watching on TV or something I'm reading = there it is, in all its glory.

Age has diminished my looks and my hair and added a lot of wrinkles, but my mind is still intact, still taking in those bizarre words and phrases and still hearing the noises "talking" to me, but I go on, putting my public face out there for the world to see, but taking it off as soon I get home. I am a poet at heart but those rhyming words and schemes do not come to me as easily as they used to, so I move on to what I have left, my ability to write my thoughts down. And on I go.

My words don't "fool" = they tell my truth.

What If God Was One Of Us?

Every decision I have ever made and every road I have ever traveled has led me to this place in my life, a place where I am supposed to be.

Having said that, there are times of sadness and memories that are hard to think about that cloud my mind at times, memories I wish I could erase, but I cannot.

The sins I have imposed on other souls I have asked God to forgive me and I lay them at His feet. I pray He accepts the forgiveness and I pray I will stand by His side when I see Him on the Other Side. Each step of a spiritual person, I believe, is measured by the good you do, the help you give and the respect you show.

Self-preservation used to be my main goal in life and basically it still is, but I think I spend too much time thinking about my survival that I sometimes forget I live in a world surrounding me that is real, spinning around and around, sometimes out of control, but still spinning around and around.

This has been a hard day for me, missing my babies that have crossed the Rainbow Bridge. I don't know why their memories were so prevalent in my head today, but my mind takes random trips without me and brings me to a place where it controls my day. Those memories today went back almost 40 years when I was 31 and they were very fresh and raw, as if they had happened yesterday = the memories I mean.

The images of my babies kept popping up in my mind and wouldn't go away until I was swept away with grief and sadness = the gentle rain on the tin roof of my trailer added to these feelings, I don't know why, but they did and I looked around me and saw everything was in its place, my 8 babies were all accounted for, but I missed all the others I had lost, all of them, not just Baby-Doo, but all of them. And at this moment, sitting here at 12:43 a.m., those feelings have come again and the tears flow freely. I don't fight them, I just let them be, it seems to cleanse my soul, purge my mind of certain thoughts, but very painful when they are flowing.

Toot is my buddy tonight. He is asleep in his clean bed, sound asleep until I lay my glasses down on the computer table. Then he is ready to walk with me into the living room, fighting sleep the whole way. His loyalty and the loyalty and love my other babies give me is beyond measure and they each have a story to tell, all the rescues I accomplished were nothing short of miracles.

Miracles of their rescues made me a believer again, late in life, I knelt before a picture of my God and Lord = it was a puzzle that had been framed and had hung above my sister Marie's bed while she was in the Frenchburg nursing home. When she passed away on July 4th, 2011, I brought the picture home with me. Christmas week, I knelt before that picture and gave my life over to God, and asked Him to help me find Pete, one of my rescues I had been trying to find for 3 days, to no avail. It was snowing and sleeting and very cold outside. I asked for that miracle, that miracle of finding Pete. Two, three days passed and I was frantic with grief and worry, that I would never see Pete again. I went back to the place I had last seen her and I heard her in the distance, a faint sound I recognized as her voice. Out of the woods she ran and I picked her up and saved her life that night, the night before Christmas those several years ago = I have forgotten the year, but I have not forgotten the warmth of her fuzzy little body as she curled up on my chest and I took her to a safe, warm environment.

She greets me in the morning with that same familiar sound, I would recognize it anywhere. Her story is a miracle and God made that happen, no doubt in my mind, He brought her back to me and made me a believer.

What if God is one of us?

What if He was in the room with me that night, kneeling beside me in front of that puzzle picture? What if?

I believe He walks among us, in many forms, keeping measure of our good deeds, our help to other souls in crisis and keeping measure of our respect to each other in a world that keeps spinning and spinning, sometimes out of control.

To Him I give myself and for Pete's rescue and all the decisions I have made and all the roads I have taken, I give those decisions and road choices to Him also = I am where I am supposed to be at this time in my life, not sure of tomorrow, still burdened by grief and sorrow, but knowing He is helping me carry the load.

What if He is one of us?

Who Do You Think You Are?

When the average person thinks of a "creature", I believe they think of an animal, but we are all "creatures of God" = whether we walk on four legs or two.

When I was a  little boy, many, many years ago, I didn't know I was a little boy, I just thought I was someone surrounded by big people who loved to pull my pants down in front of other big people. The big people thought this was funny = I cried, but I didn't know why I cried. At night, sometimes my bed would be taken over by someone I didn't recognize, but my Mom would give them my bed and I had to sleep on the floor on a "pallet" she made from some old quilts.

That was the beginning of being "singled out" which would continue for many, many years to come.

I believe my ex-wife singled me out, not because she supposedly loved me, but because she saw me as a "project" she would take on, with a determination to "change" me = she continued on this quest for 23 years, to no avail, she coudn't change me, regardless of what she did or who she talked to.

Oftentimes, when we went out in public, she would hold onto my arm like I was going to run away and as I walked with her through the restaurant to our table, a lot of men's eyes were on me = I wasn't handsome, by any means, but I held my own against a lot of the men in the room. I was aware they were looking at me, she was aware they were looking at me.

She thought because I was gay that I didn't know how to order, how to conduct myself, how to use my silverware, where to place my napkin, didn't know what to order, so she would go through the menu and criticize everything she saw = the prices, the portions, the waiter, the waitress, the food, the taste, the service, etc. She was never satisfied, she was always looking for perfection.

She was a creature of God, but not one of his better products. She didn't win in the long run, the prize at the end of the tunnel = she didn't change me, her "project" didn't work, so she turned to another man, a younger man, a very homely-looking younger man who abused her, but I divorced her and she married him, still with him after all these 27 years. She took him on as a "project", taking this "train wreck" and turning him into an acceptable human being. She succeeded in her second attempt to complete a "project".

People have been trying to "change" me all of my life, starting with my mother, who didn't want me to be single, didn't want me to be singled out because I was a "sissy" boy, subjected to daily bullying from the young people around me and a lot of adults around me.

I'll admit that at first, I wanted to have a family, a house with a white picket fence, a good job = all the trappings of the American dream, but even though it looked perfect on the outside, inside my mind it was constant turmoil. Little did I know then I was suffering from a severe mental illness, little did I know then that my mother and one of my sisters was suffering from the same mental illness. Years later, I looked back at both of these women and finally understood their behavior, but by that time I was an adult, struggling to understand my "unquiet mind", dissatisfied with my sexual desires, not wanting to be connected to another person in any way, shape or form. I have never been a sexual person, I have been a person who could have lived my whole life without experiencing it. To me, it never brought anything but frustraton, sadness and dissatisfaction.

But I tried, I tried = "if at first you don't succeed, try, try again" =

When it finally dawned on me I was living my life to please other people, I was powerless to change the situation. My job, my marriage, my sanity, was at stake. I had a lot to lose if I stopped living my life to please other people = I believe that's why I lost one of the best jobs I ever had, I couldn't do that anymore, I couldn't do it, I couldn't please my boss, my co-workers, my wife, my friends = I couldn't please them anymore, so my life spiraled out of control.

I tried to keep steering on a straight-lined highway to my dreams, but I couldn't do it any more, so I clawed and struggled to find myself in another light, winning a little bit at a time, winning my self-esteem and my confidence back after all those years of not having any.

And here I am, in all my glory, still not sure who I ever was, all the roles I played to get through this life, but here I am, content in some ways, malcontent in others. There's no one around me to try to "change" me = wouldn't do them any good.

I read yesterday that transgender actress Alexis Arquette died = a pioneer who paved the way for a lot of people who weren't sure who they wanted to be, but I dedicate this to her (him) = it doesn't matter = I dedicate this to the person they became, living by their own rules, on their own terms.

All of us should be so free !!

In the overall scheme of things, my life will probably be just a blip on the radar of life, but I believe every life tells a story, each one different than the other.

With a storm erupting outside tonight, my mind is eerily quiet, it's not filled with all those crazy thoughts and names and pictures floating around = something rare in my universe. 

You see, I've created my own universe, my own little spot in the world, which works for me but would not work for anyone else. I guard my privacy and independence with a wary eye for any intruder who may spoil my nest. Those who are disrespectful of my life are not welcome.

I'm coming off a rollercoaster of emotional highs and lows which pushed me to the brink of madness during the last 3 months = still not sure if I've gotten off the ride, but the ride is slowing down somewhat and again that is rare in my universe, in my life.

My life tells a story of beating the odds, overcoming obstacles, landing on my feet, etc., etc. It has been told in many ways and I won't repeat it here, everyone is familiar with it and familiarity can breed contempt and I surely don't want people to feel any contempt toward me. I know there are people who don't like me or agree with me on certain issues, but that is never going to change = I'm not bending my beliefs and my will to anybody's image of what their truth may be.

One of my nieces said she and I no longer shared the bond of friendship because of the way we "butted heads" on the facts of my life = again, my life, not hers, mine. She never put her life into the equation except to say she could't come around to my way of thinking. 

Her loss, I say.

As I get older, my views don't change on many things and I believe that is common with people my age. I never believed I would live past 30, let alone deal with being 71-years-old. Body aged, mind still young.

In my youth, I tested the boundaries of good taste, pushing the envelope too far at times, just to see what I could get away with. It is in a lot of my postings I have blamed my past for my present, but I don't believe that's 100 percent true, maybe 50 percent true. When a person reaches a certain age, the "blame game" doesn't quite work any more.

I have made my own way down a bumpy road to get this far and I count my blessings every day. God gives me another day and I take it, good or bad, I take it. I don't believe God can fix everything, but I have witnessed miracles I know came from him, there is no other explanation for it. I believe God walks among us and could be anybody you come in contact with.

My spirituality tells me that a soul doesn't entirely leave us, but comes back every now and then in spirit to tell us they are OK, that we are OK, and for us to move forward. In times of great sadness, which I have experienced recently, it was hard to believe that, but I saw signs that made me believe.

Will the remainder of my life then, be peaceful = probably not. If you make plans, God just laughs, because you believe you are in control of your destiny and He knows you are not. I don't make plans, I put one foot in front of the other and hope I make it through any given day.

My life tells its own story.

I love putting graphics in my postings and usually there are several throughout, but this particular one I think tells the reader what I want to convey.

I'm not a romantic, even if there is a heart in the picture, because personally I don't believe in romance, it comes off to me as very phony, very contrived and I don't think it's human nature for two people to join together and spend their entire lives together, it's just something I don't believe in. All the postings on Facebook of couples expressing their undying love and affection for each other is not believable. I'm sorry, it just isn't.

I believe their expressions of undying love and affection for one another is put out there for everyone to see, to hide what their lives are really like behind closed doors = not so great. A picture is indeed worth a thousand words and the words to me are not flattering.

Every life has pieces, like puzzle pieces, you might be able to put the corner pieces together to make an outline of the puzzle, but when you start working it, some of the pieces are always missing, the important pieces that bring everything together. Those pieces tell a story, sometimes to be told, sometimes to be left untold.

From infancy until the time you leave this Earth, you have to fill in the "dash" between the date of your birth and the date of your death = it's up to you how you make those pieces fit. Sometimes they never fit and you waste your lifetime trying to figure out why. I wasted a lot of years doing that and realized that until I became "true to myself" that nothing in my life was going to change = it was up to me to change it, to make the pieces fit the way I wanted them to fit. I took that giant step in 1989 when I filed for divorce and struck out on my own.

The first part of that journey did not go very well, but I learned a lot about myself during the process. I'm still a work in progress, but it is my journey I'm on, no one else's. No one is responsible for me but me, regardless of the help I've received along the way. The final and ultimate decision for my life's trajectory is left up to me, my decision.

My life, indeed, tells a story, a mixed bag of events that are not significant to other people, even though they like to read about them, but they are significant to me, milestones if you will, of things I have done, things I have accomplished, things I couldn't do, things I couldn't accomplish and the good, the bad and the ugly, a lot of ugly.

But my life now is filled with the blessings of my babies = Darby, Toot, Emma, Pete, Penny, Linus, Lucy Belle and Charlie Brown. Baby-Doo is missing in physical form but alive in spirit all around me. My grief for him is still raw, there will be no closure, there is no end to the pain of the loss, just a place to put his memories and bring them out to cry or laugh about.

Baby-Doo, your life told me a story and I cherish those chapters you shared with me for almost 13 years. Love you always, my beloved old friend and miss you always.

By the way, my computer buddies for tonight are Toot (shown here getting a drink from the faucet, a favorite place for him to quench his thirst) and Pete, watching TV from her front-row seat.

Three of my blessings, part of my story.

 When people commend me on my courage to state my opinions or just be myself, I tell them it has nothing to do with courage, it's overcoming a lifelong fear of being singled out and punished for something, for being myself or for stating my opinions.

To grow up in a state like Kentucky and be "different", you are immediately targeted by someone who thinks they can get the upper hand on you = I don't know what it is about this state, but it seems to be the norm.

I never did go hunting with my brother, never did hang out with him when he went drinking with his buddies, but he did teach me how to play poker and when I started winning all the hands, he wouldn't let me play any more. I eventually learned to drink on my own and I must say, I thoroughly enjoyed the taste of a good cold Michelob. Can't drink now because of my recent illness, but when the doctor gives me the "thumbs up" to treat myself to a sit-down restaurant dinner, I'm going to order a Michelob with my dinner.

Maybe indulge once a month, who knows, maybe not. I'm sick of being sick, sick of taking all these meds, sick of this diet I'm on, but I know they are making me better, making me stronger, helping me with my recuperation.

Walking through the fear = I heard that on one of Oprah's shows the other day and it stuck with me, even though it was a woman describing her struggle to be strong and independent, but that's what I've always wanted out of life, to be strong and independent and I think I've achieved it to a certain extent, but when I got very sick with pneumonia and it almost killed me, my self-confidence and my motivation went out the window.

It made me vulnerable, not in control of my life, having to turn parts of my life over to total strangers who were supposed to "help me along" with my recuperation and my recovery, but it didn't turn out that way, not for me anyway. I felt trapped, suffocated, like I couldn't get enough space around me, couldn't take control of anything in my life, fearing that my life was always going to be like this = turning it over for someone else to manage.

But eventually I got rid of those people who were supposed to "help me along" and in the process gained some great friends, the women I hired to clean my place for me. They not only cleaned my place spotless, they became my friends and one of them is going to help me maintain my place, coming by once a  month to "help me along" = to really "help me along" with no hidden agenda = just being my friend and helping me.

You see, I'm not "normal" in any sense of the word, whatever "normal" means = I don't think like other people, I am hesitant to make friends, hesitant to let anyone get that close to me, that is a fear that I think I'm overcoming, at least I hope it is.

Through all of "this" = the past 2 months, which everyone by now is aware of what "this" is = I've become aware of the goodness and kindness of people who are genuine people = no pretense, they are who they are and accept me for who I am = they are not afraid of my opinions, my station in life, my desire to live my life on my own terms, they are not afraid of that, but at the beginning, I was afraid of them, an unknown fear that drove me to shut people out, isolate myself (which I still do, but it's OK now, it's for my own peace of mind) and not trust anyone, because I had been burned too many times because I let people take advantage of me = they saw my kindness as a weakness they could take advantage and they did, so I lost my trust in a lot of humankind.

But as I get older and approach the last years of my life, I know that tomorrow is not promised to anyone, that all of us are going to die one of these days, that one day my babies are going to leave me, but the fear of losing another one of my babies drives me to the brink of paranoia at times but I have to walk myself through that fear, got to get up and walk myself through that wall of fear, got to do it. Can I do it? I have to, I have to.

I believe God is waiting for me when I go Home, I believe He will lead me to a place where all my babies are, to that place at the Rainbow Bridge where I can once again see them in their wholeness. It took me a long time to accept that, the place where I was going, but I do believe with all my heart that is where I am going, to be with them. That was another fear I had to walk through, but I walked through it and believe that's where I am going.

. . . And Still I Rise

After all is said and done and my name has faded from memory, my spirit will still be around, checking to make sure everyone is fulfilling God's wishes = the main wish I have after I am gone is that the work to rescue the defenseless animals and abused strays will continue.

That is my wish and my prayer.

I have already made all of my final arrangements = there will be nothing left to chance, I organized it.

I'm a great organizer and wanted to put my final wishes in my own words.

My recent episodes of illness and grief stripped my soul bare, as if there were nothing left and my brush with death was real and surreal at the same time, like Lazarus, I came back, not quite as strong in body but strong in mind. I didn't actually die, but I came close, according to the doctors in the Emergency Room.

Being that sick is psychological as well as physical. My body betrayed me, didn't hold its promise of keeping me safe, but after all, I am mortal and I was wounded, seriously wounded by pneumonia, the silent killer that strikes without warning, especially to the elderly.

. . . and still I rise.

My routines are now normal, but I don't feel normal, I feel empty emotionally, having cried in my grief and cried out in desperation in the hospital to God to "let me go" = "just let me go" = but He did not "let me go". Trapped, I felt trapped.

Just found out last night that one of my classmates passed away in May 2014, the month of my birthday and the month of my diagnosis for MS. I cried for her, for she was one of my favorite people to be around = silly and reckless and outspoken, she was a bright light in my dark world. God rest her beautiful soul.

When all the paper plates on the kitchen floor are no longer put out for feeding, it will be time for me to go, it will be time for God to lead me home, for I no longer want to inhabit this earth without at least one of my babies in it. I don't think I'm going to live that long, but I think I will be here to see the last one of my babies breathe their final breath = I believe that's why God brought me back from the brink = to take care of them.

In honor of National Black Cat Day, here is a picture of my baby Lucy Belle =

She is representing . . . my baby . . . and she is my company tonight as I take the words out of my head and put them down in front of me.

People often ask me to write "happy" tales, but I don't think I'm wired for that = some people are born to be just who they are and I am just who I am supposed to be = took me a long time to get here, to recognize myself as myself, but here I am.

. . . and still I rise.

I can't make up stuff to write, it has to be "real" to me and my thoughts are very real, they are a part of my past, my present and my future. I have loved parts of my life and I have hated parts of my life, but when all was said and done, I was who I was supposed to be.

Take me for who and what I am or let me be.

I don't need your approval to live my life the way I want to live it and some people have a distorted view of my life, one which they will never change, but most of the time, their view is not true and it's not mine.

= To Maya Angelou, who passed away, also in 2014, my eternal thanks for writing this poem for those who have beaten the odds. =

In The Midnight Hour

In the midnight hour, I'll take you there = 

Inside my head filled with thoughts, emotions and suicide bouncing off each other, each wanting to break free, to express themselves, but I am unable to let all of them out = fear takes over.

Everything is quiet this midnight as if I am the only living person on the planet, but I know that's not true. The TV is turned off, lights blaze in two rooms and the bathroom, I don't know why I don't turn them off, but I don't, psychological I know, but I can't bring myself to turn them off.

Sitting behind my computer keyboard, don't have any company tonight, just me, putting my thoughts down, my babies are elsewhere in the trailer, in my newly partially-cleaned trailer, looking brand new, but it somehow seems like a hollow place, even in its cleanliness, it seems like somebody else's place.

Baby-Doo (aka Boo) has been gone 8 days now, but it seems like yesterday when I held him in my arms and said goodbye. He "claimed" me from the moment I rescued him almost 13 years ago and he didn't stop loving me and "claiming" me until he drew his last breath. I let him go because he was suffering = he couldn't breathe without struggling and I know that feeling too well, having survived two attacks of pneumonia that led me to the brink of death, been home 2 weeks from the hospital when I made the decision to release him from his struggle.

He kept me company beside the computer one last time, making a valiant effort to be normal, but I believe he was doing it for me because he thought I wanted him to and I did want him there and I praised him, made over him and he left his mark on the side of my computer and went into the living room and tried to sleep that night, but at 4 o'clock the next morning, he was telling me he needed to go, I could see it in his eyes, in his face which had aged over the last 2 weeks, he was asking me to let him go.

My friend came by and she carried him to her car = I sat in the back with Baby-Doo and let him roam free = he stood up at both windows and looked through both of them, watching the rain come down, feeling the air on his face from the open window and watching the hillsides go by, watching the traffic go by, the first and last time he would experience that kind of freedom. I wrapped him in a quilt I had with me, been with me many, many years, carried him to the table and held him = he kissed me on the cheek one last time and head-butted me one last time, like he did the day I rescued him and then he was gone = he was cremated wrapped in that quilt and his ashes will be with me shortly, to sit beside Beanie's on my computer desk.

As I struggle every day to come to terms with Baby-Doo's death, I also struggle every day to regain my health = a monumental task in both cases. The pain, like it has been in the past, when my other babies died, is shattering and beyond description in my soul = my heart actually hurts when the grief overtakes me, full throttle and there's no stopping it. The facade I present when there are other people around quickly disappears when I'm alone and reality hits me right between the eyes. That Friday at the vet's office almost put me six feet under, I could feel myself sinking deeper and deeper into that abyss between life and death, wanting death to overtake me at that moment.

But the strength I didn't know I had brought me barely back to where I was and I knew I had to get well and take care of my other 8 babies, but I knew it would be a challenge to get my house back in order, to get my emotions intact so I could at least go through the motions of living.

So, part of my trailer is clean and soon all of it will be clean, thus sparing me from going to the nursing home and sparing me from losing my babies to the Humane Society = I was threatened with both with Social Services = so, the trailer will be clean, I will go on, my heart and soul are shattered, but I will go on, crying uncontrollably at midnight when me and my babies are alone in the dark.

The space by my computer where Baby-Doo loved to sit and keep me company, is empty now, like the space in my life that Baby-Doo doesn't fill anymore.

Lord God help me = because the thought of going to sleep and never waking up is a prevalent thought in my mind each night as I lay my head down on my two pillows = so Lord God help me to wake up to see another day to take care of my blessed, beloved babies.

Baby-Doo, we will all see you and the other babies at the Rainbow Bridge one of these days and I know your spirit is still here, because I feel it around me every day. Every time the wind blows through the open window, it is you = Darby looks for you and is lost, I try to comfort him and I keep a watchful eye on him, but he misses you and looks for you every day. Every time the wind blows, it is you saying "Hello" to all of us. 

Rest in Peace, my beloved baby.