There, But For The Grace Of God...

I do not know this man, but I understand his pain in a way you probably cannot. I feel his bewildering grief like a knife across my hands.

I came within inches of an ending like this.

Depression is a very serious, insidious, bastard illness. It unravels from the inside, then tries to unravel everything around it so it won't die alone.

Rest well, Richard; I know your pain. I hope it is ended now. I hope you find the simple things we all need, but are sometimes blinded to. Be free. Be happy.

If someone you know shows sudden changes in personality, flips moods in an instant, is always either high or low and never in between, or retreats far away from the world on occasion blaming fatigue or illness or just needing a rest, or just seems "off" somehow, do something. Do anything. Call a doctor, a clergyman, a help line, family members, friends. Google "depression." Do anything.

Prepare for a fight. A fight that may avoid writing an epitaph like this one.

Asshole, Or Not?

I used to be an asshole. Depression diagnosed, medication prescribed, soul searching completed, ability to "go with the flow" enhanced.

But sometimes, jerk offs just plain piss me off. I have spent so much time swallowing my pride, ignoring the boorish, trying to be nice. But not this time. I rejected the quiet acceptance of shitheads, and rediscovered my gonads.

Friday. Everyone wants to chill out. I picked a spot at the sports bar, signed in on the trivia box, settled in to genial converstation with other patrons. Then Jerkwad sat down.

Between the barstool I sat on and Jerkwad were three other barstools. He proceeded to push the empty stools in my direction, so that they touched each other, and propped his feet up on the one closest to him. Then he brought out his cell phone.

For 30 minutes I endured his phone conversations, punctuated by "dude" and "shit" and "see how important I am." For 30 minutes I endured his pounding of the bar, which sent vibrations my way, an annoyance to my ability to press the right buttons on the trivia box. For 30 minutes I endured his kicking of the nearest barstool, which trasmitted through the chain of barstools he had pushed my way, clunking at my ass in varous degrees. For 30 minutes I held my tongue. For 30 minutes I debated why I could be an absolute asshole. For 30 minutes, I hated myself and my culture that refuses to tar and feather the fuckers that have rights they don't deserve when we should be able to ride them out on the rail and put them in the stockade to humiliate them in front of the people they have insulted and oh oh oh arrrgh goddammit argggh ARRRGHHHHHH!!!

So I turned to the cretin and blew up like 2,000 Old Faithfuls.

"I AM HERE TO RELAX! DO I HAVE TO LISTEN TO EVERY PETTY PIECE OF CRAP IN YOUR LIFE?"

"SHUT THE FUCK UP!"

The bar was silent. He made some lame comment. Ten minutes later he hung up, paid his bill, and left.

The regulars said, "Jeez, Kingfisher. I've never seen you wonk out like that."

So I leave it to you, dear readers. Asshole, or not?

The Grand And The Ordinary

It was past time.

Work and school ceased to be important.

So Princefisher II and Kingfisher took a time out.

Small cabin. Small town. Small budget. Small weekend.

Big memories.

Our capacious quarters. Simple, relaxing, fun. Bring your sleeping bags!

Arizona elk. Bigger than they look in pictures. Cool.

No morning in the whole world beats this view.

Agave, pinion pine, juniper, and the greatest chasm this side of Mars.

King and Prince II share silence. Sometimes words just will not do.

Proof we were there.

Wise old Grand Canyon ravens are cool. This fat bastard isn't.

You cannot understand the impact of this photo.

My son.

The greatness of the natural world.

The two combined.

I want to cry.
One of the famous Grand Canyon long-eared taxis.

A trip astride this beauty should be on everyone's "Before I Die" list.

Oh my goodness, what a cute NEW car!

Time to go home.

We don't know what this all means.

But I am sure time will make it important.