Not On Our Watch

Friends, Countryman, and Fellow Drinkers of our Favorite Inebriant........Beer.

As I sit here on a Saturday evening when Ohio State has had the weekend off, I find myself doing something I am not likely to do when the Buckeyes play in the fall.

Read.

Understanding that nothing good comes from reading (at least this is what I have been told by my knuckle-dragging friends) I came across this article that shook me to my foundation. I will provide the link for any of you who might be of common mind. Or for those of you who are simply killing time until the next football game starts.

http://news.yahoo.com/beer-bar-u-tradition-getting-stale-223154271--sector.html

For those of you not so inclined to waste your time reading, I will give you the edited version in a sentence.

Americans are drinking less beer than ever, and one of the consequences of this Obama-nation ( see what I did there? ) is the decline in neighborhood bars.

This will NOT happen on our watch.

I did not grow up watching my Uncle Tommy (affectionately know as Uncle Drunk) drinking a shot and a beer at his kitchen counter, before heading out to have a shot and a beer ( x's 12 ) at the same local tavern that he had frequented on the south side of Chicago for over 30 years as an employee at U.S. Steel, just so my generation could deny the importance of beer and the neighborhood bar.

I did not spend countless hours sitting at The Bier Stube, or Andy Capps, or The Olde Mohawk, or the O.B. Cafe, or Spuckys, or the Horseshoe, or Ruby Begonias, or the Blue Danube, or Pac Shores, or the Pour House, or Foggy's Notion, or dozens more that have been lost to memory and time, just so I could watch it fade away into time without an effort to do my part for beer and bars.

First of all, what the hell is the Beer Institute and why do they have a douche for a spokesperson?

"Contrary to the myth that people go out and drown their sorrows, the truth is that beer drinkers are pretty responsible people and when they have to cut back, they're cutting back on their pleasures," said Chris Thorne, vice president of communications at the Beer Institute, a Washington-based trade group.

I don't know who Chris Thorne is, but if I ever meet this low-life I will drop him where he stands.

Mr. Thorne, don't even begin to think that you speak on my behalf, or anyone else that I know, who enjoys the delights of an ice-cold brew with a head so beautiful, and a body so light that I have proposed to more glasses of beer than I have women. There is a joy in irresponsibility that not only gives me pleasure, but lets me know that I am alive that I will never "cut back" on. You sir are a mouth-piece with no voice in my world.

Also, a word to the mass-producing brewers of the world. Read this sentence and see if you see the problem.

"....regional and local brews are more expensive and tend to be more recession-proof than mass-consumption brands like Miller Lite and Bud Light."

See it?

No?

I didn't think so. Maybe that's one of the reasons your sales are lagging.

Did you see the beers they mentioned?

Miller Lite and Bud Light?

Seriously?

Why when I was a young pup if you would have even suggested that I should try a "lite" beer I would have stolen your money,beat the shit out of you, and then drank a Miller High Life over your twitching body while relieving myself on you.

You want people to drink beer again. Brew something that doesn't taste or look like the urine I just spoke of.

As far as I can tell this is our generations fault.

It would be so easy to blame it on todays youth and hipster crowd. But the sad truth is, we let this happen.Any generation that can swing from peace,love,and understanding to a stagnant,divided,house that is known as the single-most malignant generation to ever come to power in this country MUST be held responsible for its sins.

Our generation doesn't drink beer any more because it's not healthy.

Bull!

A recently released study ".... showed that moderate consumption of beer decreases drinkers' risk of heart disease by 31 per cent, just as much as moderate consumption of wine."

Forget the use of the word moderate in the study. It say's it's healthy! That is what is important. The next time someone throws unhealthy into a conversation about beer you have my permission to begin the beat down.


Need another reason we are to blame?

We drink wine.

Now all of you wine drinkers, don't get your granny panties and grumpy old man underwear in a bunch.

I drink wine too.

I like wine.

In moderation.

I have yet to sit in a bar and drink 10 or 12 wines and look across the bar and see a vision of what I think is the most beautiful woman in the world, only to wake the next morning and be mistaken.

Wine apparently does not affect the frontal lobe and therefore does not influence my judgement and reasoning. Obviously an inferior product.

We need neighborhood bars so that my children, my children's children, and all of the generations to follow can see the same things we did.

They need to see the world from a stool or a badly-lit, torn, red-vinyled booth.

They need to understand that it's not right to pee in the sink just because your favorite bar only has one urinal and the line is ten deep.

They need a place to work while they save to do something else.

They need to become friends with the bar "regulars" so that they know what not to become later in life.

They need someplace to meet after classes are out, when work is done, or when they are "just in the neighborhood".

So I propose that we as the leaders of the world at this time and place,do our part to make sure that beer and the neighborhood bar regain their rightful place in the pantheon of rightful places. No longer will we watch as our holy places, our places of worship, be given over to agents of PC-speak. No longer will walk into a bar and be accosted by a sommelier. (Look it up) . We will walk in to our neighborhood bars for ourselves, our children, and all who follow. We will sit down at our favorite seat and order a cold, refreshing beer that doesn't have the word light (or any other derivative of the word), drink until we are content, follow our noses to the bathroom, relieve ourselves, then sit back down and do it again.

I urge all of you to stop at your local neighborhood bar at least once this coming week. Reunite with some old friends. Say hello to Mr. Sam Adams. Ms. Pauli Girl.Hell, you could even say hey to Mr. Busch and I wouldn't get mad.

As long as it's not his degenerate brother Light.

Kalt

With Or Without You

Where is the person who said,"Let's jump into the van as soon as the concert is over and drive to Joshua Tree"?

It looks and feels as if he is long gone at times. In fact more often than not, it might be fair to say that I might not even recognize him if I saw him at any given moment.

But every once and a while there is a fleeting image that passes by. Either through my line of sight, or through an auditory canal,or perhaps, maybe through some conscious or dream state that I may,or may not be,aware of.And who or what I see is familiar.

So why are you sitting wherever you may be at this moment reading this?

Simple answer.

We seem to know each other.

A little background story.

I'll wake up on a Tuesday morning,feel like doing something for fun, and look at my kids and say,"Hey! Who want's to go see a movie and have some lunch down the hill?"

Yeah,sure they're ten and eight years old respectively,but damn if they don't know how to enjoy an opportunity handed to them on a platter full of fun and say ,"SURE!"

There's the familiar person I know.

But then there is this other person that I see who will wake up many days and appear to get lost in the same familiar patterns that are his life.And I would like to think that that person is unfamiliar to me.But the truth is,that person is all to familiar to me.

Is he unfamiliar to you, too?

Or do you recognize him all too well?

So that brings us to today.

November 25th,2010.

I'm all about Holidays. That is easy to see since my last "blog" was written on Christmas of last year.

But today is Thanksgiving......and that's a big one with me.

Thanks.

Yeah,that's cool.

Let's just have a holiday when we can say Thanks.

So here's my point.

For all of you who recognize, and hopefully like, the guy who is willing to take off to Joshua Tree, the movies, Colorado, Arizona,Florida,the preserve,down a river in a houseboat,or a baseball game, to name just a few places and things, I just want to say ................."Thanks".

And for those of you who recognize the other person who gets lost for lengths of time,yet still seems to be there,I also want to say ........"Thanks".

Thank you for the ride that has been my life so far.Thank you to everyone who has gotten into the van and..................gone somewhere...............and hopefully made some memories also.

It's all about the ride,folks!

Imagine

Imagine I was Santa Claus.

I'm not bringing you presents under a tree and I don't want any cookies and milk.....OK, maybe a little milk,but no more than a gallon or two.

My bag is full of kindness and I'm giving it all away.

My life has been full of people who have given me their kindness,compassion,time,shelter,and shoulders and I don't know if I can ever say anything that will begin to let you know how much it has meant to me.

You have blessed me with love and friendhips, so much so, that I have been overwhelmed at times, and I haven't been able to make many of you understand that my lifeline has been your gifts and they have made it possible to make it from one day to the next.

Never underestimate what one word will do for another person.Never hesitate to tell someone you care for them. Never be afraid of what you are feeling. Never ignore your instincts.Always follow your heart.

The world has become more livable because I have been humbled.

Humbled by life.

Humbled by others actions.

Humbled by my actions.

Humbled by kindness.

It's taken a while to understand, but being humbled has been a gift.

So as my duties as Santa state, I have one night to give my gifts to the world. I choose to give my love,kindness, and thanks to you who read this. It is love and kindness that has been shown and given to me. All I ask of you is to continue to give it to others. I know you will.

Ho! Ho! Ho!

Merry Christmas!

Santa Kalt

Dreams of Fields

Baseball season is over.

Those are tough words to hear myself say every year. Although I haven't said them yet this year, the time is coming closer and I can already feel the grey months of winter crowding around me, taunting me, trying to make me think that hockey will suffice. Nothing against hockey mind you, I like the game, but Richard,Hull,Orr,Plante,& Howe, just don't roll off my tongue like Ruth,Gehrig,Mays,Mantle,& Aaron.

I am approaching 50 years of baseball memories in my lifetime, not to mention the memories that I have made in my head from the history of the game. It's an old, stale statement, but no other sport lends itself to complete understanding of what and who came before, than baseball. Of the 5 baseball players I mentioned, 3 of them played in my lifetime. Two of them were in their prime when I was still too young to know the game. Only one of them could be considered playing in his prime during any true sentient time of my life, and that would have been Aaron. Sure I remember Mickey and Willie playing, but their best days were already behind them by the time I sat in wonder of their greatness.

But this isn't about the history of the game. This is just memories of someone who has loved the game since the age of 4. I loved the game for all the right reasons as a 4 year old. It was so green. It was an afternoon at a ballpark with my Dad. It was walking in, sitting in hard wood seats, getting a soda and a hot dog and the two of us watching this game that really didn't make sense to me at the time, yet sensing that what I was watching was so much more intricate that what my young eyes and mind were witnessing.

Then lightning struck me one day as I sat there and I somehow lived to tell about it.

Mantle, The Mick, his body lean and muscular, turned on a pitch with such force the sound struck me before the lightning did. Then I watched as the ball, driven by the force of the lightning bolt that he held in his hands, climbed skyward at a rate that I had never seen anything travel before up to that point in my life, and leave the green field that those men were standing on. They watched also as it flew by them and into the stands in left field. I really had no idea at the time what had just happened but like everyone else in that park, I stood and yelled and cheered for what we were all just witness to.

That was my introduction to baseball.

From there I have traveled down a baseball road filled with so much history that I feel it should have some holy name. The west had the Chisholm Trail. The east had The Great Wagon Road that stretched from Pennsylvania to the Carolina's. There is the Great River Road that runs along both sides of the Mississippi. U.S. Route 40 that ran from Atlantic City to San Francisco. But what do we call a mythic road that is full of actual real-life history? Since baseball is such a touchstone in my life maybe I'll just call it The Diamond Road.

As a child of the transistor radio era, I can remember as if it were yesterday when Bob Gibson dug in against the '64 Yankees. I couldn't have known it then, but that would be the end of the Yankee dynasty as it was known B. S.(Before Steinbrenner) Within 2 years they would be a last place club with an aging Mantle hanging on by a thread finishing a career that should have been glorious, but was instead sad. 1965 brought the first of what have been some of my favorite World Series,the underdogs. The Minnesota Twins came in against the Dodgers as heavy underdogs. After all how do you beat a team with Koufax and Drysdale as your 1-2 starters? But beat them they did in the first 2 games. Unfortunately for them, but great for me, the Dodgers clawed back to tie the series and force it to a 7th game where they beat the Twins. The underdog lost but what a fight they put up. '67 brought the Impossible Dream Red Sox against those Cardinals again, and Gibson and company made sure that it was indeed an impossible dream for the Boston nine. Then comes 1968 and all of the unrest and strife that was taking over our world. I remember Opening Day being cancelled for all of MLB out of respect for the funeral of Martin Luther King Jr. Never knowing that would only be the opening salvo on a year with so many devastating losses, when the World Series rolled around and found the Tigers and the miraculous 31 game winner, Denny McLain, along with Mickey Lolich going up against ....yep, that man again, Bob Gibson and his Cardinals, it seemed as if some normalcy would come back to my world with Gibson carrying his team to another World Series victory. A World Series record of 17 strikeouts in game one and complete games in games 1,4, and 7 would seem to have written the script for this one, but Mickey Lolich one-up'ed the Great One and threw 3 complete game victories himself and actually beat Gibson in game 7. Baseball was truly beginning to teach me that life was not so easily figured out and that one simple play could change the outcome of an entire series. Why, if Lou Brock would have slid at home in Game 5 he probably would have been safe . Instead he inexplicably stayed upright for the play at home and Willie Horton threw a laser beam from left field to Bill Freehan, whose only chance to get Brock out was if Brock stayed upright......and he did! Because of that play the Tigers rallied to win that game and draw to within 3-2 instead of losing the Series in 5 games and go on to win the Series in 7. It wasn't to soon after the last out of this World series that the year 1968 began to change my perceptions of what I thought I knew. Rumors began to go around my school that my 8th grade teacher, a nun, and our asst.pastor were for lack of a better word, a couple. Within a year those rumors turned true when we heard that they had both quit their monastic ways and were indeed together .

So as you read this it's fair to think that my memories of baseball consist of memories of October, but that isn't really true. Sure the October highlights have left impressions on me but it's the regular season games of April through September where my mind goes when it thinks of baseball. Mr. Gonce taking the neighborhood kids to Jet Stadium and buying us all Jet Bars, those wonderful orange-coated , ice cream bars on a stick, while watching future major leaguers like Freddie Patek, Richie Hebner,Bob Robinson, Manny Sanguillen and Dave Cash. A game in early August in Montreal with the stadium more empty than full, and Tony Gwynn singles and steps into baseball immortality with his 3000th hit.Opening homestand of 1998 for the Padres. They are losing to the Diamondbacks 3-2 in the bottom of the ninth with 2 outs and the bases loaded. Steve Finley steps into the box and delivers a game winning grand slam to light the fuse for the Pads run to the World Series that year.

Listening to the Cincinnati Reds nightly on my radio in the '70's as they applied for the title of greatest teams ever. Bench, Perez, Rose, Griffey, Foster,Morgan,Geronimo,Concepcion, I can still remember those lineups by heart. Maybe they were as good as any team to play the game.

Then there are my personal memories of certain particular games.

I was there the day Tony Gwynn played his last game. My wife sitting next to me and my one year old daughter in my arms as we all stood for an hour after the game and applauded a man who played a childs game, like a child. Granted, a highly intelligent child with his ability to break down his swing, pitchers tendencies and defenses, but still a child. You could see the love of the game in his eyes whenever he spoke of the game. This was also the day Rickey Henderson collected his 3000th career hit.

Three days before that we sat in Jack Murphy stadium and watched as my daughter flew. Yes, flew.

Henderson hit a home run to break Ty Cobb's career record for runs scored. Of course Rickey did it with flair, as he slid into home.....on a home run! Unfortunately I never saw that. As Rickey hit the ball towards left field the crowd rose as one instantly because this was a no doubter and we all knew the historic moment that was about to take place. Our daughter was sitting in one of those multi positional backpack carriers with legs. She was positioned between our seats in our row. As we rose as one,apparently we ejected her and the carrier into the air and down 2 rows where she landed on the ground, right side up. As those in front of us witnessed this solo flight, we were completely unaware of her maiden voyage until a couple in front of us got our attention and pointed out her perfect 4 point landing........2 rows down from us.Going into instant panic mode, as well as embarrassed parent mode, we retrieved our daughter as Rickey slid into home and baseball immortality. But we missed it. What a great memory!

All of these memories, and so many more,are the foundation of all that I love about the game today.Despite what so many say, it is still a game at it's absolute core.Hanging on to that realization has perhaps helped me hang on to my love affair with the game longer than many others who have left the game, and the memories, behind.

So I reach a point where even I wonder why I am writing all of this. Certainly some of you have absolutely no interest in baseball, and especially not my memories of the game. Yet some of you have been kind enough to read this far.So I'll try to sum this up.

Baseball has played out for well over 150 years now. 150+ springs have come and gone and most of the people who have played the game have been forgotten. Only a true handful of these players are really remembered. But it is in those that have passed through the memories of the game that I feel a certain connection.Those who have slipped through the cracks are as important as any Hall of Famer who ever played, simply because they played. They were the teammates of the greats. Without them others would never have been as good as they were. Without them so much of the game is lost.

Baseball helps me not to dwell on what I have lost, but to celebrate what I have found.

The Theory of Relativity

"Put your hand on a hot stove for a minute and it feels like an hour. Sit with a pretty girl for an hour and it feels like a minute.THAT'S relativity." Albert Einstein

Cow On A Rock

First of all, thanks to those of you who took the time to read the silly ramblings of a novice. Blogs have never been on my radar. Reading them wasn't something that really interested me. I suppose I think of them as nothing more than personal diaries for public consumption, and despite liking to think I am a fairly open and readbale book, I've never had the need to publish it for anyone to see. As you may begin to understand I am probably past that point now.

Just one more thing before I begin todays Search, thanks to those of you who took the time to not only read them, but give me some much needed feedback. I'll do what I can with all that you suggested, but forgive me if I miss some of those marks. One particular old friend suggested I have a point, so as Steve Martin said in "Planes, Trains, & Automobile", "You know when you're telling these little stories? Here's a good idea: have a point. It makes it so much more interesting for the listener! "

I'll be taking bets on the over/under on how long I can manage to keep a point. The line has been set at 2.

So now you're saying to yourself, "Cow on a rock? Where does he go with that?"

Hold on.

The past two days I have ventured out after dropping the kids off at school to try and see how far I could walk. Most of you know my condition right now and my inabilty to not be able to walk or work for over two months now. While I can't seem to get past the threshold of pain it requires to stand on my feet for 8 hours a day, I am able to walk much better since I recived the "block" for my pain a little over 2 weeks ago. So in order to begin to try and get life back to what I think is normal, I knew I needed to walk soon.

I really had no idea how far my body would be able to go, but I knew my mind was willing.

Well, the good news is I was able to get out to the Santa Ysabel Preserve (SYP) yesterday and walk about 3 miles. Pretty level terrain, not too strenuous, and secluded enough to give me the freedom to walk as my body needed. My pride is unfortunately very much a part of this process and I am in no way prepared to let those who know me see me struggle just to walk. As I soon found out the struggle was as much in my head as my body, although 3 miles did take me almost 2 hours.

So this morning I did what I do whenever things go well (and a lot of times not so well).....I went out again in hopes of bettering what I had done yesterday.

Relax. There was no 20 minute mile barriers broken, nor were there any 30 minute miles either. In fact I couldn't go as far as I did yesterday. Maybe 2 miles today. But those two miles brought me to......a cow on a rock.

For those who have never been to the SYP you should know that it is one of San Diegos hidden wonders. Tucked into the shadow of Volcan mountain, it is breathtaking in it's views and solitude. Not exactly like standing on top of one of the Flat Tops in Colorado near Emerald Lake, but it'll do for San Diego.

The trail starts near Volcan Mountain and for the first mile and a half it is pretty flat and very accessible for even the least fit walkers.While the trail winds through a little valley, you are just steps away from climbing to hilltops that reach close to 3500 ft. On the hillsides looking down on you are thousands of oak tress and fire ravaged pines. The oaks are much more resiliant than the pines and the contrast from hillside to hillside is striking. Wild grass grows on the northern slopes and in the morning at this time of the year it can look at times like it shines. Dotted among the grass slopes are boulders and rocks, ranging in size from a fairly large gravestone to Neolithic Age-sized boulders that Fred Flintstone and his dinosaur would move at his job at the quarry.

As you walk in this little valley the trail curves and turns so slightly that it's hardly noticeable. But as you slip around one corner to another you begin to notice that your view begins to change, as if watching a moving slideshow. The hillsides beome more populated with rocks with every turn and the view becomes even more expansive as you can now begin to see farther up the hills.

As I rounded the last turn into this quiet little valley I began to wonder to myself where all of the cattle were today. You all may remember the commercials for the California milk industry and the "great milk comes from happy cows" ad campaign. Well, this may be the area where those cows go to retire. Constantly in sight and many times on the trail itself, these cows are so happy they don't even bother to mooooove when I walk right at them. They are perfectly happy to share this land with me and even the cow patties make me feel good as I walk around them. The flies.....not so much.

But on that last turn, I found them. 20 to 30 of them scattered all over the hillside, spaced between rocks and boulders as if each one of them had decided to homestaed a little part of the preserve. A bucolic picture if I've ever saw one.

As I stood there watching cows (or as the kids and I call them, poop-a-lots) I got the strange sensation that something wasn't quite right with my Rockwell picture. I studied the scene looking for the lurking coyote in sheeps clothing or the space alien about to disembowel a few head of cattle, but nothing happened.

Then something caught my eye. At first it didn't seem odd, but the more I looked at it, the more I sensed something not altogether correct. It was just a cow chewing the leaves off one of the many low shrubs on the hill. Then I noticed something I had never seen before. This cow, this white cow, was standing on a rock.

Now this wasn't just a rock. This was a rock the size and shape of a Volkswagon Beetle. It was even shaped somewhat like a Beetle, nice rounded edges and rooftop.It was about halfway up the hillside nestled among a few shrubs , on a fairly steep portion of hill. Now, if I would have been up there I would have had a hard enough time getting on this rock because of it's location and the slant of the hill, so my mind instantly went back to the alien. I figured that was the only way this cow could have landed where it had. It had to have been placed there.Of course I let that idea go fairly quickly, but maybe not quick enough for some.

As I stood there, watching this scene, I could hear myself thinking , "How did that cow get there?" My mind started trying to figure this out. The slope was steep enough perhaps that the cow might have been above the rock, slipped, tumbled down, and rolled feet first on to the rock. After regaining it's composure it saw the shrubs within cudding distance and took advantage of a misstep and had a nice breakfast.

Or it could have walked up to that rock, saw the tender, enticing, delectable leaves and said to itself, "I'm gonna get me some of that." Then it would have proceeded to survey the situation, the angles, the payoff, and then made it's way on to the rock by sheer cow willpower.

Or it could have been the alien.

I stood there for 10 minutes or so wondering, figuring, calculating, trying to solve how thw cow got on the rock when I began to realize I had somehow gone from wondering how the cow got on the rock, to wondering how I got there. There, as in, how had I gotten to there in my life.

My steps began to resurface from memory. All of the right ones, the ones that I THOUGHT were right, and all of my own missteps. How many times had I slipped and tumbled down that hill? Had I ever been lucky enough to land on a boulder with a meal waiting for me?

That cow on a rock had opened up many portals to my life. I was suddenly swamped with happiness and regret like some sort of tsunami. I began to fight with myself to try and make any kind of sense from this cow and it's relation to me. Then I was hit as hard as a cow in an Ohio field at night that was about to be tipped by some local yokel......not that I would know anything about that, by the way.

I was fighting myself over a cow on a rock. Why? Why wasn't I able to just accept the cow on a rock? Did it really make any difference how it got there? It was there and it seemed to be having one hell of a breakfast. Yet I was fighting it.

It was just about then that the cow began to glow (not really) and I understood something about myself that I had never understood before.I should have sat down or found my own rock to stand on, but I didn't. As far back as I can remember I have always fought with myself, whether it be what to have for dinner, how to swing at a curveball, where to travel to next, or more seriously, fought with my emotions towards myself and others. I understood at that moment that I have always fought with myself so how could I not fight with others.

I turned and just began to walk farther into the preserve.

I must have walked another 20 minutes or so when I realized my back and leg were not feeling good. Under most circumstances I would have tried to walk through the discomfort and try to walk a little further than the day before. But the pain wouldn't lessen and rather than "fight" through the pain I did what most would call the smart thing,, I turned around and began to head back. No fighting myself over this one little moment in life.Maybe I was on to something that could finally, truly change my life for the better. Only time will tell.

As I approached the hillside with the cow on a rock I noticed I was no longer thinking of how the cow got on the rock, but rather, if the cow was still on the rock. I came out of a grove of oak trees and began to scan the hillside for the cow on a rock. I struggeled with the glare of the morning sun off of the golden grass. Then I saw the cow.

It wasn't on the rock any longer.

In the 40 or so minutes it took me to return to this spot the cow on a rock had managed to get off of the rock and was now slowly walking among his peers chewing and just being like any other cow.

How did it get down? Had it put on some rock climbing shoes over it's hooves and pulled out some rope, an ascender, and a pulley system and let itself down slowly and lightly until it reached solid ground? Had it simply slipped and fell and landed on it's feet or side and then righted itself hoping that none of it's cow buddies had noticed? Did the alien tire of it's game and levitate it back down? Or did it just get down?

At this point it didn't matter to me any longer. I wasn't going to get in a fight with myself about it. It was what it was and I was lucky enough to be a part of something.

So if you are still here reading I would like to say something to you.

If in my life you have been the cow on a rock, I woiuld like to apologize to you. I should never have fought with you about how you got on the rock. I should have just appreciated that you were on the rock.

Peace.

One In A Mill....Bill.....Trilll....

What am I?

One in a million (?) , billion (?), who have attempted a blog?

Why Not?

Three sentences, three questions.

That is probably not the best way to garner your attention, but so be it. It's just more for my search.

Aha! There it is. Why "The Search"?

A good question.....and one I don't really have an answer for at this time. Like anyone who is reading this I am searching, constantly, for so many things. My keys. my kids. A good pan to roast a chuck roast in. Inner-ear infection medicine. Inner peace. Think of me as just a human search engine. I have the knowledge and ability to search for literally anything I want or need, yet I may not always take advantage of those options.

I suppose The Search is more about how I survive through today in order to get to tomorrow. It has been a life long attempt on my part, and at times it works quite well, and at other times it has gone horrifically wrong.

So I suppose the next honest question new reader(s) is , "Why should you be interested in me and my blog"?

And of course to answer that honestly( and that will be one of the things you will observe about me if you stick around) is , you probably shouldn't.

But you have stuck around this far so what do you have to lose? You and I may find that we may have some things we agree on or just as likely find out that we disagree with one another on things. That's fine with me and I hope it will be OK with you.

Does who I am matter in the world of non-linear writing?

You can let me know as we progress, but for the time being here's a small sample size that is neither total nor precise.

54 years old.

bald (shaved)

flucuating weight

music lover

sports nut and youth sports coach

baker

reader

searcher.

The Search has begun....at least this portion of it has.