Father Delayed: First Part

Been thinking about that infamous, potentially disruptive, annual, “thing” known as Father’s Day.  A bit late to acknowledge this, eh?  What was it, two weeks ago?  That’s part of it.  Something so intense comes around, and the rule is that we say what we need to say on Father’s Day …. Maybe a few days before, maybe a day afterwards.

As for me?  Father delayed, and great apologies.  Part of it is that things come up in my thinking, my experience, my memories, my disruption, and I just cannot get from “Point A” to “Point B”.  Here is an example of what I am talking about.  I saw a movie with Chris Farley in it … Maybe the film was “Black Sheep”.  Farley is lost in the woods,  probably doesn’t realize that he is on the top of a rocky incline.  He stumbles, or trips, or both, and tumbles downward over the sloped rocky ground.  There are some special effects, I suppose, as it shows this funny man with a healthy girth  in slow motion … rising up into the air, and falling back down (again in slow motion).  Facial expressions are classic: disorientation and shock.  This fall of Farley’s seems to keep going and going.  Finally, he stops.  He stands up, looks back up the mountain from where he came, hair pointing in  10 to 20 different directions. And then he speaks these words, these profound and thought-provoking words:


“What ‘the hell was that all about?”



So, yeah that was something like my experience this year for Father’s day.  Every year I struggle with the images of Father’s Day … I mean, don’t you think … Fatherhood looks quite differently across the board?

Still no grandchildren, nor any grown-up children.  So … therefore … I can’t really relate to Steve Martin and the role he plays in “Father of the Bride”.  



This is the first part of the Father Delayed series.  I’ll crank out the second part as soon as I can.  I didn’t realize how much was on my mind about being a dad, and having a dad.



What If I Was a Blogger in a Submarine movie?

Imagination … flying in like humming birds, and I am in the midst of something I did not expect.

Such imagination can be fun, good for a writer’s brain; and it shakes off the mediocrity.

So, there I was, up on the Conn of the Red October. Captain Ramius is trying to defect.  Russian planes, ships, and subs, are out to destroy Ramius and his sub, the Red October.  A Russian torpedo, incoming!  Ramius and Jack Ryan (CIA) both have serious poker faces.  Things are pretty tense.  Here is a glimpse of the conversation that is happening:

Capt. Vasili Borodin: Torpedo impact, 20 seconds.

Captain Ramius: [to Ryan] What books?

Jack Ryan: Pardon me?

Captain Ramius: What books did you write?

Jack Ryan: I wrote a biography of, of Admiral Halsey, called “The Fighting Sailor”, about, uh, naval combat tactics…

Captain Ramius: I know this book!

Capt. Vasili Borodin: Torpedo impact…

Captain Ramius: Your conclusions were all wrong, Ryan…

Capt. Vasili Borodin: …10 seconds.

Captain Ramius: …Halsey acted stupidly.

The orders Captain Ramius has given had brought about an evasive maneuver, and the torpedo missed it’s mark.  Captain Ramius looked at me,

“And you, an eccentric?  You are known as … ‘T’?  Change your name, T, and be famous with me and Jack Ryan.  Do you write books?”

“I am finishing up my first book.  More importantly, I read other books written by good authors, but only when I am not on top-secret missions aboard submarines.”

The whole idea of living, working, sleeping, fighting, below the surface of the sea taps the curiosity of many.  Submarines fighting the bad guys means stealth.  Secret missions are at the core of what they do.  I read an article “War Is Boring/An American Submarine Just Slipped Under The Arctic Ice” / https://medium.com/war-is-boring/an-american-submarine-just-slipped-under-the-arctic-ice-627d050dd4 

Sometime apparently in August 2013, the U.S. Navy’s nuclear-powered attack submarine USS Seawolf eased out of the port of Bremerton, in Washington State …

A month later the U.S. Sixth Fleet, in charge of ships in European waters, posted a series of photos to the Website Flickr depicting the U.S. ambassador to Norway, Barry White, touring the 350-foot-long Seawolf pierside at Haakonsvern naval base … in southern Norway. Thousands of miles from Washington State.

How Seawolf got to Norway—and what she might have done en route—offer a rare and tantalizing glimpse into some of the most secretive quarters of the most poorly understood aspects of American naval power.

For it seems

Seawolf traveled to Norway

along a path rarely taken … 

underneath the Arctic ice.

The picture, below is of a different submarine … not the Seawolf … in the Arctic:
The Connecticut, a U.S. Navy submarine in the Arctic
 As human beings some of us are more “submerged” than others.  Writers, poets, painters, at times, lean toward being submerged.  It’s part of the creative process.  And when we write, we make decisions, sometimes difficult decisions, about what to “release” to the readers, and what  to hold back: thus, secrets.  The secrets may be nothing more than data we hold back because we don’t want to bore the reader, or because we have a goal about how many words we will use.  Other times, the “unsaid” is profound, and paradoxical.  
Well, now you know what it could look like … if I was a blogger in a submarine movie.  Pretty exciting.

Creeks and Rivers Running Strong

“Redundant” … I am a bit embarrassed that my short writing today is a bit redundant.  I’ve talked about the waters, here, in the front range area of the Rocky Mountains.  I’ve talked about seasons.  I’ve talked about my own grappling with my challenge, stepping into what is next.   And yet, this mix has gathered … like a small group … at the front of my present being.   As the gathering has come together, I … therefore … write.

Every single time I take a look at Bear Creek, it’s waters flowing … not only fast, but strong … I acknowledge the beauty of nature, and I acknowledge my poignant disruption happening.  I know that I would not allow myself to get caught in those currents, for they would overpower me, and slam me against the boulders.

It is one thing to talk about that which I see.  It is one thing to feel what it is that is flowing through my veins, pumping rapids of thought into my mind.  It is one thing to think about the metaphorical implications what all that is around me: a new season arriving as you and I connect; intimidating rapids storming through the passes; the rallying words of wisdom I read and hear.

It is a separate thing … to move intentionally with vision, and passion, and out of necessity … in order to transcend my own mediocrity, my small portions of subtle self-pity, and to fight well in spite of my woundedness.  I do, truly, want to overwhelm the lies that could keep me stuck in the molasses-like fog.

And this business of moving … I believe it is not as simple as I want it to be.  And it is true, that this business of moving  … is not as difficult as I sometimes think.