Writing

I was once told in a workshop that in order to be a great writer I must write everyday.  I agree, but have failed in such endeavors.  I need to carve time out of my day (or night) to begin building my book that I need to finish.  Why, because many years ago I said I was going to write a book.  My soul cannot rest until this is finally finished and I can move on with life, satisfying that once spoken claim.  So, this winter I will will create a manuscript for my book.  What happens to it, it doesn't matter.  I simply need to get it out of my soul.

Death's Cold Hand

Peace, Peace, longing for death's cold hand,
Come, come, take me where I stand.
An old widow languidly dies,
No one there, no one who cries.

Stranded, forlorn, tired and ready,
Her wrinkled hand no longer steady.
Quiet was the evening she made her flight,
Gone away, out of mortal sight.

The clock continued to tick,
She lied there steady as a stick.
People outside around conversed,
Death proceeded as if rehearsed.

All through life lived with pride,
Now empty at her side.
Like a quick little wink,
Life eludes her, a broken link.

Slowly, slowly, welcome it with ease,
Come, come, take me please.
Futile and vain to make a stand,
There is no elating death's cold hand.

Time

Sitting with my gaze upon the candle,
A sentry of dripping time.
The new falling over the old; replaced.
A towering flow of time and patience.
Each drop plotting its own course,
Never repeating simply crossing.
The colors blend like an old painters palette,
Stained from his sundry works.
Touched and it burns fleetly,
Unevenly, creating anomalous flow,
Leaving scars and pieces to never burn.
Wax pooling at the peak, waiting for its time,
To make its journey down across the past,
To make its own mark upon time.
Coming to an end, knowing it may have but
A short time to illuminate its glory before fading away
By the next, but knowing it has a task,
As another cascades over the edge.
Time passes at the burning of a candle.

FINISHED!

My last post was about the research part of my masters. Well, it is finished! I have completed my research and I am finished with my masters. May 22nd is graduation and unfortunately I will not be able to attend because it is in Maine. Oh well! What am I going to do now...well I want to continue posting to this blog and read. I am in the middle of the Uglies series by Scott Westerfeld. I am currently reading Pretties. Great series. Just enough science fiction to make it interesting but not enough to get me going to conventions. I will post a review as soon as I am finished with it. As of now, I am just enjoying my free time that I have found once again. It is great to be able to read what ever I want, when ever I want.

What's going on now

I have just begun the final installment of my masters degree. For the next 15 weeks I will be focusing on action research. My topic...writing of course. Since I have a passion for it, I would like my class to have a better appreciation for it. Writing is an area that most people struggle with. Since there is a need for better writing, I am going to do all I can to help each of my students become a better writer.

An Ode to H1N1

Everyday fearless teachers,
Walk into their classrooms,
Knowing that it lurks about.
But no matter, teachers
Breaks not a sweat,
For teachers know
What needs to be done.

Door knobs, drinking fountains
Desks, sinks, balls, computers,
Markers, pencils crayons,
Chairs and children
Are where it is found.
But it won’t stop teachers
From coming around.

One of These Guys Is Not the Same

I awoke one delightful Saturday morning to do my imitation of a lumber jack. Why did I decide to do this, it was for a good cause, my church needed help cutting down three dead trees. Ok, so I’m not what you would call a get outside, get your hands dirty, grunt- grunt, smash a beer can on your head, lumber jack type. The only thing I know about a chainsaw is that it can cut your leg off if you’re not careful but if used properly it can quickly bring down a tree. Oh sure I know there are skeptics out there who would crinkle their foreheads and ask in a demeaning and sarcastic tone, “You?” But I appreciate those who have more confidence in me who would give me a reassuring smile and say, “That’s very nice of you, always good to try something new.” So this is a tail of my attempt to impersonate a lumber jack.
As I prepared for this new undertaking, I scanned my closet for the proper attire. Wanting to fit in, I needed to dress like a lumber jack. Finding my flannel shirt I thought, Ah, perfect. Doesn’t the lumber jack on Brawny paper towels wear a flannel shirt? Then I remembered back to the night before as I was watching the evening news- HOT I recalled. Here in lies the critical decision that I had to make at that point: properly cover my arms to protect them from wild tree branches and look like a lumber jack or comfort. This turned out to be a tough decision. I wanted to look like a lumber jack, but maybe I could let the lumber jack attire slide. Protecting your arms or sweating in blistering 90 degree heat with 56 percent humidity. (Yes, I know. All of you easterners are thinking, “56 percent humidity! That’s nothing.” Well, when you move out west to something called ‘dry heat’ your perspective drastically changes!).
Passing through the kitchen I thought, Forget breakfast, I’ll pick up donuts for everyone. Stop right there, that should have been a clue that something wasn’t right. Real lumber jacks would have fried up a dozen eggs, a side of pig, pancakes and washed it all down with a pot of coffee. Then again what did I know about lumber jack dietary habits? Doesn’t everyone enjoy a chocolate frosted, cream filled donut? Everyone except lumber jacks I discovered when I showed up at the church with a Starbucks iced coffee in hand- again, another obvious sign that something wasn’t right. When I announced that I had donuts everyone glared at me with a fully satisfied look that told me, “No thanks, there isn’t room next to our dozen eggs and side of pig.” Realizing that I had failed to eat the proper lumber jack breakfast, I sheepishly sat down and ate my donuts while drinking my coffee through a straw.
When I finished my breakfast, I looked around to see what I could do to help- it was obvious that I wasn’t going to handle a chainsaw. While trying to decide on how I could best be used, I made several observations. First, I was the only one driving a car- everyone else arrived in a truck. Second, I was the only one without a chainsaw. Third, I was the only one without gloves. To the average Joe logger wearing a pair of gloves comes naturally, but it’s me we’re talking about here, the inexperienced want-to-be lumber jack. On the scale of glove necessity I would probably rank picking up trash or demolishing a wall, (yes I have done that) higher than picking up tree parts. So of course I didn’t think much of asking for gloves until it was already too late. I didn’t even pick up three branches before I was wounded. Yes, those gloves would have come in handy- a nice long scratch across the back of my hand- it was at that time that handling trees moved up on my glove necessity scale. Not wanting to admit my failure to know the importance of gloves on the job in front of the others, I simply looked down at it, shrugged my shoulders and moved on. This choice turned out to be the correct lumber jack response because everyone gave me their grunt-of-approval.
Finally the trucks were loaded- I managed to dodge more embarrassing wounds- and it was time to tie the branches down. Trying to move away from the trucks as quickly as possible, my worse fear was soon realized when someone threw the rope over the top of the branches and asked, “Matt, would you tie that down over there?”
I froze. Maybe I could pretend I didn’t hear him. But it was too late; the guy beside me asked if I was going to get that. “Sure,” I said incoherently while still frozen. “I mean, of course,” I tried to sound more like a lumber jack. This was it; I couldn’t escape total embarrassment now. You see, I was never a Boy Scout and therefore, never learned how to tie knots- surely there are designated knot for the job; knots that were manly and would never come undone. Unfortunately the only way I know to truly secure a rope is to tie a double knot. The scene flashed through my head a dark room with only a spotlight in the middle of a circle of chairs full of sorry looking men with their heads down in shame. I stand up slowly, head still bowed and with every ounce of dignity left I managed to get these words across my lips, “Hello, my name is Matthew and I do not know how to tie manly knots.” As I shamefully lowered myself back into my seat, the rest of the members of I’m Not Really A Man Because I Never Learned How To Tie Knots Anonymous- INRAMBINLHTTKA for short- pitifully greeted me, as though the sheer acknowledgement was going to strip them of what manliness they had left, with the sorriest “Hello,” you’ve ever heard. I turned around and quickly tied the two knots hoping that my lack of skill would go unnoticed. When I finished I quickly scanned the area, thankfully the person who was standing next to me earlier was gone now and no one was close by. I snuck out of there as quickly as possible so that I would not be associated with the wimpy, non-manly knot.
The short drive over to the tree’s final resting place was about a mile, but that was the longest self-actualizing mile I had every traveled. In the stillness of the cab I could sense the driver sizing-up my lumber jack manliness and the quiet and tension ostensibly cried out his findings. Oh sure I don’t have a beard and I wasn’t wearing a Harley Davidson t-shirt, ripped pants, steel toed work boots and a dagger on my belt but the goatee on my face, college t-shirt, nice jeans, tennis shoes and blackberry in my pocket had to count for something right? Ok, so I rated low on the lumber jack manliness looking scale- so what?
Unloading the tree limbs went rather quickly and we were back in the truck in no time, and not a word was said about the knots. Another dodged bullet! The only event that might have tipped anyone off of there not being anything right was my obvious observation that it stunk when we arrived. Was it the mounds of wet, moldy, decaying trees or the water treatment plant across the fence? Looking back I can’t say for sure, but either they didn’t hear me or were too offended to respond. Can you get cologne in eau de crap?
When we returned to work, we had one more tree to load. We were about half way through loading the tree when someone looked at me and asked if I wanted a pair of gloves. He told me he had an extra pair in his truck and would be happy to lend them to me. The first thought that crossed my mind was, Gloves, what real man needs gloves, but then I realized that I wanted to fit in, be a lumber jack, and obviously they wear gloves. “Sure,” I responded with a slight grunt in my voice.
The final tree was loaded, the work had ended and I was walking to my car humming the song from the children’s program Sesame Street, Three of These Kids Belong Together. It is obvious that my attempt to impersonate a lumber jack failed miserably and that I am not nor ever will be a lumber jack.

One of These Guys Is Not the Same 2nd Draft

One delightful Saturday morning I decided that I was going to go do my imitation of a lumber jack. Some would look at me and with a reassuring smile and say, “Oh, that’s nice, always good to try something new,” giving me a vote of confidence. Others would crinkle their forehead and ask, “You? Why?”with a very demeaning and sarcastic tone. Why did I decide to do this, it was for a good cause -my church needed help cutting down some dead trees. Ok, so I’m not what you would call a get outside, get your hands dirty, grunt, grunt, smash a beer can on your head, lumber jack type. The only thing I know about a chainsaw is that it can cut your leg off if you’re not careful- and if used properly it can quickly bring down a tree.
As I prepared for this new undertaking, I scanned my closet for the proper attire. Wanting to fit in, I needed to look dress like a lumber jack. Stopping at my flannel shirt I thought, Ah, perfect. Doesn’t the lumber jack on Brawny paper towels wear a flannel shirt? Then I remembered back to the night before as I was watching the evening news- HOT I recalled. Here in lies the critical decision that I had to make at that point: properly cover my arms to protect them from wild tree branches and look like a lumber jack or comfort. Of course, I chose comfort. Protecting your arms or sweating in blistering 90 degree heat with 56 percent humidity. (Yes, I know. All of you easterners are thinking, “56 percent humidity! That’s nothing.” Well, when you move out west to something called ‘dry heat’ your perspective drastically changes!).
Passing through the kitchen I thought, Forget breakfast, I’ll pick up donuts for everyone. Stop right there, that should have been my first clue that something wasn’t right. Real lumber jacks would have fried up a dozen eggs, a side of a pig and pancakes and washed it all down with a pot of coffee. Then again what did I know about lumber jack dietary habits? Doesn’t everyone enjoy a chocolate frosted, cream filled donuts? Everyone except lumber jacks I discovered.
At eight o’clock I showed up with a Star Bucks iced coffee in hand- again, another obvious sign that something wasn’t right. When I announced that I had donuts everyone glared at me with a fully satisfied look that told me, “No thanks, that wouldn’t sit well with our dozen eggs.” Realizing that I had failed to eat the proper lumber jack breakfast, I sheepishly sat down and ate my donuts while drinking my coffee through a straw.
When I finished my breakfast, I looked around to see what I could do to help- it was obvious that I wasn’t going to handle a chainsaw see paragraph two. While trying to decide on how I could best be used, I made several observations. First, I was the only one driving a car- everyone else arrived in a truck. Second, I was the only one without a chainsaw. Third, I was the only one without gloves. To the average Joe logger wearing a pair of gloves comes naturally, but it’s me we’re talking about here. On the scale of glove necessity I would probably rank picking up trash or demolishing a wall, (yes I have done that) higher than picking up tree parts. So of course I didn’t think much of asking for gloves until it was already too late. I didn’t even pick up three branches before I was wounded. Yes, those gloves would have come in handy- a nice long scratch across the back of my hand- and it was at that time that handling trees moved up on my glove necessity scale. Not wanting to admit my failure to know the importance of gloves on the job in front of the others, I simply looked down at it, shrugged my shoulders and moved on. This choice turned out to be the correct lumber jack response because everyone gave me their grunt-of-approval.
Finally the trucks were loaded- I managed to dodge more embarrassing wounds- and it was time to tie the branches down. Trying to move away from the trucks as quickly as possible, my worse fear was soon realized when someone threw the rope over the top of the branches and asked, “Matt, would you tie that down over there?”
I froze. Maybe I could pretend I didn’t hear him. But it was too late; the guy beside me asked if I was going to get that. “Sure,” I said incoherently while still frozen. “I mean, of course,” I tried to sound more like a lumber jack. This was it; I couldn’t escape total embarrassment now. You see, I was never a Boy Scout and learned how to tie knots. The only way I know to truly secure a rope is to tie a double knot. The scene flashed through my head a dark room with only a spotlight in the middle of a circle of chairs full of sorry looking men with their heads down in shame. I stand up slowly, head still bowed and with every ounce of dignity left I managed to say, “Hello, my name is Matthew and I do not know how to tie knots.” As I shamefully lowered myself back into my seat, the rest of the members of I’m Not Really A Man Because I Never Learned How To Tie Knots Anonymous- INRAMBINLHTTKA for short- pitifully greeted me -as though the sheer acknowledgement was going to strip them of what manliness they had left- with the sorriest “Hello,” you’ve ever heard.
I turned around and quickly tied the two knots hoping that my lack of skill would go unnoticed. When I finished I quickly scanned the area, thankfully the person who was standing next to me earlier was gone now and no one was close by. I snuck out of there as quickly as possible so that I would not be associated with the wimpy, non-manly knot. I couldn’t be for sure that I would be the one to untie it, so I couldn’t be associated with it. When it was time to go, I had to make sure that I didn’t ride in the truck with the sorry knots; I had to keep my distance from those knots.
The short drive over to the tree’s final resting place was about a mile, but that was the longest self-actualizing mile I had every traveled. In the stillness of the cab I could sense the driver sizing-up my lumber jack manliness and the quiet and tension ostensibly cried out his findings. Oh sure I don’t have a beard and I wasn’t wearing a Harley Davidson tee-shirt, ripped pants, steel toed work boots and a dagger on my belt but the goatee on my face, a college t-shirt, nice jeans, tennis shoes and black berry in my pocket had to count for something right? Ok, so I rated low on the lumber jack manliness looking scale- so what?
Unloading the tree limbs went rather quickly and we were back in the truck in no time, and not a word was said about the knot. Another dodged bullet! The only event that might have tipped anyone off of there not being anything right was my obvious observation that it stunk when we arrived. Was it the mounds of wet, moldy, decaying trees or the water treatment plant across the fence? Looking back I can’t say for sure, but either they didn’t hear me or were too offended to respond. Can you get cologne in eau de crap?
When we returned to work, we had one more tree to load. We were about half way through loading the tree when someone looked at me and asked if I wanted a pair of gloves. He told me he had an extra pair in his truck and would be happy to lend them to me. The first thought that crossed my mind was, Gloves, what real man needs gloves, but then I realized that I wanted to fit in, be a lumber jack, and obviously they wear gloves. “Sure,” I responded with a slight grunt in my voice.
The final tree was loaded, the work had ended and I was walking to my car, humming a song from the children’s program Sesame Street, Three of These Kids Belong Together.

Against My Best Judgment

Against my best judgment - really my wife left me with no choice- we are expecting another child in October. I thought we were supposed to be content with what we have? I sure am. So far we have had one and a-half years of ease. I’m not saying it’s been a smooth road without any bumps- there have been plenty of those- but with a baby who began sleeping through the night at eight weeks and is simply a doll when we take her out in public- I truly see what we have here and wish not to press our luck.
“I don’t want our child growing up without a sibling,” my wife kept telling me. “She needs someone to play with.”
How do we truly know this? How do we know that with all of those ramblings she’s telling us not to have another sibling because she doesn’t want to split the inheritance? I mean after all, she was there when we were meeting with our financial adviser and wanted dad to up the life insurance. I will never forget the look she gave me as I named my price. She wore a puzzled look that said, “That’s it! Not even a million? Well, if you are going to be that cheap, I simply can’t have a sibling.”
But with my daughter and I’s opinions swept away like one of her meals, we are going to have another child. Don’t get me wrong, I am very excited- especially since it’s a boy- I just don’t like pressing my luck. It is very clear to see, easy first baby means difficult second baby. My wife waves me off telling me that it will go so fast that we won’t remember it. She seems to have forgotten the last one over time and so will happen with the next. Unfortunately for me, I haven’t forgotten about the last time. And yes, it is over, but it seemed like eternity in the heat of the moment.
I spent four years in college and many of those nights, I was up late into the night studying or enjoying my college days. There were even a few when I didn’t even go to bed because I was working very hard on a paper or project. The next day came and I simply took a nap and was fine in a few hours; rested and ready to go. If I can do all-nighters in college, getting up in the middle of the night to take an hour to feed the baby should be nothing; I mean I am getting sleep before and after right? Oh how I was ever so mistaken. In my thirty three years I don’t think I have been more mistaken. What was I thinking? For some reason, my reasoning was way off- I mean the Sun and the next star way off.
Even sitting here now I shudder at the thought of how tired I was. Our daughter was born the day before Thanksgiving- even though the meal was free, I don’t recommend hospital food for Thanksgiving- so being a teacher I had the rest of the week off and I needed to only take the next week off from work to do my fatherly duty of helping with the newborn. We arrived home on the Saturday following Thanksgiving. Now before I continue I feel like I need to share some wisdom with new fathers. This being my first child, I was naturally very protective of her. When the nurse suggested we keep her in the nursery so that we could get sleep, I politely declined and kept her in the room. Looking back, I recommend you listen to the nurses. Ignore that natural protective parental instinct and get some sleep! It will be your last! With the slightest noise, I was up and hovering over her in seconds. I was a guard dog protecting his master’s home. I went from deep sleep to ready for war in 3.0 seconds flat only to find that she was shifting sides. When it hit me that she was clear of any danger, I would lie back down and waited for the adrenalin rush to wear off before I could get back to sleep.
Once that happened and I was back to dreaming, it was feeding time and I was up doing what I could to help out. Because I do not have breasts, the only assistance I could give was to change the baby’s diaper, and then I would sit and helplessly watch as my wife did all of the work. When the baby was finished, it was back to bed with her and mom and dad would lay in bed praying that they would once again be graced with sleep before the next feeding.
New fathers, there’s something else that must be explained to you. When they say that a child eats every three to four hours they don’t mean three to four hours from the end of the feeding to the next feeding. Three to four hours is from when they wake up to when they wake up three to four hours later. What does that mean? Unfortunately it means you are not getting three to four hours of sleep but only the difference from when they go to sleep and wake up again. If they make up at 2am, you have to feed them, change their diaper and then put them to sleep and they will wake up at 5 or 6am. You and I can eat a meal and take care of business in a half an hour tops, but not babies; especially if they keep falling asleep while they are eating. The feeding process is about an hour and a half, which means you have an hour and a half to sleep- I’m yawning just thinking about this.
Now that you have an understanding of the feeding process and the time it takes to work it, you will understand how that next week went. I thought that I was going to be able to get a lot of reading and planning finished that week between feedings. Again, I was wrong! Every time the baby slept, we did. I have never known exhaustion like that before. I tried to read but ended up falling asleep, waking up only to reread the page. It wasn’t until that Friday that I was able to stay up for a portion of the day and voyage out into the world again. To give you an understanding of the level of cabin-fever that we had experiences that week, we were excited travel an hour to go to the county registration office to get our little stickers for one of our cars. And was I upset when we had been sitting there for over an hour and realized that we needed proof of insurance that was back at home…no, it simply meant another outing!
That next Monday morning I was ecstatic to get back to work! My wife agreed to handle all middle of the night feedings if I would be the one to put the baby to bed in the evenings while she went to bed early. I happily agreed to that. Unfortunately on the weekends, I had to wake up too and help out. Every Friday morning during that period I cursed the weekend as I crawled out of bed half dead; always looking forward to Sunday night.
I was warned by a friend who has two children not to do it, “Stick with one, it’ll be a lot quieter,” she kept insisting. And twenty six weeks into the pregnancy, it’s already begun- sibling rivalry. My daughter has made a lounge chair out of my wife’s lap and loves to be read to as she reclines. This is not tolerated by my son who each day is pushing his sister out of her chair. Day by day her chair shrinks as my son grows bigger and bigger. Soon, there will not be any room for her and she will have to settle for dad as a lounge chair. What does she have to say about all this? At the moment she hasn’t really noticed, but I am sure when her stage time before her audience of mom and dad has decreased, it will sink in that this new person has got to go.
This is new frontier for us; am I afraid? Of course I am I would be a fool to think I have it all under control. However, I am very excited and I am looking forward to having a son- a miniature me. So, if in the months to come my writings, ideas, suggestions, projects and papers are incomprehensible, incomplete ramblings, please excuse me, I probably didn’t get any sleep.

One of These Guys Is Not the Same

One delightful Saturday morning I decided that I was going to go do my best imitation of a lumber jack. Some would positively reassure me by looking at me with a smile and say, “Oh, that’s new, always good to try something new.” While those who knew me would partially close one eye, crinkle their forehead and with a very demeaning and sarcastic tone ask, “You? Why?”
Ok, so I’m not what you would call a get outside, get your hands dirty, grunt, grunt, smash a beer can on your head type of guy. The only thing I know about a chainsaw is that it can cut your leg off if you’re not careful- and if used correctly- it can quickly bring down a tree. I assure you it was for a good cause- our church needed a few lifeless trees taken down- besides, it was going to be manly bonding time.
As I prepared for this undertaking, I scanned my closet for the proper attire. Stopping at my flannel shirt I thought, “Ah, perfect. Doesn’t the lumber jack on Brawny paper towels wear flannel shirts?” Then I remembered back to the night before as I was watching the evening news- HOT I recalled. Here in lies the critical decision that I had to make at this point: properly cover my arms to protect them from wild tree branches or comfort. Of course comfort won that easy battle. Was there really a battle? Protecting your arms or sweating in blistering 90 degree heat with 56 percent humidity. (Yes, I know. All of you easterners are thinking, “56 percent humidity! That’s nothing.” Well when you move out west to something called ‘dry heat’ your perspective drastically changes!)
Passing through the kitchen I thought, “Forget breakfast, I’ll pick up donuts for everyone.” Stop right there, that should have been my first clue that something wasn’t right. Real lumber jacks would have fried up a dozen eggs, a side of a pig and pancakes and washed it all down with a pot of coffee. But what did I know about lumber jack dietary habits? Doesn’t everyone enjoy donuts? Everyone except lumber jacks I discovered.
Promptly at eight o’clock I showed up with a Star Bucks iced coffee in hand- again, another obvious sign that something wasn’t right. When I announced that I had donuts everyone glared at me with a satisfied look that said, “No thanks, that wouldn’t sit well with our dozen eggs.” I sheepishly sat down with my donuts and had my breakfast while drinking my coffee through a straw.
When I finished my breakfast, I looked around to see what I could do to help- it was obvious that I wasn’t going to handle a chainsaw-see paragraph two. While trying to decide on how I would best be used, I made several observations. First, I was the only one driving a car, everyone else arrived in a truck. Second, I was the only one without a chainsaw. Third, I was the only one without gloves. To the average Joe logger wearing a pair of gloves comes naturally, but it’s me we’re talking about here. On the scale of glove necessity I would probably rank picking up trash or demolishing a wall, (yes I have done that) higher than picking up tree parts. So of course I didn’t think much of asking for gloves until it was already too late. I didn’t even pick up three branches before I was wounded. Yes, those gloves would have come in handy- a nice long scratch across the back of my hand- and it was at that time that handling trees moved up on my glove necessity scale. Not wanting to admit my failure to know the importance of gloves on the job in front of the others, I simply looked down at it, shrugged my shoulders and moved on.
Finally the trucks were loaded- I managed to dodge more embarrassing wounds- and it was time to tie the branches down. Trying to move away from the trucks as quickly as possible, my worse fear was soon realized when someone threw the rope over the top of the branches and asked, “Matt, would you tie that down over there?”
I froze. Maybe I could pretend I didn’t hear him. But then it was too late, the guy beside me asked if I was going to get that. “Sure,” I said incoherently while still frozen. “I mean, of course,” I tried to sound more reassuring as I broke out of my frozen state. This was it; I couldn’t escape total embarrassment now. You see, I was never a Boy Scout and learned how to tie knots. The only way I know to truly secure a rope is to tie a double knot. The scene flashed through my head. A dark room with only a spotlight in the middle of a circle of chairs full of sorry looking men with their heads bowed in shame. I stand up slowly, head still bowed and with every ounce of dignity left I managed to say, “Hello, my name is Matthew and I do not know how to tie knots.” As I shamefully lowered myself back into my seat, the rest of the members of I’m Not Really A Man Because I Never Learned How To Tie Knots Anonymous- INRAMBINLHTTKA for short- pitifully greeted me -as though the sheer acknowledgement was going to strip them of what manliness they had left- with the sorriest “Hello,” you’ve ever heard.
I turned around and quickly tied the two knots hoping that my lack of skill would be overlooked. When I finished I quickly scanned the area, thankfully the person who was standing next to me was gone and no one was close by. I snuck out of there as quickly as possible so that I would not be associated with the wimpy, non-manly knot. I couldn’t be for sure that I would be the one to untie it, so I couldn’t be associated with it. When it was time to go, I had to make sure that I didn’t ride in that truck with the sorry knots; I had to keep my distance from that knots.
The short drive over to the tree’s final resting place was about a mile, but that was the longest self-actualizing mile I had every traveled. In the stillness of the cab I could sense the driver sizing-up my lumber jack manliness and the quiet and tension ostensibly cried out his findings. Oh sure I don’t have a beard and I wasn’t wearing a Harley Davidson tee-shirt, ripped pants, cowboy boots and a dagger on my belt but the goatee on my face and black berry in my pocket had to count for something right? Ok, so I rated low on the lumber jack manliness scale- so what?
Unloading the tree limbs went rather quickly and we were back in the truck in no time, and not a word was said about the knot. Another dodged bullet! The only event that might have tipped anyone off of there not being anything right was my obvious observation that it stunk when we arrived there. Was it the mounds of wet, moldy, decaying trees or the water treatment plant across the fence? Looking back I can’t say for sure, but either they didn’t hear me or were too offended to respond. Can you get cologne in eau de crap?
When we returned to work, we had one more tree to load. We were about half way through loading the tree when someone looked at me and asked if I wanted a pair of gloves. He told me he had an extra pair in his truck and would be happy to lend them to me. The first thought that crossed my mind was, “What? Gloves, what real man needs gloves, but then I realized that I wanted to fit in, be a lumber jack, and obviously they wear gloves. “Sure,” I responded with a slight grunt in my voice.
The work had ended and as I was walking to my car, I humming a song on the children’s program Sesame Street, Three of These Kids Belong Together.