I have not been inspired to post anything for a few weeks and it was working on me a bit.
Where was my inspiration?
Didn’t think I was being particular choosy. But there was just a general lack of percolation going on; you know, no flow. Just nada, zero, empty, snake bit. If I were a hockey player from Canada, I’d say I was “squeezing the old twig a little too hard / unable to put the biscuit in the basket/light the lamp and what not.” No beer and doughnuts and all that eh?
But then it occurred to me that being a bored, uninspired or whatever was a kind of luxury item, a “high class problem” worthy of my aspirations and attention. Boredom was also a likely bi-product of someone feeling a bit ungrateful. I mean really. Truth be told I should be grateful for ingratitude, happy to be dull, and inspired by my apparent lack of inspiration.
In a few weeks, if the good Lord’s willing and the creek don’t rise and I don’t flip off the wrong 400 lbs Hell’s Angel in traffic or decide to fulfill my life long ambition to become a cobra charmer in India and/or free climb a Denver sky rise while window cleaning, I will celebrate 4 years since the day of my melanoma diagnosis. I am still topside baby! A few months after that, I will likely stroll into a room full of idiots like me with some chalk flavored cake from a grocery store and announce my 25th anniversary of continuous sobriety, you know without any mood or mind altering substances.
Now, I know, some of you are thinking 25 years without any booze is not something to be bragging about…but believe me when I say that I, along with society, have been, are, and will be better for this fact.
Truth is there’s legions of packs of scores of swarms of regiments of crowds of clouds of armies of populations of multitudes of many other things to be grateful for, beyond just taking my customary ~20,000 daily breaths or hauling my ~7 octillion atoms (7 followed by 27 zeros: 7,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000) out of bed, today.
There is, in no particular order: pizza, music, running, dogs/cats/living together, job, television remotes, news feeds, Walking Dead shows, smart phones, wrinkle free shirts, computer geek talk, Avs, boys, Sarah, car, house, pillows, air fresheners, clothes, 5 senses, brain waves (however slow) etc.
And then there’s this guy – the G, Gibster, the Giblet, the Gibbyatollah, G-String, G-man, G-spot, G-force.
My brother Gib came to visit with his two righteous progeny last week.
I have few memories of being a young-young kid. But one stands out. I distinctly remember G at 2, wobbling around in his diaper. He was quite possibly the cutest thing I’d ever seen in my life…and I then remember a near imperious urge to -I don’t know- squeeze, pinch, beat the crap out of or generally make him cry. Bam Bam! That didn’t change much growing up. I used to rub my hands together in anticipation of coming home after a long weekend, enumerating the many ways I could put the hurt on my bro. Brotherly love worked, at least for him, in often unpleasant and contradictory ways. Ah inspiration, move me brightly.
Anyways, it was good to see you bro and little nephew dudes. I have and will, as long as I have any say in the matter, love you always. Thanks for making the effort and braving the crazy Colorado blizzard to see us and for not kicking my well-deserving-to-be-kicked-ass (except may be while running up Spruce Mountain) while you were here.
Speaking of enjoyable inspiration for me, but likely tortuous for him, there were the Grateful Dead show I dragged Gib to…not this one, but one like it many years ago…
Terrapin Station, Hunter/Garcia, Anaheim, CA July 26, 1987
“Inspiration, move me brightly
light the song with sense and color,
hold away despair
More than this I will not ask
faced with mysteries dark and vast
statements just seem vain at last
some rise, some fall, some climb
to get to…”