I suppose no account of any part of my life, would be understood without knowing some of my beginnings, so without it becoming a book of its own, I shall attempt to shed some light on my foundation.
  I was born in Augusta, Maine on March the 3rd of the year 1967.  I was named Jeffrey Scott Maxim.
  It wasn't to be known for decades down the road, but there were several things about me that set me apart from others, physically and mentally.
  Chiefly among them is a 'condition' known as 'Asperger's Syndrome.'  I will write much more about this, throughout my story but for right now, I think the most important aspect of this condition, especially in writing about my childhood, is that I took everything literally.
  My mothers maiden name was Helen White.  She was from a rather poor family that lived in Randolph, Maine.  She had four sisters and one brother.  I must write about her parents later.
  She began dating a man from Augusta, who's name is Eugene Maxim and was known as 'Gene.'
  My dad was from a middle-class family and it is my understanding that their courtship was perhaps 'frowned upon.'
  My father fell head over heels for my mother, it seems.  Often hitch hiking down river to see her after school.
  My father had a brother and a sister.  I must also write about his parents at a later time.
  One of their meetings led to my mother becoming pregnant with me and a wedding soon followed.
  My mother was 18 at the time and soon dropped out of high school, while my father was 20 and managed to stay in college.
  I do have some memories of the very early years, they were very lean years but also very good years.
  Soon another brother came along, fifteen months after myself and he was named Troy Walter Maxim.
  My parents seemed to take a short break until they were graced with a third son 27 months later and named this little curly-haired bundle of joy, Craig Allen Maxim.
  We lived mostly in apartments, during the early years.  Not of the shabby sort, nor of the affluent but somewhat respectable.
  When I was around 5 years of age and I believe approaching my fifth birthday, my parents announced that they had a 'present' for me.  It involved a short car ride, the last part of which, I was instructed to duck down in the back seat and not look.  There were no seatbelts in those days, or if there were, they weren't commonly used.
  I laid my body across the large bench style seat and buried my head in my crossed arms, after promising not to peek.
  The car finally made a right-hand turn and maneuvered 'just so,' coming to a rest.  I wondered what this could possibly be!
  My parents seemed very happy about this present and they finally let me in on the secret of their joy when they both chimed “Okay, you can open your eyes now!”
   I opened my eyes to an unfamiliar sight.  Out the back window, I saw a ranch style house with an attached garage and when I looked to the front, through the windshield I could see a medium sized, two story house.  There were various patches of trees around the yards and what looked like a deep forest, behind the two houses.
  “Do you like your present?” asked my mother.
  “Where is it?” I asked, confused.
  I could see no wrapped gift.  No bows or baskets were in sight.
  “Right in front of us!” my father excitedly said.  “You have a new home!”
  I wondered if they were giving me to another family!  My literal thinking would cause me many misunderstandings in my young years!
  I think they were perplexed at the look on my face.  They didn't understand what was going on in my head but after many questions and answers, I finally understood.
  I still had my doubts but as it turned out, they kept me!
  We were soon in a hustle to move from our apartment to a real house.  I remember little of the process, other than Dad wanting to bring everything.
  Nothing was to be left behind if he could help it.  He was partial to the bin of rags he had amassed over the years, the broken fishing poles, the gadgetry “As Seen On TV” that only worked on TV.
  During the fracas, I watched bemused along with my monkey puppet attached to my hand.  We watched as everything went out the door and into a truck.
  Mom offered me a banana and I started eating it.  I gave an entire half to my monkey and we chomped on it while we tried to understand the ways of adults.
  “Jeffrey!  What are you doing?” came my moms astonished voice!
  I was then surrounded by adults, nearly doubled over in laughter.
  Although my monkey seemed to enjoy chomping his half, he failed to swallow.  It was all over his face and matted into his fur.  We were busted.
  They took my monkey away.
  Dad was instructed to “Put that thing someplace he won't find it!”
  I tried to watch what he did with it.  I loved my monkey, but Ma successfully blocked my attempts at a rescue.
  Finally, we zoomed off, I monkey-less, leaving our old place behind and happy with the thoughts of our new endeavor.
  -----
  It seemed as though I was much closer to my mother, than I was to my father.  I'm sure this was due to with her more than him.
  I'm not sure exactly when Dad made the transition from college to work, but either way he was gone most of the day, so most of the early memories I have of him seem to be of suppertime and the weekends at our new home, at 721 Riverside Drive.
  With us boys growing fast, Craig was soon no longer in need of a 'high-chair.'  He had progressed to the use of a regular dining chair and there were only four, in our dining set.  Luckily Dad wasn't one to ever throw something away and after scrounging in the deep piles of the cellar, he procured what appeared to once have been a chair of some sort.
  It had a chromed metal frame and bits of once white Naugahyde still attached to the seat and backrest, the padding of which hung out in various spots through the holes and occasionally falling to the floor, though never seeming to lose its mass through the years.  Dad sat in it the first time, I think because we were all terrified to.  He affectionately named it “The Guest Chair” and somehow he soon had us boys arguing over which one of us got to be the “guest.”  It became so popular that we had to “take turns” in it.
  Dad was a picky eater.  Most of his suppertime was spent more on dissecting the fat from his steak and keeping the food from touching the other food.  I seem to recall he made an exception for salads.
  I remember one night during supper, we were all eating salad and Dad bit into a cherry tomato, accidentally squirting my mother in the face with the seedy juice.
  Mom looked irritated at first, out of shock but returned the sortie with a toothy, perfectly aimed squirt of her own.  Us boys caught on and soon it was a tomato free-for-all!  I'm not sure if any tomatoes made it into our belly's that eve but they were all over everything else!
  It seemed that Dad finally called for order and we all cleaned up the fun mess.
  Being home with Ma most of the day, she became my audience and my victim.
  For some reason, I liked playing in the lower cupboards.  One day after rearranging the cans, I came up with a brilliant idea. With one door open I reached through and placed several cans so they were tilted against the inside of the adjacent, closed cupboard door.
  I pretended to do other important kid stuff, the whole time keeping an eye on Ma.
  Time slowed to a crawl.  I thought my ingenious trap would never be sprung.  My cleverness never to be realized!
  I was losing hope as it neared toward lunchtime, but then......
  “Jeffrey, what would you like for lunch?  How about a toasted cheese?  Toasted cheese and tomato soup, how's that sound?”
  It seemed as though God were smiling upon me!
  “Yummy, Ma!”
  She didn't even flinch at my sudden excitement.
  Of course, when she snapped open the door, several cans came crashing out and rolled in various directions across the linoleum floor!
  “What in the world!” she asked.
  The only answer was my laughter but she still seemed to think it a coincidence.
  “Mission accomplished!”  I thought.
  -----
  Along with our new home, came new friends.
  I was delighted to discover that right beside us and across a small field in an old farmhouse, lived several cousins of ours.  They were all older, but two of them weren't out of the age realm for us to have as playmates.  They were Kevin and Darin.
  Kevin was a year older than me and Darin was at least two years older.
  Troy and I were soon looking up to and spending a lot of time with Kevin.  Darin had friends more his age and spent a lot of time in his makeshift 'laboratory.'  He seemed to be destined to invent something.
  I remember one time being lured into the skeletal remains of a very old milk van, affectionately dubbed “The Green Hornet” along with Troy, by the innocence of Kevin.  When we grabbed hold of the van to get in, we were both 'zapped' with a jolt of electricity!  Darin had rigged the van up with a battery and wires.  We were often the guinea pigs for their madness!
  We are all descendants of the late Sir Hiram Maxim, inventor of the first machine gun and many other fascinating endeavors.  This fact played a very important role, in our lives and still does for many of us.
  Most of us “Maxim Boys” have spent countless hours, reading the tales involving this man and hoping to achieve some 'greatness' of our own.
  Our 'experiments' soon turned towards the love of explosives.
  Darin, in his craftiness, had managed to come up with a great recipe for black-powder.  We helped him by rolling up tubes, using paper bags and electrical tape.  Into these, we packed the powder and wrapped them tightly with more tape.  He had a roll of hobby wick for use in model rocketry and he showed us how to put a length of this into the tubes, by way of a small hole we made.
  They worked marvelously!  We were soon putting these everywhere we shouldn't and modifying them to cause more damage.
  One day I was with Kevin and he made a fresh batch of powder and we always tested a little bit in a tin first, to make sure it had the correct flash rate.
  He put some in the tin, far too much actually and was standing over the small pile, while throwing matches into the tin.  It seemed like it wasn't going to light correctly when all of a sudden it all went up in the quickest flash ever!  He momentarily disappeared in the smoke and he was whacking his head.  His hair had caught on fire!
  He slipped into the house and into the bathroom while I distracted his mother, Aunt Lucille.
  He gave himself a trim in an attempt to hide all the burnt hair but when he came out and Aunt Lucille saw him, she immediately asked what had happened.  I was cringing as I waited for the results of him telling her that he had caught his hair on fire “a little bit” while lighting a model rocket.  She just told him to be more careful!
  Then Darin came up with a new idea.
  He took an empty Co2 cartridge from a BB gun pistol, enlarged the hole and took a very long time filling it with powder as fully packed as he could get it and put an extra long wick into the hole.
  We weren't sure what it would do exactly, so we tried to be safe about it.
  Down in the woods, there was a small boulder that we knew had fool's gold, all through it.  We went there and lifted the rock while Darin placed the “bomb” underneath it.
  He lit it and we all ran back up the path, to a safe distance, waiting with excitement for the explosion.
  We weren't disappointed!  It was the loudest one yet and when we returned to ground zero, the rock was fairly broken apart and a nice chunk of fool's gold was discovered, in one of the chunks!
  We made another for Darin's next idea.  We squashed the end of an old iron pipe, just right and put the bomb in so it was held in place by the crimp, with the fuse sticking out the squashed end.  We packed the open end with newspaper, then a big load of birdshot from several shotgun shells and finally more newspaper.
  Not too far from the fool's gold location, we propped the device against a tree and held it in place with some rocks, lit the extra long fuse and ran for all we were worth, back up the path.
  BOOM!  It was even louder than the last.  When we returned to ground zero this time, we were amazed to see that we had managed to kill a lot of trees!  Birdshot was all through them.
  -----
  The house we had moved into was not originally a house at all.  It was converted to a residence for us and was previously a restaurant.  Maxim's Restaurant, in fact.
  Though the facts are difficult to sort out and clouded by time, I will attempt to shed some light on my father's upbringing.
  Dad was born in '47 to Doris and Walter Maxim.  He was the eldest and had a brother named Ronald and a sister named Cheryl.
  Walter had been in World War II and fighting in Germany.  They used the “buddy system” then and it was a life-saver for my Grandfather.
  My Grandfather had pulled the pin on a hand grenade and when he took the footstep to hurl it at the enemy, he stepped on what was called a foot mine.  It detonated and he fell to the ground, on top of the grenade.
  Fortunately, his “Buddy” saw what had happened, grabbed the grenade and threw it to a safe distance, where it detonated.  His life was graciously spared but his leg was not.  He had multiple operations and skin grafts, ending up with a wooden leg, just below the knee.
  I won't get into all the sad details here, but when my dad was 14 years old, Walter was working in the woods with his tractor and it flipped over when he hit a stump, pinning him underneath where he soon died.
  When I was about five years old years old, I remember my mother driving my dad to work.  I remember the hard hat that seemed to always be in the back window and him getting out with the headgear to work on a new roadway off from Western Avenue.  My mother drove off with us and the next thing I remember was visiting my Dad in the hospital.  I didn't realize until I was much older, all the details of what happened.  I do remember that there was a trapeze hanging over the bed and we kept asking if we could play circus on it, but were denied every query.
  The reason Dad was in the bed was because he had been crushed between a front-end loader and a dump truck and pinned there for some time before anyone noticed.  He was in bad shape.  It broke his pelvis and perforated his intestine, among other injuries and required him to use a cane for a long time afterward.  He was a fortunate man to have lived through such a tradgedy and we were truly blessed that we grew up with such a wonderful father.
  I always felt like we had grown up in the perfect place for us three.  The deep woods and all the surrounding secret places we had, were a boys playland and I could go on forever about our adventures and perhaps I will, someday.
  I believe I was eleven when our parents decided it was time for a change for our family and we began looking for a new house to buy.  There were many almosts, but a day finally came when Mom brought us to see the house that she and Dad thought would fit our family needs.  We brought a couple of friends with us, named Shawn and Eric Malone.
  It seemed like it was way out in the woods to us.  I knew I would miss my best friend Kevin, but I was also very excited about it all.
  I think Mom was a little nervous about it, too.
  I remember her saying stuff like "People in the country are really nice and they all wave!"
  This sounded odd to us, waving at strangers and all......
  So we ended up on a road which was route 194, in Pittston, Maine and after a few miles we turned into the driveway of what we considered to be a huge house, compared to the one we were moving from.  It was white, with green shutters and had two dormers on the front half of the roof.  The lawn was big and the entire lot was sprinkled with trees and surrounded by miles of woods.
  Us boys and our friends, were already impressed!
  We went inside for the mom tour and all the rooms were large, especially the living room.  We went upstairs to pick our bedrooms and I immediately claimed one for myself.  Because of the dormers, the structure left a long crawlspace between my room and my parents room, a rather cave-like one.  To me, it meant I would have a "secret hiding spot" for my booty.
  The rooms had not been completely finished yet.  The sheetrock was missing in several spots, with some sheets just leaning up against the stud work.  I could easily squeeze through the 2x4 framing and into my brother Craigs chosen room, but we wouldn't be moving in right away and  there was time to get things in order before doing so.
  Satisfied with our new home, we all ran outside to explore our new playground.  Just out back we took a closer look at an old shed that sat on the edge of the woods.  We were all sure it would make a dandy clubhouse.  Nearby we found an old 6-point deer skull, hanging by blue wire from a tree.  We found small cliffs scattered around the lot and continued to run around the woods, until mom called us back.
  "Well boys, we should get Shawn and Eric back."  She started.  "But I was thinking we could go a little further down the road, so you can see your new neighborhood.  There's supposed to be a store down there someplace and you can all get a soda!"
  This was back in the day when having a round of sodas offered to you was a real treat.
  "Yay!"  We all chimed in unison.
  The short trip was pretty, yet eventless until we rounded a long sharp curve to the right, going past a very old graveyard, that had all our attention  with wonder.  When the curve finally straightened out, a small stream revealed itself and crossed under a bridge.  Sitting on the bridge was a boy of about my age, with bare feet, rolled up jeans and a piece of grass sticking out of his mouth.  Even with the grass in his mouth he still seemed to show a big smile on his face and as we passed, he did the unthinkable.  He waved at us!  We were all caught off guard, except for mom, who took great pride in her foreknowledge of country ways.  I would later meet this boy on the school bus and learn his name to be Billy Hubert and the name of the stream to be Kimball Brook.
--------------------------
  The next month, or so we spent all our available time at the house, getting it ready for the big move.  Dad and Uncle Ronnie busy with the sheetrock and us boys learning how to paint, alongside Grammy and Grampy Mardosa.  I remember spending a lot of time playing tic-tac-toe on the walls with the paintbrushes, but we somehow managed to finish, with a lot of dad's help and redirection.  We all got to pick what color paint for our individual rooms and even got to pick out the rug colors.
  Finally the big day arrived and we were all busy loading up a moving truck with lots of help from friends and family.  I had to say goodbye to my friends, Kevin being the saddest to part with, although we reassured each other that we would take turns with sleepovers, at every chance.
  It seemed we had amassed a lot of posessions, over the years and one by one, they went into the truck.  Dad's rag collection had really grown from the time we had first moved to Riverside Drive.
  While moving one of the precious rag bins with my brother, something vaguely familiar and partially hidden caught my attention.  I pulled out the treasure and there before me, was my much prized and long missed monkey puppet!
  He was disgusting, with what look like black, banana mold all over him, but I managed to get my arm inside and squealed with glee.  My folks caught sight of the spectacle and mom laughingly shook her head, while dad tried to convince me to give up the ghost.
  I agreed it was time to lay him to rest.  I still miss that monkey, sometimes.  Bananas haven't tasted the same, since and I think of him with every one I peel.
  Finally at the new home, we began moving everything in.  My dad had a large and heavy workbench that took several people to load onto the truck.  We had less people that we had to load the truck, but a friend of my dads had showed up to help us move in.  His name was Frank and he was a huge muscle.  My dad was trying to figure out how to get the bench in, with not enough help, when Frank all of a sudden grabbed it and had it on his shoulder all by himself.  "Where do you want it?" he asked.  Everyone was laughing at this feat and I was amazed.
  Everything was nearly in the house, mostly in boxes and with no time to set up our bedrooms properly, us boys were to sleep in the living room, snuggled into our sleeping bags.
  I remember hearing part of the adult conversation, in regards to the previous owners and that the house was used for some kind of church meetings.  I remember hearing joking concern about what may have "gone on" in this large room.
  Finally settled in and excited, the day before Halloween, we crawled into our nests and talked as we dozed off, until we heard a noise and Troy yelling, "Ouch!"
  I scrambled to get the light on and there was Troy, lying under a piece of paneling that had fallen from the large beam that divided the room!  Our parents came running downstairs and once we realized it was most likely not a victims ghost from some cult sacrifice that had previously taken place in our living room, we all went back to attempt sleep, amongst much laughter.

  Here I am, again!
  Some know what's going on with me but most don't, so I'll try to catch up on my going-on's of late.
   I was recently staying at a half-way house(called ARC) and left there on Monday.  I am back living in my storage unit and please don't worry, because it is all well.  It's actually much better than the half-way house.  I will be writing about my experience there, soon but I want to catch up on where I am now to get the writing juices flowing, again.
  I left the ARC house and had a troublesome lump, under the corner of my mouth.  It wasn't much at first but soon started looking like a pimple on steroids.
  It grew quickly and soon my entire left jaw was affected.  It was very painful!
  I went to the clinic on Monday and they couldn't see me until the next morning at 8:30.
  The next morning it was even bigger and more painful.  I hurried to the doctor, all the time expecting an alien to burst forth, through my flesh.
  None did.
  I spent about an hour there and learned that I have an MRSA infection.
  I was blaming the ARC house as the likely source and it may have been, but I have since learned that it can be transferred from animals, beach sand and can even live in salty ocean water for 2 days!
  I was given some anti-biotics and have been taking them, without fail.
  This morning I woke up and it was even worse.  I had to put off a job interview and the lady was very understanding about it and rescheduled me for Monday.  "Don't you dare come in here with a staph infection." she said.
  I went to the beach to comb the shores for sharks teeth.  It was a long ride and I could only stay for half an hour, I was feeling so poorly.
  I found no teeth.
  I was recently interviewed by a Minister from Virginia.  She had recorded the whole conversation to put on her radio show and use in her Ministry.  I recieved a message on my phone from her that she just uploaded it, to her website and sent me the link.  I listened to it, through my phone as I pedaled along.  I thought it odd not to be squeamish about hearing my own voice, as I always had been, especially considering what I was talking about.  Some of it was my dark past.
  I cut through the Greenway woods and only saw one alligator.  I didn't even feel good enough to take his picture.
  Back at the storage unit, the battery on my phone died with 20 minutes left of my interview.
  I read some of The Hiding Place by Corrie ten Boom.  Great book.
  I kept popping ibuprofen but it seemed to have lost it's affect.
  I checked some online advertisements for a mountain bike and saw no new ones.  My taxes are due, soon and I planned on spending about $300 for a good, used one.  I've been checking every day for the right one and have found nothing close to what I need.  I knew however, that God would lead me to the right one, at the perfect time.
  Several cars and trucks drove by and each time, I try to pretend that I'm doing some kind of work in my little cubicle.  I'm really only doing this to fool myself, because the full size mattress on the floor, is a dead giveaway that I am living there.
  Another vehicle came by and stopped 2 bay doors away.  I had never seen anyone in that one.  I stood in the doorway and pretended to be busy with something.
  Two men got out and the older, grey haired one said "Hi."
  The younger, muscle-bound one looked like his father but said nothing.  They both looked very depressed.
  I could hear them moving stuff into the hatchback for about fifteen minutes.
  The older man walked over, near me and asked "Do you know anyone who could use a couple of twin mattresses?
  "No but I can probably find someone to use them soon."
  "Well it doesn't matter, I'm going to leave this unit open and you can just take them if you want to."
  "Thank you."  I said.
  I had a sudden thought and it was out, before I thought how out of place it sounded.
  "If you know anyone that has a descent mountain bike for sale, I'm searching for one and about to get my taxes.  The one I have is heavy and really bothering my knees."
  "Well, I do have one actually.  I don't know much about it or if it's what you're looking for, it's my son's.
  "Do you know if it's aluminum?"  I hopefully asked.
  "I have no idea.  I can bring it by and you can see if it's something you're interested in.
  "Okay, great!"
  He walked over to the other man and they talked with low voices as I pretended to get back to my pretend project, in the cubicle.
  The son got into the car and the older gentleman came over and asked "Will you be here in an hour, I'll come back and show you the bike?"
  "Yes, I'll be here.  I'm about to charge my phone."
  "Okay, see you in an hour." he said and left with the same depressed cloud they had arrived with.
  I walked near the office and plugged my phone in.  The kind people knew that I have been living there and had come to love me.  Often asking me if I need anything.
  I tried to stay busy.  I ate.  I felt horrible and tired.  I wanted to nap but the man was coming back with the bike.  I suddenly wished I hadn't asked about the bike.  I thought for sure that it was just another Huffy or some other inferior brand.  I reminded myself:  "You just never know, Jeff.  It could be a real winner."
  About ten minutes before the hour was up, I finally succumbed to the sleepy headache and lay on my mattress, thinking I wouldn't sleep and hear the car coming, in time.
  Within ten minutes I heard a car coming and jumped up, in time to not be caught lying down.  It was the same car and it stopped, just past my roll-down door.
  He got out alone, this time and that depression cloud fogged out, with him.
  I briefly wondered if our paths crossed, not because I was to get something from him, but maybe he needed something.
  He went immediately to the hatchback and opened it as he said "I don't know if this is what your looking for but here it is."
  I stood in disbelief.  There before me was a sweet Cannondale.  It was aluminum and just what I was looking for, in every sense!
  I was speechless and maybe he thought I disapproved.
  "Wow!  It's a nice Cannondale."  I finally got some words out.
  "It is.  I don't know what it's worth to you."  he said as he took it out and handed it to me.
  "I don't know what it's worth, either but I'm sure at least $200."
  "No." he said.  "I don't think it's worth that much."
  I was sure it was.  The Rock shox alone are $300 new.
  "It belonged to my son." He said.
  "The man that was here with you, earlier?"
  "No, that was my oldest son.  This belonged to my youngest son.  He's in jail and about to go to prison, for murder."  He was now crying and choked to get the words out.  He actually said attempted murder but I didn't hear it right and found out later.
  I won't attempt to go word by word of our conversation.  Some things are just between 2 people and should stay that way.
  He invited me to his church on Sunday.  They were having a big breakfast, there.
  I told him I would be there and that I would bring the money, if I have it by then.
  He gave me a slip of paper with his name and number on it.
  He said again that he didn't know what it was worth.  "Just try it out and you can give me whatever you want to."
  "Sir, I can't thank you enough for this and although we just met I want you to know that I love you and I'll be praying for your son and your family.  I can't imagine what you're going through."
  He started crying again, as he got into his car.  Not the tears of a depressed man.  The depression cloud was lifted.  They were the cleansing tears of a man who shared his misery with a friend and was better because of it.  We were both better and in tears.
  I've heard it often said that when you are in a dark place, to do something for someone else.  He certainly did just that.
  I found a pay stub in the vacant locker and with the name on it, I was able to track down the details of what happened, finally realizing that it was not a murder but nearly so.  The link to the article is below.


  http://jacksonville.com/news/crime/2015-04-27/story/domestic-trouble-leads-stabbing-mans-ex-wifes-boyfriend-outside

  I slept until 7:30 this morning and woke up to steady rain.  I wasn't too eager to do my running around in it, so I hit snooze and laid back down, just to be tormented by a mosquito.  I killed him and several others after, as though they were waiting in line, for me.
  I thrashed around with them until 8:30 and finally sat up.  I made a cold instant coffee and realized how long it had been since this had been my morning ritual.
  I had hidden my Large pack the day before, among the short palm trees that covered the area and halfway through my hobo latte, realized that it was still there, having forgotten to bring it under the protection of the tarp when I returned to camp.  I retrieved it and was relieved to find it fairly waterproof, though I was glad it was mostly full of just damp clothes.

  Yesterday I went to the Church of Christ where I had volunteered a few years ago and they gave me a couple bags of food, to get me by.
  The lady who greeted me said "I remember you!"  The other handful of workers there were new and unfamiliar to me but very nice.
  Her name is Patricia and she told me if I came back today, they would have a tent for me!
  I asked her about another old friend, who had worked there, as I had heard rumors that he wasn't doing so well.
  She affirmed my fears by telling me he was at a convalescent home and that they thought he was in his last days.  She gave me the address and told me I should go see him.

  His name is Mike Patrick, although he was known as "Fireman Mike."
  Mike was previously a Fireman and a landscaper, now retired.
  When I met him back 3 and a half years ago, he worked at the Church of Christ and seemed to do everything there but preach.
  He took care of most of the daily activities even to the point of sleeping overnight there.
  So one day I was working with him and we were trimming the trees and the hedges that surrounded the large grounds.
  He was working off the ladders and doing everything quite nimbly, so when he climbed down the ladder and asked me if the hedge was straight, commenting that he was blind in one eye, I took him as being sarcastic.
  We worked further and he made another such comment about his eye.
  I had to ask him "Are you really blind in one eye?"
  He has a rough Tennessee accent and he answered "Yip, I really ay-im."
  I felt kind of awkward for a moment and I think he could see it.
  "Well, I don't like to tell too many people, it bothers me to think about it but when I was a Firefighter, I was on my way to work one day and down in the valley below, I could see a lot of smoke rising and it was black smoke, so I knew there was no water being put on it, otherwise it would be white smoke."
  "So I rushed down there, found where it was coming from and saw a house on fire, with no other fireman there.  I was the only one and I didn't have any of my equipment, because I was heading to work, so I got out, people were screaming and I asked a hysterical black lady if there was anyone left inside and she shrieked "There's a little girl in the upstairs bedroom!""
  "I ran inside and made it up the stairs, checked bedrooms and found this girl in her bed unconscious, so I wrapped her in a blanket, threw her over my shoulder and started on my way out."
  "Now the smoke was getting to me bad and I was getting confused but I found the stairs, made it down them and took a right, when I should have taken a left.  I was lost.  I was now in a garage with fire all around and starting to go unconscious, myself."
  Through the smoke I could see some light, so I headed for that and it turned out to be a storm door and when I got to it, I kicked it out for all I was worth.  Well there was a propane tank, in the garage and just as I kicked that door out it exploded, hitting me in the right side and threw me outdoors onto the lawn, with the girl."
  I could see the pain coming into his eyes as he cut the story a little short, with "I lost my right eye and lung."
  "Oh, God!" was my awkward response.
  The silence became heavy but I had to ask him "Forgive me for asking but did the girl live?"
  "Oh, yeah.  She growed up fine.  I used to visit her occasionally."  This seemed to bring him some well deserved, prideful joy.
  "I met a Hero today."  I said.
  He looked at me with those steely eyes and said "I ain't no #%@&ing Hero.  I was just doing my job."
  "Well maybe, but you're a Hero, to me."

  So today, in the rain, I finally found myself peddling through the side streets, with my laptop and gear in my small backpack and wearing my raincoat over it all so I looked like a hunchback, lurching over the handlebars, heading for the church to get the tent and volunteer to help them again.
  It suddenly occurred to me that it was only a few blocks out of the way to stop by and see "Fireman Mike" but I fought the urge because the church would only be open until noon and I was hoping to squeeze a shower in, also.  I figured maybe it would stop raining by the time I was heading back and I could see him without getting his room all wet.
  I locked my bike up and went in.  There were quite a few people there, mostly older.  Some helping, some getting helped.  A scattering of women.  Men sitting at tables with their backpacks.  A man hobbling around with a cane and a frail little man in a walker/wheelchair combo. I finished talking to one lady and I heard an old familiar voice.  It sounded a bit like Mike.  I didn't see him, though.  I walked in the direction I thought it came from and another white haired lady tried to help me.
  I had tunnel vision for the voice I had heard and just brushed her off with: "No thank you, Ma'am, I'm being waited on."
  I heard the voice again and it lasted longer, this time.  It was coming from the little man in the walker/stroller combo.
  I saw my Hero!  The once lanky spry man was now bent over and sitting down in his pedestal.  He was hard to recognize.  I got close to him.
  "Fireman Mike!  You may not remember me but I sure remember you."
  He still had that vinegar and it came out when he said "Well git down here, so I kin see ya'!"
  I moved so I was in view of his left eye.
  "Of course I remember ya!  The guy from Maine."
  "Yes!  Jeff."  I reminded him.
  "That's it, it's Jeff!" he remembered.

  The last day that I had seen Mike, I was drunk.  I had slid back down the alcohole and he had been trying to talk some sense into me for a couple of weeks, watching me go down the slippery slope.
  Florida had offered me a plane ticket back to Maine.  They wanted to get rid of me.  I hadn't even asked for it.  I was in such bad shape.  I had brain damage from a mugging and I was now an insane drunk.  I took the plane ticket and spent my last night on the island, sleeping on the church couch, with Mike on the other couch.  A lady was going to pick me up in the morning, drive me to the airport and make sure I got onto the plane.
  In the morning, I got ready.  I found a 4-LOCO I had stashed somewhere and drank it, behind the church.  I was as ready as I could be.
  With the last few minutes left, Mike was still trying to talk sense into me.  "You know," he said "You gotta think about what's more important to you.  Your boy, or that alcohol."
  That was my last drink, for a while.  I made it 11 months and four days.  I had a slip and now I have 19 months of sobriety.  It just gets better and better, and so do I.

  So I spent quite a bit of time with my Hero, today.  They finally came and took him back to the home.
  That man deserves much more of a tribute than I can give him, or anyone else.  His honors and awards are hung all over the walls of the church.  More of a man than most could even hope to be.  That's what a Hero means to me.  Not someone who sees a princess waving a hankerchief out a window and says "I'll save you, here I come!" with all the fanfare.  It's someone that sees someone in danger and runs.  There's no thinking about the danger, no thought of reward or applause.
  It's one human caring as much for another as he does for himself, like God tells us to.
  It's a human being:  "Just doing my job!"
  We can all learn a lot from "Fireman Mike."  I sure do.

Sunday Feb 8 

 I had the best 24 hours I could ever hope for.

  Vera brought our beautiful son, Jeffrey, to spend the night with his old man.

  It was late, so I didn't plan on us doing much last night, other than just hanging out and maybe going to Dairy Queen.

  We hung out at the hotel for a bit and then he asked if we could go get some chicken at DQ, so we did.

  I had already eaten.  We got him a chicken finger basket and a Sprite.  I waited for it while he picked out a couple of the many books they have there, to peruse.

  One was a history book, all about North America and published in 1961.  One was an old "Golden" book, published in 1970 and called something like: "Many Colors."

  We read "Many Colors" first.  What a horrible book.  Such 70's racist mentality.  It was like a bigot sat down and tried to write something nice about black people.  No matter how you try to fake it, your bigotry comes through!

  Every page had a black person on it, with a slightly different hue than the last and every hue was assigned to a different food.

  So it went something like:  "Here's Leroy,  he looks like chocolate."  next page:  "Here's Judy, she looks like a peach" and the last one we could bear: "Here's Billy, he looks like a cooked turkey."

  We chuckled but neither one of us thought it to actually be funny.  I am so happy that we've made at least a little progress, in the last 45 years.  At least the majority of us.

  Then we shared the North America book.  I know by now that Jeffrey is only going to eat the chicken part of the meal, so I get to "help" with the rest.  I ate the toast.  Why there is toast in a chicken basket, I'll never know but there it was.  I pecked at the pale, underdone fries and wished they looked a little more like "a cooked turkey."

  We soon finished and after he taught me a few more things from the book, we put them back and returned to the hotel.

  We weren't there long and he asked if we could go for a walk, on the beach.  It was about 9:30 and it seemed like the last thing I wanted to do.  It was only a five minute skip there and it was dark, so I appeased myself by thinking he surely wouldn't want to stay long....

  We arrived at the beach.  The moon was waning, yet still beautifully orange and the reflection of it on the water, was precious.  The waves were big and crashed with a great noise.  A large ship could be seen, far out and brightly shining with all it's lights ablaze.  Everything was wonderful and I was glad just to be with him, anywhere.

  We walked north along the beach and found a dead pelican.  The gently blowing sand had begun to cover it and I flipped it over, to see if it had a band on it's leg.  It did but I had no idea about who to call, or what to do.  I think it was against the law for me to even touch it, but I claim ignorance of the law.

  We walked and walked. He didn't tire and I was thoroughly enjoying it, also.  We saw another ship, probably a tanker and we dreamed aloud about what could be going on, out there.  We talked a lot!

  He loved talking about girls.  I loved hearing about them.  He wanted to know about my first ever date, my first ever concert, my first ever everything.

  We walked almost to Main Beach and I reminded him again we had to turn around pretty quick and walk back.  He protested, again.  I gave in, again.
  He mentioned he wanted to walk to the pier and I didn't know where that was but I knew it wasn't anywhere near us.

  "Okay, five more minutes."  I said

  In fifteen minutes, I got us turned around, against further protest.

  "At this point, we won't get back until midnight, and we want to see this in the light, don't we?  We should get some sleep, Buddy."

  "You're right, dad."

  The way back seemed too quick, for both of us.  We couldn't find the pelican and wondered if he turned into a zombie pelican.  We marveled at the ship, again.  It was in the same spot.

  "I am very impressed, that was a long walk and you wanted to keep going.  You have good stamina, aren't you tired?  I'm pooped."

  "No, dad.  I'm not tired." he exclaimed.  "Is pooped a Maine saying?"

  I laughed at myself.  "No, I guess it's an old person's saying."

  I got the last laugh, though.  When we returned to the room and wound down, it wasn't long before his eyes were showing that perhaps he was just a little bit "pooped."

  I got his bed ready, we brushed our teeth and he got into bed, as I stretched out on the couch.  We watched a little bit of a TV movie called "Super Bad" and it lived up to the title, as we fell asleep.
  I woke around eight, the next morning and quietly did my "morning stuff."

  Jeffrey was in a catatonic sleep and I progressively made noise as the day grew, mostly just navigating the internet chaos.  I turned on the news, finally.  It didn't wake him.  It was now ten.
  I massaged his legs for a few minutes and I think he sunk further into sleep.
  It was now past waffle-time in the Hotel cafe.
  I let him sleep too long, I know but I wanted him to enjoy himself as he saw fit and hey, I slept many a morning til noon, when I was young.
  He slept til 12:30 and only got up because I couldn't wait, any longer!
  He woke up ready, though.  He woke up quickly and we started talking about the day, while he ate some applesauce, his usual morning snack.
  I told him we could either go back to the beach, or go explore the woods and maybe find some turtle shells, near the water.  He chose the beach, as I suspected he would.
  So off we went, back to the beach we left, thirteen hours earlier.
  I asked him if he wanted to walk south, this time and see a different stretch, or if he wanted the same stretch we walked, the night before.
  "I want to walk the same direction as last night.  I'd like to go to that pier, dad."

  The weather was quite warm, I'm guessing in the low 70's and people were dressed lightly.  The only bikinis though, to my chagrin, were being worn by girls approximating Jeffrey's age and I could see that he had mastered the art of viewing without looking.  I knew when we were passing a girl he liked the looks of, when he became quiet and looked straight ahead.
  The conversation was unequaled.  We spent a lot of time catching up but He brought up a lot of events and details, that I had long forgotten.  Wonderful memories.
  He walked like he was on some mission he wasn't letting me in on.  I tried to stop and look at shells and for shark teeth but he prodded me onward and in this way, we soon found ourselves at Main Beach.  He allowed me a quick bathroom break and refused to go, himself.  I hurried so he wouldn't crack the whip.

  Off again!
  Soon Jeffrey exclaimed: "Dad,  I can see the pier, now!"
  He was right.  It seemed like maybe three miles away, there was what looked like a pile of toothpicks from this distance, jutting into the ocean.
  "This boy really has a thing for that thing."  I thought.  "Buckle up, old man!"
  Another 45 minutes and we were almost there.
  He seemed to pick up the pace and exclaimed "I have a plan, dad.  It's a little bit crazy though, so I'll tell you when we get there....."
  He sparked my curiosity and my protection mode at the same time....
  "Well, sometimes those are the best kind of plans...."  I slipped out.
  I heard Vera's voice in my head, already: "You let him do WHAT?
  Her mom senses must have been tingling, because she sent me a text at just about that moment.  It was to let me know that she had called for a taxi to pick Jeffrey up at 7:00, back at the hotel.
  Soon we were there.  It was much bigger than I thought.  It went way out into the ocean and beside it, on our side was a long protective barrier that also went way out into the ocean, made up of concrete and piled boulders, partly covered with goopy green stuff, shells and barnacles.

  I followed him onto the rocks and we crawled around on them, I thought to explore but he had other plans.
  I found a canvas bag, lodged into the rocks and couldn't pull it out.  The thirteen year old part of me knew that it was filled with gold and gems and thousands of dollars but I couldn't get it out, before Jeffrey was too far away and I rushed to catch up.
  A man was now there, also.  It was like he appeared out of nowhere, so he must have just jumped over from the other side of the wall, suddenly.  Jeffrey started talking to him and the man seemed kind of dazed, though he appeared like a regular Joe.  I didn't know quite what to make of him.  Jeffrey informed him that we were walking to the end of the barricade so he could get a movie that probably nobody has dared to get before and that he was welcome to join us!
  Now I finally knew what his crazy plan was!  Crazy, indeed!
  The man suddenly looked more dazed, shook his head no and mumbled something.  He soon left.
  "Is that your crazy plan?"  I asked.
  "Yes."  He said as he kept going.
  I was taking a moment for that to sink in.  It was a very long way out there.  He is used to walking on flat land and though he was taking very careful steps, I knew his ankles and leg muscles just weren't used to that sort of terrain.
  I was sure this wouldn't last long, once he realized just what the feat involved and how slow our progress was.

  I was wrong.
  I checked the time.  It was almost time to turn around and walk the two hours back for the taxi.
  I gingerly explained this to him and I could tell it was breaking his heart, though he was trying not to show any emotion.  He took out his phone, took a video and sent a text to Vera.
  He kept crawling further out and with a heavy heart, I explained the situation to him, again.  "We really have to go, Jeffrey.  I'm very sorry but we do."
  It broke my heart and I have to say I could see him shaking a little bit with emotion but we got off the rocks after assuring him we would come back, some day soon.
  We headed back down the beach.
  After 20 minutes of walking and the emotion finally past, Jeffrey got a text from Vera.
  He read it and looked at me with excitement in his eyes.
  "Dad, Mom said we can stay late!  She basically gave us permission to do anything!"
  I thought, "Oh Lord, what has she done?"
  He was off!  Back to the rocks, he started to run.  He occasionally turned around to see that I was keeping up.  I didn't like the situation for many reasons.  He was filled with joy but I was thinking of all the dad reasons that this was a bad idea.  The rocks were slippery and the going was slow.  The tide was coming in and it was getting late, only an hour of light left.
  I really wanted to just take control and go home but the bigger part of me wouldn't.  I didn't want to hurt the relationship we were building after being apart for the last three years, other than a camping trip, last summer.
  "Lord, please let him see the situation, he has tunnel vision, right now."
  Up onto the rocks, he went.
  The going was fairly easy for me, as I am used to this sort of thing but he was very carefully slow, like he should be.  There was just no way this was going to happen, as it was easily an hours walk, out to the end.
  I brought up the tide situation to him and it stopped him for a moment.  I told him the rocks would be covered with water soon, that it would be dark shortly and that people have to be rescued in situations like that and we were a good distance out there.
  "Do you think you could do your movie here?" I asked apologetically.
  "Maybe." was all he said, deep in thought.
  He went on but his direction veered.
  "Maybe I can get onto that rock over there."  he pointed to a large boulder.
  I hoped I knew where this was going.
  He got carefully onto it and started fiddling with his phone.  Once he had the settings to his liking, he took a panoramic sweep with the video setting on and seemed to end on me.
  Happy with his trophy, he climbed down and we made our way back to the sand.
  It all humbled me.  I loved this boy like never before.  There is just something about him that isn't easily put into words.  A genuine love for life and everything in it perhaps but no, it was something more than that.
  I held my hand up to the sun, to check the time and told him we had about 45 minutes until sunset.  I started walking at a good clip and he kept falling behind so I kept an eye on him and he ocassionally looked up and ran to me.  He now seemed more inclined to notice the flotsam and jetsam along the beach which really told me that the reason he was so intent on just walking all morning, was that he really did make that pier the goal for the day.
  We took many stops to look at notes and pictures left in the sand by other beach-goers and Jeffrey even left one of his own.
  Just before the sun set, we saw the last of the notes and we stood there looking at it, trying to decipher it's message, written with shells and obvious joyful pride.  We finally made it out and I took a poorly lit picture of it:

6 MONTHS!

  I said a prayer for the artist.  I thought briefly about my own journey.  I had 1 day shy of 19 months sobriety and best of all, I was enjoying it, on a beautiful beach day, with my incredibly special son!

  I made myself leave but it was difficult, as I felt a connection with that unknown artist.

  We plodded on, the last hour in the dark and soon we were back near the bar, by the street.  I asked him if he wanted his shoes back on and he declined the offer.  He had removed them, when we started so he could run on the shells and toughen his feet up, he said.

  Back at the hotel I made him some supper and began to get his gear ready to go home.

  Vera texted and verified the taxi would pick him up at 8:00 as she was still working.

  A half hour was all I had left with him, for now.  With everything ready and near 8:00, we waited outside for Kenny the taxi-man.

  We talked for a few, recapping our adventure and looking forward to the next one.

  Kenny showed up, right on the money.  I put Jeffrey's gear in the taxi, not being able to help the melancholy feeling of departure but hiding it with a smile.

  We hugged and said goodbye.  His eyes were watering and mine were about to.

  They were gone, into the Florida night.

  I went back inside.

  I thankfully prayed and wonderful thoughts came to me.

  I was reminded of the relationship I have with my Heavenly Father and how much it parallels my relationship with my son.

  How much God tries to lead me, in my walk and how I all too often try to go it on my own, ignoring the advice or perhaps through inexperience, not knowing what the tide will do, or that it will be dark, soon.  God, the whole time full of joy, over my sometimes youthful exuberance, ready to rush into battle, without remembering my sword and shield, His firm hand on me, to bring me back, into his safety.

  I was left with a great feeling that I need to do whatever it takes to stay near Jeffrey.  He needs me to help him navigate the goopy green rocks, in life and I greatly need him, he gives me great purpose and love.

  Now it's Friday and Jeffrey will be here in a few short hours, so I have to cut this shorter than I would like too.  I have to finish an application and get it in, to the hotel I'm about to check out of, tomorrow.

  I'm about to camp out, again.  I'm looking forward to some jungle time and some much awaited time crafting some items from the local flora.  I hope to find some work quick but until then, I'd like to start making a Gilligan hut.  I'll take pictures, I promise!

  I'll end this with a prayer:

Dear Heavenly Father,

  I pray your blessing and guidance on all those who read this.  I pray your hand, upon our lives, our sicknesses and our very steps.  Please let us feel your presence and let us know that you are with us.  Help us when the tide changes and keep us from the darkness.  I pray that we always seek you, Lord and avoid the distractions the world throws at us.  I pray that whether we may know you, or not, that we come to know you, like never before.  In your son, Jesus Christ's mighty name, we pray, AMEN!!!

 Yay!  A new laptop, thank you Lord!
 I changed the blog name, I hope you like and understand it's meaning.  It was originally my first choice for a title but already taken by someone else, though free now.
  So here I am in Florida, at the Day's Inn until the 2nd and very grateful for that!
  I'm back into the great unknown but I like it.  We'll see where God leads me next, I am up for anything He has.
  I really, really miss my friends in Kentucky and everything that was going on there but nothing compares with the joy of seeing my son and the great friends I have here on the island.  These friends witnessed my turning around and my fight to get sober.  They are some of the most special people in my life as we are fighting the same battle together.
  As most of you know, I am working on a big story and trying to also post on this blog, when I can.  I have failed on that last part, lately.  I would love to write at length about my friends in Kentucky and some of the adventures but I think I would do them more honor in the "bigger story."
  So after getting my work done to an acceptable degree in Kentucky, I said good-bye to my dear friends Mike, Robert, Doris, Tammy Tama and the folk's at McDonald's, I had come to love.  Mary Lou and Ross decided that they wanted to give me a ride all the way to Amelia Island.  I had planned on taking a bus!  Wow, what incredibly giving people.  I must mean as much to them as they mean to me!
  They picked me up at 6 in the morning and we started our day long journey south.  I hadn't slept much and kept nodding off constantly as Mary Lou took great joy in yelling "BINGO" every time I did.  We all had a grand time, teasing each other all the way.  My favorite memory was of tiny Mary Lou having 3 bags of chips open in the car, just to find her in the store buying 2 more bags of chips, at the next stop!
  Ross bought me a six-pack of Big Red, a soda that is only available in Kentucky, apparently.  I can't find it anywhere else and wouldn't be surprised if it is manufactured out in the woods, beside a crick.    I believe it may have an illegal amount of sugar and caffeine as it's main ingredients, with a little splash of carbonated water.  It's as much a staple there, as Moxie is back in Maine.
  We also had a great laugh at at a place we stopped near, off the highway, called Beaver Carpet, but I won't get into that......just yet.....
  A little after 9 p.m. we arrived on the island.  Too short a time, as is my telling of it.
  We did a short circle around town just as they were "rolling up the sidewalks" for the night and the only available place to eat was a Burger King so we decided to punish ourselves with their food and went in.  I wasn't really hungry but wanted that last meal with them.
  There were only two guys working there and they were very tall.  With my best accent I asked if the entire island was inhabited by giants.  I got a laugh.
  Our crap was ready, before long and it really lived up to my wording as it was real crap.  Everything was cold, except for the fries.  Ross and I were too tired to complain and just ate it but Ross brought Mary Lou's burger back for them to heat up.  I think they put it in a microwave and she soon got back some hot, nuclear waste, crap.
  We ate but poor Mary Lou only had a couple of bites and left the rest.  Those boys were in trouble!  She very politely went up to the counter and told them what they apparently didn't know about hamburger knowledge and service.  Everything that she had learned over 84 years.  ALL of it.  Those giants behind the counter looked pretty tiny by the time we left.
   I had planned to sleep in the woods.  "Not while I'm here, you're not."  Decided Mary Lou.
  Ross drove back to the Day's Inn and they checked me into a room
  It was a sad good-bye, with hugs all around and hopes of my return to Kentucky, from both sides.  My dear friends left and I waited on the balcony until they drove off, out of sight.
  I did a few things to get set up in the room.  I turned on the t.v.  It was the first chance I had had to watch one, in a long time.  Not surprisingly, it was the same crap that was on when I had last seen one.  Same news, even.  Same politics. same nothingness was going on the whole time I was out enjoying life.
  I decided to take a little nap and didn't wake up til 5:30 in the morning.  Not just the first t.v. but also the first bed I had encountered in a long while.  I felt spoiled and thankful for it!
  I made hotel coffee and started the day.  I had the hotel breakfast and checked on renting one of the bikes they offered, in front of the office.  $5 an hour and $25 for the day!  They weren't exactly shiny and I joked with the lady that I would pick up a can of oil to lube the one rusty gear it had, for no charge.
  I mostly wanted the bike to make it to my favorite AA Meeting!  I couldn't wait to see my friends, after 3 years and share my sober joy with them.  The lady at the desk told me I had to have the bike back by dark.
  There was a meeting at that particular clubhouse at 7, 11 and also 7 p.m.  I planned on running around all day and making the 7 p.m. but now I would have to make the meeting without the bike.  I didn't mind too much, though.  I like walking.
  So I took the bike out to one of my old haunts, Egan's Creek Greenway, in hopes of getting photo's of alligators.  I biked around and found my usual spot.  No gators present, too chilly out.  There was my old bench, to greet me.
  I had a sudden urge to drink, more so than any I had had since getting sober.  As wonderful as I felt, I was shocked to have an urge.  Revisiting an old spot brought it back.
  I used to get drunk on that bench, often.
  One day I was getting drunk and passing out on the bench, all day.  I woke up and an alligator was looking at me.  I don't think he wanted a beer!
  I decided the 11 a.m. meeting was a better idea.  The urge was brief but I wanted to start this island adventure off right.
  I pedaled toward the meeting, it was early so I went slow and passed the spot where I had my camp in the woods.  It was gone.  Bulldozed and the groundwork being done to put houses in.
  I made the meeting early and enjoyed a good pre-meeting with several folks who remembered me and seemed surprised that I was making it.  I was very happy to see them.
  There were, however, three people that I was most looking forward to seeing, that I had been missing for the length of my sobriety.
  I went back to the hotel, ate and enjoyed the beach for a while.  It was beautiful.  I never really liked the beach, like that.  Being alone with my thoughts had finally become comfortable, for me.  I thoroughly enjoyed it and seem now to have an urge to go back!
  I returned the bike and started the 45 minute walk, to the clubhouse.  I went in, through the room and to the kitchen for a coffee. I was pouring when I saw someone walking toward me, saying "why didn't you call me for a ride?"
  I won't say her name, because it's AA after all but I can tell you she is one of the three I was most hoping to hug.  I immediately got one and it was a great one!  A person so dear and who helped me so much in my early days.  It was suddenly like I had never left.  What a great, special meeting, it was with her.  There was even a surprise 8 o'clock meeting and we stayed for that one, also.  There were other folks there that I remember and who were happy to see me and I them.  It was the first meeting I "shared" at, in a long time.
  What a wonderfully blessed day and a beautiful evening.
  We hung out until almost twelve, sitting in her car, catching up and talking about the good stuff.  Life.  She loves it, also.  I love her dearly and wish the world was filled with souls like hers.  It would be a better place.
  One of the other people I really wanted to see, is her brother and she assured me that he would be at the 7 a.m.
  I went to sleep blissfully, forgetting to turn my phone back on after the meeting and sleeping til after 9.  Oh, boy.  I didn't make a meeting at all that day.
  It turned out very special, though.
  Jeffrey took the taxi to see me after his homework club and we went to Wal-Mart to do some shopping.  We planned on walking to a restaurant afterward, called Beef  'O Brady's.
  He didn't want anything at Wal-Mart.  All my suggestions fell on deaf ears.  He just wanted to be with me.  I was very moved by his love.
  I bought him some target's and such for his B.B. gun even though he said he didn't need them.  He was entranced by the knife selection, though.
  He wouldn't say he wanted one but I could see it in his eyes.
  "Well you've done really well with the Leatherman I bought you but I can't get you a knife without talking to your mom about it first."
  "Yes."  He agreed.
  Finally in the sporting section his eyes sparked again, as we passed by the weightlifting section.  He tried everything out and we decided on what he should have and what was better of staying on the shelf.
  "I can get you this, Buddy but we're walking to the restaurant, so I'll have to pick it up with Momma, so she can drive it home for you."  I apoligized.
  "You have that backpack, dad.  You can fit it all in there!"
  I had to stifle a laugh, as I thought of walking the distance with 100 pounds of weights and bars sticking out of my small pack and eating in the restaurant with them at the table.  Precious boy.
  We bought the small stuff and walked to the restaurant.
  It was a great meal with him.  I can't rave about the place but Jeffrey made it special, for me.  I heard all about the girls at school and the things that were important to him.  I could go on about the details but it would probably only be special to He and I.
  Too quickly, our time was over so we hugged and exchanged "I Love You's" and "More's and such as he got into the taxi, to go home.
  I stayed up late, unable to stop thinking of all the goodness of life.  I was unable to write, having grown rusty over the past month of non-writing.
  I finally went to bed at 1 and got up at 5, to make the 7 o'clock meeting.  I was looking forward to it!
  I showered and got ready.  I started walking about 6 and it was dark and cold.  I walked fast!  A lawn sprinkler suddenly attacked me and chased me down the sidewalk!  It got me in the shoulder and I took a shot to the head and leg but I limped on.  The show must go on!
  I finally got to the meeting and poured a coffee to warm up.
  I received the same greetings as before.  People shocked and delighted to see me for the first time in years.  Astounded and grateful to see me sober.  Me too!  Very grateful and astounded.
  A man walked past me and into the room.  He hadn't seen me and he was sitting at a table when I went in.  He was the second of the three I most wanted to see!  I walked over and put my hand on his shoulder.  He turned around and instantly gave me a huge hug. We talked and caught up on life.  We had a laugh when he told me a story I didn't remember.  He said at a meeting a few years ago, when we were going around the AA room introducing ourselves to the group, it was my turn and I said "Hi.  My name's Jeff and I'm drunk."
  I noticed a lady moving through the room and she sat down right across the table from the friend I was talking to.  She hadn't noticed me yet.  I looked right at her with my biggest smile and she saw me.  I loved the look that was on her face.  Everything stopped for a moment and then she ran to me!  "JEFF!  I can't believe it!"  she sang.  She is one of the people who never gave up on me.  "I knew you could do it, Jeff.  I knew you could!"
  It was a great meeting, in every way.
 

   I can remember back to a beautiful woman in my youth.

  Her name was Doris Mardosa and she was my Grammy!

  She was a delight to all who knew her, not just me.

  I now have the perfect example on how to live my life but way back then, it was her.

  Us three boys cherished her!  We never witnessed her doing anything wrong.  She must have, of course but we could never catch her!  We tried.

  She was my Fathers Mother.  She was the glue that held the family together.  The one you could always depend on and she expected nothing, in return.

  One day, things changed.

  This wonderful nurse and lady, who had done so much for everyone else, found out that she had cancer.

  First it took her breast.

  She did better for some time but it started on the rest.

  She grew weaker by the month.

  Towards the end, she was in a nursing home permanently.  It seemed like we were there everyday.  We wanted to enjoy every moment with her.  I can even remember sleeping there, although it was against the rules.  Her caretakers loved her and they allowed my Father and I to.

  Christmas came and it was being planned on that she couldn't leave the hospital to enjoy it at her home, with us.

  We were all dismayed but determined to have it at her place, anyway.

  Then, she got a little better.  Not much and not enough but enough so the doctors thought she would be strong enough to spend a couple of hours at home, to have Christmas with all of us!

  The day arrived and we couldn't wait.

  The ambulance arrived at her house and two nice men brought her in.  They set her up comfortably and left for a couple of hours.

  I don't remember much that went on with the gifts and such.  I remember just being happy she was home and that it would be our last Christmas with her.

  Too soon, the ambulance men came back.  Grammy was very tired by then.  She needed to go.

  They prepped her to move and set her into the ambulance.  When she was ready to go, one of them returned and handed someone the bill for the ambulance ride and services.

  The bill totaled $0.00 and in handwriting, said: Have A Merry Christmas, Thank You!

  Life went back to visits at the nursing home, to see her.

  It wasn't very much longer, at all.  Maybe she used the last of her strength for Christmas and for us.

  The doctors told us she didn't have long.  Somehow all the machines they had her attached to, told them.

  I think they said a few days.

  "A few days!  How could this be?"

  We were there around the clock and the clock ticked away.

  There was a lot of hidden crying and a lot of crying that couldn't be hidden.

  The day came that the machines told the doctors "A few hours."

  A little while later, it was thought best that I go to "The Waiting Room."

  I went there and sat down.  I couldn't read, I was crying.  Some patients visitors went walking buy and they were very noisy, it seemed.  Maybe they weren't noisy and I just hated their joy.

  I walked into the hallway and saw another room, marked "Recreation Room."  Through the glass of the closed doors I could see a couch and I thought I would have some privacy, on it.

  I slipped in and sat down.  A piano was just in front of me.

  It was quiet.  Too quiet with my thoughts.

  A solid door at the other end opened and a man wheeled himself through, in his wheelchair.

  He didn't even look at me and rolled to the piano.

  Without a warm-up, he began playing the most beautiful song.

  I had never heard it before and haven't since.

  It touched me so!

  I wished it wouldn't stop but after about five minutes it wound down to the finish and ended.

  The man closed the cover on the keys and wheeled himself out, the way he had come in.

  It was over and I was then crying pools.

  Something else happened, then.

  Like a small voice inside, I heard "She's gone, Jeff.  She's in Heaven, now."

  I must have had a tear reserve, because they were flowing like rivers.  I couldn't stop.

  I thought about God.  I wished God was like this.  I felt a personal comfort in what just happened.  It went against everything I had learned about Him, in church or from anyone.  I shrugged it off then but thought about it often, after.

  I suddenly thought about my parents and that I should go find them!

  I stood up and turned to leave.  They were in the hallway, looking into the waiting room, for me.  I could see they were crying.  It looked like my mom asked "Where is he?"

  They paused and tearfully hugged.  I walked out through the doors and they looked up at me.

  One of them said "Grammy passed away, Jeff."

  "I know." I said.

  We all hugged and cried.

-------------------

   

   I believe with all sincerity that God is with us, all our lives.  That he is there to comfort us and help us through the difficult challenges that we all go through.

  I also believe that our ears and eyes become closed to him, in part because of all the evil we see, hear, think, do and witness in other ways.

  Sometimes God taps us on the shoulder and we shrug it off.

  The day finally came for me when my eyes and ears were opened and I stopped with all the shrugging.

   I listened.  I saw.  I witnessed Him and I finally believed.

   I originally planned to save this little story to include in my "bigger story."  God moved me to do it now.  For a lot of reasons I know and for many, I don't.  It is shorter than I planned.

   Some of you are sending me personal messages and I LOVE THEM!

   I really felt the need to get this out before Christmas.  I really want people to know what Christmas is about and what it so dearly means to me.

   It is a symbol of the birth of what comforts me.  Nothing else can take His place.

   Christmas is a time to forgive each other, even the unforgivable things.  It is a time for healing and togetherness.  It is time to enjoy LOVE.  Love freely given.

   I pray that you all seek God this Christmas.  He is a free gift!

   I hope if you hear Him whisper in your heart, feel Him tapping on the door or moving you in some way, that you don't brush Him away.

   He is the one true gift that you seek.

   All you have to do is ask Him.  All the Angels will rejoice and you will start to see your true path.

I love you all,

MERRY CHRISTMAS!

  Soon I will take some time to write about the wonderful people I work with but right now I'm just going to focus on the last few days.  The people I work with deserve much more attention and praise than I can give them, this evening.
  On Sunday I slept in, did some morning stuff and got ready for church.  I made it there a little early and snapped some photo's before entering, whereupon I found one less person than the week before.  One lady was not present, making a total of five, including the preacher and myself.

  The "bent over man" I previously wrote about, seemed straightened now and less troubled.
  There seemed to be a hastiness about the service.  The pastor kept cutting himself short, saying "I'd like to get into this further but we are short on time."
  We had only sung two songs.  That was okay with me, I had a hard time reading the tiny text in the Hymnal.
  The man in front of me found a spare Bible when it came time for the reading and handed it to me.  I had left mine at home, because I was having trouble reading it's small text, also.  Also it was a translation I disregard and I thought "I will find the right one, along my journey."  I have been offered and declined many Bibles, along the way.  I have even looked for a REAL King James Version, in the stores, to no avail.
  The man handed me the Bible and the pastor said "Now you keep that Bible!"
  It is a KJV.  Not quite the version I wanted but the closest I have found.  I opened it and the text was very tiny, however I was just gifted several pairs of reading glasses, so it worked out!
  The old pastor seemed tearfully preachful, at moments this week, but it was mostly the yelling that seems to predominate here.  I secretly named him 'Old Yeller.'
  Lot's of yelling about the sins of the world and not a lot of telling of the answer.  
  The sermon suddenly drew to a quick close, after only forty minutes.  The pastor mentioned that "they" needed to catch a plane to Chicago.  He asked if anyone would like to add anything.
  The "previously bent over man," walked to the podium and began his lamentation, all the while staring at me, like he was trying to pierce through me with his unblinking eyes.
  "Unless a man be 'born again' he cannot enter into the Kingdom of God.  You must trust in the Lord and give up your old ways." and on and on.  He looked at nobody else but me.
  I thought of the man he was, last week.  Bent over with his troubles and unable to give them to God.  Perhaps I should have stood up and preached to him!
  As we were all rushed out, I talked with the man who had handed me the Bible.  He was on his way to the hospital to see his very sick wife, Bertha.  I could see the pain in his eyes.  The conversation was too brief.  I told him I would be praying for her and him, also.  He thanked me and I thought to myself "This man is closer to God than anyone else, in here.  Please bless him and his dear wife, Lord!
  I hate to admit it but I was happy to be out of that place.
  I was almost home and the 'previously bent over man' stopped his beat up car in the road and asked me if I needed a ride.
  "No thank you, I just live right there." I pointed to the house.
  "Okay, have a great day."  he said.
  He went off down the road, the car sputtering and shaking along, on the back was a blazing red bumper sticker with white letters, 'JESUS!'

--------------------------------

  At home, I ate and made some coffee.  I prayed and thought of what I would do for the rest of the day but those thought were interrupted, when my phone rang.  It was Mary Lou.

  "Hi Jeff!  Dan is coming to get you, so you guys can start on the roof, is that okay?"

  "I am ready, dear!  I'll watch for him."

  I met Dan, the day before and we had gone over various projects to work on, together.  I didn't expect him, his plans were to attend a BINGO orgy, that lasted until three in the morning.

  He was teased by the others, who called him "The Grateful Dead" and "Jerry Garcia."  I did see the resemblance.

  I thanked the owners for finding help that looked a little bit more "far out man" than I do.

  Dan had long grey hair that may have seen a comb, a week or so ago.  He topped 300 pounds and proudly admitted it.  His chest was like a keg(of nails).

  Dan, I soon learned had never drank or even tried a drug, in his life.

  "I don't know why they call me 'The Grateful Dead', I never really cared for them."

  He said he had just gone to a Paul McCartney concert, though.

  We got to the house, set up a ladder and were soon shredding the old shingles.  I usually use a roof shovel but he insisted the only proper way, is with a "flat bar."

  It was fine with me, I'd done that, also.

  He soon ran off to Home Depot for some plywood and other material.  I worked by myself until he returned and then we ripped off the remaining shingles, replaced some plywood and covered the exposed area with tar paper.  His methods were very slow but I didn't mind, too much, it was Sunday, after all.  One-half of one side was all we had accomplished in four hours.

  He dropped me back at home and I kept his 16' extension ladder so I could start early in the morning.  He said "You'll have to get someone to bring you over, with the ladder."

  I said I though I may be able to carry it.

  "I doubt it but do as you like!" he laughed.

---------------------------------

  The next morning, I didn't wake until 7:30.  I had slept wonderfully!

  I was running later than I had hoped.  I wanted to finish the two house roofs we agreed on, as soon as possible.  I didn't want to accomplish this by cutting corners, I wanted to work longer, uninterrupted days, with hopes of seeing my son Jeffrey, before Christmas.

  I had two quick coffees and a peanut butter and honey sandwich.

  I skipped the shower as I would quickly be filthy, anyway.

  The quickest way to the house, was to walk a quarter mile down the shoulder-less road, across lawns and then beside a long ditch that ran through a field.

  The ladder didn't seem all that heavy, really.

  While walking with it on my shoulder, over lawns and such, it occurred to me how suspicious I probably looked.  People slowed and seemed to look at me, as they passed.....

  I started walking faster, finally arriving at the ditch.  Then I remembered this was the same ditch that thieves had carried the few thousand dollars worth of tools that they had stolen from my workplace.  Including.....a ladder!

  I made it to within a hundred feet of the house to be roofed and realized I had forgotten that there was another ditch, making a T with the one I walked beside.

  "Oh, boy!"

  I wasn't turning back, now.

  Down the ditch and across, I went.  My feet got quite wet and I slipped up the muddy side of the opposing bank.  I made it!

  "Cops won't cross that!" I thought.

  On the ground, dead, I found what I thought was a weasel and I moved him off the trail, to bring home later.

  I was soon on the roof and doing my strip-show, for none to see.

  I had those shingles all ripped off in three hours, even without a shovel.

  I returned home with the weasel, to use the bathroom.  I left the weasel outside, beside the dumpster and returned to the job.

  Robert showed up, towards the end and helped me, greatly.

  We worked on laying out the tar paper and he took the old shingles back to my place and put them in the dumpster, with the loader.

  Dan showed up around three........

  We stripped the shingles off the porch.  He said the new shingles wouldn't arrive until the morning.

  We finished up, covered some material, loaded the van and he was going to drop me off at home, on his way out of town for another job.

  As he pulled into the driveway, we noticed a small pickup, parked in front of the dumpster.  It looked like someone was looking for scrap metal in it.

  "STOP!" I yelled.  "He's stealing a ladder!"

  "What....." started Dan.

  I was out of the van in a flash and Dan moved the van to block the driveway, better.

  We had an 8' fiberglass stepladder on the back deck, to inspect the roof on Saturday.  One of the men was tying it, into the back of the truck!

  You can insert all kinds of swear words in the rest of this story, because they were all there but I'll keep it clean here.

  "WHAT DO YOU THINK YOUR DOING?!!!"

  The second man appeared out of nowhere.

  They knew they were busted and both tried to lie at once.

  "We thought it was junk!"

  "It was in the dumpster!" said the other.

  "WHAT?  You're a LIAR!  I'm so sick of you crack smoking THIEVES!"

  The one man just started apologizing profusely, knowing the gig was up.

  The other man was still trying the innocent routine as I stopped swearing and giving them the "Death Look", long enough to untie the ladder and place it on the lawn.

  Dan stayed in the van and enjoyed the show, though I'm sure he was at the ready.

  "WHAT ELSE IS IN YOUR TRUCK?!!!!"

  "Nothing, I swear!"  I searched the truck, in a rage as they stayed clear of me.  They both looked petrified!

  The truck was loaded with various metals and a dishwasher.  Nothing was ours.

  "IF I SEE YOU IN THAT DUMPSTER AGAIN, I WILL WRECK YOU!"

  "You won't, I promise!" they said, not even able to look at me now.

  "I take that back, DON'T EVEN LET ME CATCH YOU IN THIS YARD!  DON'T EVEN SLOW DOWN, DRIVING BY!"

  "We won't.  Sorry."

  "GO! NOW!"

  They fumbled their way into the truck.  and started it.  I gave Dan the "thumbs up" and he moved his van, out of the way.

  They left quickly.

  I noticed the weasel on the ground, a few feet from where I had put it by the dumpster.  The deer head I had laying near the back of the dumpster was still there, on the ground.  I briefly thought that with my attire and look not to mention the dead animals, those poor boys probably thought they would never make it out of the driveway!

  Dan hung around for a bit and we had a great laugh about it all.  It was a cold day and I mentioned how warm and good I felt.

  That wasn't the truth, though.  I hated how I felt!  I felt very wrong.  I felt like the "old Jeff" that I had "given up."

  I went inside, after Dan left.  I was still shaking.  I hated how good it 'seemed' to feel.  I walked by the mirror and saw myself.

  I looked insane.

  I prayed and I laughed about it all.  I felt better.

  They were joking about it all day, at work today.

  It was okay, though.  I felt better.  I was 'new' again.