Sharing Time

I can feel it coming my way
My own death doesn’t scare me
I embrace the future and in it, Death and I will shake hands and I trust I’ll be smiling
After that last sigh, I’ll exist only in the ether and, if lucky enough, in minds younger than mine

My own death isn’t worth worrying over
The death of those who I know will go before me is what I fear the most
My life is shaped by those wonderful beings
Their experiences, our shared memories, the laughter we create, and the love we share have all made me who I am today
When the moment comes that nothing new between us can be shared, there will surely be a dimming of light

One of the most strugglesome elements in my own life is forgetting the forthcoming emptiness my friends leave behind
I must keep my head about me and always enjoy the moments as they come
I must always remember that there was a gap in life before them and a fullness while we shared time
I’ve taught myself an addiction to new wonderful moments and memories and those who bring them

All who truly live have adopted this same addiction
We who enjoy living learn to seek the life in others
This is what makes the end of life of friends, lovers, and family so sad
But we all must seek out new candles to light, new fires to warm us

And more laughter to share

Try Something New

As children, we have such open eyes and innocent, untainted views of the world. Full of curiosity, hope, trust, and a thirst to fill our brains, we seek out new connections constantly.
It's only after we've begun making connections with those that have an agenda that negatively reaches into our own world do we start building a defense and skeptical stance when encountering new people. Once we've gone through our first big heartbreak, been betrayed by a close friend, known a close friend that simply drifted away (which can feel like betrayal), learn of evil deeds done by those who assume positions of power, and witness malicious thoughts in action do we no longer feel that the world is such a wonder filled and safe place for us to be and that we should always be cautious.
There is wisdom in caution, that can't be denied. Being completely open to anything that comes our way with reckless abandon can cause much pain to us and those around us as well as lessen our own self value when we begin to wonder what it is about ourselves that would provoke such treatment from others. Convicted predators will even say that they find themselves drawn to people who exude the meek, victim persona.
So going about life with care and caution is warranted. What is not warranted, in my opinion, is to close one's self off to new experiences, new connections, or venturing out of our established comfort zone. Comfort Schmumfort. Dig in and get your hands dirty. If you want to wear kid gloves, that's your prerogative, but it's so much better for us to experience life genuinely and organically, make mistakes, learn from them, embrace what makes us grow and toughen ourselves to what doesn't. How will you know if you really and truly don’t like it if you never try? How did you develop the little bubble you live in now? You had to have tried something new at some point, right? What tainted that experience for you? Are you ok with not experiencing these new things? What would the You from 30 years from now think?
If meeting someone new, doing something new, or something you've avoided for any extended period of time makes you feel uncomfortable, don't immediately dismiss it. Analyze it. Use your mind and heart to interpret it. Would you rather live in fear and avoid these experiences or know that you tried it out and learned from it?
I have friends who are completely fine with their current roster of experiences and it doesn’t bother them whatsoever that they’re not venturing out into something new. Not that the life they live holds no excitement or a complete shutdown to ALL things new. Honestly, everyone’s different so who am I to try to force them into changing what’s comfortable to them. It’s something for me to adjust to merely to accept that they’re doing just fine as is. I love them anyway! To each his or her own, I suppose, but it’s certainly something for both of us to think about.

Did I get All of the Pigfat out of my Beard?

     It was Friday evening after I'd gotten off work. We grabbed the remaining beer from the Lincoln backroads brewery, the tequila, two dogs and headed to my homeland: The Placer Hills of Thermalands CA. Two or Three days prior, our fantastic, off-the-grid livin, DIY efficianado friends reported that two 400+ pound mangalitsa porkers had escaped and begun roaming the hills and oak groves of their neighbors' pastures.  I knew the hunt was either in full force or perhaps would be over by the time I made my way to our friends' farm. Not to be left out of a mischevious adventure and knowing that the pigs had reached the right age, size, AND demeanor to have outstayed their welcome as consumers (and would soon become the consumed, pardon the morbidity), I had an irresistable notion that I wanted to be there. After all, the best way to prevent  an ovine escape artist from carrying out it's craft is to give it a new purpose in life: turn it into a series of delicious meals.
     On our way, the poor nervous doxie got sick twice in my lap. It's so much fun having such a...special...dog for a pet. Both times in my agony (and undoubtedly, the agony of the sorry canine) I looked in the back seat at the German Shepherd...passed the eff out.  Such a good car dog, but that's just not in the cards for poor Kyu.
     As we pulled up to the house and got out of the car, I looked at the two masses of wooly, fatty, doubtlessly tasty hogs mounted atop a trailer attached to an atv. The hunt had succesfully taken place in my absence (fine by me) and the two hogs I'd previously fed scraps from my own kitchen and garden were found and I was told that they were put to rest by two young lads from down the road. My mind instantly reeled with the possibilities of what the night might have in store for this former farm boy. A farm boy (me) who in his late childhood passed out while observing a sheep being operated on for purlapse issues, much to the entertainment of the house calling vet. I wondered if I'd make it very far into the next steps in the process before my constitution and weak stomach gave up and gave in.
     An hour later, the pigs were hoisted into the air by a recently purchased tractor as two inexperienced but hopeful lads watched a well experienced gent begin the skinning and gutting process. I was surprisingly at ease and couldn't resist but to dig in and help out however I could. It was absolutely hilarious just how intrigued and excited the boys who found and shot the pigs and their sister were.  One could hardly see what was going on with all the young people clamoring and crowding around the hanging carcasses. Bill Nye schmill schmye, this is real science.  It's cold?  One 14 year olds solution was stick your hand in the guts. Hilarious and awesome.  How many 14 year olds do you know that would stick around for any of this, let alone wanna shove their hands into the belly of the beast, literally?
     Eventually, pig one was skinned and clean. Danny & I were steadily working on the other hog, havin a time (and several beers). Another hour or two passes and we've got 4 halves of mangalitsa hanging, heads in a wheel barrell for cheek meat removal, offel taken care of, and we're lugging the four halves into Danny's meat locker for further cooling and drying. I could hardly believe all we'd accomplished, but WHAT a way to spend a Friday. The rest of the evening was spent trying not to boast of how proud we were of ourselves and each other (and by that I mean that's all I could do), enjoying some homemade fried rice (DELICIOUS, Eve), more beers (until they were gone, then moving onto the furnet), and sharing laughs until the midnight hour.
     By no means would I claim that I had any sort of large part in the entire process when considering the big pig picture of start to finish, but if I can jump in and say that I helped (and especially get to dig into the rewards of a well raised and butchered pig), I'm a well satisfied and happy man. To have friends to share such experiences with, experiences that I somehow avoided in all my years of 4H and FFA, fills me with delight, near constant joy, and many many memories. One of my favorite memories this time around: having to ask to borrow a jacket because of previously mentioned dog-car-sickness episodes; then, as the night drew to a close, realising that the jacket had become thoroughly encrusted with bits of rich pig fat and laughing uncontrollably at the fun mess I had made.