We always have choices
Is a lie
Told to us
Sold to us
To make us feel like the hard decisions
Are made for the right reasons
Because that silver lining
Is often
The only

We always have choices
Is a lie
Told to us
Sold to us
To keep us from reflecting too deeply
On the unjustness of reality
Because life isn’t fair
And that truth
Always hurts

We always have choices
Is a lie
Told to us
Sold to us
To give us the merest glimpse of hope
Of a world that could be better
Because there has to be
There should be

only one option


I’ve been closer to a bear than this.  I’ve been closer to a bear than this in the daylight, while “safely” in my car.  I’ve been closer to a bear than this in the dark, while trying to make a phone call on the only payphone in the campground and having to hang up on the person I was talking to (The Queen) so I could remove myself from the situation and find a safe place until the bear decided to wander off and I could resume my late night phone call.  I’ve been closer to a bear than this when I was too young to retain the memories but have been told the stories so many times I feel like I do actually remember them, even though I really don’t.  I’ve been closer to a bear than this many times, it would seem.

But this time there was a camera handy.

How wonderful, right?

In other news, do you see the people on the other end of the bridge?  About two seconds after this picture was taken, the bear decided he didn’t like what he saw in front of him (my family, mostly excitedly trying to take pictures) and he turned around and ran towards those poor people.

They say you aren’t supposed to run from a bear, but those people sure did.  They got off that side of the bridge in a hurry.  I can’t say that I blame them.  When your options are run or get run over… there really is only one option.


It didn’t look like much from the street.  The two stories were different colors and different shapes and the second floor looked like a manufactured home.  Which made sense because it was.  How it came to be placed on top of a normal single family residence isn’t much of a story.  He paid off a construction crew in cases of beer to make that mistake.  It took four cranes and two giant excavators to hoist the mobile home up there without severally damaging the structure.  Perhaps, if the crew had waited to partake of their spoils until after the job was completed, the large cracks that ran down the two long sides of the unit could have been avoided.  But, we cannot change what has already happened.

He lived alone but had friends over often.  The newcomers arrived excited to tour such a unique building in hopes that the inside was just as eccentric as the out, but they always left disappointed.  Those who came more than once were invited back because they had seen the true worth in what had been created.  Though, they were all surprised they had been let in on the secret.

To his face they praised his ingenuity and preparedness.  Behind his back they laughed at the absurdity of it all.  The waste.  The unnecessary use of time and resources.  They called him a bit off.  They scoffed until the ground began to shake and then they raced to his house to take advantage of the protection they had thought useless.

How could they have known the fault lines would become active again?  How could he for that matter?  But, those questions mattered little when the shaking lasted for days and a canyon opened where their houses had once stood.  All was lost, except for his modified home.

It rode the tidal waves of earth until the pressure became too great and then the first floor collapsed upon itself as it had been designed to do.  The rollers and tethers between the two floors allowed the manufactured home to rise with the crests and drop with the valleys of the earthquakes.  The layered walls of feathered steel plates crumpled and distorted but held their basic shape.  The roof strained against the angles, but remained intact.

Survivors noticed and flocked to his home.  Most didn’t make it to his front door as the earth took them with its erratic movements.  Those who managed the journey successfully were all kept at bay.  He had no room for people who couldn’t see the value of being prepared.  He understood the hypocrisy of keeping some out while letting others in when all had doubted, including his so-called friends.  He had heard their murmurs and whispers at his expense.  But, they had arrived first, and he knew he would need help in the long, hard days ahead.

So, he let them in even though they didn’t deserve to be saved, because he was preparing for what came next.  Rebuilding.  Growing.  Surviving.

The Demon Lurking in the Shadows

Head over to STMND to read a wonderfully written account of what it means to grow up in an alcoholic household.

Stories that Must Not Die

Please welcome Susan from Polysyllabic Profundities with a story about being the child of alcoholic parents. This post was originally published on Black Box Warnings.

The words that grip me today are saturated with reality. They come from a place of experience. They come from a place of sadness. But they also come from a place of honesty.

Disease is a long and winding road. I am an adult child of alcoholic parents. There have been reams written on the subject, some of it is familiar to me and some seems to be a language from another planet. Each child who has grown up with the same label I have experiences life in a completely different way. No two children live within the same defined constraints of alcoholism and no two children will ever see the disease in the same way. My brother and I grew up in the same…

View original post 680 more words

My fault. My guilt.

I shared something very personal, and very painful, today over at Stories That Must Not Die. It isn’t a happy read by any means, but if you are feeling up to it, please do give it a read.

Stories that Must Not Die


It follows no logic.  It knows nothing of common sense.  It cares not for forgiveness.  It persists even when we know we should set it aside.

Benjamin Button (Brad Pitt): Sometimes we’re on a collision course, and we just don’t know it. Whether it’s by accident or by design, there’s not a thing we can do about it. A woman in Paris was on her way to go shopping, but she had forgotten her coat – went back to get it. When she had gotten her coat, the phone had rung, so she’d stopped to answer it; talked for a couple of minutes. While the woman was on the phone, Daisy was rehearsing for a performance at the Paris Opera House. And while she was rehearsing, the woman, off the phone now, had gone outside to get a taxi. Now a taxi driver had dropped off a fare…

View original post 1,055 more words