Birthday parties, tornados and explosions! Oh my!

Dude. What a day.

My best friend/roommate Curt and I went to our friend Jessie's birthday party today. Jessie is a really inspiring guy. He's in his mid twenties and is an up-and-coming local artist. He works hard at his art, and his dedication reminds me time and again what a lazy bum I can be. He's funny, he's positive, and he's just the kind of guy that you're always glad you took the time to visit with. I've never left Jessie's company feeling anything but uplifted. One more thing; Jessie was in an accident years back, and is now in a wheelchair. I say in one, not confined to one, because Jessie in no way allows his life or his amazing spirit to be limited by the constraints of his body.

I didn't even know that Jessie existed until Curt called me from The Repair Shop (the computer repair shop where Curt works when he's not directing movies, writing movies, attending parties or antagonizing me) one day and told me that Jessie might want to buy my Wacom digital art tablet that I barely ever used (I realized too late that I still prefer illustrating on paper.) Jessie hangs out with Curt and David (Curt's boss) at the shop some afternoons. So I brought the tablet to Jessie that same day and let him take a look at it. In Jessie I saw an enthusiasm about his art that made me smile, and made me remember that love of art that I thought had been burned out of me over the years. I knew after that first conversation that I'd made a new friend.

Jessie's birthday party today was one of those days that I never saw coming, but turned out to be the kind of day that you tell stories about for years. First off, it was a party on Jessie's family's land, a large tract of farmland at the top of South Carolina. A tiny graveyard surrounded by a few tall trees marked the dirt road that led to the party. In a small clearing between a recently planted corn field and a treeline that masked a gorgeous pond that looked more like a small river, a few cars were parked near a camp setup with a tarped-over kitchen, several camping tents, and a few tables. Jessie's big white van was parked in the midst of it. I met some cool people and had good food and good conversation.

We all knew that it was supposed to rain today. Jessie's parents were adamant that the birthday party would go on, rain or no rain. I was not aware until too late of the tornado watch that was underway for Dillon county (aka. where I'm at.) But I figured we'd be fine. Some rain here and there, but a little water never hurt anyone. Everyone else seemed to be in the same mindset. After a few hours of threatening cloud cover, it started raining in earnest. We all retreated to our vehicles to wait the storm out, then resume Jessie's party.

So Curt and I sat in Old Blue (my blue Ford Explorer that's been in the family for years,) listened to music and waited. The rain fell, and the wind picked up. A few tree branches fell on and around the cars, including Old Blue.

Me: Maybe I should move the car over.

Curt: Nah, we're probably fine...

We opened the skylight and looked up at a huge branch right above us.

Me: Forget this...

Curt: Let's move.

So I moved Old Blue away from the trees, behind another car. The cars were all basically in a straight line on the edge of the field now. The wind and rain picked up, and before I knew it, I looked out of my driver's side window and my eyes grew wide. A huge sheet of gathering rain, wind and dirt/dust came at me and slammed into Old Blue. All the cars were rocking now. I looked at the trees, and the smaller ones were bent nearly in half. By the time I was done looking around in that amazed, dumbfounded, trance-like state, it was over.

We all stepped out of our vehicles, and Jessie's dad, Jake, started pointing at the old graveyard at the entrance to the dirt road. The tallest tree in the graveyard had been broken bust above the base, and the rest of the tree was laying over the graveyard at a right angle. The tornado had passed right beside us. The tarp-covered kitchen was a wreck afterward, but everything else was easily salvaged, and no one was hurt.

A bit shaken up, we continued the party nonetheless. More people showed up, and we had more good food and good conversation. Night fell, and it was time to set off some fireworks. One of Jessie's old friends had brought some primo Black Knight fireworks. Super loud, excellent bang for your buck. Unfortunately, these were set off (I'm not going to say by who, but no, it wasn't myself, Jessie or Curt) too close to the campsite. In general, the fireworks went off in an array of wondrous technicolor fire just above our heads accompanied by really satisfying cannon-like BOOMS. However, two of the "throw it and hope for the best" fireworks were much more interesting.

There were two of the W.T.L.S. (pronounced Wootles.) The first crazy Wartime Terrorist Light Show began when a firework was thrown too close to the cars. The firework went off, propelled itself between two cars, and then went off in a beautiful, if blood-curdling, array that sent people cursing, screaming and scattering like mice. No one was hurt.

The second crazy W.T.L.S. basically landed right in front of the now-huddled group of onlookers. Just as it went off, I watched at least three girls run by me at really admirable speeds. When my head was tucked inside of my outstretched jacket and I was praying for the best. The streams of colorful balefire that flew past me missed everyone (again, no one was hurt except for the newly-singed firework tosser), so I took that as a really good sign, ate a few bonfire-scorched marshmallows, enjoyed the company of friends and new cool people, and chalked all of the day's incredible, unforgettable events up to this:

God still likes me, and I'm doing something right. Happy Birthday, Jessie.

Circle of Life, Circle of Dreams

Sometimes old dreams die. This is natural. But when they do, it becomes more important than ever to plant seeds for new dreams to grow. Our dreams, our hope, our faith; these are the things that truly keep us alive.

Raiders of the Lost Mill: Failblog 1

 A few weekends ago, Curt, David (Curt's boss) and I went slogging through the swamp in Dillon looking for old overgrown mills. Our first search was a failboat, but we did find a lot of mud, stagnant water, reeds and briars.

 We started by walking around the rim of a neighboring field to find a decent place to enter the thicket of trees.

 

 The trees were very close together, and in some patches the briar bushes were as thick as tree trunks...only with spikes. trees and briars. David earned the nickname "Machete Dave" as he blazed a trail through the thicket. We followed, careful not to ship each other in the face with branches. Eventually, we cleared the left side of the thicket and found a patch of swamp.

 We made it through the trees to find a patch of swamp, but no mill. The stagnant swamp water started to get deep just beyond the edge, so we backtracked to check out the right side of the thicket.

  David also brought his trusty sidekick, Jim Bob, who was more than happy to run circles around all of us and get his doggy bits cold and wet.

 Apparently Jim Bob thought Curt's rubber boots smelled interesting.

 We emerged from the thicket on the right side to find sparse trees, lots of reeds, and shallow water. Pretty. Annoying to walk through, but really pretty.

 Dave and Jim Bob took a break after clearing the trees and briar bushes. Note the machete in the tree. If I had been a bear...well, I probably wouldn't have had a camera.

David White (aka. "Machete Dave") and Jim Bob.

 After the break, Machete Dave blazed a trail through the reeds, toward another treeline. Dave knew the truck was that way. By this time, I'd been turned around too much to know where we were. I need to work on that.

Boots, meet swamp water. The water never flowed over into my boots, which I was quite happy about.

Stalking Curtis like a lion. A slow, loud lion. Didn't work; he knew I was there.

 Frellin' briars...I was just clearing the mud and water here. I had lagged behind the others pretty badly once we got to the mud and water; I learned that slogging through high water and sticky mud with short little Hobbit-like legs is quite a workout...one best not done in an increasingly hot fatigue-style jacket. Especially when you can't take off the jacket and tie it around your waist due to the high water and the need of protection against clinging briar bushes.

 The briars were pretty awful here, but I could hear that Machete Dave had already cleared his way free of the trees and found our truck, so I was encouraged to keep walking.

 Free at last, free at least...you get the point. We got through the trees and swamp and found our field again!

David's hands after the fact, due to briars.

So tired, muddy and a bit scarred up, we cleared the treeline and found the truck where we'd left it.

Curt, hamming for the camera.

We didn't find any ancient mills this time, but there are plenty of other places to look around here. David suggested higher ground next time...here's hoping.

Thankful

I am thankful that I have time to write. I am thankful that all of my physical needs are met. I am thankful for my children, the joy they bring me, and the joy that I bring them. I am thankful for my abilities. I am thankful for my friends and family. I am thankful for a car that runs. I am thankful that I have finished one script, and am over halfway done with a second. I am thankful for my imagination. I am thankful for my health. I am thankful for my life.

What are you thankful for?

Photo Adventure 1: Little Pee Dee State Park

So I was complaining the other day to a wise friend about some frustrations, and she advised me to go out and have a photo adventure. Basically, you go out to a place that you enjoy or somewhere you've been meaning to go, and take pictures of things that interest you.

I decided to go to Little Pee Dee State Park and do some trail walking,  since it's nearby and I've been meaning to go out there. Just when I thought that I might have missed the sign, I saw the left turn and took it, and then...cows.

Maybe it was the one white cow amongst the black cows...I don't know. She said take pictures of what caught my eye, right?

So I got to the park after a fairly long, winding stone driveway, and walked down to the water. There was a spillway to the right.

Just ahead of me was a gorgeous expanse of water and sky. There was one small canoe out; two fellows out fishing. I was more focused on the scenery, and the hint of a nice house situated out just past the treeline. It reminded me of one of my dreams; to have a nice home, set apart in the woods. Somewhere tranquil like this.

At this point I realized (too late) that the batteries in my camera were dying out yet AGAIN. So I decided to get down to business, as I had no idea how many shots I would have left. I set out on one of the Beaver trails (yes, they are named that) and found this fallen tree on the path that reminded me a lot of an ent's leg. Maybe I've just watched Lord Of The Rings one too many times...

The trail took a little while to walk, but the surprise came at the end of the trail; when I found that I ended up farther back along the park's driveway than I had begun. So it was time to hoof it back to my car. I really have a greater appreciation for my car now, I can tell you that

I guess I could have turned around and walked the nature trail back the way I came, but something compelled me to walk the road with my jacket thrown over my shoulder like some Depression Era nomad.

Along the loose stone driveway, I came upon a really cool flat open space. I pictured tons of small football and frisbee games being played here. Kids running with dogs, etc. A few picnic tables were spread out among the edges. It had a really positive, good feel to it. The sky was a bright, clear baby blue.

It was really gorgeous, and I felt grateful that I had stopped to just...be there. I determined then and there that I need to do this more often.   

Needless to say, I made it back to my car and back home without further incident. It was a beautiful day spent in a beautiful place. I'm really glad I went, and I am very grateful to my friend for prescribing this for my selfish little woes.  I definitely plan to be doing it again soon; next time with fully charged batteries.

Heart shaped box

"Tell me where is fancy bred? In the heart, or in the head?"
- William Shakespeare, The Merchant of Venice

At times like this, I look back a long way - all of it in fact - and I realize that I have a long way to go.

I look at a little black-haired, pale baby boy hooked up to tubes. I see his parents praying to God to save this infant son. They ask more to pray. The numbers build. God hears them, and the boy is saved.

Time passes. I see the boy, now with reddish-brown hair, making swords out of wooden fence posts and duct tape. With those swords, he conquers every land he enters, whether they be his own sheltered neighborhood, or the wilds behind his Nana's house. Fields of thick weeds become armies of goblins. They all fall beneath his imagined blade. Here, he is a fierce prince.  

Time passes. The boy grows to the age where hair on males becomes more abundant than we'd like. One day, he sees a certain girl in a bikini. A friend. Only now, after only months, she's different. He talks to her, and starts feeling a whole mad carnival of new and frightening things. He becomes a young man.

With these new feelings, a firm belief is forged in the young man's mind; the belief that one day he will find The One; the perfect woman for him.

Years later, the young man finds love, and then finds, many years later, that love does not always endure. However, he is introduced to a new love that overshadows anything he has ever felt; the love of his children. He now understands the parents who prayed so fervently for his continued life. The young man becomes a man. After the end of this long relationship, the internal knowledge of finding his heart's one true love becomes a holy grail quest.

Time passes, and more relationships fail or never truly start. The man is very specific in what he is looking for. He never regrets this, as he is not alone, and he knows that when he meets Her, he will know.

More time passes. She doesn't come. After many trials and many attempts with a heart that was zealous, exuberant and impetuous, one day he finds that his heart has grown very tired indeed. At times like this, the heart becomes as a vacation home; the doors locked, the blinds closed. To all appearances, dead to the outsider.

My heart is currently in this condition. I fear that I have badly misused it, and I'm sure other hearts as well, in my past; a fact that I greatly regret. But I cannot fix other hearts, only my own. So for now, it is locked away as deeply as it needs to be, and my days of leaping to action to woo ladies who take my fancy are quite irreversibly dead. I'm afraid that I'm finally done with a game that I never really began to comprehend.

My current plan, then, is to stop grasping at straws and jumping at gestures. To conduct myself with a semblance of dignity and just allow the chips to fall. To protect my heart, and the heart of that boy, as I should have for years. To crow and howl with the other lost boys forever.

Do I still believe in my true love? Absolutely. I just wish she'd hurry the hell up.

Five Years

For five years I toiled in the mine.
I cursed the mine, and I blessed the mine.
After five years, a glimmer of gold caught my eye
and I knew that gold was never what I sought.

For five years I sailed on the seas.
I cursed the storms, and I blessed the winds.
After five years, I saw the shore again
and I knew that the sea was never what I sought.

For five years I chased a dream.
A dream in the form of garters, hose, lace and bows.
After five years, she broke my heart by never appearing
and I knew that she was never what I sought.

For five years I ran from myself.
I cursed myself even as I prayed for blessings.
After five years, I stared at the mirror
and I knew that self respect was what I sought.









- Shane McElveen, 2010