Halfway House Honeymoon.

It was Saturday October 6th, 1984, our wedding ceremony and reception had gone well. My wife and I could be very proud of our accomplishment. Our ceremony had been a bittersweet occasion. Amazing the emotional ripple effect that can be caused by the outrageous inhumanity of one sad little man. For this sad little man, a man who could manipulate the vulnerable, a man who posed as my wife's father, received no invite. Through all the sad confusion and ongoing mind games, my wife's mother and one sister felt obliged not to attend. How sad. How very painful.

Undaunted and strong in our unity, we were determined that this would be a celebration of our resilient love for each other. This lady who had gone through so much horror and emotional torment in her life was now my wife. A memorable wedding for all the right and wrong reasons, was drawing to a conclusion.

We got into our car and drove off, passing by St. Andrew's church (pictured), Fort Langley, British Columbia, where only a few short hours before, we had exchanged vows and told the world of our love. We were not alone in our car. For her two other sisters were passengers in a car that was heading towards a destination that would mark all our lives forever.

So on that night, the night of our new beginning, we headed to her sister's new temporary home. Two confused, deeply traumatised teenagers were being driven to a secret location. Soon we arrived at the 'halfway house' (safe house). Over the next two weeks this would be their home. A place where children who had been mistreated, abused, undermined and neglected could discover some form of sanctuary. A place of hope for children in what must have seemed a hopeless world.

In the early hours of the next day, my wife and I said our goodbyes. We had experienced such poignant moments of deep sadness and resilient determination. These children and her two sisters were significant inspiration in my life. As we headed off to our hotel, I made a commitment that I would be a supportive and loving brother-in-law to my wife's little sisters.

By the time we got to our hotel, it was almost time to head off to Vancouver airport. Exhausted, we boarded the plane that would to take us to Los Angeles, California. After a brief stay in Los Angeles, we continued on to our honeymoon destination. For the next two weeks we took in the sights, the sounds, the culture of Cancun, Mexico. We made the most of our honeymoon. I know, despite all the thoughts of what we were going back too, we were determined to experience the wonders of the Yucatan Peninsula. The ancient Mayan ruins of Tulum, set on cliffs overlooking the turquoise waters of the Caribbean Sea, has been strongly etched into my memory. A most memorable honeymoon, with so many extremes, had drawn to a conclusion.

Upon returning to Vancouver, we went to the halfway house and took her two sisters away to our beautiful home in Langley, British Columbia. This would be the beginning of a fresh start for them and hopefully for all of us. For not only was I now their brother-in-law, I was now their foster father. I tried so hard to be a good brother-in-law and a kind, respectful foster father. I like to think that, somehow, I have helped them to have a better, happier life.

The ripple effect of one man had defined the lives of many. The anguish and despair perpetrated by one man, by an evil monster, has, even after so many years, left emotional scars on those of us directly involved.

I am divorced now. What had once united us, destroyed us. Why did it have to be this way? I am confused and deeply saddened over the events from the past. Somehow, I know that I must move on. Yes my heart is broken, I wish I could tell her that I always cared. This blog is the beginning of my closure of a painful chapter in my life.

Heavy Mental.

There is an irony about having mental health issues that has taken quite the toll on me lately. I am involved with others who have their own mental health concerns. Sometimes their issues almost overwhelm me. So instead of being good for my own mental health, they can actually be detrimental. I thought that empathy, being such a powerful force, would help them and help me. Oh how wrong I can be. My positive outlook has been severely challenged.
Yet, despite this, I realise just how far I have come and how far I have to go. Not that long ago, I would have succumbed to such perplexing negativity. I would have thought: 'To hell with this, I'm going back under my duvet.' I know I've got my own life to live. I must not allow the issues of others to dominate my life. I must not absorb the anger and the hostility I have witnessed recently. For if I do, my anxiety and depression, will kick in, big style. I am determined to stay strong.
So I wish to end this rather short blog on a most positive note. Just when you think that negative forces wil destroy your positive intentions; look beyond and you will notice people who will support you through the trying times. I have found support through a very tough time. That has given me a renewed sense of purpose.
As I did this blog, I was listening to the new Metallica C.D. I guess you could call it 'heavy metal'. What I experienced lately might be called 'heavy mental'.

A Conspiracy Theory?

I have a theory that conspiracy theories may be a conspiracy by people who write about conspiracy theories to sell more books about conspiracy theories. Conspiring, conspiracy theory writers? Then again, this is just a theory. I wouldn't want conspiracy theory writers conspiring against me and starting a conspiracy theory about me...to sell more books about conspiracy theories.
So there I was, strolling down the street in the pouring rain. Loaded down with carrier bags after another long trek to the shops. As I walked along, drenched from head to toe, I heard the oncoming roar of an automobile. The dude in a gas-guzzling beast of a car pulled over and said to me: "You know you should really try to use less carrier bags. We all need to do our bit to save the environment."
Now then, speaking of the old dog versus cat debate. Guide dog, police dog, sheepdog ( no, it turns out, that it aint part sheep, part dog), watchdog (no that isn't some terrier wearing a timepiece) and ofcourse we have the sniffer dog (don't ask). Guide cat? Well no. Police cat? I don't think so. Sheepcat? Cats hurding sheep? You're having a laugh. Watchcat? More like: 'watch cat' rip up your rubbish and shit in your vegetable patch. Sniffer cat? Oh yeah they sniff alright. Sniffing around for food. 'Hey you useless human, where the hell is my meal?' Meow...
Once again, I leave you with a couple of random musings. Some of what I am about to write may be true, some may not. You decide. This American dude walked up to me and asked for directions. "Excuse me sir? Could you tell me how to get to 'Li cester'?" I told him that it was pronounced "Lester." "That sure is funny" he replied. "It aint said the way it's spelt. We wouldn't talk that way back in Little Rock!" "Little Rock, that's in 'Ar kan sas'?" I asked. "No man!" He said. "It's pronounced 'Ar kan saw'!" I overheard a woman in a supermarket state the following to the person she was with: "I need chicken breasts." Hey, whatever.
To be honest, I think that people who say 'to be honest' are perhaps not telling the truth. To be honest. You know, I hate it when people keep saying 'you know'. Well, guess what? Maybe I don't know, you know? So, to be honest, you know, this blog may have been all part of some conspiracy theory. Over to you conspiracy theory writers.

Pretty Twee

At times I realise my writing can be pretty 'twee'. Or as Elmer Fudd might state: 'Awww...look at the 'pwetty twee'. You wacky wabbit..' (I couldn't resist a reference to his rabbit friend).

For the longest time I thought the word 'twee' might have been good ol' Elmer's way of pronouncing 'tree'. Not a word used that often. (Matter of fact, I had to look it up in the dictionary to confirm the definition of 'twee'). Yet when I look back over some of my previous blogs. Well 'twee'..that certainly could describe a few of my blogging attempts. Definition of 'twee': 'excessively sentimental, sweet, or pretty'. Or perhaps: 'Something that is sweet, almost to the point of being sickeningly so. As a derogatory descriptive, it means something that is affectedly dainty or quaint, or is way too sentimental'. Hmmmm...

Born 'twee'? Maybe. I wonder what 'Tweety Bird', or even 'Tweedledee' and 'Tweedledum' would make of my blogs? I think, upon reflection, that my twee blogs were my way of trying to work through situations in my life that I need closure from. I know deep down, in my heart of hearts, that closure from such heartbreaking events will most likely never come to fruition. I have to accept the fact that closure from such pain is a remote possibility. So with head held high, this sad and desperate man is starting to move on from a traumatic and painful past. (Good grief!..how twee was that?).

I have two upcoming blogs of a deeply personal nature that I would like to share with you soon. On Friday, March 14th, 2008, I wrote a blog titled: 'The Freedom to Find Each Other'. Fairly soon, I shall backtrack to the time that caused my former love and I to go on such an epic adventure. The other blog will be about our Honeymoon night..and before you think I might be giving out too much information; that blog will be about a very sad yet inspirational night. To say that our Wedding night was, shall we say, different, is quite the understatement.

So now I start to make those tentative steps forward towards my own form of closure. I dip my toes into the warm 'Caribbean Sea' rather than the 'muddy puddle' that I had been so familiar with. Undaunted, I move onward and challenge the negativity that I had given permission to overwhelm me. Well negativity, from now on, it's permission denied. (For goodness sake man, stop all this twee writing). Pretty twee...indeed! Must stop now because I'm starting to feel nauseous.

Under The Moon, Over The Weather.

No matter how down I become, I know that having a bit of a laugh, is a powerful tonic. In times past, during a deep depressive state, I lost the ability to find the funny side to life. In times of such despair it was like pirates had hijacked the 'good ship Lollipop'. Now that is an outrage and I knew I must reclaim my own personal ship.
Back in the dark days, I would click my heels three times, think of Kansas and end up in some sewage treatment plant. (Even my metaphorical red shoes had no sense of direction..hell I'd been better off flying by the 'seat of my pants'). Depression took away my sense of direction. Where was I going? Matter of fact, I didn't even care where I ended up, because I was not of any validity to the world.
For many years I was a very confused, very scared man. I was so ill that I did not even think myself worthy of any help. I 'deserved' to be mentally ill, it was punishment for having the audacity to breathe and take up valuable space on this planet. It was strongly ingrained in my distorted thinking process. I had allowed a negative environment to almost destroy me.
On the verge of becoming completely engulfed with negativity, I reached out for my last tiny thread of sanity, desperately clung on, and embraced the saviour that was humour. Hell, if I was going to be depressed, I was going to find some irony in it. I became determined to try and enjoy life. I like to think that humour is infectious. For is it not better to bring joy to others and be grateful for what we have?
'Under the moon, over the weather'. Yeah, I know, I mixed up a couple of well known sayings. Well the title kinda' sums up how my life has changed for the better. Did I ever tell you I used to be a 'model'?..now I'm 'life-sized'. So the lady told me she was a complimentary therapist. So I said: "Really? Well then, pay me a compliment"....I leave you with this thought. The pirates have been thrown off my own personal 'good ship Lollipop'. I bloody well made sure that they had to go overboard via the 'poop deck'. Oooh arrrrr....

But Hey, I'm Not Complaining.

I was thinking of starting out this blog by attempting to do some fish puns, just for the halibut. Sadly, after coming up with the predictable ones such as: 'oh my cod' and 'calling all carps', I began to flounder.
So there I was on the number 18 bus heading from the wilds of Leek, (the 'Queen of the Moorlands'), to the great city of Stoke on Trent, (pottery capital of the world and a major producer of the legendary Staffordshire oatcake). Little did I realise that upon boarding the bus that I would suddenly think how much I missed having a car. Yes indeed, on the number 18 bus was a group of folks who I believe may have been guests on the Jeremy Kyle Show, (Britain's answer to Jerry Springer?).
Screaming obnoxious kids, rude, loud parents and people I assumed were the grandparents. Ah the grandparents, fine examples of how to use Anglo Saxon expletives in every mumbled sentence they exhaled from their big gobs. As I slumped into the only available seat left, I thought: "does life get any better than this?" Never have I been so glad to see the Potteries Centre and get the hell of that bus. But hey, I'm not complaining.
I've noticed a new kind of rudeness in today's modern, technological society. When someone comes to visit me, I think that is very nice, I appreciate the company. Nothing like a good old 'chin wag' as we discuss such things like the meaning of life and more important topics like who will win the Premiership this season. Yes it is so nice to have a chat. Some positive interaction. So when my visitor's mobile phone (cell phone) rings, why do they suddenly forget they have come to visit me? Why do they think it is alright to ignore me in my own home and have a conversation with someone else for 3o flippin' minutes? Why, for that matter, is the exchange of text messages so vital that it can't wait until they have finished visiting me? What the heck is that all about? But hey, I'm not complaining.
It's a few minutes before the grocery shop closes. I wander over to the reduced section in hopes of being able to grab a bargain. Before me lies a barricade of trolleys that have been stategically placed by a group of people who are determined to take the lot. If there are 30 packages of cheese, regular price £1.99, reduced to 9 pence, they make sure all of it goes into their trolleys. You see, they work in teams, a well-drilled precision unit that will not allow the likes of me anywhere near the reduced food. So they clear the lot, with the exception of the 9 pence tub of cottage cheese with chives. I gratefully grab the tub as I watch them drive off in their brand new Jaguars. But hey, I'm not complaining.
I now leave you with another collection of random thoughts and observations. If A.C. Milan played D.C. United of Major League Soccer, would the atmosphere be electric? Why is it called the 'Mile High Club'? I would have thought at 5280 feet, the pilot would still have the 'fasten seatbelt' sign on. No stopping some folks, I guess. I've heard a rumour that there is going to be a new social network site called : 'My Spacebook', where people go online and chat about their collection of books about space. And finally... I'm very disappointed with the Marcel Marceau C.D. I recently purchased. And finally..definitely..the future has arrived..computers are blaming it on human error. But hey, I'm not complaining.

A Therapeutic Oasis.

The creation of my garden was a statement of peaceful defiance. When I moved in to my home, it was more a matter of: "garden? what garden?" I looked out through my living room window and realised what a huge challenge lay before me. My garden and, for that matter, the gardens around me, were merely dumping grounds for people who didn't care or just couldn't be bothered. Beyond my living room window was a panorama of indifference.
On my own, only armed with a shovel, I proceeded to transform my forlorn excuse of a garden, disguised as a landfill, into a 'therapeutic oasis'. A place for our dog 'Penny' to play. A 'hang-out' for my son Tristan and his mates.
It has become a sanctuary to soothe my soul, our garden has given me a positive focus. I was determined to turn a negative environment into a special, spiritual place. I look out through my living room window, I notice the beauty, listen to the wind chimes and realise that inner contentment may well be a possibility. Anyone for a barbecue?