The End of the Tour

Talk about a kick in the teeth.

Anyone who's ever wandered around the Wayward Home awhile knows that I've been up to my ever-receding hairline in the ADA Tour de Cure since I first rode one in 2010. That all came to a screeching halt last week when I got a phone call from the regional ADA office letting me know that our home Tour in Watkins Glen had been cancelled by the corporate ADA management effective immediately.

No explanation, no apology, no regret from anyone in upper management. No email, no notification, no nothing. Not even a fare-thee-well and thanks for the memories. You are dismissed.

They killed the Tour and disowned a whole community of diabetics, teams, riders, volunteers and supporters with one stroke of the pen and not a word to any of us. I got a corporate-speak explanation from our regional manager that basically said...well...nothing.

And I quote, "The organization believes this new way of operating will help us invest our donor dollars more effectively and efficiently, and leverage the collective talents of our staff and volunteers."

What exactly does 'leverage the collective talents of our staff and volunteers' mean? If you alienate your volunteers and eliminate your staff, is that leverage? When you destroy a Tour that's 80% ready to go more than six months ahead of event day, is that more effective and efficient?

ADA, you just poisoned an entire area of New York to your cause effectively and efficiently. The people you so blithely cast off were the heart and soul of the mission. They didn't do what they did for a salary or as a career move like so many of the your executives I've met. They did it because they believed in the mission. They believed.

They weren't 'constituents' or 'stakeholders' or 'assets'...they were real live people who saw a need and did everything they could to fill it. They were crusaders and zealots and they bent over backwards to fight diabetes.

They had names like the people we dedicated our rides to...Leanne, Elton, Ian, Caleb, Amy, Kevin, Adam, Donnie, Sandy and so many others. 

I look back at all we did and can't help but feel overwhelmed. We did what we did for love and friendship and a whoopin' good time on Tour day. We did it for the Red Riders and the people we've lost and the hope that we'd win one day and have to find another disease to ride against. 

But they pulled the rug right out from under us. We're homeless and Tour-less.

So where do I go from here? I don't really know yet. Maybe it's time to take a break from fundraising for a while and just ride...catch my breath and think a bit. The Tour was a focus for me during some really dark days when nothing much seemed to matter. Maybe it's time to do something else...

I haven't figured it out. I'm sort of out of sorts when something that I put so much into just stops. Cold turkey really doesn't describe it.

Another page turned I guess and another road ridden. And so far yet to go...

Recipe For Disaster

Here's a long-form recipe:

With no planning of any kind and after checking to be sure no ingredients are bleeding from anywhere, fire all other chefs. Never begin without finding out what's going on.

Start with simple tea and heat over a raging, uncontrolled fire. Add a full cup of the biggest oil you can acquire or in a pinch you can use a sticky Sachs or other approved Top 500 syrup. 

Combine one part Joe McCarthy, two parts Il Duce and add a heaping scoop of Randall Flagg. Mix in a little unshaved Bannon, raw Fox or a touch of weak Guliani to taste. 

Sprinkle conservatively with a dash of Kampf (Mein lends an extra strong flavor). 

You've now reached the Fundamental stage of preparation but don't sign the order quite yet! You'll never be a veteran at this if you dodge the difficult preparations.

A great deal of discrimination is definitely needed to prosecute the next steps so assure that you do not tax yourself at this point as much remains to be overdone. This is not the time to be gay or thinking about aborting the process.

Without hesitation, pay the expenses to beat the mixture thoroughly in poorly drained swamp water and Rush to bring to full boil in a vintage klavern. 

After no cooling whatsoever, siphon off all the unused floating experience and discard. Inflame everything else except the base until golden bronze. Continue to simmer over a smokey coal fire if possible; then water board off any unneeded Moorish froth. 

This will result in a semi-bitter Goebbels souffle that should never be moderated with Nafta seasoning of any kind. Be sure to never use any black, yellow or brown ingredients or imports as a substitute for the very biggest and best of everything.

Comb-over the Putin topping and pour into straight, white molds. Don't forget to alternate perceptions while the jell thickens. Once cold, pop into a cabinet until two and a half minutes to midnight.

Continue to not plan for the evening. There should be no parenthood present at the event, especially any with gold stars in their eyes. Atmosphere means a great deal in these matters and you cannot allow anyone to see...oh...two or more questions about the menu.

Finally you're ready for the biggest event in history! Before seating, tweet the size of your hotel then vet all guests extremely and serve with long knives while wearing a brown shirt. 

Goes best with an aged Iscariot or Quisling in fine Kristallnacht glassware...preferably in a wall booth with green carded tablecloth. 

Remember, climate is everything so use a steadily rising room temperature. Be sure to grab any passing dishes while presenting and approach settings only from the right. 

Serve to millions whether they like it or not.

After a dinner best served cold, offer refuge to guests with similar tastes. Stalin diners from deporting early with an absolutely delusional dessert of Skittles and a TicTac.

As a final gesture, be generous with any leftover cake to the waiting staff. You can't insure everyone will get some but they should be grateful anyway.

Bon appétit

'17 And Counting

I believe it's time for an update. It's the time of year when it's supposed to be snowy and cold but mostly it's just been mud with snow frosting. I'm happy for it though because it keeps my firewood and fuel oil bills a tad lower. Silver lining under the slush I guess.

So where's Home now? Well, I made it through the holidays yet again so I guess that's a win. See posts below for my opinion on that annual catastrophe.

Home is a big empty place for the time being but in the last month many, many lines have been blurred and crossed that I wouldn't have believed possible. From wearing a dress and stockings to venturing out into the world again...times they are a-changing. There are still dark days but the sun peeks out too and I even smile on occasion. I know...who'd have thought?

There are so many stories to tell from all that's happened that I don't really know where to begin. I've met some new friends along the way and lost a few as well. I still have some loose ends to tie up and none of them will be easy. There's things that need to be said and maybe bridges to be burned but at least some of the bleakness has faded. Through it all, the days and weeks run together and suddenly months have gone and I wonder where I put them. It's like running down the road on a bike with no brakes. The trick is to stay on top and never miss a curve.

Tales to tell here someday...but since I'm pretty much writing this for myself, I suppose it doesn't matter that much when I get around to tapping them out. The stories are alive behind the receding hairline and maybe they're safer stashed there. Spring will come eventually and ride reports will follow...those are pretty easy and sometimes make a good smokescreen for what's really going on. I know how I work...

One of these strange days, I'm going to read back through the Wayward Home and see how much I've wandered over the years since I started the thing. Who knows...maybe I'll find something...maybe I'll wonder what the hell was going on...maybe not.

Stay tuned...

Holiday...

It's Christmas morning. The kids have gone to Mom's new place to have the breakfast that we always had together. I'm alone in the big, fancy house that somehow is the definition of failure and loss. 

I'm supposed to be wildly happy just because it's the 25th of December...but I'm just not feeling it. I don't buy the baby in the manger tale anymore and the news is just as bad today as it is any other day. The world keeps on killing and warring no matter what arbitrary day we pick for a holiday that's supposed to be about peace. 

I haven't heard from anyone much except the generic social media greetings and even more generic paper cards with nothing on them but the same message and signature that went to everyone else on the computer generated list of addresses. I miss my family and I miss my friends.

So many have gone from my life in the last few years. I hear that everyone wonders how I am and where I've gone but in the end, it really doesn't matter to them all that much. Life goes on and I stayed behind. I get it.

But I'll get through it...I always do. I just wonder why doesn't it ever get easier? Sunny days will come again and I'll wear the face I use when I go out. Somewhere inside though, there will always be a dark place. It's a part of who I am. Light and darkness...anger and hope...smiles and terror. The endless nights and short, short days after October will never be my friends.

This time of year will probably always be hard for me. It reeks of sadness and things long gone. I wish it would never happen but I know that in another year, it'll come back around to plague me again. With all its desperate joy, fearful exhilaration and panic-filled bliss. There is nothing here for me.

If only I could feel that retail-driven ecstasy that makes everyone so thrilled with December. If there was only some way I could find fulfillment in a mall or satisfaction with Amazon Prime. I wish I could just give up and give in to the plastic happiness and oppressive euphoria I'm supposed to feel. If I could just forget for a while...

But I can't. 

Down For The Count

It's that time of year again. The long nights and short days of winter. And oh yes; the holidays. The season when everyone is expected to be ecstatically happy. I'm not.

And let's just get this out of the way at the outset: I cannot stand Christmas music. I'm a music guy but one more 'Feliz Navidad' or 'Rockin' Around the Christmas Tree' and I may poke out my own eardrums. Please, make it go away.

Having said that...I'm thinking of just abandoning the whole mess for this year. It makes me decidedly unhappy to be so obligated to be so happy. Sometimes it feels like people are just desperate to out-happy everybody else. The only real satisfaction is to score the hot new trendy thing on Black Friday...to have the best lighting production...the biggest and best of everything. Competition is fierce to have the wittiest Facebook post...the most elaborate celebrations...the most vehement public display of unbounded happiness. That kind of joy is a requirement I just can't meet.

It's loneliness on steroids. It reminds me of how much I miss my friends and family. Of how much has changed. It's like I spent a long time away and everyone moved on while I was gone. I worked really hard to reconnect with people I've missed over the years but I realize they couldn't wait around. Phone calls go unanswered, texts go unread.

I wish I could tell them how hard it is sometimes to open up the window in my world. I wish someone would say, "Hey, haven't seen you in a while. Can I come over?" instead of me calling and sounding desperate. I wish someone would come looking for me someday.

But nobody wants to be around the Scrooge who defies the must-be-happy-at-all-costs season. I'm a third wheel nowadays as well so I spend much time alone...which makes me even more sad; which makes it less likely anyone will spend time with Mr. Gloomy. It feeds on itself and I haven't figured out how to make it stop.

And this along with the colder weather and longer nights leads to self-perpetuating crummy days. I spend the rest of the year trying not to look backwards but the holidays are supposed to be all about traditions. Traditions are memories in fancy suits that trip me in the dark and then laugh when I fall down the stairs. Traditions are another expectation that everything will be as it was and all will be well. More expectations I cannot meet.

So what's Wayward to do? Keep on keeping on I guess and try to slog through another two months until it's all over. There's some doubt that there'll be any time off from work this year anyway so the holidays may be a moot point. The carrier already announced that my train will run as usual on Thanksgiving and I suspect they may do the same thing on Christmas and New Years because the 'stakeholders' (a term I've come to despise but more on that later) and the operating ratio require that we work to create wealth for others at all times, traditions be damned. But I digress...

I really do wish everyone the best this time of year. Nobody should be like this I suppose but as the saying goes, "Somebody has to do it." And that's what I do.

Freedom Ain't Ever Free

"Freedom's just another word for nothin' left to lose
Nothin', don't mean nothin' hon' if it ain't free, no no
And, feelin' good was easy, Lord, when she sang the blues
You know, feelin' good was good enough for me"

Kris Kristofferson (By way of my girl Janis)

Must be the week for songs by Kristofferson. It's raining hard again and it just seems right. Ms. Joplin covered that tune for me a lot of years ago and it's still one that gets right down to where I live. 

I'm still here but Janis burned out back in '70 when her friends left her lonely in a hotel room with nothing and nobody to talk to but heroin and a bottle. I remember listening to her ripping out her voice and pouring out her soul on some scratchy vinyl when I was a kid. Her voice was as raw as a rusty saw blade and she sang like she'd dipped her toes in Hell just long enough to bring the fire back with her. I was only about 12 but something crackled out of the old Wards Airline console, took hold and stayed along for the ride.

All these decades later, and so much further along the road, she still sings it straight to my heart. 

"One day up near Salinas Lord, I let her slip away
She's looking for that home and I hope she finds it" 

A song means something when it works its way into your life over and over again. When it never fades to black like so many other things do, like so many people do...you know it's something that will never stop being your own. And you know it'll always bleed where it touches you. 

So Janis...thanks for the 27 years you gave us. And for that one song you tore out of your heart and tucked in mine. 

I'm still "...waitin' for a train and I's feelin' near as faded as my jeans" after all these long years. Guess maybe that's how it goes.

"Windshield wipers slappin' time..."

Ever After

"Things do not change; we change."

                      Henry David Thoreau (1817-1862)

Thoreau is only partly right; we do change but when we change, we change everything. 

The great big world goes on about its way and never notices the tiny little circles of change around each of us. But in the ever-so-small cloud of our lives, those changes shake us to the very center of what we are. Our story is re-written by the changes all around us and alters who we are.

Everyone lives in a story after all and many stories begin with "Once upon a time..." and end with "happily ever after."

We all wish for our own 'Once upon a time' but 'happily ever after' is only a roll of the dice and a blink of an eye. The changes along the way may turn a bedtime story into a nightmare or a stormy midnight into quiet dawn. The 'ever after' that comes from the hand you dealt may not be so happy after all. Or you might run the table and walk away with pockets full. You never can tell which way the wheel will turn but the story will never be the same afterward.

All of us change and in the doing, change our world and everyone in it. Friends come and go, families drift apart, love fades and becomes memory. Things really do change and we ourselves are the reason.

Maybe the peaceful Walden that Mr. Thoreau looked out across never changed much but the little pond in my coffee cup has been full of tempests for a very long time. Changes in the weather that roar like a sea running heavy before a gale and screaming with the voice of an albatross. Changes in everything.

Someday there will be an 'ever after'...but until then, the dice are still rolling.