The Poem

I love poetry.  I have since I was a kid.  I used to take books with me when I’d go walking out in the woods behind our house and sit beneath a tall oak tree and read.  Elliot, Wordsworth, Thoreau, Service.  I especially enjoyed the writings of Robert Service.  He wasn’t very subtle in his poetry, unlike other poets who I think tried too hard to seem intelligent.  What he wrote about, mostly, was wild men of the west, particularly the North West.

I was working in Alaska a few years ago, Cordova to be exact.  One of the few days I had off, I strolled into Orca Book and Sound book store there and found The Illustrated Robert Service.  It was costly as most things in Alaska are, but I bought it anyway.  I figured I was making some good money and could spare a bit of change for something to read in my bunk between shifts.

It’s a nice book.  I’m glad I bought it.  It kept me from getting too homesick many a night as I lay there, the sound of floors creaking, seagulls squawking, men snoring and the ocean pounding the shore just outside.

If you never read Robert Service, might I suggest you go to a local bookstore and pick up a used copy of one his volumes?  Google just isn’t the same as holding a book in your hands and letting the words seep into your skin.  Simple, his poetry might be, but I think it strikes a cord with every man whose ever had fanciful dreams of striking out into the wild to see what he’s made of.  That, and finding gold.

“I panned and I panned in the shiny sand, and I sniped on the river bar; But I know, I know, that it’s down below that the golden treasures are;
– Clancy of Mounted Police

‘Tis pale and grim by the Polar rim, but seek and ye shall not fail.’

“And lo! that night I too did dream of my mother’s sister’s son,

And he said to me: “By the Arctic Sea there’s a treasure to be won.

Follow and follow a lone moose trail, till you come to a valley grim,

On the slope of the lonely watershed that borders the Polar brim.”

Then I woke my pals, and soft we swore by the mystic Silver Flail,

‘Twas the hand of Fate, and to-morrow straight we would seek the lone moose trail.

– The Ballad of Northern Lights

Just a couple of snippets for your pleasure.   I find it interesting that the first time I walked into to Collected Works bookstore and got a copy of The Thrill of the Chase, the first thing that came to mind was my copy of The Illustrated Robert Service.

I’d bet a dollar to a quarter that somewhere on Mister Fenn’s bookshelf lies some Robert Service poetry…

No Reason I think that… just saying.

Anyway,  just some random thoughts for you.  In other news, I finally landed a job and start training next week. My wife will be giving birth to my son somewhere around the 30th.  Its likely I will miss it.  We’ll see if I can convince my boss, to give me a day off, even though I’ve just started, but if not, well, as a wise woman has said to me more times than I can count, in my life, “Ya Gotta do, what you Gotta do.”

So there’s that.  Treasure Hunting is on hold for the moment, but I wish the best to those of you out and about. Be careful. Watch out for Bears, snakes, and Reality Shows.

We’ll see ya in the woods. (Maybe)

– Ricky

This Amazing Life

Life amazes me. The creation of it. The beginning of it. The living of it.
When my year and a half year old was born, I cried as they lifted him up and he peed on the nurse. I looked at my wife, who was dazed a bit from the ordeal, then looked at my son again as they set him down on the scale, his lungs filling with this fresh new air then letting that air back out again in the form of a wailing scream, and I prayed, “Thank you Lord”

Thank you Lord for these lives and for putting them in mine.

Leonardo there, to the left, is set to see daylight in just a short few months.  He’s pushing and pulling at his mother, eager to get out I think.  Already, before he even takes his first breath, I’m imagining him in twenty, thirty or forty years.  What kind of man will he be?  Will he be strong and brave? Kind and caring?  Will he stand up for those who can’t stand up for themselves? Will he know God on a personal level and not just as some abstract idea? In those years after I’m not there, what will his memories be of the time I’ve spent with him?  What can I do to help these next few years I have with him, bring light into his eyes?

These are the things I think about.

I’ve been looking for work now since the summer of last year.  It’s been a struggle to get through, wondering how the bills will get paid.  Feeling disconnected from my own self-worth.  Scratching at the buzzing in the back of my head that asks, if I’ll ever find work again and most importantly, when?

When I see this picture though, and I lay my hand over the smooth skin of my wife’s belly, inches from him, I don’t think of what is waiting in the future.  All I think of is that life is amazing. In every single way. Every single day. That my primary job on this earth, at this moment, is to be a father. Whether I find work now or never. Whether we are able to move out of the 2 bedroom rust bucket. to a place that will actually fit more than 5 people soon. Whether or not this or that.  My job is being a dad.  That, my friends, is amazing.

If you came here looking for the Forrest Fenn posts, they’re on you’re right. I’ll have more later when I get a chance.  Now I have to go pick up my 16 year old from driving school.

Be safe out there.

– Ricky

Oh, the blogging, how I’ve missed you.  Not really.  I do sit once in awhile and attempt to write something that is informative, interesting, and has something or another to do with our lives, but somehow, I don’t.  I assume it has something to do with marriage, fatherhood, work, stress, life… stuff that inhibits the mind being able to create complete sentences.

On the other hand, it could just be I’ve lost interest in sharing my life. Ok. That’s not true. I’m a complete idiot on Twitter with little snippets of idiotic ramblings concerning my life. My thoughts on life. My thoughts on other peoples lives. Thoughts on farm animals and so on.  Perhaps I should twitblog.  I don’t know if that’s a thing but if it is, perhaps I should do it.

One of the reasons I tweet rather than actual sitting down at a computer and typing words, is that I’ve been spending most of my days in the truck. The work truck.  Just cruising the country side with just me and my thoughts. Which is quite scary actually.  My thoughts that is, though I’ve been told I have a rather intimidating figure. Which is usually dismissed after a few minutes of talking with me.  That and we have a 5 month old son who occupies a lot of space.  Space once used for my sitting and typing and thinking and stupidity is now inhabited by farting and pooping and crying and laughing and bending and attempts at speech.

The baby does some of that too, of course.

It’s quite wonderful really, if I may use an English sounding phrase. “It’s quite wonderful, really”. (You just need to imagine my English accent)  So much of my life was spent single,

Irma in June

childless and in homes for the criminally insane that I never really understood the coolness of the kid thing. My nieces and nephews are awesome but then you see this brand new human being jump into the world without a clue that its a horrible, wicked place,  (the world) and that you had a part in creating him and realize what a miracle babies are.

“Whatever dude. Blah blah blah.” says the peanut gallery, ” My baby’s a genius.  Life is a miracle…..Overdramatize much?” 

Yeah, I get it. Everyone always says the same thing. Ask any parent of a newborn and through dark, baggy, cloudy eyes they will say “He/She is a miracle”.  I’m not sure until you hold this bag of fat with eyeballs in your arms and see him as yours, will the miracle ever be seen. Baby poop is a joy of biblical proportion. Just think about it. This little thing is sucking up the milk, and then pooping it out in disgusting smelly ways! C’mon! Poop is a miracle!  There.  Deal with it.

Little Ricky at 4 months

God is a bio-engineer of godly proportions.  Yes.  I just said that.  I couldn’t think of anything really to compare the awesomeness of it.  Maybe that’s why I don’t blog much anymore.  I’m a horrible writer and describer of things.

Anyhoo, life is good.. even when it’s bad. You know what I mean? ….. Vern.

Though, just between me and you, if it weren’t for my wife, my mom, my dad and my God, I might be bouncing off the walls right now….you know,  more than I do normally….just saying.

I’ll get back to regular posts of junk soon.  Though this blog may be titled “Ricky AND Irma, Irma prefers not to embrace the limelight…. err… something like that.  I really need a thesaurus.

Killing the Rabbit

 

Baby Ricky - 1971

There was a time in the world when Doctors would shove a needle full of a woman’s fluidly stuff into a rabbit.  If the rabbit died, the woman was pregnant. If not, then the rabbit turned into an exotic human/rabbit half-breed that was ultimately killed before it could go on a sexual head biting rampage….

 

I don’t know if that last parts true, but the first part is.  I think.  Anyway, as time progressed doctors decided to use peeing sticks to decide the pregnancy.  You, being the female, pee on a stick and it lights up with flashing neon if its positive.   Then you go to the doctor and get it done again, because in the end, you just peed on a sick and it didn’t really prove anything.

The whole point I’m trying to make is, Irma is pregnant.

Our relationship has successfully evolved from,  flirty-dating-marriage-baby.   I’m almost 40 and Irma (don’t tell her I told you) isn’t far behind that either.  So, pregnancy becomes a scary concept.  Pregnancy is always a scary concept though.  The idea of bringing an entirely new human being into the world and being responsible for teaching that human being how to interact and survive in a world of other human beings, is overwhelming.  The idea of doing it at our age makes for a bit more thoughtful consideration into how to go about it.

When this child is 20, I will be 60 years old.  60.   Not that 60 is old.  All my understanding as far as aging goes, 60 is the new 40. 40 is the new 20.  20 is the new… well, you’ve met the 20 year olds walking around these days……   Still.  Jorge will be swimming up-stream in his 30’s and Karen will be a few laps away from 40.  not to mention the grandchildren.   Karens daughter will be older than our child.  Insert internet sigh.   It happens all the time I’m told.   God knows what he’s doing and will give us what we need to do our best. He will.  Whether or not we pay attention is the scary part.

I am excited.  I am stoked.  I am scared out of my pants.  Which is what got us here in the first place.  Not the scared part, just the out of my pants part. Its good news. Its great news.

I now have the possibility of passing on my genetic information to thousands of generations.   God help the future of the world.

Our very modern family just became more-so.

– Ricky