Thursday, April 15, 2004


Rereading my journal tonight it seems that so far my entries have been a wandering hello, how are ya? Funny how the essentials surface before the incidental even if no particular conscious intention powers them.

I do that, wander. Rarely directly to the point, at least not here, here meaning online, reality isn't. But the people  Much like 3-D life, people show the person that they want you to see. Unlike real life, the illusion does not require the maintenance of a wardrobe. That seems to be the major difference between "real" people and the ones met online, a costume change or two.

There are people important to me I will never meet. Doesn't matter. The conversation is every bit as vital as the ones where matching socks matter, just different. Some of them should have come before the kites and the trains even. Everything sorts itself out in the end.

Tuesday, April 13, 2004


I work in a building that keeps within the bricks and mortar of its walls part of the history of the township in which I live. My office is a one-room red brick schoolhouse built in 1880 and in continuous use by the local school system until the 1926. After that, my schoolhouse was used as the meeting place for the farmer's grange until we bought it. Does it get better than that? Actually, yes, on at least one occasion, the schoolhouse stood witness to the wedding of a local couple in place of a church that once stood next door. Destroyed in a fire, the church was never replaced, but the graveyard behind where the church stood is still there.

The ghosts next door, if there are any lingering don't visit me. They are at peace I suppose. That or they realize that I am already haunted and therefore not much of a prospect. Haunts. How does a person rid oneself of ghosts? I tried, I did. Took a drive one early fall day to a place that I had never been invited but needed to see anyway. I though that would put my ghosts to rest. Instead I took away a vision of evening light dancing off a mysterious blue machine and rolling hills that reminded me of the place where I grew-up. Home, my ghost exorcising drive ended up reminding me of home. More ghosts, I have not been "home" in years and years and I am not likely to go back any time soon.

Maybe this is the place where I belong; living forever in a flat land between rolling hills and great rivers. Neighbor to a small resting-place where the residents know to leave me alone as I am haunted enough as it is.