Catfish Hotel

catfish hotel-St.Johns River,Florida

Originally uploaded by jayfherron

Along the St.Johns River (Florida) there are small camps various distances apart-long distances! This place in the photo-known as Catfish Hotel-is so away from anything,anywhere,and is only accessable by boat. The river banks at this point are approximately 8 miles apart-the nearest highway overpass about 4-but it is guaranteed,you are not walking out of here.

It is fair to say the Catfish Hotel is a sanctuary for escape from thunderstorms-which Florida is famous for. It was built by airboaters (oddly,out of steel) to escape storms-yet,it has been used as a camp for many years and it comes complete with a cook out grill for a kitchen.

You could drop me off to live there-the isolation is so welcome (however-gallons  of mosquito repellant will be required)…and yet-isolation is so uncanny for what I have in my heart.

I spent yesterday visiting a friend who vacations at Siesta Key-a posh resort town next to Sarasota,an island,but not quite like the island our Catfish Hotel has been built.

Siesta Key runs with the Gulf of Mexico to the west. I remember when I first drove Midnight Pass Road which runs parallel to the beach-this was in 1970…you could see the waters for as long as Midnight Pass lasted. Not today. It is nothing but condominium after condominium. It gives me a sad feeling to remember 1970.

I have dealing with depression again-usually it becomes compounded with the hints of the crixmix season (christmas-for those who do not know). 1970 pry’s at my mind most all of the time but it becomes more pronounced as this time of years comes close-my rape happened in this season.

I’ve been asked a certain question about myself-twice in the past few years. I about to be interviewed in regards to ‘military sexual trauma’ and that I am a male survivor…the journalist asked it exactly the same way as my attorney once asked…”what is your sexual preference”?

“I don’t know”! This is my answer. I never had the chance to find out.

Shocking to some – dumbfounding  to them too. According to the Bible-it is only supposed to be one way. Oddly,I have no comprehension…how could I?

I am a father. I always say my sons and I grew up together-that because it is so. To be a father I had to be with a woman…and may I say-I am sure to be a father of children that I do not know. No matter what the mental capacity of a man or a woman-as long as they get together in some form of sexual moment a child is likely to come of it.

I am attracted to woman-that is why Siesta Key had an impact on me yesterday. European tourists seem to flock there. European people seem to be less inhibited by their bodies than Americans-they dress more freely closer to nude,at least at Siesta Key. I do admit-my eyes tried to drink in as much as they could,the closest I had been to a naked woman (or,nearly naked) in years and years.

My drive home is 3 hours long. I thought about the day as I drove along…more honestly,I thought about the young woman my eyes were longing for. Not  longing for them sensually….longing for the experience I had missed as a teenager-and as an adult,never having the fun and laughs these young people were having. I had never had a date (my first date ever was disturbed by my brother being killed) except some ordeal my parents arranged to help out a cousin of ours. My wives were not products of courting and dates and normal engagements. My first marriage was a true shotgun wedding (less violent then it sounds) and my second was two six packs too many and a blindness only a fool can have…but no dates.

More so-I drove along and thought a lot about what is wrong with me. I am broken because of what happened to me in barracks D.

The insanity of the sickness of what happened there is something I have never been able to walk away from. Some years ago I would do something that I have always known in myself as ‘damage control’ , which is my way of being like a battered wife who keeps returning to her battering husband. I tried to control it but it controled me-I needed to return to what it was that was given to me. The abuse became the only form of touch I could have-because the gentil touch of I love you was not something I could understand…it never was mine.

Through the years I have had many encounters with woman. Beautiful woman…and sometimes not so beautiful. I tried to find someone I could love and accept love from…but the results of the punished life I received at barracks D always stood steadfast in the very moments a moment of intimacy were to begin. I became so afraid-the discoveries…the need to explain-the wish none of it ever existed,but now seems to have existed forever.

Am I attracted to men? Am I a ‘homosexual’ as many have asked? I really and honestly have no idea…I do not know what is normal or is not,I had no other choice but to learn it that way-what was given to me at barracks D. Drunk I could be blasted enough to fall for a woman like my last wife-long gone 12 years now and the last time I was sexually active with someone-ANYONE!. Like a deer with its eyes in the headlights I would have to re-do the marriage I had with my first wife…I only did it because I was scared to death of her dad.

I hated ‘damage control’ too. I did it to abuse myself…plain and simple-my body wants to vomit from the memory of it, but like the Bible says-”a dog returns to its vomit”. Sometimes the urge to return is so over powering, I wish to be dead to be free of it.

The choices would be easier if one could dwell in a place like Catfish Hotel.

The incredible thing about yesterday at Siesta Key…I wanted to be with someone-I wanted to hold a hand and feel loving breath on my neck. I wanted to be 18 to find out what it really was supposed to be…not like it ended up-and what it is. I missed something.

the gift….(part two)

up the Econ River-Florida

Originally uploaded by jayfherron

I want to finish what I began telling yesterday-I was interrupted and after that I could not focus.

I am a grown man-nearly 59. The previous days I had spent in Pearl Harbor found me exploring the USS Missouri and if ones eyes could focus on me in a way peculiar enough to see…they would have seen me as a kid-in parts of the ship my mind was at play like a 10 year old kid,in other parts of the ship-those that brought back memories of my time on the USS Vulcan-I was myself at age 18.

The asian girls that approached me in the Maui airport reminded me of an experience I had in Norfolk one night…all of the trip to the Hawaiian islands was sending me back to before the time got bad. The way being swooned into a jewelry store brought back my crying with the jewelry salesman that sold my ‘mothers pin’.

The sales girls told me how unusual it was to find a black pearl-and it came to me that this was the gift I was trying to find.

As it happened-in connection with the promotion of selecting a colorful slip of paper printed with discounted-or even free-pearls,there was a pendant the clerks showed me (saying it was the most popular in the islands) a small sterling silver whales tail. The pendant had a small post attached and it was meant to hold a pearl. Along with the pendant came a gift card. The card explain the spiritual meaning of the symbol of a whales tail. Strength.

The black pearl fit to make a wonderful combination. This was the gift for Charlotte.

I’m not a gift giver. It’s myriad reasons-but mostly because I’m afraid of giving the wrong impression of the gesture. But for this occasion and for these four friends it was as if like all things-spiritually guided. That day-it was not what was on my mind,but yet-the gifts came on their own. One,for my artist friend Bill-a statuette of a praying Chinese man,was as if it was carved for him specially. My friends had all given me gifts-gifts that can only come from within…not available for purchase or expecting exchange. I know trinkets are not expected-but from my heart I wanted to give something.

It was one year ago exactly that I received the paperwork from the VA signed by their judge stating “no wrongdoing”….in relation to my time spent in barracks D. They admitted there was no reason for my being there-and agreed that I had been permanently hurt. I can’t yet explain what that feels like. After 35 plus years of this and how many more yet to come?

I havent seen Charlotte since this time last year. I took my papers to her new office and we read them in awe of what had just happened…the truth was told.

My gift was given through a friend who gave it to a friend who gave it to Charlotte for me. I wasn’t certain if  gifts could be accepted and wanted it to be somewhat legitimate…after all,a client didn’t give it-did they?

Last week I had a routine look see by the physician I am assigned to at the VA. I am a reluctant sceptic returning to VA care because my new status as a ’service connected’ disabled veteran say I deserve it…I still can’t see how,but now my health is troubled-I guess so.

As the doctor was putting everything into the computer I saw a pendant hanging on her neck…a wooden hand carved whales tail.

I could not help commenting-she responded back that a patient had made it for her…a symbol of strength.

I miss Charlotte. It is hard to walk away from seeing her again.  These days I could use her power of listening and the comfort of knowing she cared.

It has been a full year. It has been a year that has spoken loudly to me-the VA disability is still swirling inside of me. I cannot comprehend it how it has all come to be. Pearl Harbor? The visit was one of great emotional strains-seeing my son in his Navy uniform,to walk the base every morning and look out at the ships in rows,to be able to visit a variety of ships. All pulled at my heart. I am in awe of the majesty of it-how huge this really is. And-how sad it still makes me.

Forty years ago during this season my life was still innocent. I was in the Navy and had just a month before joined the crew of the USS Vulcan. The education officer on board ship had remarked that I had potential-my test scores showed I did too…my thrill of the news that I could exchange some of my life to give to the Navy as an officer was busted by my brother. Little did I know that my time in the US Navy was coming to a close and the rest of my life would be spent remembering how.

Just like there is no way I can ever regain what was taken away from me 40 years ago there is no way I can ever explain to my four friends who I found gifts for how much they mean to me and that the gifts would be for them to remember me as I will always remember them-and nothing else.

the gift…

sunset at Possum Bluff,located on the St.Johns River,Florida

Originally uploaded by jayfherron

The last time I wrote I mentioned how depression starts bothering me around this time of year. My body and life has moved into an older man but my feet are stuck where I was at age 18.

It was this season in 1969 that I became a member of the crew of the USS Vulcan ( AR-5) .

Like I said-I was 18,and like many young military man at that time,it was my first time away from my family.

The division I worked in-the galley-allowed me everynight off and every other weekend. I took advantage of my new found freedom-no mom and dad to apply a curfue-I’d take the liberty bus into Norfolk and walk Granby Street.

Granby Street was lined with shops to attract the sailor. There where ‘champaign lounges’ where the sailor might go and be conned to buy champaign for the ladies who blew in your ear and whispered nothings. Six dollars a glass made my visit to a champaign lounge really short-we were only paid 79 dollars a month.

There was another shop on Granby that sold jewelry.

It was once upon a time that shops had hawkers-salesmen that stood on the street in front of the shop and would begin the sales process the moment you walked by. One of those hawkers caught me and talked me right in to the counter to show me a pendant. It was called the ‘mothers pendant’…it was designed for all the mothers of sons who were serving,especially the sons in Viet Nam.

He called it the ‘mothers pin’. He had me so convinced to buy this we both were shedding tears-true,he was that convincing. Besides-I was offered credit and UPS shipping…I could’nt have felt more mature.

My brother Frank (we were stationed together) gave me the biggest ration of hell when I told him what I had done. He told me it was the biggest con (and I learned he was right) and demanded I go home to our family home and retrieve the gift. That I wish I had never done….it was’nt that big of a con.

Early this year I managed to travel to Pearl Harbor. My son is stationed there in the US Navy and the timing of his invitation was especially important because my name had been cleared by the Navy and I was awarded disability benefits because of the PTSD from the rapes in barracks D.

The trip to what has to be one the biggest historic Navy event-the attack on Pearl Harbor had so much meaning to me. It was as if evetryday was meant to offer me some strange form of healing to be in the midst of all of this history-and all of the ships.

On the flight over I met an artist-actually,a jeweler. He bopped on to his home island and invited me to take a weekend of my visit to experience his islands attractions,and I accepted.

The flights from island to island are quick-about enough time to drink a beer,but just barely enough. My host met me and we took in some sights and I was able to buy some gifts for a few friends back in Florida-for some very select special friends I was able to find soome very unique and special things. I missed one person-the most important of these friends,Charlotte (my former therapist at the VA). Mostly because there was nothing that fit the special this person was to me.

I mentioned my new friend being a jeweler. I thought of him-maybe I could buy something from him?  His response was such…”you can’t afford what I make”, and once seeing his work , I understood his honesty.

The mystery of things always gives me a sense of of the angels the Bible says encamp around us to protect and guide.

Among all the shops in the airport there was one place where there was a very beautiful young oriental girl standing with a goldfish bowl filled with colored papers…”take and you get great discounts on real pearls right from the oyster”,and along side of her was a huge aquarium filled with water and live oysters.

It reminded me of Granby Street.

“Take a paper and unfold to see your discount” she tells me….”no obligation” she says.

So-I get a free pearl! I’m believing then this is a gimmick,but I took the wand and chose an oyster (or is it a clam?) and it was holding the most beautiful black pearl. All of the clerks were amazed and told me how rare that black pearl was.

TO BE FINISHED LATER!

 

 

 

sometimes that is the way life is

116

Originally uploaded by jayfherron

About the only thing the guy in this photo has going for him is his dog. Among us all-the dog is the only one not laughing in sarcasm as to how off track can you get?

Yes…this is a boat-known as an air boat. They are powerful what with the airplane engines that thrust them. The power is so strong you can ‘boat’ through the water or through the marshes and even on solid ground…but getting it to go through two trees is not in the book.

This fellow is lucky. Fortune has graced him with others…no one can create an embarrassing moment like this and not have spectators-so we all helped rock the boat free.

Why this man is lucky is because the spot we are standing in is miles from anywhere. The only transportation out of this spot is by boat or an eleven mile hike to highway 50 through muck and marsh and most likely thousands of mosquitoes.

It has to be a sinking feeling to have a 20k dollar boat like this wedged up as it is. On a bluff so remote and in a situation that AAA cannot resolve. I could see the look in the owners eyes of panic and despair.

It is always interesting when the crowd grows-the suggestions (many daft) begin…you know-the  ”if it was me”  kind of tone.

I can relate to the muddled sounds he must be hearing. His body is present but his mind is stuck between those trees with his boat.

It’s kind of like one of those ruts in the road we seem to go through. The kind where the problem seems so deep there is no way to turn it around. Every thing was moving smoothly – every one was smiling and having a good time, life was good. Then came the part where the two trees got involved.

Maybe it’s because it is too much like the feelings of depression. You can be up on life’s high and then suddenly be slammed-right between two trees. That’s how it feels-and that there is no way out. Everyone is making suggestions….many daft! Those like “have a beer and cheer up” or “if it was me” or “it can’t be that bad”. None of them work because most of them are spoken by someone who has no idea what it feels like.

My feelings are of panic and despair-they usually grow stronger for me around this time of year. My dreams even become more intense. Yesterday my son and I went to Lowe’s. The moment we entered the store we were smacked in the face with crixmix decorations. I think it gets worse every time…seeing that stuff. It seems the duration of seeing the ’seasons’ get longer every year.

It was 41 years ago this month that I first boarded the USS Vulcan. I can close my eyes and still see the morning I first saw her. It was still dark and the lights   seemed to be illuminating every inch of this giant vessel which I was soon to be a part of.

 A life I will never forget.

This past Friday in our local area there was a festival exclusive for veterans. I was at a meeting where the topic came up-several of the people in our meeting were being hosts at one of the booths. They talked of what the event was and how it was to support veterans. I heard the words about the homeless vet’s and felt the pangs of guilt that I had it so well and they do not. My guilt also includes not serving my country as many other had.

We passed by the parade of crixmix trees on display at the home improvement store-they were surrounded by other gee gaw that has connections to the crixmix story of fantasy and make believe…but serve as symbols of terror to me in the way that they remind me of the things that happened in the short time I ’served’.

The people at the meeting who were hosting the booth at the veterans festival were inviting me to join in the festivities…they do not realize the grief it is to me to have to yet hide my military service,to keep inside the life I still continue to live…with shame,and the guilt knowing I really did not get to serve and I really am not a veteran.

Things are going great…then,all of a sudden….there’s two trees!

the road trip

farm-john campbell school,Brasstown NC

Originally uploaded by jayfherron

The travels have ended. My body is expressing its relief that we are home. I did a ’straight through’ from Knoxville to home in Florida-something I was once able to do when I was a trucker…but,no longer.

When I planned this trip in February I had no idea the total meaning it would have. My initial intent was to have a retreat of sorts at the John C.Campbell Folk School. Earlier this year when the arrangements were made I had no idea what life was going to be like in months to come.

I always try to give things a Spiritual look see. My heart is always amazed at the details and depth things are taken to reveal some ultimate meaning.

I began realizing things were unique when my grandson Jared was born. His expected date was several weeks to go yet. His weight was so low and his medical problems mounted before he was a week old-by then he had undergone two surgeries. He was in the hospital nearly 45 days before he ever got to see what the sky looked like.

I sat with Jared from the first day I learned he was in one hospital-his mother in another. I couldn’t stand thinking of him being there alone. The sitting each day made me think of my father.

My father and I had never traveled far-or anywhere-alone. The time we did we went to the folk school.

I know this is twisted around and likely hard to follow.

The day Jared was released to go home from the hospital I took off on a houseboat trip down the St.Johns River. South of Sanford Florida the river becomes a wide waterway with many grass islands for as far as your eye can see. The combination of the colors of the green of the grasses and the blue of the sky and serenity of the water was all it took to erase the stress of the past weeks seeing Jared through.

The boat trip was 300 miles-at 6 MPH against the river and 8 MPH floating with it the serenity was perfect. Returning home I had less than a week to prepare for the folk school trip.

There is something about how the river transforms you. It was hard to relate to the real estate I passed going north through Georgia because the sensation the river imprinted was so fresh-going so slow I was able to enjoy the quiet of the grasses,and on the highway it was eyes forward and be careful of looking at anything.

I sat in my truck one night parked nearby the folk school. The cab of my truck is like a thinking booth to me. I looked out over the hills at the shape of the mountains against the sky. I looked at things I knew my father had looked at many times. My parents were life long fans of the folk school-I guess where they chose to get away from it all.

It is strange how we are reminded of our pasts. Along the river trip I couldn’t help to think of my grandmother-we called her Wickie. Her child life was surrounded by the Mississippi River and as a boy she had given me several books on river life and lore. There were always the four lithographs of the river scenes on her wall. I envisioned her sitting on one of the lawn chairs on the deck of the houseboat-like me I’m sure she would be thinking…this is the way I’d rather live.

It all collected in the cab of my truck parked up there at the folk school. I had been there 5 years ago alone with dad. The fourth day into the week we had to leave,my father had reached a point where his health turned.

The folk school is based on a teaching principle based on a Danish formula of one teaching a group of others how they build chairs in their region in exchange for the recipients of that lesson teach the others how they make brooms-for example.

My father frequented the school to enhance his wood carving skills-among other wood working styles. Our trip there 5 years ago found me in a class learning to carve wooden bowls. I liked it-and found it an art form I was interested in. But that ended with my dad being sick.

I had planned the trip to the folk school in memory of my dad. Like I said-I had no idea then what lessons would be involved surrounding the week at the school.

I sat there in my truck and wept. The entire collection caught up-the thoughts that passed while sitting with Jared and the thoughts that passed while passing the grass islands and the thoughts that passed during the few days I had had by this time at the folk school.

The instructor remembered my dad-he had the school boost me into his class when he saw my name on the register. I had been on a waiting list. He remarked how he felt that my reasons for coming again was for my dad and that is why he pushed to get me in the class. They limit the classes to 6 people.

Looking down into the valley at Brasstown it was like I was looking through some fantastic prism and that my eyes were seeing things my father had seen and in some strange way I was transformed back in time.

I told you this was twisted around.

break time!

farm-john campbell school,brasstown NC

Originally uploaded by jayfherron

I am away-it will be a few weeks before I come back.

The good news is-my little early special grandson is home…and my home is on the road behind a steering wheel,collecting thoughts…and myself.

Soon! You’ll see!

42 days

life on the high side

Originally uploaded by jayfherron

I have a problem with anger. I do not possess the ability to confront an issue and clear up a problem with ease. If something begins to trouble me-I let it eat at me and build up over time. Might be-I forever keep it to myself,that is never good either.

It has something to do with my PTSD and the experience of my life at barracks D-the way I was handled by my attackers with my arm twisted behind my back to apply just enough pressure to want to give in. I was never able to speak back or resist.

I think the days have gotten to me. My own health being like it is-my body hurts and gut is throbbing almost all the time now. I suppose that could have contributed to my angry out burst,which is what happens when I let something build up instead of confronting it right away. I lose it-I flail and scream-and I say shit that I meant only in a smaller scale…but it comes out hugely obscene and violently spewed in intent. It is why I am better isolated in life because there is no reason then to allow things to build up.

My mind has been confused like that for so many years I should know the damage it has to make me suppress speaking out when need be. I am always surprised at what it does when the thought peaks to reaches I have no ability over-I know it is happening,I just don’t know what it is I’m saying until it is done and I can reflect on it all. Where did that come from?

This is not limited to outside situations-I do this and damage so much with in my own family. I lost it the other day with my son-the father of the new born babe.

I am not at all comfortable in large buildings. Certain sounds-and certain odors trigger memories that are unpleasant. I don’t like to be in areas where there are crowds. Shands Hospital is not full of crowds,but it is crowded. My major phobia is in public restrooms-I come to find ‘quieter’ places,but not always private. It is also a trigger-my assaults began in a restroom.

On the drive in to the hospital last week I shared with my daughter (my sons wife-”in law” is too wierd for me to use) some things about my brother-we had passed a shoe on the road and I told her that every time I see a shoe on the road it made me think of my brother (Carl,who was struck and killed by a car when he was almost 6). Those shoes lying on the road trigger that day-and that is what happens every time  I go into a public restroom. It triggers that part in time where I was raped. It never misses.

Today marks the 42nd day of going to Shands. I have managed to locate a restroom that appears to be more private than others-never the less,the entire thought process begins anyway the minute you open the door,occupied or not….and there is a place where you can get coffee and sit at one of the outdoor tables and get away.  But the other day it became clear-I need to get further away.

To interject here-the new born babe is coming along greatly-at least in this phase of his new journey into the world. They placed him in an open crib-no more plexiglass box. He might come home this week…later this week. He already knows that when I kiss him the whiskers tickle his face and he makes expressions…all that is good.

But old Poppa (me) is starting to notice the pain in his body. The sitting has made it flare. I began walking out in our area each morning hopeful it would work it out-but it is intense,so…and then,there is my mind. And it works on me-I begin building up about things…there may be things that are wrong with something or what ever-but it happens. And I blast…and I did,and did so at my son. I know it upset him,it upset me. We since have seen it through,but the mark is there anyway.

Escape? Running away? I mentioned to one of the nurses yesterday I have turned down three invites to hit the river. My grandson being ‘boxed up’ at the neo-natal ICU for 42 days has been the priority. Now he is on the brite side of this phase and the nurse told me by the time I got back from this journey down the river the little guy would be home.

I felt the timing was perfect-the earliest I can get away is Wednesday,but I am meeting my (former) boss down at the marina that afternoon. I’m going to sit in a white lawn chair and watch as the river flows by as we putter down towards Merritt Island a few hundred miles south. Doing nothing. My (former) boss called it “Huck Finn-ing”! We are going to float for almost a full week. I believe it is best for everyone-to heal from my outburst.

In the bible in the book of James it says the tongue is the most harmful weapon – the most damage can be made with it than with any two edged sword. Lined up with a brain-I can see that.

just thinking

zoom meter-distance

Originally uploaded by jayfherron

When King Soloman was given the opportunity to pray for anything his heart desired and it would be granted-he asked for wisdom. I feel that is the perfect request-to traverse through all of this worlds mucky muck it takes wisdom.

Now I am not saying I am the brightest bulb on the lamp-by far,I am not that smart,but I’m not sure that wisdom has as much to do with being smart than it does having something to do with the vision in your mind and heart. Being able to commune with a higher Spirit for example.

I know my own past I have at times caught the glimpse of heaven and and holiness intervening in my life. Visions!

Earlier this year I traveled to Pearl Harbor to visit my oldest son and his family. The flights were going to be long and thinking about it raised my anxiety levels-so I asked a shrink at the VA for something to keep me calm.

The Alprazolam did work. I found myself in la-la land and that place improved if I had a beer or more. I was able to slice the tablets in two-the double prescription stretched out for a few weeks,and then it was gone. I got really sick after I returned from Hawaii but did not know it was from the Alprazolam or the fact I ran out.

I wrote about it weeks ago. I asked for more and I got it-a larger prescription especially since I could stretch it out. Drinking made them better-the pills. Then I started to realize thinks were’nt going well,and I dumped them-I did not know it was going to be ‘cold turkey’. But it was!

I’ve been sitting in this Natal ICU (some jumbo for a place in the hospital) with my newest grandson everyday now-today makes 34 days. He and about 50 others in this unit are fighting for life in their already short lives.

Don’t let me persuede you to think I am plexi-glass box side every day and every moment. Usually I am albe to drive his mother in-and I leave her with her son. I roam around the hospital-and you begin to become familier with the faces of others.

I have mentioned how huge this hospital is-somewhere I read there are over 12,000 employees,I have no idea about the numbers of  ill. There are places of escape there-one spot is called Sun Plaza,where coffee can be had and a place to sit outdoors.

I think about things so much-meditation of how powerful the Spirit of God is. How easy it is for me to allow addiction to overcome-like with the Alprazolam and how the wisdom God gives you to stop. I am glad to have gone through the sickness of quitting,the withdrawls of the chemical agrivating my body as my body cleansed itself from it. I am thankful because of the way it worked-the timing. Otherwise I would have had no business sitting and watching and praying for this little fighter we have.

I have been poor much of my adult life. I’ve gotten used to living that way-not saying that I liked it,I just learned to live it.

Earlier this year I was to receive some benefit payments-and did,which gave me the ability to fly to Hawaii and visit-and be a tourist. Those payments got stopped by some computer glitch…being used to poor it was easy,but knowing it was supposed to be different-it was not as easy to accept. I went through some periods of immature behavior-like a fool.

The wisdom the Spirit of God has. The glitch came to understand it was screwing things up and things came to order. The timing? The timing is so incredible! The cost of going back and forth to the city is covered-so is trying to live everyday in a hospital on cafeteria meals-or the sandwiches out at the Sun Plaza. And the other parts…the learning.

 I looked down at my grandson the other day as I cuddled him in my arms-and I saw my father as an infant, knowing this vision from an old old photograph. It was peaceful as much as it was strange. I loved my father but was never able to share that well with him.

Just thinking.

Donald Duck doctrine…

078

Originally uploaded by jayfherron

The title of this journal is true-and it is about the life of a man who shares the details of his life from all aspects,not just the scene of an attack and rape,because there is so much more involved-life goes on,as they say. For some,smooth as a peach-and others?

A few years ago in Brunswick Georgia a little six year old boy was taken from the swings in a playground. He ended up in the mobile home of the parents of a 32 year old man and his pal that he had met in a correctional institution-they shared confines together. The mother and father of this man helped as he and his friend continually abused the boy. He died what from must have been the most horrid moments in his six year old life. They dumped him in a ditch in a black trash bag for a coffin.

The same terrible end of life came to a 12 year old girl in north central Florida. The sick blank that took her buried her alive once his time with her was over. They found dirt in her lungs which showed she was still breathing when the sick blank shoveled dirt on her. The news reports lauded how active she was in the church. I suppose many took consolation from that.

I know all across the country there are other cases which are as horrendous-but these two will stick in my mind for a long time.

I would like to think there was a point when these small hearts lost conciseness of this world and what was happening-and was already with God,and only a carcase was being abused…and a soul was already at peace. But it is hard to believe that when over and over you hear of these crimes against children.

It isn’t just that! When I was 16 years old I watched as my baby brother tumbled underneath a Chrysler New Yorker. He lived only a short while that day-he might have been already gone,and we were just watching the body die. Unless you’ve seen it you cannot imagine what it is like watching someone suffer like that. That too will remain in my memory forever.

I want to use the morbid to ponder what I have difficulty comprehending.

It has been four weeks today that the trips to Shands Hospital began. You sure do never get to plan which route your highway is going to go. I never thought in my life I would learn the lifestyle of hospital-I did not know I could sit in a building for that long. I do understand the karma behind it and it is almost like fasting,except you are confining your time into one general area-only. And this how it compares-instead of fasting from foods,you fasting from one usual routine of activity and living  in exchange for one that takes you in a door and you sit for hours. You are fasting from the outdoors and sky.

There are spaces. Going to the cafeteria or for a cup of coffee. The walk from one end of the hospital to other must be a half mile walk. Easily one could walk that despite my accuracy,you see a whole lot no matter how long the walk is.

There is a smoking area at the entrance near one of the coffee stands. It amazes me the countless patients mingled with staff in scrubs and lab coats-many patients with the metal tower that hooks on to the fluids used to salvage someones life. All out there smoking. And then you go in and pass the coffee stand and turn left and pass the area where often you kids 3 or 8 or 12 in some sort of complicated wheel chair-or with no hair from chemotherapy.

It does something to you seeing all of this. Like fasting is supposed to be-the moments bring you towards a spiritual plane of thought. This past month of sitting everyday with the newest creatures on earth-52 of them, we were told yesterday. From where we sit you can count 11 in just one row,not including ours-which seems to have 10. All of them pre mature and tiny tiny.

My mind goes from millions of places to millions of places during these days. You sit on the bench and sip coffee watching the smokers through the glass-and then you sit upstairs in a small confined area and look through the glass at this tiny baby fighting for its life and then you think about what is in between.

Yesterday one of the woman from a church was waiting to go in to visit-she commented about the blessings and again my mind wondered about all of this. Who’s blessings? I told her to be sure to look around as she walked towards where our space is and to count and to pay attention to how many are alone (no family-but being gently and wonderfully treated by nurses). And where are the blessings for them?

You have to know there must be a better life than this! It can’t be this stupid and so screwed up…and that being all there is. Despite all of the ugliness and misery there must be rest and peace-I believe there truly is a God,and we can’t see God sometimes because of the muck in our lives. You can’t look up into the sky with out knowing it.

It can’t be all about sinfulness and evil….otherwise,why are these children being punished so?

for whom the blessing rolls

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Originally uploaded by jayfherron

As those who know my art also know I am not an artist who sits at an easel and has a view of what I am going to paint. At least,not a natural backdrop such as trees or flowers. My paintings usually begin with the canvas being treated with several swaths of color just swiped on and then over a period I look at them and the picture and the story unfolds.

I had no interest in what I was beginning to paint in this piece-nothing felt right.

Art is a way for me to vent. I somehow express energies that are disturbing me and never really realize the images until later when I return to look at what I had done the night before.

I actually did not like this painting-it was stupid and was making no sense-until the first time I saw my new grandson,Jared.

Jared has spent the first four weeks of his life in a plexiglass box. He has had two surgeries on his stomach-up until this past week he has had tubes and wires attached to him-one tube in his nose another in his mouth and one embedded in his tiny little tummy. There was an IV in his head-and one in his wrist. In the beginning the only way to touch him was through the portholes in the sides of his plexiglass box.

Much of that-the hoses and tubing-is whittling away. He is gaining strength and now the family can hold the little guy-only the few remaining wires are in the way. He is getting better-but there is going to be a long road ahead. We might become so familiar  with Shands Hospital over the coming years that security will say hello using our first names! (as of this morning-a new IV has been replaced in his head)

When I saw this little child the first time all pumped by machines and binging noises from the monitor’s and computers my heart broke for him-and as I prayed for him I scanned the room around us and listened to the constant binking noises from all of the other babies…way back in the distant corner in a private room lay another tiny baby. That one had so many machines hooked to it and various pumps…and just only days old,and prayed for them too..

That first night I went home. I do my best thinking in the cab of a truck-I sat in mine and wept. In between times of the flow of tears I would walk around the house and out to the studio-one tour made me stop in front of this painting and it stunned me to see what I had done. I see these hands coming out of holes-holding on. I see the face with the mouth open-and the colored stairs going into it. I see the three flights of stairs…Jared is on the third floor. The painting became easier after that-and each morning recently has begun with working to finish it.

Jared has “graduated” – to quote the nurses in the new unit. He is gaining weight and as mentioned-the tubes are gone. As I sit there in the rocker by his plexiglass box I can see a larger span of the unit than from when he was across the hall in the critical care section. I cannot see all of the area-but enough to count up to 25 other plexiglass boxes. To arrive at Jared’s plexiglass box one passes 6 others-you can’t help but notice the stitches and gadgetry attached to each. They are tiny…they are small enough to resemble a plucked broiler hen in the meat department of the grocery store. The one little girl next to him cries constantly-signs are taped to its little space saying to be so quiet-they are trying to settle the poor thing. Not just one day…everyday.

Missing are other parents. Not every infant-but most of them. The nurses comment on how they notice the difference between the tiny things that are loved and held by family-and those that are not. Thankfully little Jared is knowing we love him. The nurses comment as how sometimes no one comes to see the baby until the time has come to take it home. We come everyday to whisper-we want you home.

It is a new picture to see. Normal birth children are tiny-but seeing these ‘pree-mies’ is an indescribable experience. They are so tiny it is almost hard to imagine they are living beings-but they are so precious to see and the little sounds they make are unlike what a usual baby makes,their cries are almost like the sound of birds singing,the voices are so small.

I cannot comprehend all of this. The experience of being in the midst of this everyday strikes places in my heart that would rather not be disturbed. I have bad memories of tragic times with children-my brother and my sister both dying as children. My cousin had a daughter born with the same circumstance as many of these preemies-he has told me many times of the grief of her short life,she is buried next to my brother and sister. A few months ago a newborn baby was found in a cardboard box laying next to the highway in Marion County Florida-the fire ants had located the baby before anyone else did. It just kills me inside to think of that poor little thing-not even given a chance and such rudeness is already in its little life.

It is like I said the other day-we have pets at home and we cuddle them and keep care of them just like we would little children. I come home from any journey away from the house-but once in the driveway,my little ones come out as happy and carefree as can be. Up until a few weeks ago I never would have thought of them in this way-I have driven past Shands Hospital for years and never gave one thought about what was up on the third floor.

I hear the word ‘blessing’ a lot lately. This is a blessing-and that will be a blessing. I do believe there are spiritual blessings-but mainly believe they come over a great period of time. Things in this ‘blessing’ are yet to be revealed-I believe there are going to be many lessons first before there are going to be blessings.

There are too many…way too many plexiglass boxes with tiny new early born babies-too many babies with stitches in their guts,not days old and having had surgery,to me-is not much of a blessing. Knowing that many of these babies-including ours,are going to require further surgery to repair holes in their tiny hearts….too many babies in the ICU with no mothers or family standing by everyday with love and hope.

I think there will be many lessons first.