Life 4.0

Useless Beauty

2012-02-11T23:44:00.004-06:00

Regular listeners -- and I hope that's you -- know that I mercilessly trash Valentine's Day every year. This year was no exception. It's not the day itself I object to. It's the general feeling that only pathetic losers are unattached, coupled with the nonstop flow of syrupy sweet emotion, which only serves to remind us of what we're missing.

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As you may or may not know, one of my tasks in the rock penthouse is to supervise the Love Songs With Delilah show on our partner station. The nonstop flow of Valentine's love doesn't help when it comes to feeling less alone. It's my job, so I usually insulate myself from the sentiment, much as a bank teller gets no particular thrill from grasping hundreds of dollars in her fist. Sometimes, though, it adds up, and the cynic in me takes over. That's when I start thinking that there has to be more to life than wandering day to day and making sure people get their proper quota of classic rock that really rocks.

This evening, I saw something so beautiful that it made me cry. My tears brought into focus the reason that I hate being alone. Those tears, and the powerful rush of emotion that brought them on, will die with me. Their story will never be told because I have no one to share my beauty and tears. I hope to love again someday, if only so beauty and tears will be something more than just my sad companions.

Today's Lesson? I may feel better tomorrow. I probably will feel better tomorrow. I may even do something positive to help myself deal with my fatalistic attitude. Tonight, though, I'm going to cry. It's what I do

StevenK

The Year Of Essentials

2012-01-18T03:44:00.001-06:00

One of my radio mentors would ritually strip his station bare every January 1. He would remove the recorded promotional announcements, and the liner cards that act as reminders of things the DJ's are supposed to mention (events, contests, sponsors, etc) Announcers were left with only the music, and their own creativity. Why? His thinking was that leaving the DJ's with a bare canvas would give him the chance to objectively evaluate everyone's priorities. If you have freedom to do anything, what you choose to do will say a lot about how you perceive yourself as a personality, and about how you endeavor to entertain and serve your listeners.

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Just the basics, Just the primal, just the facts, ma''am (does anyone else even remember "Dragnet?" ) This programmer was one of the most intelligent people I've ever worked with. So, in the grand radio tradition of swiping someone else's good idea, I hereby wecome the new year, which I christen:

2012: The Year Of Essentials.

I want to dedicate this next year of my journey to making certain that LIFE 4.0 will support whatever lies ahead. Insuring that my house is in order will not be particularly exciting. It will be hard, boring work, which is why I've left it till now. I have needed the excitement and a sense of velocity in order to to keep me motivated.

But we all reach a point when it's time to eliminate the distractions and fix things from the bottom up. That is my loosely scripted goal for the year. Looking back at 2011, I get breathless. My expectations were far surpassed by my achievements.

Our achievements, really. Cathy deserves at least half of the credit for what I've done. She has been there with me every step of the way, except of course for my fumbled try at romance. Maybe not having Cathy at my side was the reason I fucked that up. Do you suppose I should take her along next time I have a date ( or a "was it a date or not") Granted, it might be a little awkward. It also might make a hell of a blog post.

Today's Lesson? Building on a good thing. In setting my course of action for 2012, I'm keeping alive the spirit of The Year Of Rule Six. Why give up a good thing, especially when it's successful? I plan to continue practicing continuing to practice brutal honesty, and circling the wagons. It's worked pretty well so far. I hope 2012 will be as special as 2011, but as for specific goals? I'd rather just fly as hard and fast as I can, and see where I land. It should be a bountiful year. If, as the saying goes, the fun is found not in the destination, but in the journey, it doesn't matter where I end up on December 31.

But I'll betcha it will be somewhere terrific.

StevenK

Time

2011-12-22T18:57:00.004-06:00

The Christmas season has been a real bitch this year. Especialy today. This would have been Roxanne's 59th birthday. I wonder how she would have approached turning this corner. I doubt that she would move gracefully into her sixties. She always said that she would be a rocker to the end, which she was. I miss that in-your-face defiance, and I always regret that of all the things I absorbed from Roxanne, her confidence was not among them.

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I imagine we would have spent this birthday as we did many others, looking back over the year gone by, and smiling about the days to come, which we knew would be better. Like most couples, we thought there would be plenty of time. It didn't work out that way, but that's where faith comes into play.

Perhaps I'm just raggy. Although the Year Of Rule Six has been a great year, it's ending with three disappointments.

I had hoped that by Christmas, I would have my house in the shape where I could have guests. I'm still a long way from that. I did put some things up for Christmas, at least. Aside from my wreath, I'd not decorated since Roxanne died.
My weight loss has stagnated; I suppose that's to be expected after the rapid advancements I'd made earlier in the year. I'm still shrinking, but at a slower rate.
I'm wondering if I made a serious misjudgement in falling so hard for Just Friends (as if I had any say in the situation.) I fell hard and deep, the way I do anything which arouses my interest. Maybe there are people who can make logical decisions about love. Not me. Things are fine, we're still great friends, but it's looking like that's where she and I will stay. Mark it as lukewarm. On the good side, we're still close. There are far worse things than having a good friend, especially as I have few really close friends. But it's really awkward --and honestly, more than a little sad -- knowing you've polished up your heart, and offered it to someone, only to have her say, "ehh, maybe later." I do realize that without this infatuation, I might not have gained the confidence and social fluency that, gradually, is becoming a part of who I am. So, I'm at a crossroads with her. She says to give it time.

Time? Time is a tease. Give it time? How I wish that time was mine to give. To most of us, time seems infinite. That was what Roxanne and I used to think. In reality, time is infinite, but our personal share of that time is not.

The hole that Roxanne's death left is healing, but oh, so slowly. It weighs on me, as her birthday comes so close to Christmas. Not having family locally, I can't hide in the trapping of the holiday. What the hell, I was on a roll with Thanksgiving, so I suppose if Christmas is less than outstanding, I can deal with it.

Today's lesson? Never, EVER, assume there will be time. Act, while the moment is at hand. Joy is fleeting; regret lingers like stale smoke.

Is it dangerous that I still judge each step in terms of comparison to my life with Roxanne? It's perfectly understandable at this time of year. But I worry I'm using her memory as a crutch. I hope her legacy involves more than giving me an excuse to tiptoe through life. I want to run, singing loudly, eyes wide open, I want to revel in all that fate delivers, whether blissful or terrifying.

I want it all.

StevenK

A Holiday Worth Giving Thanks For

2011-11-25T02:26:00.107-06:00

Thanksgiving Day.

It's my third one on my own, and it's been easily the best of the lot. Holidays and I sometimes don't mix well. Two years ago, I was still getting my footing after Roxanne's death. Last Thanksgiving was just depressing. So this year, I decided that instead of fighting the day, I would make it mine.

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Isn't that facial expression indescribeable? !!! My BFF Cathy wondering if I will poison anyone by throwing together a Thanksgiving meal.

It was an uncertain day in some ways. My best friend Cathy and her husband Lew, knowing I sometimes feel like an odd sock on holidays, made sure I knew that I would be welcome with them. Their family always does it up right on Thanksgiving. Cathy had an early work day, but would be off in plenty of time to join in the celebration.

Still, I declined their offer to let me tag along to their family get-together. It was an incredible invitation, and a testament to what special friends Cathy and Lew are, but theirs is a family gathering, and pretty crowded, too. Plus, I was scheduled to be on the air Thanksgiving evening. Nothing like getting stuffed, then have to get up and go to work.

Here are the products of my culinary labor. When motivated, I can be productive.

Truth be told, it was not a totally happy Thanksgiving. I have a friend who's been going through the wringer lately, and is wrapped in misery. I've been there myself, much too often over the years. Closer to home, there's some teenage drama with relatives, so I'm worried. But worry doesn't help. There's not much I can do about either sitation. Trying to take a cue from Cathy, and not fixate on things I can't change, I did my best to let those concerns alone. This is a holiday, after all.

So, on with the holiday! This is all new to me, so I opted for the path of least resistance. I took the traditional route: Food, good food. I'll brag for a moment. I'm actually a pretty good cook. As I never cared for turkey, I made a chuck roast with corn and rice. Nothing fancy, but warm, happy and filling, much like I strive to be in my new life.

My friend Kristi baked a pumpkin pie. There was so much left over! (Yeah, right.)

As I said earlier, I worked on Thanksgiving -- that's a fact of life in broadcasting -- so I shared my Thanksgiving meal with some of my holiday shift co-workers, and with my friend Kristi, another member of the "gotta-work-on-Thanksgiving" society. We have shared a running joke for several years about spending Thanksgiving together, so it was fitting that we finally go to do it.

Kristi brought a pumpkin pie, fresh from her oven, for us to share. I liked Kristi a lot even before she brought me pie. Now I like her even more. Pie will do that to a fellow.

Today's lesson? Call it reader's choice: You get to pick. Either I was damned lucky, or things in LIFE 4.0 are getting easier with time.

Maybe both things are true. I do know that I am damned lucky. And I'm pretty certain I'm learning not to let distractions and misfortune throw me off my stride. Today, to quote "The Quiet Man," was a fine, soft day. It was a day filled with camaraderie, accomplishment, caring gestures, homemade pleasures, and long-ago promises finally fulfilled. It's a day that was much needed, and for that, I give thanks.

StevenK

Hello, St. Louis

2011-10-31T23:28:00.013-05:00

It had been a long time since I'd been anywhere. St. Louis was familiar, even if I'd not been in a long time. It could be fun. Except for two trips to Mt. Vernon, and one to Boonville, I'd not been out of Evansville in well over two years. I was due, that's for certain. The question is: Was I ready?

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It started simply enough. Saturday morning, I posted a link on one of our stations' Facebook page giving details of the parade to celebrate the Cardinals' World Series title. I wasn't even thinking about the fact that my best friend Cathy is a Cards fan. (If you're new to LIFE 4.0, meet Cathy.) It crossed my mind that I'd not been to St. Louis in ages, 2005 to be precise, and 1995 before that. Each time, I'd been passsing through on my way out west, so maybe those don't even count.

My best friend Cathy properly attired in her Cardinals shirt. Usually, she stands out from the crowd, but not that day. Several hundred thousand St. Louisians were showing their colors as well.

Nothing ventured, nothing gained... We hatched a plan that afternoon. We would head to St. Louis Sunday morning, and see the parade. It was supposed to be a nice day, and it's an uncongested drive. I-64 from Evansville is usually sparsely traveled until you hit the St. Louis suburbs. What the hell, we'd try it. If the three-hour drive knocked me out (which it could, because of the swelling in my calves) I'd drop Cathy off where she could watch the parade and pick her up after it was over.

It was a fantastic day. We left about 9:00, so after a lunch stop, we hit downtown St. Louis about 1:00. The parade would start after the Rams game, about four o'clock. People were already lining up along the route, so we parked and walked the four blocks to 15th & Market, right across from the American Theater. Windy as can be, and some rain here and there, but who cares? It was party time. How often does your city's team win the World Series?

It was just one of those days that makes life special, Everything went right. We found a great spot right by the barricade, and set up our chairs. Yes, we brought chairs. Cathy may be tough, but I'm not. No way could I stand for four hours. Between the two of us, we took about 200 pictures, and several videos. You can see the pics on my Facebook page. (Hey, friend me if you're not one already) and Cathy's videos on here.

Manager Tony LaRussa even waved in our direction! The following day, he announced his retirement, so we can say we saw him as Cardinals manager on the last day of his glorious career.

I hope this doesn't sound like bragging, but I far exceeded expectations, I walked without a lot of difficulty, and actually stood for almost 45 minutes once the parade got underway. We met a lot of nice Cards fans, some of which were impressed that we drove all the way from Indiana.I got to run through Jack In The Box, and Cathy introduced me to Imo's Pizza.

And there's a great sense of satisfaction in knowing that I accomplished something which I really thought was beyond my ability.

Today's lesson? Consider the road not taken. It's impossibile to know what we miss by playing it safe. Had I been sensible and done the "right thing," and not pushed myself to the limit, I would have missed one of the most wonderful days of my life. It's good to know that the spirit of The Year Of Rule Six rocks on, loud and proud.

StevenK

Year Three

2011-09-29T02:00:00.005-05:00

The days that followed are blurry, but I remember that afternoon perfectly. Two years after the fact, it's still painful to recall. The phone call, the trip to the emergency room, the waiting, the conversation, the trip home, the obligatory phone calls. And late that night, the blog post which would become the foundation of LIFE 4.0.

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They say people deal with grief in different ways. If so, I suppose my method of coping is as good as any. How does one judge something like this? If success is judged by the ability to survive, grow and prosper, I'm sitting pretty well.

I wonder if Roxanne would have ever imagined I could last two years without her. The fact that I judge things by how she would perceive them should tell you how deeply she still lives in my heart.

I think she'd be proud of who I am today. I think she would be glad that I look to end each day as a better man than I was the day before. I think she'd enjoy reminding me that she was right when she repeatedly told me I would outlive her. I never believed it. Between my weight and my heart, I expected she'd be the one left on her own.

I think Roxanne would laugh at how unprepared I was to carry on without her. It would be a laugh of support, though; knowing now that I somehow got through, at least so far.

I think she would be glad I have surrounded myself with a few close friends. I think she'd be especially glad I have a best friend like Cathy, who always looks out for me in the way Roxanne did. Cathy and my other friends are special people.

I have come to lean on these friends, and have learned to depend on them. It has not been easy -- that's my fault, not theirs. It's been so hard to open up, because Roxanne and I kept such sparse company with others.

I think she'd shake her head at the idea of me wanting to fall in love again. And I'm certain she would grimace in frustration at how deeply I've been smitten by the woman whom I've referred to on this blog as Just Friends.

Roxanne would not be jealous that I am once again speaking of love. But, knowing how I always wore my heart on my sleeve -- and apparently, still do -- she would tell me to TCB and not let my need for love impede my day-to-day life. And I may find the being able to do just that will be my biggest challenge as year three of LIFE 4.0 begins.

I hope Roxanne would tell me to be strong. I learned strength from her, but I probably did not learn enough. Most importantly, she would tell me to find my way, not the way I think she would have chosen for me.

Today's lesson? Just as 2011, The Year of Rule Six, has worked out pretty well, perhaps year three of LIFE 4.0 will follow a similar unplanned path. I'm a big believer in serendipity. If I somehow stumble into the light, I'll smile and be thankful.

Dear Roxanne,
I hope you have found a place of blessing. I hope you are not lonely, except of course for the part of you that waits for me to join you. These two years have been the hardest and lonliest of my life. I do hope you're proud that I've embraced my new friends, and have come to revel in their company.
I hope you know how much of your memory and your spirit lives on in me. As you did in life, you bring inspiration to my every waking moment. Now I need that inspiration more than ever, as I try to move on, as my own man.
As I have decided to again jump into life, I have realized that my new life may be worth trying it with someone at my side. It may never happen. It may crash and burn. It may last the rest of my life. I have poured my heart out to you so many times wondering if I'm being disloyal to you.
No one could ever take your place, pila moya. There is not a breath I draw, not a beat of my heart that happens independent of you.
I wish you angels on your pillow, my cute and loveable honey. You've always understood me better than I have myself. Please smile at all the changes. Please dance when you feel my joy. As I find my own path through whatever time I have remaining, send me blessings. I need them.

Blessings, Bruises and Blood. Happy Birthday To Me

2011-09-13T23:55:00.005-05:00

This year on my birthday, I'm actually taking time to stop and smell the roses. And, as the lyric goes, it was a good year for the roses... even if it meant sifting through a lot of fertilizer. In some ways, I have grown quickly. In other ways, it's a bit slower. As I mark my second birthday since Roxanne's passing, I realize how blessed I am, how easily I bruise, and how bloodied I have become.

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Blessings: I have grown more and accomplished more in any one year than I can remember since 1979. I've documented those successes in this blog, being able to legally drive, losing serious weight, restoring my will to live, igniting my desire for love, and many lesser things.

My friends who compose my inner circle are my salvation. They have motivated and sheltered me. They continue to do so. Likewise, by bosses and co-workers at WABX, WIKY and our South Central Media partners allow me to express myself honestly, roses and thorns alike, on the air, in social media, and on this blog.

Bruises: As my love of life has reappeared, it's become too easy to take things personally. A thick skin has never been part of my armor. I'm learning to grow one, but only through repeated episodes of being roughed up.

Due to the nature of the radio business, I have lost people I have come to depend on. My duality (see previous post) swings toward the negative pole more often than I'd like. Though I'm improving my health, I have had to force up to one casualty of time... I have begun walking with a cane.

I am responsible for the bruises of other people, for the scars and warts I have left on those I love most. I've tried to grow, but it's sometimes brought on a lot of emotional kicking and screaming. I've left some scarred earth in my wake. Thanks to the forgiving nature of my friends, I at least have burned few bridges.

Blood: The most challenging thing I've face has been falling short at my biggest gamble: being bold enough to romantically bare my soul, only to be shot down. Yes, over the last year, I have learned to reach for the stars. So far, I've failed every time. I am making little progress at what I hope wil.l someday be a love life. I must learn patience.

Professionally, I have often been excuded from things I've always been involved with at work. Compartmentalization and specification, I tell myself. But it could also be planned obsolesence.

Bloodiest of all, I bear an everpresent, terrifying thought. There is a loveless, unfulfilled sense of longing which overtakes me more often than I'd like. I can't help but wonder if this is how it's going to be from now on. Is the rest of my life just an extended glide with no new peaks? Still, I would not turn the clock back a year for anything. Maybe two years, just for another couple of weeks with my Roxanne. I would do that for a couple of days, for a couple of hours, even for the chance to hold her and whisper "In love you" in her ear.

Today's Lesson? I am miles from where I was last year at this time. Then, I was so mired in the present that I couldn't even think ahead. Today, I not only think ahead, I anticipate tomorrow. I can't wait to see where I will be a year from now.

The Best Month, The Worst Week, And The Duality Of The Southern Thing

2011-08-14T18:59:00.004-05:00

Life in July was beautiful, all hearts and flowers, so I'm going to enjoy it as long as I can. Life often sends me flowers, but I suspect it's because it knows it's fixing to screw me again. Or maybe it thinks I'm already dead.

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Life has a habit of sneaking up on me. I didn't expect to ever be able to drive again. I didn't expect to drop one-fifth of my body weight. I damn sure did not expect that I might ever wonder if I could again have feelings for someone, and certainly not this soon. That, in a nutshell, was my July.

I also didn't expect to follow the best month in recent memory with one of the worst weeks ever. It's been such a thrill ride, I have to ground myself every so often. But not yet. I'm having too much fun. And it's been too long since I had fun.

If I were down the hall on our partner station, today's WORD would be "symbiotic." (Go ahead and look it up. that's why I linked it.) Oh, what the hell; it's an adjective describing a dependent, not necessarily beneficial, relationship between two entities which simultaneously co-exist. It's what Patterson Hood calls "the duality of the Southern Thing." In this instance, in my life, fun and danger. I'm dangerous when I have fun. When I have fun, I get reckless. In my world, the fun and the danger are intertwined. Leap forward and fall back. Positive and negative. Yin and yang. Jeckyll and Hyde. Dichotemy, symbiosis; these are what you'll find in the double helix building blocks of misterkellys neighborhood.

Country boys like me know about this two-way street. We learn it in infancy, starting from the time Mama first tells us about about the merciful God of salvation and forgiveness, who, by the way, won't think twice about pitching you into the fires of hell to roast for eternity if you don't mind your P's and Q's. Duality of the Southern thing.

So, about the best month... July was incredible. No other way to say it, this was the best month since I began this site. This was one of the best months of my life, ever. As for the first week of August, it was such a disaster that I'm not up to describing it. Suffice to say that I can't write about it without breaking personal confidences. The things which made me sad have nothing to do with my new life nor with my work at the radio station. They're unassociated with anything covered in my blog, so I'll politely decline. I mention it only because it fits with the theme of duality.

It was easy to write about the great things that happened to me in the best month of LIFE 4.0. You can find them farther down the page or in "previous posts" to the right. Months like July make it easy to share my joy with you. Over the past decade, I've become adept at sharing both the good and the bad (duality again). May I look back for a moment at how this all came to pass?

Radio stations usually try to outglitz each other. That's all well and good, and WABX has cool contests and cutting edge technology that dwarfs 'em all. I have a great time every night acting silly and preaching the trinity (rock, loud rock, louder rock) but I like being honest about myself. I don't mind being the butt of the joke if I deserve it, and it's refreshing to have the freedom to throw up my hands and say "I don't understand life, but it must love me because it fucks me every chance it gets."

This goes against all the rules of radio. We are supposed to be Mr. Hip Radio Personality... poised, confident, debonair, with nary a flaw to be seen. Nice work if you can get it. But that's not me.

I realized at an early age, as the old Don Williams song went, that I was smarter than most, and I could learn to talk like the man on The Six O'Clock News. So I did. But look past that, and you'll find that I am what I've always been, a good ol' boy from the hollers of Kentucky, full of piss and vinegar. More days than not, I could use a haircut and a bath. And I plead guilty to a fascination with certain round parts of the female anatomy. But I was brought up right, in a loving, God-fearing home. I've been baptized twice. I've been in prison twice. I'm a redneck and a shit kicker, as well as a gentleman and a scholar. Once again, the duality of the Southern thing rears its heads.

I'm being who I am, even given the duality of my own nature. I have nights when I quote Scripture, then play "Shelter Me" by Cinderella, and start riffing about the virtues of a wet t-shirt. (If you've seen the video, you'll know what I mean. If not, good, because that means you don't watch TV, and you listen to the radio. Good for you. Watching TV when I'm on the air will cause you to burn in hell. Back to the Scripture quotations. It's the... say it with me.. it's the duality of the Southern Thing)

So rather than being Mr. Cool Radio personality, I began to share dreams and failures with you. After my wife Roxanne died almost two years ago, I took the final step, and launched this blog. I continued to speak of the dreams and failures -- now unfiltered. I could, and did, talk of setbacks, fears, thoughts of suicide, and my rampant insecurities which pre-dated Roxanne.

I told of my lack of willpower and abundance of "don't give a damn" which allowed me to swell past 550 pounds, and of of the realization that I was headed for the edge, acting as if I wanted to die.

Readers and listeners learned I had no license to drive -- hadn't had one since back in 19-mumble-mumble-harrumph -- but continuted to drive anyway. I finally stopped when the forces of Karma, and my best friends, took a stand, and threatened to get some long shears and start chopping at a certain body part. (That's just too much of a risk. It's just a damn water pump at the moment, but I do have hope for the future.)

On my blog, and on the air, I pressed ahead to rebuild myself. I spoke of the realization that I was headed for the edge, acting as if I wanted to die. And while I did not particularly want to die I'd not have been sad. I miss my parents something awful. And Roxanne waits for me. (At least hope to God she does. LIFE 4.0 is bad enough with her; I don't want to think about being alone through eternity. Please be patient, pila moya; I'm trying to hurry.)

I spoke about my quiet, safe place where I hid from the real world, wrapped in my cocoon, sheltered from any need for emotions other then lonilieness and confusion. Survival. That's all I was capable of achieving. That's no way to live. Seems so obvious now, but without my inner circle, I'd never have realized it.

I'm blessed enough to have a great circle of people who look after me. When I wrote the post about the pills which I was saving for a quick exit, should I need one, my friend Kat threatened to place her foot firmly in my tailfeathers. (Think about it. If I don't fear death, why would I get scared of a foot up my ass? But I do.)

I've often mentioned my best friend Cathy and her husband Lew. They're without parallel in my live. I would likely have died without them. That's not an exaggeration. At one low point of my health, Cathy made me go to the doctor so he could look at the swelling in my legs. He was so concerned about what he saw, he put me in the hospital at once. It's scary to think where I might be had she not been so diligent. It takes a special kind of friend to pull you up from the brink of disaster when you're stopped giving a damn about yourself. My friend Kristi, who knows us both, has told me she's amazed how much Cathy's done for me. She's not alone there; I'm amazed, too.

And Kristi... Oh, there is so much in her soul and in her baggage which is akin to mine. She looks out for me by sending me diet and excercise tips, and by making me feel useful. She always brings a fresh perspective to whatever I'm obsessed with at the time. I've leaned on her hard since Roxanne's death, far more than I've had the right to. There's nothing I'm afraid to tell her. (She and Cathy are the only people in the world I can say that about... and, my friends, I hope you both realize what a great compliment that is to each of you.) My friend Todd could be my bartender, considering the hours he's spent past midnight listening to me. Rob is quickly qualifying in the department, too. See? I do have some friends who aren't women.

They make me feel it's important to stay around. That is not easy job. Once the emotions start snowballing, I become convinced that I've overstayed my time in this world. Again, I lean on someone in my inner circle. Sean Roberts, who preceeds me on the air on WABX, hit the nail on the head when he asked me "Don't you want to see what's waiting around the bend?"

Smart guy, that Sean.

From one day to the next, the change is unnoticeable. Gradually, I came to realize that my cycle of euphoria and depression is the same one everyone goes thorough. My endurance increased. I lost weight, LOTS of weight. My efforts to drive again, which I estimated at a five percent chance, came full circle in July. I can now drive legally for the first time in twenty years. Most astonishing of all I was blindsided by a fascinating woman. (Let's call her "Just Friends", as explained in my previous post.)I wasn't ready for that. I'm still not ready; neither is she, which is exactly where we leave things as the best month yet comes to an end.

So where am I in August of 2011? I'm better. I'm gone from desperation to survival to living. I've lost almost a hundred pounds in the last six months. I've unearthed enough confidence to begin displaying a real photo of myself on my Facebook avitar. I have gone from crying on my pillow every night to crying on my pillow every night -- I'm still working on that one. I have new friends who respect me. They believe in me; I had better not let them down, and you know, I really don't think I will. I am actually starting to like myself. That's been a long time in coming. And I'm not really upset that so many of the sentences in this post begin with "I."

I still have so far to go, and so much to deal with. Living publicly in cyberspace has plenty of drawbacks. I have to be careful not to violate privacy. It would be easy to get people in hot water. Thus, some things remain unwritten, so as not to cause pain. When Just Friends came into my life, I had the new-media verson of The Conversation. "Here's what you're in for," I warned. To my delight, she was cool with it. "No one's ever blogged about me before," she said. I hope it wasn't just optomism that made me see a gleam of flattery in her eye. Still, we remain Just Friends. More on that later.

And, the one good thing which came about this week, I finished the last court appearance and the last payment associated with my driver's license. The final curtain call in a twenty-year chapter of my life.

Now that things are above board in the legal sense, I can get on with the things I intended when I began LIFE 4.0. So how is it going? Nothing new with Just Friends. We're still friends, which is fine with me. That's exactly where things should stand. I wanted more in my life; now I have more in my life. No grounds for disappointment there. I am fuller and richer, and I love her for that. But as I said we're friends, and that's the best thing.

I know I'm riding a major infatuation, but I've never believed infautation is a bad thing, as long as all parties recognize it for what it is. It's a way to feel happiness, satisfaction, a conduit to action. I welcome anything which makes my path easier. I'd forgotten how much fun a knot in your stomach can be. I try not to think for the long term. I am a patient man. Maybe someday love will take root. I really doubt it, but that doubt alone is no longer reason enough to let it pass me by. Happy ever after? I doubt it. I'm not being negative; I am being honest. The number seven has always been special for me, so I'll give love about a seven percent chance. But I gave myself a five percent chance of getting my license, and yet here I am, tooling down the Lloyd, blasting the Drive-By Truckers, and singing off-key "...ain't about the races, the crying shame. To the fucking rich man all poor people look the same..." Such is the duality of the Southern Thing.

Cathy reminded me yesterday of something I often say, that I am a freak show. It's an honest comment, if not a flattering one. I like to think, in keeping with today's theme of duality, that there is a gem of a man inside this container, if he can just climb over the bullshit. I've been wavering around 500 pounds for a few years now. Clothing that large is expensive. Even basic hygiene is difficult, given that a year ago, I could barely stand for five minutes. Many people, many good people, can not look past the freak show to find what's underneath. Shit, many people I see every day can't do it. I made my peace with that long ago, but it still gets disheartening somtimes.

The flip side of that is that every so often, I come across a beautiful soul who does indeed look past the wrapping. That happens too seldom, but it did happen a few weeks ago, and that, my friends, was the best part of the best month. Once again, the duality of the Southern thing comes into play, because I am both overjoyed and saddened. I'm joyous that she has risen above human nature to see past the freak show. And I'm ashamed that I was worried that she wouldn't, and that I could so underestimate her strength of character. I should have know she would choose the righteous path. I'll bet she even got the "African Queen" reference in this paragraph. As to the Drive-By Truckers reference, well, there'll be time to learn.

At least, I hope there's time. I really do. It used to be I'd go to bed hoping I would die in my sleep. That doesn't happen very often now. That is real progress.

Today's lesson? As the white lines on the Lloyd fly past and the hot August wind blows against me, I reflect on the best month, and on how my life is now defined. It's not the life I want, nor the life I expected. I've come to accept over the past 22 months that the life I dream of is forever gone. But I have a good life. It's a life I can love. Damn, that's been a long time in coming.

And Sean, buddy, you're right. I do want to see what's around the bend. I do believe it'll be something wonderful.

StevenK

So, I met this girl...

2011-07-26T09:46:00.008-05:00

So, I met this girl...

That's all there is to the story right now. It could be that this is all there ever will be. We're friends. She says so. Just friends. Oy, have I heard that one before! So why even mention it?

Why? Because of that chance. Because of the possibility, the uncertainty beyond the horizon. And because of the hope that as that horizon comes into focus, I'll get a glimpse of a beacon I've longed to see. In my heart of hearts (Oh, my God I'm scared to even say this...here goes) In my heart of hearts I hope the impending dawn signals an important arrival.

Maybe this is my day of awakening. Ready or not, right or wrong, I am brave enough to say it.

I want more.

Just friends ain't bad, though. With friendship comes trust, familiarity and comfort. If that's all this ever is, it's still a happy place to be. But it does hurt just a tad. At least I've been here before. This may sound masochistic, but it's comforting to know I still have the capacity to bleed, even jumping decades at a stretch. Self-pity is rich and juicy. You can feed on it for years.

Whenever I need a reality check, I can count on my best friend Cathy. Aside from Roxanne's, I trust her opinion more than anyone I've ever known. Cathy's the kind of friend who knows when I'm off my game. I didn't even have to ask; she took me by the hand, and said "What's wrong?" So I made the first of what may be many mistakes in this new chapter of LIFE 4.0. I told her what was wrong.

I told her I might be in free fall for a girl I'd met. A girl who wants to be just friends. She likes having friends. I make her smile. I love her smile. She laughs because I'm funny. I love her laugh. She also laughs when I'm serious, because she doesn't realize I'm serious. So she laughs. Because we're friends. Just friends. Through the laughter I remember echoes of my pre-Roxanne life, when I heard "we're friends" so many times that I should have filed for the damn copyright on the phrase. Did I mention that I love her laugh?

In the Dictionary Of Real Life, there are several definitions for the phrase "fucking up." One of the most prominent is "pouring your heart out to a woman about another woman."

I am nothing if not grateful. I even Tweeted

to show proper love to my BFF. Thank you, Cathy.

I told Cathy everything. Dreams, fascination, infatuation, the thousand reasons it could never work, the thousand ways it might succeed. I tried to vocalize what was in my heart. Seven beers later, (me, not her) Cathy told me to proceed with caution. I told her WAY more than I should have. I know this to be true, because farther on in the Dictionary Of Real Life is the phrase "proceed with caution," which is defined as "you're a big jackass who's going to do what you want anyway, so I might as well give you my blessing, then wait to have your back if you fuck everything up."

In the short time since we met we have become tremendous friends. I may be doing something really stupid by risking this friendship to see if there's a chance of having something more. I do know that it's one of the bravest things I've ever done. I hope, having now spoken of chances, truth, pain, and the thought of there being something more, that I don't lose her friendship.

How is it so far? Nice, really nice, but noncombustive. No sparks flew when we met. It was pleasant, comfortable, wonderful, much like we had each expected. Problem is I'm still cautious. No. Might as well be brutally honest, and call it what it is: I'm just plain chickenshit. The thought of taking those first steps stops me cold in my tracks.

I just caught sight of the clock, and realized I've been up all night writing and rewriting and thinking and cursing and crying. 9:10 AM, yep, the one after 9:09. The Beatles speak to me again as they have since I first heard "Rain." Ten minutes after nine. Long past bedtime for a night shifter. Fuck all, I don't know how to write this post. I've been up all night trying different angles and they all suck. It's getting the better of me.

At the moment, my concentration is fixed on eliminating the last swallows of Wild Turkey in what used to be a generous bottle. I don't even drink very often. I don't think I could get used to it. I hope I don't have occassion to find out. The caution flag is flying, and good thing, too, because my heart is flying around the oval in a way it hasn't since Roxanne's death. After escaping the edge, I fear I'm heading back at breakneck speed. Forgive me if I sound like Trent Reznor, via Johnny Cash, but I recognize the old familiar pain. I know it well. I'm even glad to feel it.

If I can't even blog about something hypothetical, how can I live it in reality? I don't even know if it's good for me to try to live it out. But I know one thing, one incontrovertible fact which trumps all else.

I want more.

Today's Lesson ? You tell me. It's obvious that I ain't got a fucking clue. I know only the chance I'm about to take, and the risk which lies ahead. This is a friendship that I value highly; I have few of those. I don't want to trash it by wanting more. I can welcome the old familiar pain, but I fear the virgin pain of losing a beautiful and dear friendship.

There's a long-forgotten symmetry to this whole scene, I realize as I'm struck by a revelation. It's been years, dozens of years since I sat up all night thinking about a woman. Technically, I'm focusing on the blogging problem, not the woman. But it's been a long time since I sat up all night trying to focus on anything other than the hole in my heart. For now, that's close enough to make me smile a terrified smile. Did I mention I love her smile?

StevenK

Less of Me

2011-07-11T01:10:00.000-05:00

May I brag?

There are people who could stand to lose a few pounds, people who are a little tubby, and people who are overweight.

Me? I'm fat

This is where someone who has seen too many nightclub comics will say "How fat are you?" to which I reply "I'm so fat I have little fat people in orbit around me."

There's no point in denying it.. Having decided to get back into the world and stop lying around waiting to die, it's something I'll confront every day.

I am, hovever, resolved not just to confront it, but to stomp it's smarmy little ass. Celebrate my joy with me, for now I have to less of me to go around.

I got weighed this week. I was in such disbelief that after I left the doctor, I went to the hospital and weighed myself on the bariatric scale. Hah! It recorded seven pounds less than the doctor's scale did. I have dropped over 90 pounds so far this year. That's a small person. I understand I still have a long way to go. I didn't wreck myself overnight and I'm not going to fix it overnight. But I'm tremendously happy. This is way beyond my expectations.

It started with our wellness challenge at work. South Central always encourages us to give back, and to make things better for our community, and ourselves. We're a family-owned company, which is a nice contrast to the corporate gridlock that personifies America circa 2011. Periodically, they challenge us to make some marked improvement in our lives. If you're a regular listener to the show, you've heard me talking about this. (Self-serving note: If you're not a regular listener, shame on you. The least you could do is post a provocative picture on my Facebook page, that is, unless you have a Y chromosone or a husband... I used that line on the show today; see what you're missing?)

I joined in because it semed like a good way to give serious commitment to changing my diet. Because of my heart and the swelling in my calves, I can do only limited exercise. I love to take walks, but I'm just too far gone to walk very far. Not to sound too dramatic, but I have one, and only one, chance. My only hope of living is to seriously change my eating habits.

So, with inspiration from above, we all got motivated. It turned out to be fun. I was especially touched than when I'd mention this on their air or in social media, I'd get encouragement from friends and listeners. It means a lot that people would take time to wish me well. I don't deserve it, but I'll gladly accept it and gladly express my thanks.

Once the challenge was over, I found I could simply carry on with the changes I'd made. So everyone on the Hill resolved to live healthier, and hopefully, longer and better, except for one person who observed that its none of the company's damned business what hapens inside an employee's body. Me, I'm paranoid. I'm overweight and an ex-smoker. That is already grounds for ostracism socially., Given the prevailing attitudes in good-old-God-Save-America (token Joni Mitchell reference) that'll soon be acceptable grounds for getting the boot. O, brave new world that has such thin creatures in it.

Today's lesson? Less of me is nice. I can stand longer, walk farther, and breathe better, blah, blah, blah. But you know what I love best of all? The knowledge that I commited to do something, and saw it through. Correction: I am seeing it through. It's going to be a never-ending process. This fight will go on until the day I die. I hope it lasts a long time.

StevenK

A Driver's Education

2011-07-03T03:47:00.004-05:00

I'm sixteen years old again.

If you listen to WABX regularly, or if you see me on Facebook and Twitter, you may have notice cryptic references to me not being able to drive. Now that it's all over, I can tell the story.

For the first time in years I have a driver's license. Yes, years. It's been since President Bush was in office. (Anyone care to guess which President Bush?) It cost me a lot of time and a shitload of money; two things which I do not have in abundance.

I now have the same anticipatory fear I had at sixteen. It's going to be a great relief, and kinda fun being able to get myself around again. I wonder if I'll ever be able to turn off that automatic reflex which has me looking over my shoulder.

I learned a lot. I learned some things I'm not particularly proud of. I learned that when push comes to shove, I can be a pirate, and a damn good one at that. Funny how your perception changes when you find yourself at odds with what's right. All those slippery pirate manuvers, distraction, deception, half-truths, and pointedly avoiding any chance of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Add a generous portion of pure luck, and enough cleverness to be able to make it eleven years here without ever having to have driven one of the conpany vehicles. The question only came up a couple of times. I responded truthfully, "I'd better not drive. I'm not on the company insurance." Totally true, just without explanation (see "half-truths," above.)

I also leaned some unpleasant things. In a bizarre twist, it's actually an advantage to cultivate this big clumsy ox image. It makes your bosses think you're unpresentable, so they don't send you to do personal appearances, where you'd have to drive. (Now y'all know why I never pushed the issue.) And I learned that aside from the thrill that comes from dodging the arrows, being an outsider is way overrated.

It started innocently enough; Missed the court date on a ticket. So I got my license suspended. Before I got things straightened out I was caught again. Same thing happened again, then again so I was caught in the cycle of being a repeat offender. Gets expensive. Reinstatement fees -- three hundred dollars per incident -- plus a jump in insurance rates almost as steep as the recent leaps in gas prices. Lawyers aren't cheap either, especially one willing to be enough of a friend to tell me to man up and get my head out of my ass before things got totally out of hand.

I'm not compaining about the financial and emotional toll it's taken. I'm not bragging about learning how devious I could be in the face of necessity. It is critical, though, in terms of putting my house back in order, to point out that this is a major step. It may be over-dramatic to say it, but I'm no longer breaking the law if I drive. As people younger than me say, just trying to keep it real. When I decided to bring my life onto this blog I knew I'd have to bring the warts and scars in order to do it justice.

My big regret is that it took so long. I wish I could have done this while Roxanne was alive. My inability to drive legally was a great barrier between us. At the same time I know that one reason I was able to do this is that I had no other choice. Without her to cover my back, I couldn't continue as things were. And the people in my life who helped me get straghtened out -- mainly Cathy and Lew, of whom I've often spoken -- only came back into my life since Roxanne's death.

Today's lesson? It's been quite an education. It's been quite an unwanted diversion. At the journey's end, I win. I have a driver's license. It doesn't make my heart heal any faster. It doesn't ease my feelings of guilt and regret. But it moves me one more step away from my pirate days, and one step closer to the man I hope someday to be.

StevenK

You Must Be This Tall To Ride

2011-06-07T06:39:00.007-05:00

As I have continued to grow, I have learned how important it it to be patient, to scale new heights only when I'm prepared. I have also learned the importance of the ability to hang on tight and ride out the storm, no matter what lies in my path. Lo and behold, I find I'm now strong enough to white-knuckle my way through the maze. At least that's how I feel tonight. Tomorrow? Screw tomorrow. Faith and bullshit are working for now. I'm big enough to ride the course. Ticket, please.

One of the biggest adjustments in my new world is learning how to cope with the ebb and flow of everyday life. I could always depend on Roxanne to act as my emotional shock absorber, to keep my ego in check when things were going well, and to pick me up when the world would bite me in the ass. And just as important, she could read me well enough to know when to gently soften the blow and when to kick me squarely in the balls and tell me to quit acting like a baby and get with the program.

I miss that stabilizing influence. And I worry that I'm really suffering in the absence of such guidance. I have no calming influence. The results have sometimes been chaotic. It's all a festive jumble, complete with steamy calliope riffs and confetti flying past as Greg Lake beckons "Welcome back, my friends, to The Show That Never Ends!..." There's chaos aplenty, but it's oh so familiar.

"Won't you stay a while? Won't you please come in? Open the gate sir. Step right up madam! Get your tickets for Steven's own personal amusement park. Looky here, boys and girls, looky here kings and queens! Every fear! Every prayer! All the nightmares, hopes, dreams, lies, the frozen lake, the rain... Pills, piggies, pale colors, and all your favorite moody characters who pop in and out of LIFE 4.0...

See the terror in our hero's eyes as he rounds the curves, closer and closer to the edge, hanging on to the tinnest thread of sanity. Will he make it? Will he snuff it? Does he even care? Don't bother with reality; it's such an unforgiving concept. Just grab your hat and hang on. It's one thrill ride after another, no time for rest, being whipped around so quickly and so often that reality runs for cover. Truth you say? Why, that's just another point of view, one of many perceptions to be enjoyed in our Hall of Mirrors."

Where emotional issues are concerned, I tend to run to extremes. If things are rosy, the world is a happy joyous place, we all share in God's wonderful creation and wondrous things lie waiting at every turn. When times are hard, black clouds descend and threaten to smother the even the faintest glimpse of hope, and that's when I head for the edge.

Happily, I'm on a run of high notes right now. Last month my cardiologist told me my heart is actually improving, not just holding steady as it has done for the last few years. Twice in the past two weeks, I've walked to work. Petty as that may sound, it's a major accomplishment for me. I've had days when it's been a struggle to walk outside to get the mail. Now I wonder how much of that difficulty is mental. It seems that it's physically easier for me to do things now that I've decided that life is worth living after all.

I have so much to learn about the way my attitude impacts my abilities. It would be silly to think the emotional ups and down will ever stop. Life -- especially LIFE 4.0 -- does not work that way. Staying with the amusement park analogy, maybe I can borrow a ferris wheel trick I learned a long time ago. To avoid the constant feeling of disruption, focus on a distant point on the horizon. With such a fixed point of reference it's easier to to appreciate the tossing and turning for what it is -- a temporary disturbance, rather than an end in itself. The horizon brings stability. The tubulent emotions are still there, but they're now in check. To put it another way, out of chaos comes order. (NOTE: if you did not just respond "Oh, blow it out your ass, Howard," please enroll for a summer session in cool school.)

So the positive and negative live on, but they can't hide from me now. I have learned to recognize the euphoria that comes from meeting and surpassing goals. Likewise I know the depression that beckons me to indulge in the comfort and solace found by abandoning hope. Could it be that in my quest to keep myself on an even keel, I'm learning the warning signs of the two extremes which can sink me?

Today's lesson? The horizon is not only the place that houses the end of the world. It can have an infinite number of meanings, whatever we choose to visualize. Tonight, it's a place of opportunity. It's a place where I'm learning to stand on my own.

Steven K

The Time That Is Given To Us

2011-04-06T06:18:00.005-05:00

The honest truth is that now I've begun to grow again, and look for new life experiences, it's pretty boring around here. I managed to stay alone and quiet through the nasty winter, and just as spring came, I totally screwed up my back... after doing laundry? WTF?

The only good thing I can see there is that it gave me a great opportunity to roast myself on the radio. I mean, really, laundry? My friend and co-worker Sean Roberts gets hurt because he flips a Jet Ski on vacation. Me, I 'm unable to walk for four days because I reached into the closet for a clothes hanger. What kind of tale is that to tell? I wanted to run out into St. Joe and take a glancing blow from passing traffic just so I would have an interesting excuse.

I fear I'm turning into one of those people who spout on and on about their aches and pains. So no more about my tired old bones. I refuse to allow myself to wallow in pity which I don't deserve. There are other, more important things on my heart.

Friends.

Changes.

Death.

And the time that is given to us.

That last phase, "the time that is given to us," has alwaws borne special significance for me. It was spoken as part of my wedding ceremony. Flash back to the wonderful Seventies, and my hippie wedding, complete with vows written for the occassion. I hate to say I now can't recall who first penned that phrase, possibly Roxanne's best friend Patty, or Tommy, the minister (ordained in the Universal Life Church by answering an ad in Rolling Stone and sending $3.00 to Modesto, California... I told you it was a hippie wedding) who performed the ceremony.

It's a beautiful and all-encompassing phrase. Truly, the time we share is a gift, one to be accepted with grace and reverence, and never to be taken for granted. As with all things, it will someday end.

The fragile nature of life, and my fragile friendships of the Seventies are weighing on my mind tonight. Yesterday I learned that someone I consider a friend and mentor is ill and may not have long to go. This is someone I looked up to when I was starting in radio. He became a brother in arms, and a confidant. His wife and mine became good friends, and my daughter was close to his kids. We fell out of touch - such is the nature of this business - but I always think of him with a smile, and with self-reproach that I let the miles between us stand in the way of maintaining our friendship.

So many people in radio let their ego take hold and strangle those around them. This man allowed other to share in his good times. I hope my prayers for his well-being are worthy of God's consideration.

UPDATE: This evening, I received word that he passed away today, just a few hours after I wrote this post. I hope he feels welcome into the next world, and that his presence brightens those around him, just as it did during his earthly life. I know that Roxanne will rejoice to find him again. May God have mercy on his soul.

Closer to home, I am sad for another friend, well and healthy thankfully, but bruised by the sad economic truth that in the end, we are all assets and liabilities on someone's ledger. I hate it when life squeezes the throats of good-hearted people. And I selfishly hate that there is now one less smile to greet me each day. I can offer only the consolation (learned from hard experience) that as the days roll by, the sadness eases and the good times become more dear. Still another friend has realized that life holds more important paths than come on the fast track career ladder. It takes a special kind of insight to step back and exhale when you're surrounded by people who dare not breathe lest they lose their competitive advantage.

I hope all our paths will cross again, because I hold them both dear, in the same way I cling to others who are no longer co-workers. Maybe the future will find us united again. One never knows what will happen in radio, Hell, counting format changes, I've worked on nine Evansville stations over the years. So I hold out hope for reunions down the road, and hope that together we'll work more miracles someday. I love The Hill, always have, but it's a lonelier place right now.

Many friends remain, though, and they are emeralds in my eyes. I recently came across a card I had forgotten about, one given to me after my wife's death. Nothing special, just one of those things people do when a co-worker needs support. I remembered receiving it, looking at it briefly, and being touched by their kindness. I could not fully emotionally digest it in my time of grief, but now, as I re-read it, it struck me how special each person's comments were. I cried as I thought how each of them took time to comfort me. I lost it when I came to the comments from Linda, who passed away a few months after Rox.

My bosses have been especially supportive of me for the past year and a half, personally and professionally, as I have pulled my warts out for display on this blog, somtimes telling more truth than is prudent. I should also mention Sean again, considering I poked fun at him earlier. He's been a rock, and I've come to lean on him more than I've let on.

Of course, Cathy and Lew, who have made life tolerable, always deserve a special mention. I'm still close as ever to my best friend, but job constraints have put a real damper on the time we can be together. It's somewhat ironic that through her absence, I've grown closer to her guy, whose working hours are more compatible with my own. I know he missed her while she was helping me with my health issues. I suppose only now do I realize the patience he showed. It's quite a testament to his character. They deserve all the love and happiness they give each other, and it lifts my heart to know that sometimes, the good guys really DO win.

My one other close non-radio friend seems to pop in and out of my life at random times. Sometimes I think about her, and play "what if," but that's a game for people on the other end of life. So it's back to my post-Roxanne default position... night drags on and I'm alone, with thoughts and memories which alternately comfort and haunt me. But due to the support and comfort which I've gradually learned to accept, I'm a better, stronger and wiser man.

These friends, and others, have all been at the heart of my resurrection. I owe them all, and I give thanks that in the midst of hurt, the world has people with pure hearts, people who love. Although I long for more, I've learned to take the moments they all offer and not be a glutton. Or to be more accurate, I try my damndest to accept the time that is given to us, often without success, but always with a pure heart.

A pure heart. My adult life has been so torrid, it's incomprehensibile that I can actually describe myself with that phrase. It may be that my greatest accomplishment since Roxanne's death is to find my pure heart. They all share the credit.

Today's lesson? Real life can be a bitch. Circumstances change, priorities shift, needs take precendence over wants, comrades leave, friendships fade, loved ones die. Death, after all, is how LIFE 4.0 came to be. And so the circle begins anew. In this game, there are no ultimate victors. The goal is to enjoy the ride.

The Edge: Next Three Exits

2011-01-26T03:54:00.007-06:00

This will be a short post. I have little to say, but I say it with glee, and with my head reverently bowed. As someone who lives a life of caution, I've waited several days to see if this is really happening, and I now believe it is.

I have turned the corner. The nightmares are still there. They've done their best to rattle me, and they still frighten me. But now when I awaken, they don't linger unwanted through the day like a hangover.

For months and months, I wandered the road between sanity and chaos, seeing nothing but dead ends at every junction. I would lie in bed half awake, maybe half alive , and ask myself "why should I get up and do something today? What is the point in living?" Despite my best efforts I was sinking. But slowly, so slowly that I could not even notice, I began to take hold. Yes, more often than not in recent weeks (and make no mistake, I've been keeping score), I ask the opposite question: "Why refuse to live? What is the point in not accomplishing something today?"

Curiously, this transformation didn't happen in a single moment of revelation, but crept along at a snail's pace. Not only did I not notice, I had accepted that I was sliding toward The Edge, and had steeled myyself for the imminent crash theat would mark the end of it all. It was when I actually began to give up and accept the inevitable disaster, I realized that the rules had vanished. Gravity fails, mountains move and instinct grips the wheel.

The Edge still filled the horizon, but I now knew that I didn't have to give up. Up until now, all the signposts on the road pointed toward disaster. But just in time, the road took a kind turn. I like to think it had responded to my resolution that this year would be one without rules (See Rule Six). I may have sped along The Edge, but I held my ground. Lo and behold, I had faced The Edge, and kicked its big bad ass... at least in Round One.

Maybe one day soon, I'll analyze why. But not just yet. I dare not disrupt the delicate balance that seems to be working in my favor. God be praised, and thanks be given to those around me who have patiently and lovingly helped me get this far.

Today's lesson: I can't say it better than Hunter S. Thompson...

The Edge... there is no honest way to explain it because the only people who really know where it is are the ones who have gone over.

I'm thankful that The Edge hasn't claimed me as a victim. But I know I came damned close. And now my mind is clear enough to know that I still am.

StevenK

The Year Of Rule Six

2011-01-03T12:35:00.005-06:00

I once heard the term 'consultant' defined as "someone who knows every position in the Kama Sutra, but doesn't actually know anyone with whom they can put this knowledge to use." Two of the leading consultants in our business are fine men whom I had the privilege to work for at the first radio stations they ever programmed. (No I'm not a name dropper, and we've not kept in touch over the years, so it would be self-serving to name them.)

But truth be told, in any industry, many consultants are useless. They swing into town every few months, take ninety seconds to survey the landscape, then tell you that what you're doing won't work because the people in Syracuse did the same thing and it failed there. But don't worry. they know which of their recycled ideas will work because, well, they know about these sort of things.

Radio consultants are useless, too; but there are exceptions, such as the two I've already mentioned. Included in the notable exceptions are the people who advise us at WABX. It's their guidance which has inspired me to a goal for LIFE 4.0. They have a saying I love and take to heart. I can't quote it exactly because it's probably a contract violation or a breach of the Trade Secrets Act. The idea is that if you area a dull, boring person, your work on the air will be similarly dull and boring. Ironically, this is actually an asset to consultants, enabling them to keep a poker face when saying things such as "This idea worked well in Sacramento, Cincinnati and Pittsburgh, so obvously it's perfect for cities --like Evansville -- with ten letters!"

This applies to bloggers as well. Dull, boring life? It'll make a dull, boring blog. Frankly, it's why I don't post more often on LIFE 4.0. This blog is a chronicle of the events of my life. Yet, so many days are interminably dull. "...Today I went to the doctor. Then I ate lunch. Then I scratched myself..." Sounds like a thrill a minute, huh?

To this point, I've had doubts about my ability to make it on my own. I've voiced many of those doubts here. As recently as day before yesterday, I was convinced that my legacy in the rock penthouse would be "...remember Steven? He was okay until all that shit happened. We should have known it was just a matter of time..."

So I'm ready to ease the weight.I believe that even Roxanne thinks I should, because I'm convinced she communicated something important to me yesterday. I'll not go into details; I don't want to sound like one of these people who sees the image of the Virgin Mary in their Rice Krispies. But the message was clear. Man up. And that means I need to stop taking myself so seriously.

I'd like to be more like I am on the air -- in other words, less dull and boring. Each night, I make an effort to remain interesting and topical in what I do on the night service, unless the WABX Babe of the Day has really nice boobs, which alters my focus. So, in the spirit of New Year's resolutions, I'll import to LIFE 4.0 a resolution I've used on occassion, one which I use when I feel myself getting too complacent.

Please say hello to 2011, The Year of Rule Six.

New Bruce meets the other Bruces in the philosophy department at the University of Woolloomooloo, and learns Rule Six.

You, being a cool, devoted WABX listener, no doubt know the implied joke, that there is NO RULE SIX. (Quick summmary for others: Rule Six is the most important of the faculty rules as referenced in the "Bruces" sketch from Monthy Python. Should your memory need a reboot, please click the embedded video clip for a refresher. If you don't, you are dull and boring, and you should open a radio consulting firm.)

Time to leave the rules behind, and blaze new paths. So, with no rules to constrict things, it's wide open, damn the topedoes, full speed ahead. Hell, yes it's a risk. Daily, I confront medical and career situations over which I have little control. If they sink, me, so be it. As a God-fearing man, I have truly learned to accept His will over the years. I often don't like it. Truthfully, I usually don't like it. But I carry on. I survive.

Today's Lesson? Rule Six in full effect. Wipe away the expectations, rev the engines... and hope to hell I know what I'm doing. Break in the sun till the sun breaks down, and death shall have no dominion.

StevenK

Leaving The Cocoon

2010-12-22T03:16:00.002-06:00

When last I visited the blogosphere, I was so mired in Thanksgiving funk, I began to contaminate anyone and everything nearby. Suffice it to say I've caught hell for my generally lousy mood. Karma being what it is, I fear I shall be held accountable for all the evil in the world. I already wonder if I could secretly be the cause of gasoline reaching $3.00 a gallon, and Peyton Manning's rash of interceptions, and that box of Grippo's I bought the other day which had almost no barbeque seasoning in it.

Since then, I've devoted myself to removing my poisonous attitude before it becomes a cocoon. Or maybe it's more accurate to say I've been trying to burst the cocoon and emerge as transformed. I've gotta do something. Toxic thoughts breed quickly. They take root in the heart and burn up time.

Time is precious to me. It's been well over a year since Roxanne's death. Today is her birthday... the second one I've passed through alone. Surviving has been good, but I want to live again. I have some serious decisions to make soon, and I will face some serious consequences which will come without my input and without my influence.

Sorry to be so cryptic. When I began LIFE 4.0, I pledged myself to be honest and direct, warts and all, in telling my story. If I'm not forthcoming, I'm a halfhearted storyteller, and just another internet bullshit artist. But there's no point in getting ahead of myself. If need be, we'll tell the tale, perhaps in LIFE 5.0. (The mark of a true broadcaster: I'm talking in teases and sequels.)

As far as gettting my head out of you-know-where, most of the credit goes to the love and respect of my few friends and my cherished circle of co-workers. Maybe it's the caring spirit of the season, but so many people have told me how glad they are that I'm doing well. More important, I've actually felt useful in the last month. I know I've actually make a difference in a few lives. It's been a while since I've been able to say that. Bit by bit, the cocoon may be shredding. Quick update for readers from last Christmas: I again hung my wreath, the one of which I wrote in my Twilight Zone-ish post "A Christmas Story". (New readers, click on it and read. Forgive me for bragging, but it's good.) And I've misplaced the cards Roxanne bought, so maybe we'll get a glance at them next year. Looking at the big picture, obviously, I still have no clue what path awaits me. Am I supposed to hurry and rush so I can join her? Should I tarry and savor my time this world, patienly waiting until the conclusion of my journey comes along?

Today's lesson? I'm happy to say that Christmas cheer has taken over my heart. I've always been sappy about Christmas so it's no surprise. It's also that I know I may soon take a fall of enormous proportions, so I have resigned myself to accepting what may come, and opted to not ruin the present by poisoning everyone around me.

StevenK

I Am A Liar

2010-11-26T00:40:00.004-06:00

You heard me right. I am a liar.

It's the easiest way to spare me pain and pity. So damn me if you must. I'll accept the fact that I've earned it. I'm not realy proud of that, but it stems from good intentions (pause to consider that I may be paving the road to hell.)

But when I dedcided to do LIFE 4.0, I promised that I would blog honestly about my feelings, warts and all. So the fact that I admit that I've been less than honest should count for something, shouldn't it? Let me try to defend myself, and quickly, too; because when I finish, the honest truth is I'm liable to feel the need to drink (something I seldom do... and that's also the truth)

Last Thanksgiving was such a trainwreck that I barely mentioned it in LIFE 4.0, except to point out a couple of things which happened, one good, one bad. But last year, Thanksgiving came less than two months after Roxanne's death. This year, I didn't have the shock to help insulate me. Maybe that's why it caught me off guard. I found that when the topic of Thanksgiving came up, it hurt me to think about it. So rather than embarass well-meaning people (and at the same time, fling myself into depression) I acted as if the day were no big deal. No harm,no foul.

Now, I'm not about to start this whole 'Les Miserables' philisophical debate. I don't know whether or not a hungry peniless man who steals a loaf of bread is a sinner. And I don't know if someone who tells a social untruth is guilty of anything more than good manners. The fact is when people discuss Thanksgiving plans, or tell Thankgiving stories, my heart sinks.

Even after my daughter was grown and married, Thanksgiving was a special day. Although our plans were often modest, we usually did something special, a nice meal, or a day trip, or just a day of serious reflection and planning. Roxanne and I took such an irreverent, spontaneous path through life that the few serious occassions took on special significance.

So rather than dredge through the strain of memories every time the subject arose, I took the low road. "Eh, it's just another day to me," I'd say, avoiding the whole question of how empty I really felt. Please know I don't mean to hurt anyone, or to hint that I want people to walk on eggshells around me. This is simply one of my growing pains, part of learning how to steer my course without my everpresent co-pilot. So don't watch your words around me. That's just too awkward for everyone concerned.

Today's lesson: I suck. The thing is, I don't care. I am sorry I lied to people I consider to be friends. Maybe someday I'll not be so shallow and so weak. But for now, I avoid pain at all costs. So lying is something I do because I have to. I do it to survive. It's what I must do until I somehow learn to make my peace with fate.

Under The Weather

2010-11-07T16:46:00.003-06:00

This is a short post, as it hurts to fiddle with the keyboard. I don't get sick often, but when I do, it's an adventure. A childlike adventure

There's nothing like illness to provide an excuse to act childish. I wrenched my back last week, and it's been stiff ever since. Not constant pain, but of I move it just so -- OUCH! -- So, through my discomfort, I fall victim to the whole "my poor little back hurts" routine.." You've probably been a witness to this... men are such strong creatures until they become blubbering heaps of uselessness.

I plead guilty to many such infractions over the years. "My back hurts" gives way to "why does my back have to hurt?," which leads to "why do I have to go through this," then "why does nothing ever work out for me," followed by "this means God must hate me an awful lot." This cycle never stops until I have exhausted the supply of pity, or I bore myself to sleep.

But to my credit, I didn't start feeling sorry for myself. Small steps, as I'm always saying. But this is a bigger step than I first thought. Instead of indulging myself, I just sat here and STFU (and when you earn your daily bread by talking, it's difficult to hold your tongue.)

Today's lesson? If you're an adult, you don't get credit for acting like an adult -- except when you're sick. Is that a childish attitude? Maybe, but what do I care? I'm sick. Thank you for understanding.

StevenK

Dreams Come True? Hope Not

2010-10-09T11:26:00.003-05:00

The Dream. I knew it would happen sooner or later. The Dream came. The one which seems so lifelike, it takes a few minutes for its reality to fade. The Dream came to me last night. And it returned, then returned again.

Three dreams in one night, each one so detailed, and so bizarre. I seldom even remember what I've dreamed. These I did. And after each one, sheer terror. I don't usually wake up scared three times in a year, but this triple whammy has knocked me for a loop.

Several characters appeared in my dreams, but only three were actual people I know, (1) my late wife Roxanne, (2) one of my co-workers, and (3) a professional acquaintance who has nothing to do with my career.

Third dream first. This dream was was the most boring one. Roxanne and I were deciding where to go grocery shopping. I was aware we'd not done this in some time, and I recall telling her how happy I was to have her accompany me again.

Rox was in the first dream as well, although all she did was sleep. It was set years ago in some alternate reality in which we had been apart for a long time, and did not maintain contact with each other. Our daughter was small; I remember thinking about her, even though she was not in the dream.

I had built a life with someone else -- I don't know who it was -- but traveled to see Roxanne because I wanted to reconnect. When I got into her house, all I did was watch her sleep for a while. As left, two old men on the porch told me that sleeping was how she spent her time nowadays.

After each of those dreams, I awoke terrorized, but excited and thankful that she was in my life again. As my head cleared, the truth returned to me.

The middle dream was the most involved. No need for a long explanation, suffice to say that my acquaintance had to deliver some devastating news to me through my co-worker. As a result, my financial life was in shambles and that some long-planned goals had to be abandoned. At least I was glad to awaken and find that this was indeed only a dream. But with this one as well, if was a few minutes before reality settled in.

I began LIFE 4.0 as an excercise the help me cope wth grief. I've tried to be accurate and honest, even when my thoughts are unpleasant. On occassion, I've panicked those around me by being frank about the possibility of failure, or death. Although I try to be positive and to lift myself up, I'd be less than honest to ignore this cannon fire ringing through my dreams, and to ignore the fact that it is happening at a time when I'm seriously having to re-assess the direction of my life.

Today's lesson? Things which don't happen are happening nonetheless. Something is changing. I hope I can ride it out.

Year Two

2010-09-29T13:39:00.008-05:00

It was not a gentle morning.

The new day greeted me with chills and chest pains. To someone with a bad heart, these are severe warning signs. But I am not afraid. Nor am I surprised. I expected them. I have known for some time that certain days will be especially difficult. This is one of them.

Day 366 of LIFE 4.0 begins as expected.

I am not a gambling man. But on the evening of Sepember 29, 2009, as wrote the words which would begin this blog, I would have wagered that I would not be here today to write this entry.

I am glad I underestimated myself.

One year ago this afternoon, I sat in the Deaconess Hopital emergency room and had the most difficult conversation of my life. As the news of Roxanne's death sank in through my numbness, I wondered what the world would be like from here on out.

The accepted wisdom is that anyone who suffers a major life change should wait a year before making any serious decisions. Time to mourn, to search the soul, time to get one's bearings. This time eventally ends, and the period of grace, as all things, passes on. I suppose this means I need to get my house in order. Yet, I find I'm not jumping to make those serious decisions, mostly because I feel pretty good about where I am.

So, just where am I?

I'm closer to my friends than before. I embrace them rather then just tolerate them, as I did during much of my life. It helps that the friends I have in Evansville and at South Central, are friends I treasure. I still often hide in the cave, but I'm getting better. I've mentioned Cathy and Lew before. They have been such a help to me, and have grown to be even more wonderful friends. I can't imagine this past year had they not been there.

I don't dream about Roxanne as often as I'd like. I did dreamed about her this morning, although the signficance of the dream escapes me.

I miss my daughter and my grandchildren. My daughter has matured so much herself in the last year. I've come to trust her counsel as much anyone's. She does know me better than anyone, after all. I wish I were not 1,500 miles away from them. My son-in-law lost his father a few weeks ago, and I know the things he's feeling. Maybe I could have helped.

There are serious things I must face. I can read the actuarial tables. Eighty percent of people in heart failure die within ten years. Roxanne made it seven. My clock started running in 2004. I have to be aware of this, but it can not dictate my decisions. Waiting to die is a pathetic way to exist.

Professionally, I am a dinosaur in a shrinking industry. I am valued and well thought of, but I have serious limitations. I lack the physical ability to do a lot outside the studio. Embracing new technology has been revealing, and honestly, has been a lot of fun. I hope the wonder of discovery continues to fascinate me for a long time.

Perhaps that last sentence is the most revealing of all. I do want to continue. For a while, I wondered if life on my own would be pointless. I now realize how selfish that was. My life interacts with others, and I do not want a legacy of people looking on in pity, saying "I wish I could have helped him." Please forgive my egotism.

So I made my mid-course correction. And now that I have found the strength to remove my head from my ass, I do have direction and purpose. That strength, and the desire to push on, may just be my biggest accomplishment.

Today's lesson? One day at a time really does work.

Dear Roxanne,

Wherever you are this morning, I hope your life is a blessed one, pila moya. I know my survival is due to your strength which has passed to me. I could not have held on for the past year without the things I learned from you. I hope you look upon me with pride. I struggle every single day, but in each of those days, I encounter so many reminders of your love.

You are as dear to me today as any day since we met. I ask the Lord for just enough wisdom to get by. Many warm fuzzies to you, my cute and loveable honey. I miss you..Please wait for me. I'll be right along as soon as I finish my tasks in this world.

StevenK

Happy Birthday To Whoever I Am Now

2010-09-13T02:23:00.010-05:00

If you don't handle them properly, birthdays can really suck. Each year since I can remember, I would take inventory of where I am, what I've accomplished in the last year, and what I want to do in the coming year.

This year, I don't even know where to start. The easy way is to boil it down to the essence, but that would be dismissive to those who have been in my corner and given me strength over the last :

It would look something like this.

What I did this year: Thought I would die, but lived instead.

As I said, that's unfair to my friends and co-workers. I've taken great comfort in your support, although I haven't always mentioned it. Thanks for carrying me, and thanks for being there as I try to stand on my own more and more.

Okay, inventory: First, professional. I still have a job.That's saying something in today's economy and the current climate in broadcasting. In fact, in April, I marked my ten-year milestone with South Central Media.

And I don't just have a job, I have a job I love, with people I look forward to seeing every day. (Re-reading my "ten years" blog entry makes me aware of one one of the biggest losses in the last year. My friend and co-worker Linda Goebel, whom I mentioned in the same way I always referred to her, "the nicest person on the Hill," died six weeks after that post was written. God rest her soul.)

I hope I'm keeping pace with the advances in our field. There are so many new things we must do to prosper. Interactive media provides more chances than ever to expose and promote ourselves. Speaking of which I hope you're my Facebook friend and that you follow me on Twitter.

So I've become more accompished in social media, including continuing to post perodically on LIFE 4.0. This isn't the sort of blog where I jot down things every day or two. I will be more diligent in passing things on as I gradually wander further from the cave.

Personally, I remain more lost and more tearful than I'd like. I wonder what Roxanne would say to me. Not long ago, I dreamed I saw her crying. She's not the crying type. I've not slept well since that dream. Is she sad for me, or is she disappointed in me? Does she cry because she misses me? Is it because I don't miss her enough? Or is it that I miss her too much, so much that I'm not paying attention to things I need to do. It's a game of ping-pong which I've yet to be able to end.

On the other hand, I do see progress. I'm finally addressing some health problems after years of procrastination. I have grown even closer to my daughter, whom I 've seen make her own peace with her mother's death. I've reconnected with my friend Cathy, whom I've missed. It's a good thing I have her. She and her husband Lew have been of immense help getting me around while I can't drive due to these wrappings on my feet.

Cathy is so much more than a friend, she's been a lifeline. She helps look after me and has been wrapping my legs on the days I don't have it done at the hospital. Ask someone to give you a two-hour chunk of her day, and lots of folks would fire up the excuse generator. Not her. She's that rarest of people, a true friend.

I've managed to remain somewhat sane -- though I still sing and cry with my stuffed piggy -- through the saddest year of my life. I have new friends. Sadly, I also have new feelings about some whom I considered long time friends. We're talking dozens of years, thick and thin -- or so I thought.

I've prayed for strength to forgive you. And I have forgiven you because I have enough serious things to deal with. I don't need any more baggage.

But unpleaseant as it may be, I want to purge this from myself once and for all. Dear reader, thank you for your indulgence.

In my most honest place, what I would say to you is this: You never called nor sent a sympathy note when my Roxanne died. I've recieved nothing, not even a Christmas card. Your abscence in my life puzzles me. I feel hurt, not to mention betrayed.

I now have a new reason to live, namely the hope that you die before me so that I can tell your grieving family what an asshole you were. Yes, that's an evil thought. I don't apologize for it. At least I'm thinking of you, even though I'm filled with spite. You showed me I was not deserving of even a thought. So fuck you. As of this moment, I wash my hands of you and the stain you brought to my soul. You are not worth the effort it takes to despise you. Roxanne used to say that the opposite of love is not hate; the opposite of love is indifference. Amen to that.

Today's lesson? Inventory complete. All in all, I'm not delighted, but I'm satisfied. I made it this far, perhaps by the skin of my teeth, but I'm still here. And I try harder than ever to bide my time until God is ready for me. I thank Him for His mercy, and I thank you for continuing to check on me through this past year. LIFE 4.0, both the blog, and the life itself, is still rocking.

A Good Time To Be Scared

2010-08-20T06:09:00.005-05:00

It's a good time to be scared. Which is convenient, because I'm scared as hell.

It's hot. Medically, that's dangerous for me. I just don't function well in the heat. I've mentioned on the air as well as on Twitter and Facebook about the therapy I'm having done on my legs. Want to see my oh-so-unsexy legs? Here you are. I should have had this done this a year ago. I'm glad to be doing it, but in the words of my friend, it's consuming my life. It requires two to three hours every day, on top of everything else I have going on.

The emotional toll is substantial as well. My new routine brings me alongside cold truth, and face to face with my own mortality. Everyone knows that as someone gets older, the choices in life become more and more limited. To personalize it, I'm forced to confront that knowledge every day. This brings on a whole new level of anxiety.

As much as I I look for the good in everything, I have to face some facts. Most people who try to do what I'm doing don't don't succeed.

I hope I can beat the odds. I like to think I can, but reality can be a difficult companion. When it pushes me beyond my level of tolerance, I lose whatever it is that allows me to keep a brave face.

It might help to have someone to open up to. The few close friends I have can't help with this, because these things which hurt me so deeply also cause pain to the people who care about me. I can only ease my mind by bringing them down to my level of misery. If I'm totally frank, the things I say will hurt people. I would tell them that their love and friendship is still not enough to pull me out of the fire.

Honestly, how can you look in the face of someone who cares about you and speak the honest truth? I long for someone without an agenda, someone who supports me, but has enough detachment not to hurt. The irony is that the closer you get to someone, the less help you are in those times when they really need counsel. As a friend, you'll try to spare them pain, even if pain is exactly what they need.

At least I sleep well, if only because at the end of the day, I'm ready to drop. But you know, it feel nice to be so busy. It's like there's a purpose to the tings I'm I'm doing, and a practical goal in sight. It's a positive change from emotionally circling the wagons like I've been doing for so long. In time I'll learn to should the extra burden. I only hope I can last that long.

Today's lesson? Pain is there for a reason. Sometimes, it's exactly what we need to sustain us, to enable us to grow Growth comes with obstacles. It's why they call it "growing pains." Moving through life, even through LIFE 4.0 -- maybe especially through LIFE 4.0 -- comes only at the cost of sacrificing one's comfort zone.
StevenK

Pale Colors, And A New Old Friend

2010-07-04T04:32:00.004-05:00

Today, we welcome a new cast member to the ongoing saga of LIFE 4.0.

Whoa. Let's not get ahead of things. I hope one of these days, I'll be able to make an "I Kissed A Girl" post, but not yet. It's not that kind of thing.

The weeks since Roxanne's death continue to march on -- just over nine months now -- I've become used to holding my head high. There's a lot of that "power of positive thinking" vibe, along with a heathly serving of chutzpah, mixed by the expert hand of an old-school bullshit artist. Our online WABX community, our listeners, they're wonderful. I have had so many calls and messages of condolence and inspiration, many from people I don't know at all, folks who just want to lend a kind thought.

It's pulled me through. I seldom have a tear-free day, but I tell myself that's normal. It's a sad truth that if I ever do reach that point where I'm totally at peace, I'll feel I've lost a big chunk of my soul.

But I laugh and smile more than I have. I continue to learn new things. I feel a wider range of emotions. It's good to know that the real world is still out there. It hasn't stopped just for me, so I need a running start to jump back on. I'm happy that I've found I can accept help without compromising my strength.

That's where my friend comes in. If you know me, you know of whom I speak.

In a lifetime, people only make a small number of good friends. I'm happy and lucky to count her among them. Quick backstory: we've know each other about ten years, dated for a short while when Roxanne and I were going through one of our separations, then decided we worked a lot better as friends. People are often skeptical of the idea that former lovers can be content to be friends. It could be that once upon a time we also believed that, and so we backed away from each other. For what ever reasons that's how it went for a while. At the same time that Roxanne and I were patching our relationship together, my friend met the love of her life and they began carving their story. As the demands of life came calling, we didn't see each other very often... a chance meeting here and there, a phone call a couple of times a year.

Several weeks ago, she called me just to say hi. Since that time, I've been leaning on her quite a bit. It's nice to catch up, as her life has taken many turns in the last year or two. It's nice to have someone to spend time with. When your work day ends at 12 or 1 in the morning, and you don't want to drink, there's not much to do socially. One of the first posts I made on LIFE 4.0 was about the empty place I found myself when I came home to an empty house, night after night. It's less empty now. I have her to thank. In my heart, I know Rox understands. To quote Tom Petty, it's good to find a friend.

I 've been twiddling with some medical things, too. mostly because I slid into an "I'll deal with this later; I'm too busy right now" attitude for a while. As I've mentioned repeatedly, I have trouble remembering that I am not 21 years old. A 21-year-old can put health concerns aside until a more convenient time. I can't. She reminds me of that, damn her. Though her attitude and Roxanne's are worlds apart in many ways, they share that irritating self-righteous "I'm right and you know it" gene. She brings perspective. She's seen me in good times and bad, so she knows what to expect from me. She also knows when to call "bullshit" on me if I say that something is unrealistic or beyond my capability.

And yet, for all my gratitude that I have rediscovered my friend, there's so much that goes unsaid between us. Our companionship -- and the time it takes -- does not make it easier for her to raise her family. Nor does it make me miss Roxanne less.

We each understand things about each other. She knows when I withdraw without explanation, it's because my heart warns me that I border on betrayal. She know there are times, many times every day, when I fell Roxanne's presence and feel comfort it in a way I can never recieve from her. I know that for her life to make sense, she can never put me atop her priorities, nor second, third, or fourth. I know that if her husband and family ever objected to the time we spend together, she would be gone in a flash, sad, but resolved that she was doing the right thing.

We try not to consider the obvious truths. I don't want to think about the fact that there is an emotional barrier which she will never cross, no matter how much I may lean on her. And she tries not to dwell on the fact that that however important we are to each other, the joy I find in life is still only a pale fragment of what it once was.

When you do life right -- and whatever many things we fucked up, Roxanne and I did it right -- love and time form a bond that becomes unbreakable, even in death. For better or worse, I suppose I'm destined to never again feel those far-away heights, except in those moments when I allow my private thoughts to have their way.

Today's lesson? Cherish every color God brings you, even if it lacks the lustre and brilliance you covet. And don't be sad you'll never find what you seek, not if that treasure comes at the cost of your soul.

StevenK

A Silly Step in the Right Direction

2010-05-16T02:20:00.005-05:00

Time to be a little kid for a while.

In the months since Rox's death, I've realized something upsetting. I am more self-centered than I ever knew. I'm not selfish. I'm not conceited. Sometimes, though, I am so preoccupied with survival and details that I fail to bear in mind that my thoughts and musings impact other people, too.

The nice thing is that in a backhanded sort of way, it lets me know people are paying attention. I didn't expect that to happen. Not that I thought this blog would fall on deaf ears. I suppose I just never thought anyone would pay more than casual attention. My words have the power to hurt or to heal. I'm always aware of that on the air. Apparently, that idea also holds true for the texted words launched into cyberspace.

My last post, about the bottle of pills which could reunite me with Roxanne in just a few minutes, was scary. I know this because that's what I was told by a good friend. And I value my friends highly, so I listen to them. (Snippy thought: This sort of obseration is what the "comments" section is for. If I can bare my soul, feel free to jump on in. It's very liberating. And thanks for loving me enough to be scared.)

Truth is, it's been a serious time recently for many reasons. Now the rainbow follows the storm. Crazy as it sounds, I've found I can still act like a child and enjoy it.

I made a small mention on Facebook about riding the motorized cart at the grocery (my Facebook page) My ankle was hurting, so I took one of the sit down carts, and was traveling down the aisles making "beep, beep," and "vroom, vroom" noises much like a six year-old. I got such a response from people, on-line and off-line, happy to see me in wide-eyed wonder. I WAS happy, too. It was nice just to be silly.The store was pretty empty, so I was mostly on my own.

As much as I still mourn and still wonder about what's around the next corner, I promise to take every chance to act like the king of the silly-asses. And today's lesson, short and sweet, is that anything that brings a smile to my lips is a good thing.

StevenK

The Pills

2010-03-29T04:51:00.003-05:00

It's been six months today since I lost Roxanne. No way can I lie about how easy it's been. It still aches. I guess it's true that the pain never leaves. I imagine it's not supposed to. All you can hope to do is either learn to absorb it or learn to isolate it. Failing that, you take the one step which will stop the pain. Which brings me to the bottle of pills. Sometimes I actually forget that they're there. But if I've made it six months without them -- and I'm proud to say I have -- well, that must be significant.

Until now, I've never told anyone about the pills. Rox was terrified of dentists, so she had a script for Valium she would take before having dental work done. When she died, she had been scheduled for a dentist's appointment in a few days So she had filled the prescription. I came across it while cleaning our her desk.I threw out most of her medicines, but I kept this bottle. In those uncertain days, I feared the real possibilty that life without her might simply be too much for me to bear.

I've always been a real chickenshit, sometimes choosing my path based not on what was right, but what was easiest.This would be my safety valve. I would hold on as long as possible, and should it finally defeat me, I could easily stop the pain forever. As long as I can see tomorrow, as long as I can find a reason why I should be here tomorrow, I don't need the pills.

Today's lesson? Look for tomorrow. As long as it's on the horizon, I'll be there to see it, God willing. There may come a day when I can't see tomorrow. I'll deal with that when it happens. It's not come in six months, and for that, I thank the Lord. You see, I'm still as chickenshit as ever.

For now, my safety valve remains packed away. I don't know about tomorow, but today -- just for today -- I can live without it.

StevenK

The Next Generation

2010-03-12T06:37:00.006-06:00

How was Valentine's Day? The less said the better. See, that was quick and painless (unlike the day itself)

I once heard a man speak about how easy it is to get so wrapped up in planning the future that you lose sight of of what's happening right now. The man in question was saying he knew without a doubt what do next year, but he couldn't tell you what he should do in the next hour.

"I had one foot in yesterday", he said sadly, "one foot in tomorrow, and all I was doing was pissing on today."

With that in mind I shall leave yesterday behind for a moment and talk about tomorrow. Since beginning LIFE 4.0 I've spent most of the time droning on about myself. So, with your indulgence, allow me to shift the focus to a couple of very important people.

One of the routines I have developed is to speak with my daughter every Saturday night -she calls then because her cell minutes and long distance are free on weekends. She told me she knew Saturday night was the best time to catch me at home. Guess that scuttles that party animal reputation I used to have. She is so strong in the face of adversity -- she has serious health concerns -- and I find myself envying her. The love she and her husband Sean have reminds me of Roxanne and me before the bottom fell out. I pray their path will remain true.

She tells me Roxanne has come to her in her dreams, and that they have reconciled their estrangement. That doesn't surprise me. Roxanne often dreamed of her mother, and in those dreams, they would talk about things which had separated them. I worry about her as does any father. But more and more, I believe those worries are simply there to make me feel needed.

In her world, I see so much of Roxanne's legacy, not just in Rachel, but in my granddaughter Lena as well.

Yes, this apple did fall close to the tree. Lena represents so much of the three generations of our family's women who preceeded her, as well as a generous helping of her grandmother Linda and her Aunt Ali both of whom who look after her in Rachel's absence.

Lena is Rachel 2.0 and Roxanne 3.0. She commands the spotlight from the moment she appears. Pretty and smart, and this isn't just some grandfatherly hot air, it's the consensus of all who fall under her spell. She carries herself with poise, and strength, and an amazing amount of maturity for a ten-year old. She is the self-appointed leader of the pre-teen clan, the watchful guardian of her autistic litlle brother and her younger cousins.

It should come as no surprise that she's also a bit of a prima donna. As of the most recent report Lena's uncle was holding down the top spot on her shit list. She came in to find him watching her video of The Last Unicorn. When you're ten years old, this is no small transgression. She let him know that it was HER video, not his, and he would be welcome to watch it, but only after asking her permission. In fairness to Uncle Adon, he thought the DVD belonged to one of his kids. But having dealt with four generations of this family's women, I can say with certainty that he won't get off scot free on a technicality such as that.

Ten years old, and the world is eating out of her hand. I could learn a lot from them. And I will.

Today's lesson? The next generation -- and the one after that -- is doing just fine, thank you.

StevenK.

The Looney Boat

2010-01-28T04:41:00.005-06:00

Warning: The looney boat is about to sail. I'll just tell the story. If I sound weird, well, who said weird sucks anyway?

With all my soul I want to believe Roxanne is watching me from over the hill. But in my zest to validate my hope, I don't want to lose my ability to think rationally. It would be so easy to twist everything that comes along to make all the pieces fit. Each day, many things are going to pass my way. I'll go bonkers if I try to attach some significance to every random event in my life. But when it happens again and again and again, the mental gears begin to grind.

In the Book of Proverbs it says that it's a foolish generation which seeks a sign. But suppose the sign is thrust upon us time and time again? Doesn't that surely mean its meaning is real and proper?

It scares me from time to time, this sensation that something's snapped. Maybe the looney boat will soon have me as a passenger. Maybe Roxi wants me to be aware of her because she knows I shall soon join her. It's not astrange thought. Between my weight and my heart, I always figured I'd go first. Naturally, she told me I was wrong. More to the point, I was wrong.

So once again, I am left with many questions, many conclusions, and no answers. I think that's the way it's supposed to be.

So why do I lie awake wondering what fate holds? It's because I've been receiving what I believe are an ongoing series of thumps from the afterlife. Allow me a moment to set the stage.

Roxanne and I had a few habits which were somewhat special to us. One of those was when I would come in from work and we would decompress, watching television and talking about the day. It was our time to listen to each other and bounce around dreams and ideas.

She would tell me about the things her clients were facing -- at least as much as she could without breaking confidentiality. I would offer suggestions, most of which were met with her observation that my input was almost as useful as what comes out of the southbound end of a northbound horse. (Ain't that a GREAT line? Stole it from Dan Rather.)

I would then tell her the latest silly things I'd gotten from listeners or co-workers. Maybe I'd have a tale from the big bad world we had long since disowned. We'd usually watch something of significance to us, basketball if it were in season, or The Beatles, or some TV show we followed, such as LOST or Hell's Kitchen.

Now when the door opens, and all that's waiting is an empty house, I'm met with a jumble of emotions. I deal with it by burying myself in the countless tasks which have arisen after her death. Tuesday night, it was the DVDs.

Roxanne had dozens, hell, hundreds, of discs she recorded, many of which she never labeled. If you have read anything I've written about her, you know how she loved The Beatles. This was even more evident as I went though the DVDs, many of which were recordings of Beatle programs or videos, especially in the flurry of publicity over the 'Beatles: Rock Band' video game which was released three weeks before she died.

So there we are. I was sorting through the DVDs, many of which we had watched on those nights I described. I still talk to her. It's not such a bizarre thing as it may appear at first -- I do talk for a living, you know. Somewhat mournfully, I said, "Honey, you have so much wonderful Beatles stuff here. Maybe I ought to find somebody to watch them with me." I just meant that I hoped I could share her passion for her idols, and that someone might get pleasure from the shows she lovingly recorded. Suddenly in my mind appeared a distinct picture of her face looking a little uncertain. And it was though I heard her say "I'm right here with you. Why can't you watch them with me?"

I began to cry. All the things she can now do and yet, she still wants to have our time together? This was a breathtaking realization, because when she was alive, I often showed a great talent for being a giant pain in the ass. In my most hidden dreams, I never dared to think that it would mean so much for her to continue to share things like that with me.

So Wednesday night I came home from work, remembering all this.. I sat down and turned on the television. I had left it on ESPN News. They were doing this story about the dominance of some team -- I don't recall who -- but they began with a graphic of the Beatles! The anchor mentioned that at one point The Beatles had the top five songs on the pop charts.

The Beatles. On ESPN? What the fuck? How often does this happen? OK, I guess she was really looking forward to this. So we watched The Beatles and I would talk to her as I often do. As I said, that's not so strange. I am a verbal person. It's natural for me to vocalize things. It's what I've been trained to do.

The next night we watched someting else from the Beatles. And now, barring something to interfere, we're continuing a tradition.

Flash forward to Friday night. (That reminds me: When in the sam hill is ABC bringing back 'Flash Forward?' Anyway... jump to Friday night.) I decided to watch Conan's final Tonight show. He closed by by joining some friends to play 'Free Bird.' It occurred to me that this was one of the three songs played at her funeral. She always said she wanted it to be played when she died. Then again so did most women of her era that I ever met back in the day. 'Free Bird' has become a symbol for encores and for closure, so I didn't think much of it at the time.

I went back to sorting through a box of audio CD's. Sure enough, a couple of CD's later, I slipped an unlabeled disc into the player. The first cut it turned out to be "I Don't Want To Spoil The Party," one of the others songs we played at her funeral.

Okay, even that I can pass off as coincidence, although a much more striking coincidence. Things like that are bound to happen.

I needed to see if the CD was all Beatles, or just a bunch of random music files from her computer. Sampling another cut to play, I stopped cold in my tracks. Lo and behold, it was the third song from her funeral, the Kentucky fight song. I got scared for a moment, before realizing that was the wrong thing to feel. This can't be torture. It's just a nudge from beyond to let me know that the universe works out pretty well, and it's important that I know God still sees some purpose in me. I've been wondering about that a lot lately.

Now comes the final touch: I'm minding my own business -- working on the first draft of this post, actually -- when on comes a show about the restoration of the Sphinx. Ancient Egypt was one of Roxanne's passions. We had even planned to see the King Tut exhibit in Chicago but were not able to work out arrangements. As it's a subject I'm interested in as well, I left the show on. They mentioned an online program which allows the user to go inside the a 3-D model of the pyramids and see up to date reports on the progress of the restoration.

As much to myself as to her, I said "I wish they'd had that when you were with me." It was as though I heard her saying "Duh. Now I can go there any time and I don't have to use the damned computer." I guess she really does have a ringside seat on the excavation, just as I believe she can watch George Harrison jam anytime and see the Cats play from a perch as good as any in Rupp Arena.

Today's lesson should be one of patience, of deductive interpretation. But I don't know how to interpret it. I don't know that I should try. I only know that of the things I've written since I began LIFE 4.0, this one has taken the most thought.

I can't begin to comprehend how life works in this world, let alone how it works in whatever lies beyond. Because humans are the dominant species, we think we should have all the answers. We think knowledge is our right. Yet we really know so little and the thought that somehow we could understand it is akin to blasphemy.

A baby can feel the sunbeam but knows nothing of the world outside the window. We can see the crack of light around the closed door but what lies beyond it remains hidden. We are told to be patient. In time, life's mysteries will become clearer.

To hell with learning patience. I want answers. At the same time I know I'll never have answers -- at least not in this life -- so I settled for those precious nuggets I can hug for comfort and to stengthen my faith. I use them as fuel to go on living...and to repel the thought that the one precious thing in my life is gone forever.

I refuse to accept that way of thinking. Yet I worry that if living in denial is poisonous, that I'll never realize it in time to keep it form being my final act as a sane man. And I'm scared shitless that through my defiance, I may writing my own epitaph.

Moving Day

2010-01-09T18:52:00.003-06:00

One by one, I'm finishing the cumbersome tasks that came my way as a result of Roxanne's death. The most recent one was a big one: Getting her things packed and moved into my small apartment from her office next door. It was a lot harder than the last time I moved things. I guess that comes with age.

I had to have everything out by Wednesday morning, and with some help, it was done. Luckily, this coincided with a few days off. Due to the weather (sub-freezing temps and a couple of inches of snow), I saw the logic of remaining inside with heat and without the whpping wind. So it's been recovery time.

My running joke right now is that my living room looks lke a storage bin. Its true. I've yet to clear out even a place to sit. The couch is drowning in boxes and bags.

The emotional weight of going through her belongings is not as heavy as I'd imagined. When I come across something sentimental, it hits me, but it also makes me think of all the special things I loved about her. I've learned that surprises throw me off stride, so as long as I'm prepared to have the rug ripped from underneath me every so often, things are okay. I've been gradually sorthing through her things since she passed away, so It's getting familiar.

This pattern of rummaging through things has become a kind of therapy for me. I wonder what I'll do for distraction when this task is finally finished. But considering my procrastination, and her pack rat mentality, that may be a long time.

For right now, if you're planning on coming over, better bring your own chair. Better still, bring a couple of boxes and some packing tape.

A Christmas Story

2009-12-25T01:45:00.010-06:00

To steal a phrase from Rod Serling...

Submitted for your consideration: A short Christmas story, with minimal comment. Draw your own conclusions.

I decided against putting up any decorations this year. It's more a practical consideration than an emotional one. I didn't even send out any cards, even though I had some really cute snowman ones Roxanne had bought. I have to admit this decision was emotional. I got as far as taking them out of the box, and just got too heavy hearted. Look for 'em next year if this LIFE 4.0 thing is still working out. I'll wait until I can send along a happy greeting. My point is that even though my soul embraces the season, there's no visible evidence of Christmas at my house.

There is a small table which sits in the corner of my living room. I often put my shoes under there so they're out of the way. As I have minimal storage space, there are also some bags and boxes underneath.

Earlier tonight, as I was getting ready to go to work., I was slipping my foot inside the shoe, and it banged against a bag, knocking it over. Out came a Christmas wreath, complete with jingle bells. I'd never seen it before, at least not that I can recall. Obviously, Roxanne had bought it at some point, in anticipation of displaying it. Christmas was such fun with her. It was one of the few times she would shed that "don't fuck with me" exterior and became that awestruck wonder-filled womanchild I saw so seldom.

I'm not one to thumb my nose at a hint, so the wreath is now displayed next to my front door. I'm not surprised that I've allowed it to take on a life of its own. It sat there for no telling how long, apparently deciding Christmas Eve was the time to appear. And not just any Christmas Eve, but the most trying one in my entire life.

Today's lesson? As I said, I'll leave you to draw your own conclusions. This may be another in a series of unrelated coincidences. Or it may be I have an angel who is still looking after my needs... an angel who wants me to know I should honor Christmas, in spite of my lonliness.

It may even be that someone wanted me to know that it's it's okay to feel lonely. Perhaps I'm supposed to learn that angels can sometimes feel lonely, too.

Merry Christmas, everyone.

So Tosca made me cry. So what?

2009-12-20T23:46:00.006-06:00

I try not to worry about problems before they happen. But there's no way to deny that this is going to be a tough week for me. Triple whammy... my mother's birthday, Roxanne's birthday, and Christmas. And while I'm writing this post, "Tosca" comes on for the third time in the past few days. And for the third time, that nixes my goal of not crying (see 'weak moments update' in the next paragraph). So for anyone to whom I'm distant or distracted this week, I apologize. I guess I'd be more worried if I weren't affected.

First, the weak moments update: Facebook fans and Twitter followers may have seen a post about this last week. I came home the other night, and caught the end of "Tosca." (I'm a serious opera fan. It's total immersion, total passion, and the good guys don't always win.) As always, when the condemned Mario says "Never have I loved life more," I absolutely lost it. But I knew that was coming. It always does. You can blame a band director from my high school days. He was a big Puccini fan. And thanks to the people who wrote to ask if I was okay after that. It's good to know you're looking out for me.

Music always gets me. I can be plugging along just fine; then, out of the blue, I hear Lucinda Willams singing "Are You Alright?" and I lose it for a long minute.

I'm progressing well. I've not fallen into the 'no reason to get out of bed today' trap. Day to day, I keep going, and not just because I have no other option. My reasoning seems to be sound, except that it's been so long since I thought of only myself, there's a lot of catching up to be done.

My mind seems to have reset to a long ago place. I no longer have to weigh the concern of another person into my decisions. It's as if I'm thinking in terms of the last time I was in this position... namely before Roxanne and I started to get involved. My mind has reverted to 1977. This would be comical if I'd just quit taking things so seriously. Really. The idea that my brain thinks I'm ready to become a member of the Dharma Initiative makes me smile.

So add a couple of more things to the "must do at all times" file. Must remember that I am not 21 years old, and to act in accordance with this realization. Allow me one self-pitying observation: I really get screwed on this one. I'm left with the physical effects of aging, and without the mental and emotional experience to know to temper my instincts. It's the worst of both worlds.

Or maybe God knows more than I do, and he's metaphorically throwing me into the fray. Time to sink or swim.

The Higher You Climb, The Farther You Fall

2009-12-08T19:21:00.005-06:00

Thanksgiving was a little harder than I expected. Holidays are a wild card, I suppose. Usually, they're just another day, so that's what I suppose I'd come to expect.

Expectations don't always pan out.

I insisted on working a lot, partially because I had plenty of free time, partially for the practical reason that any activity would be a distraction. It's really hard to get some people to understand that I'd simply prefer to be by myself. I had one friend who spent the better part of a half hour the day before Thanksgiving going on and on about how awful it is that I'd not be with a big glob of people on Thanksgiving, holidays are for gathering, you don't need to be alone, blah, blah, blah.

This is no romantic thing... I'm light years away from being ready for anything like that. This is just someone who said she wants to help. Finally just to shut her up, I halfheartedly accepted her offer to being me a Thanksgiving plate. And then she never showed. I've not even heard from her since, and I honestly don't care. It rides my ass when people, even though they may mean well, project their value system onto you and expect you to respond emotionally in the same way they do.

So there it is. I trust one person, make one grudging step in the direction of normalcy, and get let down. I'll hold the football, Charlie Brown, and you come running up and kick it. Maybe that started the ball rolling. The nonstop Christmas music didn't help, nor did the bleak, dreary weather. So Thanksgiving night was not my finest hour. I've got to learn how to recognize the signs, and to be ready to take hold of myself. If my Roxanne is still with me -- as I believe she is -- then I'm only feeling sorry for myself as I wait for a lifeline... some familiar sight or sensation to latch on to.

Friday was much better. I got to see a few people I'd not seen in a while, people I really like and was anxious to spend some time with. So Friday was happy, anchored by an incredibly nice gesture from a couple of casual friends who did something nice for me for no reason beyond that fact that they wanted to do something nice. If you're reading this, I won't embarass you; you know who you are. And I am forever grateful for your kindness.

The road isn't getting smoother. I choose to interpret that as a sign that I must be climbing. The highs are getting higher, the lows are getting lower. I wish I knew if that's how it's supposed to be. If there's a road map to follow, I sure don't know where to find it.. I have no guide in walking this road. there's no one to tell me how I should be feeling and acting... and if how I actually am feeling and acting is healthy.

When I cry, I just cry. I don't stop to think about it. I don't worry about whether it's right or wrong, it's what I need to do. It's a way of coping, and when I'm done, I feel better. What scares me is that this could become addictive behavior. If you look at what I just wrote, it's the same thing people say to justify drinking, drugs, gambling, promiscuity, any number of intoxicating behaviors.

Again, I tell myself to focus on the good. I have learned to prepare for the things I know wil be painful. The moments of weakness come when I'm taken by surprise. More often than not, I'm able to deal with the situations which I expect to encounter. It's the ones that sneak up on me that bring me back to the starting line.

My Inner Bastard

2009-11-24T22:58:00.011-06:00

I seem to be getting in touch with my inner bastard. I have always had the luxury of being easygoing. Roxanne was so tough and forceful, we easily fell into the good cop / bad cop routine.

It's much more fun to be the nice guy. So it's always been a bit abnormal when it's been my turn to play the heavy. But now I have to, or the world will roll over me and laugh in disgust at the devastation in its wake. And like many other things in my life, I'm finding that when I'm backed into the corner, I am able to respond with more control and more determination than I thought possibile.

This is where I start hearing Peter Tosh in my head, singing "I'm The Toughest." So I'm becoming tough. That's an asset this time of year. The holidays are approaching - not that they really matter. My family is half way across the continent, so we never do anything around the holidays anyway. I guess I'm fortunate in that there's no Thanksgiving or Christmas table, so there's also no conspicuous empty place at that table this year.

But I'm finding that a think skin seems to help me deal with everyone else's chaos. Everyone is so rushed, so overamped, so frazzelled. So I get to hold on to myself, and be the isle of sanity amid the tempest.

My emotions seem to have stabilized. About twice a day, I lose it, usually for only about 30 seconds, and luckily, so far, I've always been alone whan it happens. Then my inner bastard comes on line, telling me it's time to toughen up. I don't like to think of myself as tough. But it's a character trait that I need to develop, if only to maintain self-discipline.

It's still an effort to stay focused on what's ahead. Toughness is making it easier. More toughness would help. I suppose the new goal is to strengthen my reserve without hardening my heart.

I hope, to steal a popular phrase, that God is still my co-pilot. But it's nice to know that my inner bastard is there, too, crouched in the back seat, nagging the hell out of me for my own good. It's what Roxanne used to do. And it's comforting -- and somehow poetically triumphant -- to know that from our time together, I have learned from her how to find the strength I now need.

It's A Piggy World

2009-11-13T23:18:00.003-06:00

I still haven't figured out a really good reason to hang around this Hotel California, but it's not for me to say when I check out.

Some things are easier. I can come and go on my own schedule. That's an important thing when you work the late hours I do. No more strange looks at the laundromat when I pull ladies' underwear out of the dryer.

I'm spending less money eating out because too many places have too many memories. In the past six weeks, I've not been to Acropolis, or Los Bravos, or Taj Mahal, or Wolf's, Biaggis, Applebee's, Olive Garden, Golden Buddah, Charlie's or any one of several other places we used to frequent. Lunch together was one if our few mutual indulgences. It may sound snotty, but we were so immersed in each other that we really didn't socialize beyond each other.

Being Kentuckians, the other obvious indulgence is basketball. I won't try to explain. It's a cultural anomaly, derived from living in a state which serves as the butt of far too many jokes. So the things which we excelled at became iconic. Coal, horses, tobacco, liquor -- whether legal bourbon or shine from the still -- when it came to these things, we could kick anybody's ass. And Kentucky especially kicked ass in basketball. Kentucky was Roxanne's adopted home state, but her blue passion was equal to mine.

Which leads me to the story of tonight, and the first official basketball game of the season. I only cried once, when Eric Bledsoe and Demarcus Cousins combined for this incredible full speed flash to the basket for a layup. It's the sort of play that brings you out of your seat, and if Roxanne were here in mortal form, she would have whooped as loudly as I did. It was when realized that I couldn't share it with her that I slipped for a moment.

I'm really getting stronger. Not to brag, but I'm a hell of a lot better than I thought I'd be. Yes, it's all relative. I'm talking about how I'm in command of my sanity and how I'm emotionally stable. Then I turn around and start talking to my Hershey Beanie Baby, or my UK Beanie Bear, or the giant UK stuffed teddy, or the house celebrity, my stuffed pig. (Piggy really is a celebrity, having appeared on Twitter. See Piggy on Twitpic.)

What worries me is that Piggy talks to me, through me. This is weird. I'm channeling a stuffed pig. Getting in touch with my inner swine, perhaps? Piggy sings more than he talks When I feel uncertain, Piggy sings his favorite song "It's A Piggy World."

"It's a Piggy World
You got to be rude, you got to be crude
It's a Piggy World
And if you ain't a piggy, you're pretty much screwed"

And they still let me walk around unescorted. What a great country.

Any Road Will Take You There

2009-11-02T21:20:00.003-06:00

Did you ever see someone trying to cross a frozen lake? He looks down in nervous anticipation. He draws a deep breath, maybe two. You see him step very gingerly, listening for the warning crack of the ice. That guy on the ice, that's me.

It seems as if every day, I'm learing how to slide into the openings fate leaves for me. The task at hand now is attitude adjustment. The world quickly tires of a bleeding heart,and I don't want to be anyone's punching bag.

When I was younger, I accomplished so much in angry young man mode. One of the challlenges of age is channeling those feelings so they don't look like anger. An angry young man can fawn inspiration. An angry old man fawns contempt and pity.

Like most things, the answer's simple. Lighten up, Smile, ponder, dream, I'm not being positive enough. It's been a busy time. It's been too easy to procrastinate about getting on with life. Got to stop being afraid of mistakes. Well, wait a minute. I don't know that I'm really scared... just cautious about making a misstep.

So here i am, stepping onto the ice, holding my breath. So far, no cracks, only an occassional pop. Like last night, when the storm door blew open in the wind. When I heard it, I automatically looked up -- thought it was her coming home. Still, I've yet to really suffer the panic I figured would have set in by now. I should use that to my advantage, hoping against the odds that it won't be so easy to stumble.

Time to get into action. A good plan today is better than a great plan tomorrow.So while my head is clear, I'm working on a new direction, one which will lead somewhere that's still a mystery.

George Harrison said it best:

Oh Lord we've got to fight
With the thoughts in our head and the dark and the light
No use to stop and stare
If you don't know where you're going
Any road will take you there

Looking for home, somewhere in the rain.

2009-10-30T21:10:00.001-05:00

It's been a good day. It really shouldn't have been. Rainy nights now terrify me, because I used to love them so.

The was just something about rainy nights that Roxanne and I both cherished. It was our chance to show that nothing could get the best of us. Through the storm, I always knew I had a place to go where I would be safe and dry. Somewhere where thoughts and ideas, hopes and dreams, laughter and longings would be order of the day. I used to so love coming home on a rainy night, because whatever struggles lay outside were insignificant in contrast to the wonder and comfort we would feel together.

The last few nights have been rainy, and they've been hard. Echoes travel farther in the damp, and doubt spreads like wildfire when it feeds on the desperation that's become my frequent companion. But tonight, I didn't give it foothold. Tonight I mustered the strength that she told me was always there, and used it to maintain peace in my soul.

This weekend is a celebration of death. Skeletons, tombstones, zombies, stories of the walking dead. Yes, all the usual macabre Halloween stuff, plus a Dead Rockers Block Party on the radio station. Death surrounds me and taunts me, but it can go to wherever death goes when someone tells it to go to hell. It didn't get the best of me tonight.

Tonight, I kept my head, and actually made some plans for the future. Tonight I made a difference in someone's life, and not just by occupying space. Tonight I used the hole in my soul not for self-indulgent pity, but as a chance to learn something about myself, and about life. Maybe, I thought tonight, just maybe rainy nights can again be my friend. And maybe someday through the rain, as I always have, I'll find my way home.

There's a strength in knowing that a warm, happy place awaits you when it's time to come in from the rain. Extrapolate the significance, and there's our lesson for the day. Patience, preserverance, and faith -- these three things will lead to the reward. There will be hope, and peace, and most importantly, in the fullness of time, a familiar warm and fuzzy place where I know I'll finally be home.

In the meantime, score today in the "good" column.

Now it begins

2009-10-29T02:36:00.000-05:00

It's been one month today.

When it happened, I said I'd give myself a month get my bearings. A month to think things out. A month to figure out the answer I need, the answer to the everpresent question.

So, what happens now?

I still hear her voice. I still see her out of the corner of my eye. I still feel her thoughts around me, and I still shape my thoughts around what she would say.

Maybe I'm in denial. Maybe it hasn't hit me yet. Maybe I should just acknowledge this empty place she left in my life.

Maybe I should just shut the hell up and get on with things.

Some things really bother me. I've only had one dream of her, and she only appeared in an incidental way. I want to see her again, even if she vanishes when I awaken. I've not changed her web site. I know her clients must be wondering what has happened. I can't bear to break their hearts, although I know I soon must do just that.

I, I, I. It seems everything I write is about me. I feel selfish (there I go again.) That's something to be aware of. She deserves to be first, for al the years when I was first in her life. And even when I was second or third, it wasn't by much.

It does seem that I'm adjusting. I smile and joke a lot, as I always have. I can hear "Here Comes The Sun," and not get blubbery. I don't flinch so much when I drive past the Deaconess emergency room. There were a lot fewer tears than I expected as I watched the beginning of the new basketball season -- by the way, I didn't get the feeling I was alone.

There are things I'm thankful for. I'm glad she did not suffer. I'm glad that the night before she died, I had told her exactly how much she meant to me, as a friend and a companon, in addition to my love for her. Although I'm not sure, I believe the last thing I said to her was "I love you." I'm glad that whenever I cry, I realize how she would have hated that, and I'm able to stop.

The telephone doesn't ring much these days. People don't call without a reason. Not that I expect them to. Probably no one knows what to say. I know I surely wouldn't know what words could bring comfort. They're on my side; I know that. I've had so many expressions of kindness and sympathy. Everyone says to call if I need anything. Maybe I will, but I work late, and the time I need an ear is usually in the hours before dawn. Sort of an awkward time for a chat.

So I'll vent here, or cry here, or hopefully, celebrate here. I hope you'll stop by once in a while, and perhaps leave a comment. Life 4.0 is so uncertain... and sort of barren at the moment.

Endings, Beginnings

2009-09-29T23:25:00.001-05:00

NOTE: This post was orginally written for my "Club Dead" blog. When I decided to begin LIFE .0, it seems only proper to include it

What goes around, comes around.
I began my CLUB DEAD blog as a way to express what I felt about people who have passed on. I knew that eventually, I would have to stop.
Perhaps I will stop.
Perhaps I'll continue it.
I don't know right now. I'm so totally off kilter, I don't know how to begin to describe it.
Tonight, I come here to write about someone who died a few hours ago, someone who lived in my every thought for over thirty years. I debated whether to include her on this blog. Would she think it in bad taste, I wondered. But I know the answer is no. She was so much a part of everything I did on the air, it would be wrong not to eulogize her. She would want to be included.
Tradition has it that when a loved one passes, you should surround yourself with friends, associates, anyone who can provide comfort and distraction.
That's not how I choose to spend my first night without her. FIve minutes with her was always preferable to years with anyone else. So I'll be alone with my thoughts, my prayers, and seek the distraction that comes in writing these words.
I want to remember her. I want to dwell on the bounty of wonderful memories she left me. I want to believe that in whatever may lie beyond the mortal life, she has been welcomed and is healed. I want to believe that she will touch me tonight in my dreams, and that she will continue to do so often.
I'm determined not to cry, although I'm sure I'll lose that battle. Roxanne hated it when I would cry. I like to think it's because she saw me as too strong to need tears. More likely it's that she didn't want to face the fact the she married a wuss.
Roxanne was unique. Not one to be lost in the crowd, she touched everyone she came in contact with. She would have been the first to say that many people found her overbearing. She was abrasive, quick, to the point, yet loving, caring, and sensitive.
What made her smile? The Beatles, great food, Mozart, classic black-and-white films, and color ones as well. She had an encyclopedic knowledge of movies and television. Pretty good with music, too -- handy when you're married to someone in radio.
Living with me, Roxanne became a devoted fan of the University of Kentucky basketball team. It's going to be strange watching the Cats without her. That may be when I need that company and distraction which I'm not partaking in tonight. The last time I didn't discuss a game with her, Kyle Macy was playing the point and Goose Givens was putting on the show of his life against Duke. That's a long time.
She had spent a year in the hospital as a child. Much of her outer toughness was hatched from a needed instinct to survive. After our daughter was born, she decided to stay home... a typical wife and mother through good times and bad.
Our story was never one of love at first sight, but of love nurtured and tenderly grown. Truth be told, that gruff exterior put me off at first, too. As we began to find each other, she began to trust me enough to show the loving, caring side of her personality. And she discovered the same part of me. Through the success and heights of my career, she was there, helping at every turn.
When failure followed my sucess, I was generally an ass. Roxanne stayed by my side long after most women would have left. Maybe it was for our daughter's sake. I only know it took me until age 42 to grow up. By then, the familiarity and comfort was intact, but the thought of love was streching thin. But despite a few years apart, we continued together, as best friends and devoted allies. The time apart made our reunions that much sweeter.
Seventeen years ago, Roxanne began to re-discover the psychic abilities which had fascinated her early in life. She began to connect with people, and as the psychic industry emerged from the shadow into mainstream America, she helped lead the way.
I often told her how much I held her in awe. The people she counseled were generous in their praise. I long ago lost count of the number of people whose lives she touched, not just in passing, but with substantial influence. She helped people. Many people.
And people loved her. But -- forgive me for being selfish -- no one loved her as I did. Strike that. As I still do. My faith tells me that from beyond, she is still in my life. If it's simple to believe that she and her parents are re-uniting tonight, somewhere in God's great universe, then I shall be simple.
We look for any sign, so I've found one tonight. The movie "Sister Kenney" has appeared on TV. It's certainly obscure enough to take note of. Roxanne saw it as a child in the hospital; in fact, it inspired her to study nursing. As I remember, it's the first old movie she ever showed me. It doesn't seen that long ago, that first night of many we would share as she passed to me her love of classic cinema. To see it tonight, of all nights... just say I'm closing my mind to the idea of coincidence.
If I'm right, I imagine her parents and mine will have welcomed her by now. Could be she's busy figuring out how to find John Lennon, George Harrison, Bob Marley, and Vivien Leigh. Perhaps she's already been to the Rainbow Bridge and exchanged kisses with our four beloved Shar-Pei.
And I hope she's checking how to help her big honey, who's a more than a little bit lost right now.

Here is the message I posted to the WABX listeners on the WABX web site.
September 29, 2009
I am heartbroken to tell you that my Roxanne passed away today. Despite our estrangement we were still best friends and shared intertwined lives. I thank God for the over thirty years we had together, and that she died without pain.
Roxanne was a psychic advisor who had brought endless joy and needed counsel to thousands of clients over the years. We all hope to make a contribution in this world. I can truly say she made a huge difference in many peoples' lives.
Roxanne was a proud Kentuckian by way of Atlantic City. She was a Jersey Girl, through and through. Tough as steel, with a heart as tender as any. Beneath her brittle shell lived a passionate, vibrant soul. From her, I took a love for Mozart, Bob Marley, old movies, and my Serbian Orthodox faith. In return, through me, she gained an appreciation for politics, barbeque, and the unique lovingly cynical viewpoint available only to radio spouses.
She also assimilated by love for the Kentucky Wildcats, maybe even eclipsing my own place in the Big Blue Nation. This is no small thing. Is it selfish of me to wonder how I'll react without her?
I also treasure the things we discovered together: The joys and aches of parenthood, the rigors of road trips, and the irony of British comedy. And most of all, the incredible rush of tackling life while being coupled with someone who adores even your worst faults.
I have no idea why she loved me. I only thank God she did.
Obviously, this is an awkward time. To my friends, please don't hesitate to call or mail, though I may not respond quickly. I appreciate your love and support and I shall thank you individually when circumstances permit. Anyone knows me personally knows how Roxanne has been the shining light which has guided me almost all my adult life.
To the listeners, just know that whatever pleasant moments I have been able to bring you came through the love and support she gave to me, even through the times when we were no longer "in love." I can only wish that you have, or will find, someone which brings you such richness as she brought to me.
Dobro vece, pila moya.

Steven