Sometimes people cross a line that is difficult, if not impossible to step back over. In my battle toward forgiveness (yes, it is a struggle), I am playing tug of war with my instincts for self preservation and comfort. In other words, safety and well being.

If a person lies to you, and then asks your forgiveness, what does that mean? Once trust is shattered, there is no switch on the wall that you can flip and restore things to the way they were. Nor would such a mechanism be wise.

To live is to discover facts about the world around us. Nothing has changed except our awareness. The hot oven rack is still hot. Do not touch it without a pot holder or making sure it has cooled first. The blister, even after it has healed, will remind you to protect yourself.

When you realize a person has lied to you, you no longer have the option of trusting them. It would not make sense.

So what is forgiveness? I’m not sure. Maybe forgiveness is an honest assessment which takes into account a person’s strengths as well as their weaknesses or limitations, and deciding that they are worth wearing an oven mitt.

From an early age, people respected my ability to draw pictures. Or at least they were supportive of my love for drawing.

When I was in Jr. High, I could attract a crowd of other students by drawing animals in the library. They’d call out “can you draw a squirrel?” Or “Draw me a horse!” And I would. Anything they asked for, I drew, and gave them the drawings.

That was my role. The one thing I was good at. That, and making people laugh.

I didn’t think much of it. It came so easy to me. But what a wonderful thing, looking back. I wasn’t good at sports, or math, or English, or paying attention. But I was known as the kid who could draw.

“How do you know where to start?” They asked questions, but I just drew. I didn’t know how. I didn’t know how not to.

As I got older, I always drew for fun. For myself. For a friend or two. But I sort of froze up when I tried to do something for a show or “serious art” for a person’s wall.

Expectation killed the fun… Fundamentally changed my approach and my attitude.

I really had to learn to let go. Like when I made art with my brother. There were no rules. There was no judgement or expectation. Just a lot of laughter and joy. Whether we were writing stories or poems, painting our bodies, taking photographs or any other creative whim, we had FUN, and those remain timeless pieces of art.

I think my brother “gets me” in a way that few can. We were right there together in the creative flow, playing and laughing. And this was when we were adults, by the way.

Our Boundary Waters photos were like no one else’s. We can still recite the poems we wrote there.

Eventually, I was able to let go of that baggage and have fun painting in my studio. Especially after my daughter was born.

Acceptance by other people is not something I strive for, as odd as that may sound. If I paint for acceptance, you can be sure no one will like it. So I do me. My fish are in the treetops. Don’t like it? Look somewhere else. Find what you love.

I’ve worked so many jobs over the years. Back in 1979 I worked in a nursing home when I was in college. I guess I’ve come full circle on that one. But in between then and now I worked as a summer camp counselor and horsemanship instructor, classroom aide with severely multiply impaired (SXI) children, I worked in commercial heating and cooling, managed a deli, waited tables, I was a Realtor, dispatcher/jailer and barista to name a few. Currently, I am a nurse, artist, photographer and minister.

I think everything I do impacts my writing. This includes my roles as father, grandfather, friend, brother, son… and my hobbies like roasting my own coffee beans and acting. All of those experiences go into the mix, augmenting what comes out.

I have an urge to create things, whether they are paintings, written stories, digital art or any other medium.

I create things first for myself. I love the act of creating something. I love to see a painting come together on a blank canvas, or a story or essay appear on a blank page. So the act, or process of making something is very enjoyable, and I like to look at or read what comes out.

That is a good thing, because when I look at the stats on my blog, I see that very few other people look at what I put there, and I’m sure even fewer read what I’ve written.

I’m ok with that! Of course I’d like to have a wider audience, and maybe that will come about in time. Sometimes I think people might discover my writings after I am dead. Better late than never!

I do like to get approval from others, but that, or the lack of it doesn’t make or break me.

What’s really fun, is when someone in the mainstream media picks up on what I’ve done. That is really validating for me.

Chris Casey from the Duluth News Tribune, Jason Davis from ABC Channel 5 in the Twin Cities, Will Moore from WTIP and others have covered my science fiction autobiography, which I’ve been working on for 18 years. I love that, but if approval from others was more important to me, I’d have given up long ago.

I share my work on the World Wide Web because it lets me easily self-publish. I like to share what I’ve done with friends, and it is an opportunity to widen my audience.

I didn’t grow up with social media. When I was in 5th or 6th grade, my teacher saw that my two best friends and I were making a little newspaper. He supported us by involving the rest of the class, and “publishing” our project by mimeographing it. I’m doing something similar today through my blogs and my Facebook page.

I don’t think I’m much different than other people. I think we’re all unique, and we’re all similar at the same time. We all have our different talents and motivations.

It seems that people think I’m different. I guess I like to focus on things we have in common.

We are all intrinsically spiritual. Our spirit is the real us… the invisible part of us that animates our bodies. It’s the part of us that dreams. The part that wonders and creates. We need the physical part to inform the intangible part, and also to express or translate our thoughts back out into the physical world.

If someone asks what I look like, I might send them a picture of my face. It looks a bit like my father’s face. And my grandfather’s face. But my body is not me. It’s just the vehicle I ride around in. It’s an incredibly complex tool I use to explore the world, and to express my feelings. The real me is unphotographable.

We get a limited time in these bodies… a limited time to use these fingers to hold a paintbrush, these vocal chords to tell a story. So the creative marks I leave on the world are spiritually driven.

I love the winter because it is here. The weather changes, like our moods. It’s just a fact of life. I always thought winter lasted so long here, but it seems to be zipping by.

Last spring I longed for the summer. It came, and it was wonderful. Then it was gone.

Ten night shifts in a row seems long, so I don’t think about it that way. I just try to live in the moment. Next thing I know, I have four nights off.

Seasons and work schedules pass quickly when you’re doing other things.

But these are the seasons of my life. Zipping by.

I have my favorite, but they all have their own beauty.

Maybe on my deathbed, I’ll wish for one more LOOOOOOOONG winter.

The ephemeral art of coffee. There’s something about knowing that I roasted these beans at 9 last night… with friends here… olfactory cells anticipating this morning as the chaff wafted up into my face… and brewed them when I woke up. It’s all for that moment when the molecules interface with the cells on your tongue. The taste message is sent to the brain. Yes. The taste is rich and delicious. But again, that knowing… it enhances cooking and makes it art.

For several years, I have been brewing my own espresso at home. I work the night shift, so I want my lattes at about 8 or 9 pm. This year, I am roasting my own coffee beans!

I’ve always loved coffee. I remember when I was little, my mom would have ladies from the church over from time to time, and when they left the table, I’d go around and drink the dribbles out of the bottom of all the cups.

Years ago, there was no espresso available in Grand Marais. I just wanted a cappuccino! So I bought a commercial espresso machine and opened a coffee shop/art gallery and housed it in my 1948 Great Northern Railway caboose.

My cafe is my own kitchen now.

I’m me again. Maybe more me than I ever was before.

I never thought I could be so connected to a place. But this is the one place my piece of the puzzle fits.

I actually ceased to be me when I left here (for a short visit to NC in the fall). I thought that move was permanent, and it terrified me. I kept telling my brother, “I want to be me again.”

People ask why I hated NC. At first, I gave long, convoluted answers, until I realized it was because NC is not Grand Marais.

I was traumatized. Still am, from the adventure. But there was a gift. It ripped me open, and since coming home I am oozing with creativity and joy.

As I told my friend today, “I am full of joy. The kind of joy that is always on the verge of tears. I feel very blessed (for lack of a better word). Humbled, grateful, content, fulfilled… HOME.”

I know I’ve been verbose over the past couple of months. I don’t apologize for that. However, I am feeling that it’s time to think about trading the pen for the paintbrush. For awhile.

Same thoughts and feelings. Different medium.

Around 1992 or 1993, I started mentoring high school students. I did art with some of them, web design or digital art with others, and music with others.

We had a mixer and cabinet speakers that had belonged to a cabaret singer from the Twin Cities, and I ran the sound out of that into a cd recorder.

I worked with a lot of local bands, producing their music. I also used that mixer to put my early Flash Meridian cds together. That system was set up in my 1948 Great Northern Railway caboose here in Grand Marais.

It still had signage on the doors warning passengers to “WATCH FOR SLACK ACTION”, and that is where I got the name for my production company.

All that equipment eventually got sold off, and today I was able to purchase “new” pieces to revive S.A.D.

The early compact discs included Episodes 1-30 of the Adventures Of Flash Meridian, and now the series goes through Episode 102.

I’m grateful to Pete K. for allowing this to happen, and to the generous universe.