Forever

In less than 9 days, I will wed the love of my life, my best friend, the dearest and closest person in my life, and I could not be more excited and terrified, nor happy and nervous, and it is so wonderous, I fear I cannot capture it properly in words.

When I think of how much it means to me, how much she means to me, and just what it will be like when I do in fact marry my best friend, the love of my life, I can barely contain the emotion, the joy and the excitment...

And yes, even a small amout of fear, yet even so I am not so afraid as to deny my desire, my longing to join my life to hers, to meld ourselves into a new thing. To share the joys and struggles, our hopes and fears, to walk the path before us, to measure together the life we dream of, I walk onwards, I struggle, daily I take up my burden, and share her load.

It is such a comfort and blessing to be close to her, to feel her warmth close to me, in both the abstract and the litteral sense.

Why? Because... Tomorrow will be different, tomorrow will be special, and why?
All because of a name, what's in a name, and what does it mean? Is it really who you are? Is that label what defines you, more that the stars? Perchance, or likely not, it is you who defines, and defies, decries and demands, the wonderous mystery of two lives joined in hands.

When that day comes, where I will see my love, draped in white, smiling at me, her eyes seeing only me as I watch her march forward to stand by my side, I honestly don't know if I will be able to digest or comprehend all of the emotion, all of the feelings, or even all of my thoughts.

Even now, I cannot contain it, Kristen, you are so much more, too much to hold in a single moment of my life, so I will give you all the moments I have left in this life. I hope they are all enough...

-Caleb

Silverado

When I take it into my head to slow down a moment or three, and reflect on life, I will, more often than not it seems, have some of the most singularly strangest ideas come into the forefront of my mind. But after the intial burst of ADD/ADHD obliges me with some mental chaos, I will find myself becoming ever more introspective, and existential, musing upon things, events that have happened, and events yet to come. And I find myself defaulting into the mode of playing a sweeping and indepth game of "connect the dots" wherein I connect memorable and impactful points in my life (as best as I can recall them of course) and flexing my logic and linear reasoning skills to conjur up a picture and definate exposition on the past, present, and the possible (or impossible) futures in relation to myself, the world as it stands, and the connections between myself and others.

I always have the funniest and/or strangest revelations when I stop long enough to really reflect in honesty.

For example; given my last two posts, I came to a realization that the one movie I can really say set me on the path I am now on, and the one I can say has impacted myself as a story teller, is a movie that came out July 10th, 1985, over 3 months before I was born, and I first saw about the middle of Febuary in 1991. Which, for you who know the right details, is both strage, creepy, and ponderously wonderful, and confirms the irony ans mystery of hindsight.

Silverado is a pretty straightforward classical style western story, made in what many film buffs call the "twilight of the Traditional American Western" meaning the dialogue, music, cinematography, and even the action are all pretty standard, and even downright tame compared to some. Sure there's blood, violence and colorful speech, but nothing terrible, it would barely earn its 80s PG-13 rating today.

And yes, before you gasp or pitch a fit, I was 6 when I first saw this PG-13 rated film, with both of my parents sitting next to me I should add. But it was, as was once the American way, the first morality play I ever saw, that wasn't a rank n file, copy n paste Bible story.

From that day on, I've always wanted to be a cowboy...

I begged and pleaded for, and got, a cap gun, I already had a cowboy hat and boots, and I would dash about the yard on my "horse" (either a broom or my bycycle) "shootin" the badguys, I practiced my quick draw, and I would hum, chant and whistle the theme music all the time to myself as my own soundtrack, between reciting my favorite lines and quotes from the movie.

I wanted to be that faithful friend, brother, son, wanderer... I wanted to go and see the world, make mistakes and then make up for them, righting a wrong only I could right. I wanted to prove to everyone that while I was a crazy cocky young guy who trouble always could find, I was still man enough to handle things, and to do what was needed. I wanted to find a girl, and fall in love, far from home, from what was expected. And I wanted to win her heart, because I wasn't like the other guys...

Looking back on my life, I'm more than a little surprised to see that I've somehow mannaged to do all of that, I've mannaged to walk all the paths of all 4 of the heros in that film...

Over the last 7 years, I have done all of that, and now so much more, and I can't quite wipe the smile off of my face when I recall playing in the floor while watching that movie.

A masterpice of American Film it is not, but it is now the sum total fanciful story of my life to date, and I can't complain.

Its not what a cowboy does.

We just do what we feel and know to be right.

Alien

As strange as seeing a black sunrise, or purple grass, the motivations and reasoning of some people, is tottaly foregin to me.

It is, in a strange and less than entertaining yet wholly thought provoking way, just like the classicly abused sci-fi trope of the non-exsitant language barrier, better known as "lack of a failure to comunicate" aka ; "Aliens speak English", wherein "aliens are capable speaking whatever language is required based on their location, commonly English."

Only inverted, or more accurately, as has been said of the nations of the US and the UK, "two people separated by a common language" all pointing to the disconnect I feel when I cannot comprehend the thoughts of a fellow human being, and thusly cannot understand their actions or statements.

Normally, this is just annoying, but in some cases...

It compounds the wound that I suffer, when actions and words hurt someone close to me, and I can't understand why. And I mean not the shock induced sort of mis-understanding, but the kind of lack of understanding that comes from a totally alien mindset.

It binds me from addressing the situation, in any effective way...

And it need not be so, or so I think, and yet, there is never a proper resloution.

-Caleb

the need for "cowboys"

In this oh so lovely juncture of time and space, we find that the current soical fabric of our great nation is changing, and the opnion as to if it is for ill or good is very much devided, polarizing as the status of things are, given recent events, a small, and vital part of our history and traditions is once more the subject of almost hateful and possible life altering debate.

No, I will not launch into some social-political commentary about gun control, I will, at a later date, post my thoughts on the matter and shall be undully judged for it I'm sure.
What I aim to speak upon here today, is something a bit more personal, yet related, and likely echoed within a few select preceding posts. I am, at heart, a cowboy.
Shocked?
No?
Drat...

Okay, admitedly, I'm an urban cowboy, I don't wear a Stetson, I'm not fond of riding horses, and I have a Glock M17 rather than a Colt Peacemaker, but I maintain my cowboy status based on my personality and mannerisms.
Addressing the idea that a cowboy is some yahoo reckless puke who charges in to situations and bruteforces his way to an end, who is only looking out for his own selfish wants, is stubborn and old fashioned and set in his ways and who might also be of dull or simple intellect, I want to set things straight by saying that such ideas are simply not factual.
A true cowboy, traditionally and historically speaking, is a hard working, steady handed, reliable and honest person of the male persuasion who is a trusted and vital part of society, counted on to carry on and uphold the moral, practical, and logistical norms of the world around him.
He is paid a meager but fair wage for his work, the long hours in the saddle, the squinting against the suns glare, the peering into the dark, the braving of the storm. All to safeguard his area of responsibilty against harm, against loss, and against the underbelly of society.

He is as honest, true, and loyal as the sunrise, so long as the respect due him is paid, and his efforts are recognized in some fashion. And there is, in the traditional, and romantic ideology, no kinder neighbor, more ferocious advisary, or faithful friend than the cowboy.
Quiet, of few words or many, always kindly and well spoken, comfortingly polite yet sometimes scaldingly profane, a cowboy is prized for being a true and authentic gentleman and saying just what he is thinking or feeling with as much respect and calm as he can muster.

It is this masculine ideal that I have always held in great favor and aspired to, for much of my life, because our society, our nation, our family's, even our whole world, needs this, far more than the lilly fingered, pencil pushing, rubber necked, "domesticated" post-modern, no account, little lost spineless boys masquerading as "men" that have turned away from the fundemental truths of hard work, responsiblity, loyalty and honesty that made our men, and thusly our families and nation so very great so long ago.

We all wanted to be a cowboy once upon a time, why not now? You "grew up"?
Bullshit, you forgot how to dream...

-Caleb