Christmas 2009: 99 percent good, one percent ridiculous

Spent Christmas split between my sister's house and my brother's place near Sacramento. It was probably as nice as it could have bee, without my children. For years, I have read "Twas the Night Before Christmas" to my children, even when I wasn't there for them. Last year, I read it to them over the phone. This year? The wife couldn't even figure out a way to have the kids contact me on Christmas Eve. So no, I didn't read them a story like I had so many times before. And when it came to actually speaking to them, I was given exactly five minutes and nine seconds to talk to them -- which once they figured out who I was, I said hello and was able to make it past the boyfriend's Russian mother's accent -- was probably closer to three minutes. Three minutes to share with two children what their Christmas was like. That's one-and-one-half minutes per child. It almost takes me that long to blink. And here's the kicker: Just as has been the case before, no one seems fit enough over there to pay for a phone with long distance. Jim had the same problem with Destiny. He didn't have long distance on his phone. This is nearly 2010, not 1910. What person in this day and age doesn't have long-distance phone service? Even I, with my crappy pay-as-you-go phone, have long distance. No, my phone doesn't have a camera on it, can't take video, and, as far as I can tell, you can't download ringtones or ring-back tones of songs about how someone's ex-husband is a tool that an unsuspecting person has to hear every time he calls to tell his kids how much he loves and misses them. Nope, I just have a simple phone that even little ol' me keeps charged and filled with minutes, just in case the kids want to call me...obviously since I can't call them, cuz Mom hasn't paid her phone bill. It's pretty close to Christmas, and I should have the Spirit inside of me, but even I struggle with the notion of being kind and burying my negative feelings about what transpired between the kids and I this Christmas. I really did have a nice Christmas, visiting family and friends, some of whom I hadn't seen in a long time. They were all very kind and generous to me, as they have been for such a long time. My brother's wife is pregnant, so that's definitely a thrill. But it is indeed hard to concentrate on all of the joy that the season brings when your greatest joy -- that of reconnecting with loved ones -- gets derailed time and time again. And I pretty much have to smile, and forgive, and never bring the subject up again, for fear of having it being brought up against me. I have to do the Christ-like thing that she never has done during this time. Forgive her, forge ahead and move on, and hope that I get to talk to the kids sometime before we have to wear parkas in Hades. I wonder sometimes: Is it really worth it to be so kind to someone who doesn't deserve it? I didn't pray for Cherie and the kids last night. I was too upset. I'm still pretty hot about what happened, mostly because I can't believe Cherie can't get her act together enough to have the decency to allow me to talk to my kids on Christmas. I will pray for them tonight, if only because I know that if I am to be blessed, I must, must forgive those who continually shoot arrows at me. I only wish it wasn't so bloody hard, and that the pain I feel inside would go away.

Thinking about Christmas

For the second straight year, Christmas to me isn't going to mean that much. Last Christmas, I was working, yet my good friends Gordon and Camille made the last few hours of Christmas perhaps the most inspirational Christmas ever. It was very touching. I went to work, and Gordon invited me to his house for dinner. After calling me several times to say that dinner had been delayed, he called me one last time and told me to meet him at a restaurant. I did, and I was expecting Gordon and Camille and Tanner and the triplets to come bounding out of their van. The van arrived, and Gordon was by himself. I was shocked. Where's your family? I asked. Seems the Christmas dinner never got cooked. But Gordon promised me that he would take me out to dinner. He said he made a promise to me that he would not back from. So while Camille and the kids were home eating hot dogs, Gordon and I celebrated Christmas dinner at a Chinese buffet, kind of like Tim Allen and his kid in "The Santa Clause," when they ate at Denny's. Gordon took me to his house, and we had dessert and I remarked to Gordon that this was my first Christmas where I didn't have any presents. Oh no, Gordon and Camille said. Under the tree were two presents: a meat and cheese sampler, and a framed painting of Jesus with two children on his lap. I cried when I got those gifts. It was the most special thing anyone not related to me had ever done for me. I loved it so much. I vowed then that I would try and be as kind to others as the Southams had been to me. I owe a debt of gratitude to my own family for taking me in during this time. It feels good to be with my mom, sister and dad at different times. Each has been kind to me during this time. Christmas doesn't have the same feeling it once did, for many reasons. But I'm with people I love, who love me. I worry about being a pest or over-staying my welcome, but by the beginning of January, I should be in a good position to get myself to Idaho, because I will be enrolled in school, close to my children, and making a new life for myself. I am looking forward to a much more positive 2010, and I have the kindness of good friends and family to thank for that. Without their help, encouragement and financial ability, my life would certanly be a bit worse for wear.

A good convo, post-relationship

I had a nearly hour-long conversation with Cherie on Thursday morning. It was the most even-handed conversation I've probably ever had with her.

We talked about a lot of things that were meaningful...her school, how she's doing (seems to be doing fairly well); about Christmas (sadly, I won't be there), how her mom's doing (nearly off the drugs to wean her off addiction to painkillers), about the kids...about my job search.

If we are ever to have a relationship -- one where we can talk civilly to each other -- it's probably going to have to start with me. We will probably never be together again, but at least perhaps we can be friends. I always want that. I want more, of course, but friends is where it will be for the foreseeable future.

As I've said before, I think most of the effort will have to come from me. She doesn't have to make an effort. But I do, for the sake of the children. Understand, this woman is someone I love and someone I would accept for all of her shortcomings, but she does not want that. Still, our conversation was a good one. It was quite relaxed, in fact. Like there was no pressure involved. Which is what I have wanted all along, and the way I've been instructed to act from very early on in this, which I have not.

Perhaps there was no pressure because we both realize that there won't be an "us" anymore, as much as I would like there to be. There's certainly no pressure on her part -- she's already moved on. Is there pressure on me? Not really, for what pressure is there to treat someone kindly? None.

I know I'm spinning a pipe dream here, but what if this were to continue? Let's not think about that now. I have too many things to take care of, mainly my health, a job, my education and my children.

She asked me about the papers. I simply said it is what it is, and that I of course never wanted this, but that we both would get through this. I suppose what I want in our relationship doesn't matter at the moment. Maybe this is the unconditional love Heavenly Father was talking about -- giving somebody something they want or treating them the way they want to be treated, no matter what the outcome is. No, I don't want a divorce. I love Cherie with all of my heart, and I want the kids to be with us always, together. I love them more than life itself.

But maybe we just let time take its course. I am not expecting it to be easy, and there probably will be more tears shed over this. I hope there isn't. It won't be easy, and it's not what I want. Perhaps both parties may realize that a split isn't what they want either, and that the person they wanted all along was staring right in front of them.

That's exactly how I feel, anyway.

The beginning of the end

Today, for the first time, I took a hard look at the divorce papers. And I found out there are some things in there I can change, or at least respond to, that will trigger a hearing that may help me get what I need in this divorce.

I hate that word so much, because it is not what I want, but I don't have much choice. If I let it go, then she gets everything she wants. I have to at least answer her demands. I am hopeful this can be done in the least painful way possible for Cherie and I.

It's over. It really is. There is nothing that I can do that will make her come back. If she chooses to come back, it will be because she chooses to do so, not because I asked her.

I feel OK about it. It of course isn't what I envisioned when I married Cherie, but perhaps, after eight years of marriage, maybe I never really took it serious enough to warrant being a marriage for the long haul. Perhaps I chose the wrong person. The more I think about it, the more that becomes a plausible situation. Perhaps she chose the wrong person, too. I don't know if I'll ever get the chance to ask her.

What I do know, however, is that my heart is still virtually full of love for someone else. The love I have for my children never changes -- that love is boundless and endless. Do I have love in my heart for someone else, whomever that may be? I'm going to go on the record and say yes, I do. Do I want to be married again? Too early to tell, but if I do, there unfortunately will have to be a fairly steep set of guidelines that anyone I am involved with will have to be committed to. And I would expect that the other person would have a pretty stringent set of guidelines, too.

It's not really time to think about that now. For the first time since 1999, I feel free. Free to do my own things, chart my own course, and be the man I want and need to be.

Will I ever get married again? I'd be lying if I said I didn't want to share my life with someone else. I do. But I have bigger priorities now that must be addressed before we ever get to that. I've spent nearly two years brooding over this.

I will always love Cherie, and I will always keep the door open. She knows that. There is a built-in love that will always be available to her.

But now, I've got much more pressing matters to attend to.

Writing and wondering

Been writing a lot the past few days. Freelancing, as much as I've done it now, doesn't compare to the pace of a fulltime job.

It is a living, though, such as it is, and I can't complain. Though I haven't gotten paid yet, which has a bearing on what I'll be doing for Christmas. If I don't get paid soon, I won't be going home to see the kids.

Had a brief reunion with some friends I hadn't seen in years the other day; they were friends from my first job in journalism not too far from Fresno. It was good to see them and hang out and share old times. We may even get together in January sometime.

I haven't talked to the kids much, which is kind of sad. Since the papers arrived, Cherie and I haven't spoken, and I'm probably not going to bring the subject up. There really is no point. It is what it is, I guess.

Would be nice to go and live there, though. Next week, I'm applying for school, so that will be something positive.

For the first time ever, however, I confronted my mom about her problems with alcohol. It was not a pretty sight, as we were at the home of perhaps her best friend when I did this. I yelled at her, and generally acted in a way that does not make me proud in the least to say that I did those things. They needed to be said, yes, but in a kind and gentle way.

Of course, my mom remembered exactly zero part of the conversation when I reminded her, which in itself is a bit scary. Too sloshed to remember your son yelled at you? A part of me wished she would forget, but I didn't want her to. Now, apologizing again has no meaning whatsoever. Still, I was not proud of what I did, even if it was necessary.

So now, we move on. To what, I'm not sure...

The arrival of the obvious

It arrived with a ring of the doorbell, just about 8 p.m. I had been waiting for this day for more than a year. There was a time when I would come home and wonder if the thin envelope would simply be placed at my door, or delivered to my place of work.

For a long time, it was a day I openly dreaded: the day that Cherie would serve me with divorce papers.

I didn't dread this evening. No, I'd had more than a year, nearly two years to digest some information. The door to this path had been opened for a long time, and while I never campaigned for it, I always told her and others that a filing for divorce would be something that she would have to do, because I never would.

Oh, there are feelings of sadness. Not many, because I did my grieving a long time ago. It's not time to grieve any more. This gives our situation some clarity. Not much, but some. I hope it will eliminate all of the negative talk that has transpired between us over nearly the past two years. Much of it has subsided, of course, and a wise man like myself will hopefully continue to be wise and avoid any further negative words or confrontation, which would only add to the notion that I might be a person who can't handle this situation.

It does point to the fact that I need to be with my children now more than ever. I will get there soon. I must. There is a ticking clock now, and the ticking clock is not set by me, but by a court of law. Those kids need me in the personal and legal sense.

If I am there, I can better work to set an agenda that fits both my needs and the needs of my children. I can't do that from here.

As for me and Cherie, there isn't a me and Cherie anymore. Not in the form any of us would like, anyway. She is someone I will always love, but she does not see eye to eye with me on a number of fronts, including the commitment it must take to be both a wife and a mother. She can't be both. That's about as negative as I'm going to get. She doesn't know how to be both.

I feel strangely almost unemotional about the whole thing. Maybe that was the idea all along; that this would happen at a time and place when I felt no emotional attachment to a legal piece of paper. I don't. Not anymore. There is no sense in feeling emotional about something, especially when the other responsible party feels about as much emotion as you do.

More than a year ago, I filed for divorce, with tears in my eyes. It was not something I wanted to do. I cried at the courthouse, in the elevator, and to my friends. The file sits tucked away in a suitcase, where it will remain.

This file will be answered appropriately and in due time. But there is no reason to get emotional or fill anyone's head with lies and wild stories of things done and said in the course of our marriage, which actually, legally lasted eight years and change. I want to be with my children as much as possible, and be a father that they need most of all.

Cherie and I? Not going to happen. If it does, it must come from her. She knows where I am and has a key to the lock on the door. But I'm done forcing her to open it.

Not going to get complacent

It's been a while since I wrote on this, so I figure it's as good a time as any to get caught up in what's going on.

I have a driver's license now, and insurance, so I can drive myself places. That's good. I'm still freelancing for the paper, though I haven't gotten paid, and I'm hoping it will happen soon, because it will determine whether I get to go see Isaac and Savannah this Christmas.

I am working out about three to four days a week. I need to lose more weight; as I haven't lost much at this point.

I have an interview with the IRS tomorrow for a temporary job, and I'm a bit nervous for some reason. I need to make money so I can go be with the kids permanently.

My family has been very kind to me in letting me stay with them. I hope they know that. If they don't, I have to be sure and tell them.

I said I don't want to get complacent, because there are a number of things I still must do before leaving town: Earn more money, sign up for school and lose more weight. I got Isaac's report card from his teacher, and I would call it a middling effort. I need to be more in contact with his teacher so I can help him. I want him to succeed.

I also want to help him lose weight. I need to be there for him and for Savannah. I still miss them much, and being away from them makes me feel like I don't belong anywhere else but right by their side.

Friends, family and positive communication

I came home this year for Thanksgiving. Yes, I've been home for a while now, as I look to regroup and figure out the next steps in my life.

It was a very good holiday. I was at my sister's house, and a lot of her husband's family was there, including some people I'd only seen once before. They were good people, and my mom was there, and some friends of hers, and others.

I met a lot of people I'd never said more than two words to before. Over the course of two days, I discovered that my sister and her husband are gracious hosts, and they've got things pretty together. It's a beautiful thing to watch, as they juggle family, work and social activities. I'd guess you could say they "get it."

I spent a lot of time talking to these folks, eating way too much food and doing my best to mingle. For a very long time, I was a good conversationalist. Then, about two years ago, I kinda went into a shell and stopped talking to a lot of people. Oh, I was friendly, but not the person I once was, for obvious reasons.

I had a long conversation with a lifelong friend of my brother-in-law's. He has gone through many of the same things I went and am going through. I spilled a lot to him, much of which I've written about in this blog. We seemed to click on a lot of levels. He understood where I was coming from in regards to the treatment of my family up to, and after we drifted apart and split. It was probably more than I was willing to divulge, but this guy listened, like a lot of people have.

I tried not to mince words -- there's no point, really, because what I did, I still feel much shame and embarrassment and hurt over. I hurt people more than I ever realized, and that's the bottom line.

What I have a problem with is mending that hurt. Too often, my hurt gets thrown back into my wife and childrens' faces. I'm still learning to stop that.

Having said that, Cherie and I had a decent conversation this Thanksgiving, which is a lot better than the conversation we had last Thanksgiving, when I went all "woe is me" on her. I didn't do that this time. Not a chance in Hades. Besides, who are we kidding? We both know that we hurt each other. Anyway, she actually asked me if I was planning to see the kids for Christmas. I told her yes, that I actually had plans to do so, and that my mom might come too. I don't know if she will, but I think I must make plans.

Our conversation was even-keel at best. I want so much more, of course, but she has to want it, too. I don't think her relationship with her man is legit, but that doesn't matter either, except if he's teaching Isaac how to smoke meth or Savannah how to doll herself up inappropriately.
At this point, I'll take even-keel. The trick, the goal, is to treat her in such a way that these conversations develop into meaningful ones about life and the kids. I have such a long way to go. She doesn't trust me from Adam at this point, though if she gave me a sign, I'd blow that door so wide open the Pacific Ocean would flow through.

I am not perfect. Never have been. Never will be. But I have to drive this boat here. She's not coming with me until she sees that I'm not the man she left. Even at that, she may never come back. But she might realize, and we might realize, a better relationship for everyone involved.

Back in the game, sort of

I've been writing freelance articles for my hometown paper for a week now. It feels good to be writing again, on many levels. I'm working from home, and at the moment, have to be careful about scheduling my appointments, but it's something to do for the moment.

My family has been very good to me during this time. I spend about half the time at my sister's house, with the other half at my father's house. One place is far more relaxing than the other, though neither place is unfriendly. I am grateful to have family close by, and it makes me less nervous about having to provide for things on a day-to-day basis. But I know it must be temporary, and can't be a long-term goal.

I told my mom I wondered if she would like to see the kids for Christmas. It's been more than two years since my mom saw Isaac and Savannah, and of course I'd probably have to make some kind of arrangement with Cherie. She's not going to like it, I am sure, and will try to put a monkey wrench in the plans. I wonder if I can simply ask her without having to go through a long drawn-out ordeal. My mom doesn't have any plans for Christmas, and I figure that's the best Christmas present I can give her.

I know I have things left to accomplish, like going to school and losing weight and saving my money. I'm working on all three of those things.

It sure would be nice for Isaac and Savannah to see their grandma. I have to try my best to make that happen.

Journalism comes calling, again

It's like an old, trusted friend. Or, a jilted girlfriend (or wife) who keeps coming back.

For a long while there, I had a pretty good string going on in journalism. I had been employed continuously for nearly 10 years in newspaper journalism.

Then, in the first week of October, I got dropped.

Since then, my interest in journalism has been more of one of two kinds: my seemingly insatiable appetite for newspaper-driven news chiefly, and news in general. I read probably three to six newspapers a day online, and I've walked a mile to get hard copies of my hometown newspaper since I was let go from my last newspaper gig. I can't seem to start a day without a newspaper, it seems, even if that's so 1959 than 2009.

My second interest has been voyeuristic in nature: I read a lot of the trade journals on line, and a bunch of blogs.

I do scan journalism job boards these days, even if jobs in the field (especially newspapers) are as rare as finding a replacement automatic transmission for the old Ford Edsel parked in the driveway.

But I'm not working right now. So I searched out an old acquaintance of mine via Facebook and asked if she needed help. Sure, she said. We pay peanuts, but yes, we're always looking.

So as soon as next week, I'm going to start doing some freelance work for the paper I grew up reading, and at one point dreamed of working there before working in newspapers became as glamorous as being the guy screwing caps on toothpaste tubes.

In truth, I am looking forward to writing. It's something I know how to do (I think) and the work I'll be doing will be more easy for me, more like cotton candy than trying to decipher the second law of thermodynamics.

I've told them this is not a long-term engagement, that I desire to return to my wife and children soon, and that I'm just trying to earn some cash. I figure this keeps whatever skills I have sharp, and I'll be earning some money in the process. It's not ultimately what I want, but I certainly am not going to turn down an opportunity to provide the publication with some quality copy or fill my pockets with meager money. I have to be grateful for that.

I never disliked journalism, really. She was always the pretty girl with whom there was limitless potential. With this gig, we're setting the bar fairly low on expectations.

And doing our best to keep our eyes out for anyone (or thing) that might offer us more.

Taking the high road

It appears my estranged wife read this blog for the first time. Her response was typical, I suppose, and what I expected.

But I told her to read more, that there's plenty in here for her to ponder, laugh about, remember and reminisce.

I write this blog mainly because it keeps me writing and allows me to put some personal details about my life in a space that's not confined to a single piece of paper.

I would encourage her to keep reading. It's not always about bad stuff. You get to know someone a bit just by reading about what they've written.

In the old days, a diary used to have a tiny lock and key on it, and you would be hard-pressed to find any girl willing to open said diary for fear some boy might be reading over her shoulder.

Nowadays, with the Internet, darn near everything is as public as you want it to be.

So go ahead, Cherie. Read on. You'll find that it's not always going to be about you.

Now, if I can just figure out how to master step aerobics...

Like an open wound

In relationships, if you are fortunate enough, if you say something that offends someone, you generally have the chance to apologize or at least clarify something that you said that offended the person.

Furthermore, I believe that if you say something to offend someone, or if someone says something to offend you, the reason why it offends you is because you perhaps care about the person who said the offending message, and you want that issue resolved.

It has been 18 months since my wife and I split. And to this day, she still feels as if I "wronged" her in some way. Now, granted, this blog is written from my point of view, and I try to be objective. Maybe I can't effectively put myself in her shoes, or vice versa, but here goes.

At nearly every turn, when she asks for money, I oblige. It's not always as much as she wants it to be, but I certainly don't ever ignore those requests when she asks. We're still married, so legally, I'm not obligated to give her more than I would. I do my best. I don't like throwing money around as a show of my parental fitness -- being a parent means more than just flashing the plastic. But I give her money when she asks, and often when she does not.

I have been out of work for a month now, which makes it hard for me to give her any money. She's not working either. Yet, she feels it necessary to rope me into a guilt trip about money, saying she has to take care of three kids, etc., etc.

We're not divorced. We're still married. I have nothing against the woman that I love that I married nearly nine years ago. I've certainly made my mistakes since we've been separated, and mistakes I'm not proud of. And yet, she still thinks I have it out for her, that me not contributing to her means I'm trying to punish her.

If a well has no water, can you drink from it?
If all you have to offer is fool's gold, is it worth anything to a jewler?
If you buy something on credit with no means to pay it back, is it fraud?

That's my point. This woman, who still sees fit to draw wedges between she and I and our children, criticizes me for not giving her money. If she wants me to bust out my parents' Monopoly set and give her cash, I'd gladly do it. But that money is as worthless as a piece of ocean-front property in Wyoming.

And yet, I'm given the same old song-and-dance about how she's supporting the children. Really? How? Through the state of Idaho welfare department? Why not ask her tatted-up, drugged out fiance for cash? Never mind that he, too, is unemployed.

After all, she's the one who took the kids away from me in the middle of the day, leaving me with no say as to their well-being. I didn't even get the chance to say goodbye.
It was a choice that she made at the time that she felt was justified.
From my perspective -- and the perspective of each member of both of our respective families, many of whom she no longer communicates with, that decision she made has not been justified for some time. The only person who somehow believes she is justified, is my wife. And she is blind.

I have nothing against my wife. I screwed up a ton of times. I've apologized and owned up to my mistakes a thousand times. I've had nothing but a year and a half to think about what I've done, and all the hurt I caused. This blog is full of my own self-loathing about that subject.

It's time to move on from the stance that I am somehow hurting her or the children. I know those children are not happy, nor are they being given the love and support they need.

And yet, why am I the one who is hurting about our most recent conversation? Because I love her, and I still have feelings for her. For the first time since she left, I can't bring myself to pray for her and the children at night or in the morning. Why?

Because I'm hurt, too. I'm hurt by the fact that after a year and a half, she's still at square one with our relationship, just like the day she left. She hasn't grown a lick or even tried to understand where I'm coming from. I have no choice but to try and understand her. I've failed so many times, yes, but I am always and forever hopeful she'll listen to me, and I will listen to her, and we can have positive communication beyond a simple, "Do you have money" request from her. Because that's the only time she's positive with me. When she wants something.

It's why this hurts so much. I pray about it all the time, but I can't get my heart or soul wrapped around the fact that this woman deserves my love and compassion and forgiveness. It's like, for the first time since I realized the magnitude of what I've done, that it has become nearly impossible to ask Heavenly Father for me to soften my own heart to pray for her and the children at night.

All I have been thinking about for two days is, "why should I?" She doesn't care about me. She doesn't care about my financial situation any more than she would a beggar on the street. Why should I pray for someone who pretends with all her might not to even care about the father of her children?

In just writing that, I feel Heavenly Father tapping me on the shoulder and saying that I should pray for her and the children, that no one man is bigger than the situation, and despite our differences, every person deserves to be loved.

I keep hoping that with each passing day, she'll understand me, and I'll better understand her. I really, honestly pray for that each day, even if I don't tell Heavenly Father that out loud.

Now, I think I'll go to bed and pray for them all. Because they deserve my love, whether they choose to return it to me or not.

A hefty challenge

Tomorrow I head to the gym for the first time in several months. Realistically, it's the first time in like three years that I'm making a serious go at losing weight.

While I haven't ever been one of those yo-yo dieters, I certainly am in a class of people for whom eating, unfortunately, is more than just sustenance. It's an adventure. And that's wrong. Anyone who has seen me recently will probably agree.

It may be a few months before I can see the kids full-time. I'm setting a Feb. 1 deadline for myself in hopes that will give me enough time to save up enough money.

Now, I'm hoping I can lose enough weight so that it makes a difference. I'm doing it for myself, first and foremost, of course. I'd like to walk more than a block or two before becoming winded. I'd like to be more mobile and have more agility. Getting around is not difficult for me...but what I've noticed is, I'm actually thinking about the possible difficulty in climbing stairs or going uphill. For a 35 year old man, this is pretty inexcusable.

I need to get in better shape so I can run. So I can stand in line for an hour and not have my back hurt. It's quite embarrassing to write these things, but it's true. I think a lot of it has to do with the fact that I haven't prepared my own meals for myself in quite a long time, and that depression at some point had something to do with it. About a year ago or so, I had the opposite problem. My depressed state made me feel embarrassed to eat, and I dropped probably about 20 pounds.

Now, I'll have to work hard and diligently about that. I want to lose weight for my son and daughter, so that when I go live near them, I can teach them how to run, I can teach my son how to play sports, and I can keep up with them. Truthfully, I can say that even now, I probably can't. That's a sad thing to say, but I can't lie about it. I sweat at the drop of a hat, and I don't want to be like my mom, who has trouble moving from place to place. I want to help people, not be a liability to them.

The only way I know how to do that is to hit the gym (and another weight-loss program) hard, as if I had everything to lose if I did not. It means more than just to me. My children and the people I love are counting on it, too.

Reality vs. what the heart wants

I realized a bittersweet reality today. It pains me to say this, but I won't be visiting (or staying) with the kids as soon as I would like.

And it comes down to money. My heart, however, aches for those children. I was set to leave Fresno, where my sister and parents leave, this weekend. I could conceivably do it. I want to.

I don't think I will. I want to be with the kids more than anything else in the world. My family says they understand, but I must be honest. They don't. They don't know what it's like to be away from the people you love most of all on Earth for more than a year and a half. I wouldn't expect them to. This is not simply like waiting a few extra months for Christmas to arrive or a bonus check or a promotion at work or the chance to buy a new car. We're talking about being with the two people I love more than anyone else on earth and being with them. Working far away from them, in a way, holds them hostage from me.

Waiting a few more months until I get more money does the same. While I am grateful for the chance to live possibly rent-free and collect either unemployment or a small paycheck from a crappy job, the pull to be with my children is absolutely the strongest emotion I have ever felt in my life. It makes me sad to think that I have to wait as much as six months to be with them. Who knows what can happen in six months?

Don't get me wrong. I love my mom, my dad, my sister and brother and their respective significant others and children and the opportunity to live virtually free of charge. It's an unbelievably kind gesture on their part. But here's the deal: They all live with the people they love, or are close enough to them that they can visit practically any time they want.

I don't.

Imagine having children only to have them snatched away from you and effectively being told you can't have them anymore. And then, realize there is a good chance you could have them, that circumstances have changed and you could at least have the chance to see them every day.

Wouldn't that make you euphoric? It certainly would me. Those children are as much mine as they are Cherie's, and every day I'm away from them is a day that I can never get back. Now, I've been told effectively, by my wallet, that, no, seeing the kids or being with them isn't a possibility right now.

I would be happy begging for food at a soup kitchen if I could just have the opportunity to see my kids. If I had to clean toilets with my bare hands or work to dig footings in the snow, I would do it, just to see my children.

I know my family means well, but they don't understand. I don't expect them to. I've been living a nightmare for the past 19 months, and the chance for it to end is palpable, and worth just about anything I would be willing to give up on Earth, right up to my own life. Unless you've been in my situation, I wouldn't expect anyone to understand.

But I will swallow my urge to do something with a potentially giant downside and take my money and do what I can to salt away as much as possible.

It doesn't give me any comfort to know that my children will have to wait that much longer before Daddy comes home for good. I'm glad at this point that none of them know how to read. They'd probably be heartbroken.

I'm not, but I'm pretty darn close right now.

Goodbye, Grass Valley

I bid goodbye to Grass Valley Saturday morning. Went out with Cowboy Jason and Cindy to the Gray Goose bar, a place as close to "Cheers" as any bar I ever plan to step foot inside. It reminds me a bit of the place Cherie and I used to go to in Las Vegas for karaoke, Calico Jack's. They called me the "Karaoke Comrade" over there all those years ago.

Anyway, was a bittersweet night for us. The bar's owners, Duane and Johnna, are such nice people -- friendly, and they know how to mix a mean highball of fruit juice. Jason and I always get to sing lots, though I end up singing way more than Jason most times. A few people were there from work -- though none from the editorial side of things. That's OK. We had a very nice time, and Johnna made me a cake. A very decadent, rich bomb of a cake. It was huge. And it was so very nice of her and Duane and the crew to think of me.

I have several groups of friends, two of which are very diverse and somewhat opposite. One is my circle of LDS friends, the people whom I would basically give my life for if asked. The other is a similar group, but different. These are people like Cowboy Jason, his girlfriend and others. They aren't LDS. They do some things I don't -- like hang out in a bar or drink a bit. But they're good friends nonetheless. They never, ever pressured me to drink, and respected the fact that I didn't. It's good to have a wide range of friends, just as long as your principles aren't compromised. I hope that sounds OK.

I will miss people like Jason, and Cindy, and Duane and Johnna, and assorted friends with names like T.J. and Ryan. I will also very much miss my most wonderful, caring and loyal friends whom I have known in Grass Valley for years, like the Southam family, the Mullennax family, the Deans, the Richardsons, the Philipsons, the Griffiths, and on and on. Those people -- my church family -- made it so much easier to return to Grass Valley after being gone for three years.

I will always love Grass Valley -- when I arrived for an interview at The Union in July 2001, I thought two things: How high am I going to climb on this mountain highway, and Cherie's gonna think this place sucks, because there's no mall, no big Borders bookstore or general conveniences she was used to in Las Vegas. But we made it work. We got married, I joined the church, Destiny was baptized and Isaac and Savannah were blessed in Grass Valley. For the first time in my career, I was successful at writing over a long period of time. I got it. I understood what it meant to provide for my family and be a husband and father. I learned a lot that first go-round.

The second time was equally enlightening for different reasons. I learned, hopefully, how to become a better friend, a trusted confidante, and I also learned that keeping things you hold dear: your family, your friends, even your job, is important. Life changes quickly, and often without you even realizing it. My friends in the ward taught me to seek guidance from the Lord and listen to His promptings, and they also taught me that friendship, no matter how long it may go dormant, can be rekindled. I will always love them for that. My friends outside of church taught me that it is OK to have fun, to enjoy yourself, even if you are grieving inside. It is OK to enjoy life.

As I prepare to move, however, my focus will become transfixed on my children and improving their lives and my own. I don't really have time for other things, and quite frankly, don't want to have time for anything else but them and improving myself. I am nervous to start this new chapter, but it is what Heavenly Father wants me to do, and it is what I must do for the betterment of myself and the people I love. There will be time, sometime, for karaoke and Roy Rogers mocktails, again. But for now, it's time to focus on what the Lord put me here on the Earth to do: to improve myself and the lives of my loved ones.

5-minute blog

I'm way nervous about money. I'm getting some soon, but I wonder if it will be enough. I'll probably be leaving Grass Valley on Saturday, and leaving California for good once the money rolls in. I don't know if it will be enough.

But I have to make a go of it. It's the biggest leap ever, and I don't even know if the parachute will work. It will eventually, but I'll have to jump through a lot of hoops, probably.

I thought I almost lost my phone today. That would be terrible, since it is my only lifeline to the outside world, my kids, etc.

My old publisher got punched out yesterday by an irate reader who was upset about the content of his column the previous day. Got decked, suffered a broken hand and a concussion. No matter how things ended between Jeff Ackerman and I, I would never wish that on anyone. Jeff's an overall decent man whom I respect, despite journalism crumbling all around him. I hope he recovers.

Tonight I'm headed to Gordon's for a night of watching the triplets and Tanner. I can't wait. It might be the last time I see them all for a long time. Sad about that, but happier that I get to see the kids soon.

Ah, money. I wish I had about twice as much as I had coming to me. I better get a job soon.

Gonna sign off for now.

Are excited and nervous the same thing?

I went to perhaps my last karaoke night last night. Sang a bunch of songs, drank water and Coke again. I think I'm going to head to my parents' this weekend before blowing out of town when I can. It's strange, because I don't have much to move, except a dresser and my clothes.

I'm worried about money. I'm worried about finding a place. It might have sounded romantic to just jet out of town, but as the days draw closer, that romance turns into a bit of fear. I've never done something like this before.

I am probably going to need some monetary help. I've noticed companies are starting to hire for Christmas help, and I wonder if I will get there in time to get any of those jobs. I also worry about logistics for school, and that my money will evaporate before I have much of a chance to do anything at all. I should be getting unemployment, but I'm not even counting on it that much.

I have to keep telling myself that I will, and I must, make this work. I don't really have any other options. I don't want to be flippant and say things will all work out, because I have to make sure that they do.

I'm not backing away from this -- I just know it's going to be difficult. I'm going to need a lot more than faith to make it happen.

Sacrament meeting

On Sunday, presumably my last day at church in the Grass Valley ward, I had the opportunity to help with the passing of the sacrament.

I'm notoriously a late arrival to church. One of the things I despise the most is when I get there late enough that the sacrament is being passed and I can't enter, for fear of disrupting the service, or getting there entirely after sacrament has been concluded. I was determined on Sunday not to be late, and in fact, to be early.

I have been a member of my church now for about seven years, and in those years, only twice have I ever had the privilege of reading one of the two passages that are read before people are given the tiny bits of bread and thimble-fulls of water. The last time was probably about six years ago.

I was so nervous, just to read those six or so lines in front of a congregation that numbered probably about 60 individuals -- on Sundays, our congregation normally numbers about 100 people. But it really didn't matter. It's quite something to be in the pews, listening to the sacrament being recited, and being passed. It's completely another thing to be up on the dais, in front of about a half-dozen young men, all dressed in white shirts and solid-color ties, each young man no more than, say, 17, waiting reverently to pass the silver trays out.

It was almost a breathtaking experience. I say this primarily because I've only done it once before, and it was a long time ago. For members of the faith, this -- passing the sacrament -- may seem as common as eating green Jell-O at wedding receptions or gassing up the Suburban for a family home evening in the park -- but for me, it's different, just because I haven't done it much.

It was a wonderful, moving experience, and a perfect way, I think, for me to end my time in the ward that baptized me, blessed my two children and baptized my stepdaughter.

I so love the members of the Grass Valley ward, who have given me so much over the six years I lived there, and I will miss each of them very much.

I am forever grateful to the people I met in Grass Valley, for they have made a difficult time in my life that much more enjoyable. I would feel as "at home" in Grass Valley as I would visiting my parents and siblings in their towns. The chapel in Grass Valley is as close to home as it can be without it actually being a place I live.

I am reminded of a story someone once told me about the chapel: that a young boy, trying to escape from a difficult family situation, sought refuge in the chapel, on the condition he only stay there when it was dark out and no one else was using it. The bishop at the time said it was no problem, that he would graciously allow this. The church was the young man's refuge from the storm, literally and figuratively. He stayed there for weeks, until he could find a safe place to go home.

That's exactly how I feel about the chapel in Grass Valley. It was my first chapel, and it will always, always have a special place in my heart, and for my family, for as long as it and I am around.

And so, with a week or so to go before I leave to be with my family, I would like to thank everyone for their kindness, love and support that I received while in Grass Valley at two very different times in my life. I will never, ever forget what you all did for me and for my family.

May God bless you all.

The changing face of journalism

I have been out of work for a week now. I'm not going to be naive and say it's been a great thing, because any time you're not earning money when you have obligations is not necessarily a good thing.

So the desire to find something that earns money is palpable, and one must work hard to make sure that they get a decent-paying job to subsidize whatever lifestyle they choose. As my mom told me once after I earned my first paycheck at 17, the money I earn isn't all just for me. It's for obligations. The older we get, the more we have.

There is a silver lining here. For the first time since 2000, and most likely, for the first time since 1993, I do not have a job in journalism, nor do I plan on returning to said career, unless things change. My first byline came on March 3, 1993, on the front page of The Daily Collegian at California State University, Fresno. My first professional byline came on June 28, 1995, on the front page of the Selma Enterprise weekly newspaper. My last byline came Thursday, October 8, 2009. That's 16 years of bylines.

Some years, I had less than others. I don't know what year produced the most, but I probably on average, once I began working in daily newspapers full-time in 1996, wrote about 300 stories a year.

I've worked for papers big and small. I still love "the craft." To call it a craft these days is debatable, even at the best newspapers in the country. The best papers -- in my estimation, there are a number of them -- The New York Times, the Boston Globe, the Milwaukee Journal-Sentinel, the Los Angeles Times, the St. Petersburg (Fla.) Times, and the San Francisco Chronicle prior to 2000 -- really produced this craft. There were (and still are) some wonderful small papers out there, too -- the Anniston (Ala.) Star, The Eugene (Ore.) Register-Guard, even the Bucks County (Pa.) Courier -- there are countless other good ones out there.

The point is, so many of them have been hammered by a double- or triple-whammy of epic proportions: a broken business model, an economy in the toilet and the "migration" of people to the online world. I think it has more to do with the first two than the last reason. Newspapers are, by and large, information. How it gets delivered shouldn't matter, even economically.

This doesn't even take into account the fact that so many newspaper owners have leveraged themselves to the hilt with purchases of large media outlets, all on a seemingly endless gold credit card -- that there isn't much time to worry about "craft" at all. Yes, the L.A. Times and Wall Street Journal, and even some other smaller papers will still win Pulitzers every year. But you will no longer see the likes of Ben Bradlee, former editor of the Washington Post, or Eugene Roberts, former editor of the Philadelphia Inquirer, pour tens or even hundreds of thousands of dollars to invest in "the craft" anymore. No, you'll see unknowns like Platinum Equity Partners (the firm with no newspaper experience that bought the San Diego Union-Tribune recently) do what they can to suck the life -- and every last dollar -- from the dead-tree business.

People who produce "the craft," I feel, will not come from newspapers, but from foundations and philanthropic trusts and organizations with deep pockets and an affinity toward "afflicting the comforted" and "comforting the afflicted." I read plenty of journalism inside baseball to know this is already happening in places like San Diego, in Denver, and at publications that most journalism lifers have never heard of. ProPublica, anyone?

Is this a bad thing? Not really. But if you feel your hometown newspaper -- the same paper that publishes youth baseball scores, gives you coverage of the county fair and court roundups of a week's worth of mayhem and jurisprudence -- owes it to you, the reader, to offer the kind of journalism produced by big, giant Old Media titans like the New York Times can produce, in the pages of a smallish community daily, then, yes, it is a loss. It is a loss to a community.

It's a loss when the paper you write for has to stoop to the level of pandering to advertisers who angle for weekly "profiles" that are only thinly veiled advertisements or plugs for said business. It's important to reflect the community in the pages of a newspaper, especially a community one. It's also something to stand for ethics and fairness and not get rattled when said merchant complains about the placement or the tone of the story about his or her establishment.

Community newspapers are especially vulnerable to this type of scenario. As an editor or reporter, you want to be above such chatter as to how the story was "played" in the paper. You want and need to be a good community partner. One hand washes the other, if you will.

But I wonder, for the hard-core journalists out there, what Harrison Gray Otis, or Arthur Hays Sulzberger, or M.H. de Young, or James Knight would think if they saw newspaper culture today. Would they think what has happened is a good thing? For that matter, forget about those old-timers. What about newer journalists? What would they think of today's grind-it-out-at-all costs way of doing things, both on the editorial, as well as business side of things?

What would people like H.L. Mencken, Mark Twain, or, for you 21st-century types out there, Tom Hallman, Anna Quindlen, Lane DeGregory, or Lowell Bergman think about what has happened to newspapers? Should we be focused on producing as many widgets as we can, as fast as we can, so we can sell more? Or is there still room for high-quality, thoughtful, investigative or high-concept feature journalism in a daily newspaper?

It's what has me perplexed and thinking the former, unfortunately, is more appropriate for the newspaper reality that exists today. I don't like it, and I wish it wasn't the case. It's why I don't see a future for me in the career that I so once loved.

Personally, there's a part of me that hopes I eat my words. Literally.

Ready to set sail

I was so very excited last night, and I'm not sure why. For the first time in nearly 10 years, I don't have a job. As I drifted off to sleep, I thought about something. Two years ago at this time, I was living in a four-bedroom house, full of furniture and belongings. People were everywhere -- at least my family was. As I fell asleep last night, I realized where I was: by myself, in a room in a double-wide trailer, with all of my worldly possessions. Everything I owned in the world could seemingly fit in the trunk of a car. I have no furniture of my own; that's all been auctioned off (I guess); I have no TV, no bed, no chair, no table. Just myself, one small reminder of the kids (a stuffed animal that belonged to Isaac that sat behind the TV in Casper for nearly a year), my recent pictures of them and my clothing. Nothing else. Everything I owned could fit into a small raft. It's like I'm heading out on a lake, and I can't see where it ends or where dry land is. And you know, I'm OK with that, for now. I have to be diligent about applying for school and part-time work, but I think Heavenly Father, perhaps, cleared my path for me, in a way. No distractions about work. Just what I'm supposed to do. It felt exciting and terrifying. Like moving to Idaho in the dead of winter in my pickup. That might happen. Or moving to an unfamiliar city with little more than the clothes on my back. That might happen, too. Or going to class, when I haven't opened a textbook in 13 years. That's scary, too. But you know something? It's also exhilarating and liberating, to know I could be close to Isaac and Savannah, while working toward a tangible goal. That thought brings tears to my eyes. It doesn't matter how many possessions I have with me, just that I have a plan and work at it. This is a chance, I believe, that Heavenly Father has given me. A gift. I won't turn it down again.

New challenge begins

Today was the first day of my new challenge, and it's clear that I'm probably going to have lots of help and support. What I do with it will be the challenge.

I signed up for unemployment and got a bead on a few jobs, including one newspaper (!) job not far from where the kids are. Why do these jobs keep cropping up? And, perhaps more importantly, do I maintain an interest in them?

This one is close to the kids...about 25 miles or so. This is the third time in a year that the job has come up. It's journalism, which kinda sucks, but it's what I know to do.

Tomorrow, I'm going to further pursue the school angle of things. I was inspired, however, by what Cowboy Jason's friend Cindy told me yesterday, out overlooking a bubbling stream. It's hard for me not to talk about Isaac and Savannah and not get misty-eyed, and I cried when I thought about them yesterday, and talked about them to Jason and Cindy. Cindy basically said that I needed to be with my kids...that they will always love me, but always wonder why I didn't come for them when I had the opportunity.

My good friend John, whom I've known since childhood, has long told me the same thing. He was the one who told me to just pack up my truck and head to Idaho as soon as I could, whether I had a job or not. Well, now I don't, and I'm greatly tempted to do that more than ever. Even if I got a meaningless job and was close to them. That's all they would care about, right?

I want to tell Isaac and Savannah that I'm coming for them. I want to be there for them.

A new challenge

Was an interesting day. Had lunch with two good friends; Ross, who I've reconnected with after being gone from California for a few years. He works part-time at the newspaper and he and I have conversed frequently. I joined him in Sacramento for lunch with our buddy Nick, a former colleague at the newspaper. Nick and Ross go back years to the days when both of them lived in Colorado. I think Nick was born there; and both of them worked at the newspaper.

But I think I've finally been sold on something that has been gnawing at me gently since 2004. My patriarchal blessing suggests I should go back to school. It doesn't say what for, but I've got a pretty good idea.

I want to give myself back in some way. I am reminded so often of the help the group of ladies gave my son Isaac and daughter Savannah when we lived in Wyoming. They helped Isaac with physical therapy and speech, and came weekly to the house to help Savannah develop her motor skills.

Those people who worked at the Natrona County Child Development Center were angels. Such tireless givers of themselves. They inspired me each time I walked in that office, always willing to help, always willing to do whatever they could to help our children. I cannot get that image out of my head. It's been in my head for years, and I think Heavenly Father placed it there.

He has a plan for me, Heavenly Father does, and it does not include my current line of work. If I could, I would quit tomorrow. I just might. I want to go to school and learn something that's going to help someone. I would love to teach a child to speak clearly, or help them discover their physical abilities, or anything that makes them and their parents feel good.

I remember so vividly the young women coming over to our house to help Savannah learn how to jump, or discover colors or shapes. It brings tears to my eyes to know that I brought Isaac to school for two years, nearly every day, and have his eyes light up at people like Teacher Debbie, because he knew that day would be fun and he would be in the care of someone who truly cared about him.

Maybe that was Heavenly Father's way of showing me something that I'm just now realizing. My life's work is not to wrestle with sources because I wrote something they didn't like or pander to businesses looking for some ink.

My life's work is to help people. It's why I got in the journalism business in the first place: because I thought I could help someone, make them feel good, inspire them. What I'm doing now is akin to cranking out widgets, albeit with a check attached to it.

I used to think that if I quit journalism that I would be leaving something on the table: some major award, some big story I never got to do. It's why I didn't pull the trigger four years ago when we left Grass Valley for Wyoming.

Now? I don't care about winning a Pulitzer. I've written some great stories over the course of my career, and I'll always love newspapers, but I'm not helping people anymore. I'm a hamster in a wheel. I'm not doing anything but meeting a quota, a deadline. The excitement, quite frankly, is gone. Truthfully, it left a long time ago.

And I still keep thinking about those wonderful people at the Natrona County Child Development Center, making those kids and their parents so happy. That is something that's priceless, knowing you had a direct hand in making someone's life better.

That's what I want to do. And that's what I'm going to do.

The whole truth

I can't pull the trigger on ending this marriage. It is such a difficult thought, and I'll tell you why.

I have not been true to myself or my wife and children since they left. I simply and honestly have not. I can't look at Heavenly Father and say that I've tried everything. I have not. Not even close.

No, Cherie doesn't love me. Yes, she wants to be split from me for good. But I ask myself, can I blame her? What has she seen from me? Let's recap:

A man who is balky at best in paying his financial obligations. That's not going to get me to the temple any time soon.

A man who sees things only as he wants to see them, and not as she does. There's a saying I used to tell Cherie all the time: If she's happy, then I'm happy. I certainly am not happy. I don't think she is, either.

A man who constantly finds ways to fault the woman that deep down inside, he truly loves. That's my fault, not hers.

A man who still harbors more than a grudge against the woman he professes to love. Now, seriously. If I love someone, why don't I show it?

A man who has criticized his wife for the choices she's made. They're her choices, after all, not mine. Those kids are not in danger. If they were, that would be a different story.

A man who knows deep down inside the hurt he caused, yet finds it difficult to fully admit what he's done. I know I've fessed up a lot, but perhaps I haven't taken full responsibility.

A man whose animosity, real or imagined, toward his wife, keeps him from being close to his children. Perhaps this is the biggest crime of all. Those kids did nothing wrong but love us. They deserve my love no matter what's going on with Cherie and I.

I guess I could go on. I wish she would see this, to know that I am well aware of my faults. They are numerous. The best thing I can do is treat her right every time I see her. I can't say what's going to happen, but I must and have to try.

Country music parallels

In 2003, just about to the day my son Isaac was born, Cherie got a call from her sister. Her sister and her husband were splitting up. It was a piece of very sad news for Cherie that I was glad was tempered by the birth of our son.

Her sister, Crystal, made a comment that she could no longer listen to country music because it was too sad to do so. Her husband, Eric, I guess, liked the genre of music.

For about six months after Cherie left, I stopped listening to the radio. I didn't have it on in the car, I never played it at home. It was, I guess, too sad for me. And that's saying a lot, because even now, I don't sing along to the radio as much as I used to. It just doesn't sound the same anymore.

But the lyrics? I listen to them intently now. There are so many songs that have added meaning to me now, and I could go on for a long time. Here are just a few:

Chris Cagle -- "I Breathe In, I Breathe Out"
Keith Urban -- "Making Memories of Us"
Zac Brown Band -- "Whatever it Is"
Taylor Swift -- "You Belong With Me"
and my current favorite, Lady Antebellum, "I Need You Now."

Some may consider these songs cheesy pop with a steel guitar and occasional fiddle, and that's fine, but they have words with definite meanings in them. I never really paid attention to the lyrics of a song before, but I realize that most songs by most artists in most generes (there are obvious exceptions, of course) are talking about love in some form.

Country music, I believe, says it more often and better than most. There was a time that it was very difficult for me to listen to the radio, and especially country music, because my wife and I shared such good memories of listening to that music. It still is hard to listen to this type of music, and it's even hard to sing some of it. I sang a song on Friday -- Ty Herndon's "Living in a Moment" that talks about two people finding each other after suffering lost loves. When I sang that song, I was genuinely thinking about making things right with Cherie so that I might be able to sing it to her at one point.

I think people at the bar where I sang it enjoyed it too. It's not terribly complex, the song, and it's about 10 years old, but it meant something to someone enough for the gentleman to record it.

Before I was married or in a relationship, I used to wonder what it would be like to sing a song to a special someone, to express my love for them with words and music. I know exactly what that's like now, except that I'm back at square one, trying to figure it out all over again.

Perception vs. reality

Yes, it's Sunday. I'm on my way to church.

Spent the weekend helping Cowboy Jason look for work and formulate a gameplan. But in that space of time, I also spoke a lot to his landlord, Mary.

Mary is one of those kinds of ladies that would probably be a "hip grandma." She lives in this old house in town, and Jason rents a room from her. Well, suffice it to say, Jason and his lady Cindy have come to an understanding, I hope.

But you know something else? I had the absolute most enlightening conversation with Mary for about an hour...and I realized that now, today, 18 months after the fact, I have been all wrong about Cherie and this concept of "unconditional love."

I haven't shown it to her. It doesn't matter if she wants it or not. I wrote about this earlier. It's perception. And that perception is what I've been showing her. Forget abut what she's doing. What am I doing? I get on the phone with her the other day -- texting, actually, and I freaking blow up in her face. I mean, what the heck does that accomplish? What she sees then is what she's been running from this entire time. Would anyone in their right mind want to be with me? Heck, I wouldn't want to be with me.

But you see, as I pray for her and the kids each day and night, I'm certainly not practicing what I preach. I still give her a cold reaction to most things when I speak to her. That's what she sees. That's what I give her. I don't give her any of the love I supposedly hold in my heart. As a matter of fact, I hold it away from her.

I wish I would have thought of this earlier. I am not a perfect person. And in fact, I am not even as good a person as I project myself to be. I'm not going to say I'm as bad as I once was, but I certainly have not given Cherie and the kids the love that I know I can. What is that at this point?

Keeping in touch with them. Helping them out financially...and emotionally, if I can. At every turn, having a positive exchange with them. That's what Christ would want me to do. He does not care if they're not going to church -- obviously, in Cherie's eyes, church hasn't done me much good, because I'm still not someone she wants to even talk to, let alone be with.

I hope this makes sense. I have good friends and family who love and care for me. But it appears that I have not exactly held up my end of the bargain. I want to, but as I've said many times before, wanting to do something, and actually doing it, are two completely different things.

There are things I want to accomplish in this life. I helped Cowboy Jason get started on that positive path. Now I need to start doing the same things.

Sad

There was a time, not so long ago, when even thinking about my wife brought a smile to my face. I got so excited just waiting to come home, or waiting for the start of a weekend, to know that we would be together for a long time, uninterrupted.

Now, it's like we can't even talk to each other. I actually was feeling OK about myself until I decided to text Cherie. She said Isaac started Cub Scouts. I simply said that I hoped that might bring her closer to the church. She told me that the Cub Scouts had nothing to do with church. I then said that I didn't think she would ever go to church, because she would never have the courage to go and have to admit her role in the dissolution of our marriage.

Thus began the next 45 minutes of absolute stupidity. And I did nothing to stop it. I played right into her hand.

WHY, GOD, WHY did I do that? Did it accomplish ANYTHING? Of course not. And I feel like a piece of crap for hours afterward. And our relationship stays the same, and she's left saying I'm the same old good-for-nothing as I was before. I know people will say, "well, there are two sides to the story." And there are. But what the world doesn't understand is, it's not what she has to do, it's what I have to do. I have to be the better person. And I just crawled in the mud pit with her. Worse, I not only fell in the mud pit, she watched me dig a hole and bury myself in it.

I have no one else to blame but myself.

I feel like a piece of chewed up and spit-out gum. I feel like garbage. I don't like it. I still love those people, even though I said I didn't. Who am I kidding?

If I love them, then why don't I show them, even when they're tearing me down? Why can't I be Christ-like and do what they ask...and be the person they know I can be?

What on Earth is stopping me from doing this?

Can anyone tell me?

Am I being taken for a ride?

I'm writing this blog at an unusual time...in the morning on a Sunday. Not really great, but I have to get a few things off my chest.

First of all, I think because I'm seen by so many people as a "nice guy" (sorry, friends and neighbors, but there are times I'm not as nice as people would think) it often leads to me being taken advantage of.

Take this past weekend. Cowboy Jason and I just returned from an evening in Lake Tahoe, where one of Jason's friends was having a "girls' night out." Jason wanted to go. I wanted to help him get over his funk. We left later than usual, thanks to me, and rolled up to Lake Tahoe in the truck just after dark. Jason caught up with his old friend and talked and reminisced. That part is fine. What isn't fine is that a guy without a job or a car takes me for a ride. I care about Jason a lot, but this is getting a tad bit OLD. We go out, and next thing you know, my wallet is like a vacuum. And it's not like I'm buying something to eat, here. I'm buying drink after drink for the guy, and they're like $4.25 a bottle for the beer. My stinkin' Cokes are $2.25 for a plastic cup. What is this? Refreshments at the Plaza Hotel in New York?

(As an aside, I think a casino is just about the most un-Christlike place I could be. If the people I hung out with yesterday only knew where I really wanted to be...)

Yep, there was a giant sucking sound from my wallet. And when the night waned (we're like two and a half hours from where I live), we fell asleep in the truck in the Harrah's parking lot cause I told him my money was being shut off. But before that, I got pretty upset with Cowboy Jason. My buddy needs a job, and I need to stop wasting money that could go to my kids that instead is going to some brewery up in the Colorado Rocky Mountains. I am finished. No more going out with Jason. The guy needs to get a job and support himself. I need to help my kids.

I'm sure Heavenly Father isn't very pleased with me, either, and I'm not pleased with myself. I hated that scene, I tell you. It was not fun at all. It's not what I want either, not at all. By the end of the night, Jason was so sloshed, he was pissing all kinds of people off. I told him to cut it out. How do you communicate with a drunk? It's not easy, and most of all, it's not worth it.

And you know what? The scene at 2 a.m. at Harrah's Lake Tahoe was the same as it is here in Grass Valley...except there's no last call. Same stupid scenarios, same stupid games, same superficial individuals. I must be out of my gourd to be a part of that. But then again, it is a choice I made. I could have put my foot down. I told Jason we would not go to Chico this weekend because we had to save money.

Did we save money this week? Um, absolutely not. This after I helped Jason with his unemployment paperwork and job applications. I'm starting to wonder what the guy would do without me. I don't dislike him...but he and I are grown men, each with our own problems. I've got to concentrate on mine, and he on his.

If this sounds harsh, well, I apologize. I don't like to use profanity, but will make an exception. But I guess it's like Jimmy Buffett sings in "Margaritaville" --

"Some people claim that there's a woman to blame, but I know/
It's my own (damn) fault."

It's not a mistake I plan on making, ever again. Next time, everybody pays their own way.

Being kind, when others won't

I'm not always the kindest person, though I try. I guess I have to try harder, because there are some people that I find it hard to show unconditional caring for, no matter what the circumstances.

Today, however, I tried. There's a woman who is a frequent reader of my newspaper. She often finds the need to take us to task when she finds a grammatical error in the paper or something like that. The other day, she sent me a note saying she had found the same mistake in the paper twice in a week -- the use of the wrong form of a word.

We spent a day exchanging emails, with me basically saying that as a journalist we deal with hundreds and thousands of words each day and that we were human beings bound to make a mistake now and then. I've written at least two stories where I've gotten the entire person's first and last name wrong, for example, and I lived to see the sun come up the next day.

So I invited this woman to lunch with me. We ate at this deli, and she seemed fascinated by the way the newspaper worked. It should be noted that this woman is often persona non grata when she calls the newsroom, just because people aren't gonna like what she has to say. I even said her complaints were "legendary."

Anyway, I talked with her about how many different kinds of things we do as journalists -- that it wasn't just sitting there and typing all day, like a stenographer. It actually invovles more than just reporting. We're blogging, posting live updates to the Web site, taking photos, shooting video, and when deadline approaches, actually writing the stories that will appear in the next day's paper. In between, we're dealing with phone calls and emails from the outside public, meeting with sources, interviewing, etc. So even if you see one story from me in the paper, it still means we're doing a whole lot more.

This woman was fascinated by our job. She said she'd like to visit the paper some day. I encouraged her to do it. She said she was scared, that people might not accept her.

The thing is, when I returned to the newsroom, people rolled their eyes at me for even meeting with this woman. They were as unkindly to her as she had apparently been to them in some of the notes she sent.

Honestly, my first reaction was to look to the heavens and tell Heavenly Father that these people did not know who they were spitting vitriol at. They'd never even tried to meet her! Yet I took it upon myself to reach out and see her. She wasn't a woman with horns and fangs: she was a middle-aged, slightly overweight woman dressed in a blouse and black slacks. She seemed like she genuinely cared about our job, and even about me -- an almost middle-aged balding man with love handles. This wasn't Khruschev-Eisenhower, either. It was just two people who seemed equally curious about each other.

Sometimes journalism is fairly petty, and people forget that we're humans first, and "journalist" falls about 10th on the list of importance.

I'm not perfect, but I certainly don't want to judge people I haven't met. I'm glad I didn't do it this time.

The best friends I could ever have

Spent the evening with Gordon and Camille. Every time I go over there to their house, I feel like I haven't done enough to be given what I have from them. I tell myself each time that I won't dwell on my situation much; that they've heard it all before.

And yet, when I tell them the latest or give them an update, they both listen with such intensity and with such a sense of caring I wonder if I deserve such good friends at all. Unloading on people takes quite a bit of effort on the part of a person who is being unloaded upon, and the Southams take it as if it were the weight of a feather. I am exceedingly grateful to them.

My heart is full tonight as I write this, because all I can think about is Isaac and Savannah and being with them forever. Gordon brought up a good point to me: Even doing the unthinkable at the moment would mean I would have a better chance of seeing the kids than I do now, which is almost zero.

I wish it never had to come to this, but waiting for someone to change won't change a thing. I have to make the change, just as my wife once did. She realized perhaps her life wasn't going to get any better if she didn't make a change. I realize my life won't get better unless I now make the changes I must make.

Going home and crying about Isaac and Savannah accomplishes nothing. It doesn't bring them back, nor does it bring me closer to them. That's why I don't do it nearly as often as I once did. No one has to feel sorry for me if I'm not doing what I can to have them in my life.

But getting back to Gordon and Camille: I could not asked for better friends, sounding boards or selfless individuals. I love them and their family very much, and it is a love that has grown much over the past year. I'm not embarrassed to say that. They tell things as they are, and not so much as I would always like it to be. They're honest when I'm not always so. Most of all, they understand that I love my children and yes, if it were to be part of the equation, that I love my wife as well.

They understand better than I do that Cherie is in a different place and isn't coming back, at least not in her present form. Camille told me that I love the person Cherie was, and not who she is now.

That's the absolute truth. I love someone who is true to themselves, and not trying to be someone else just for the sake of being different. That's false and untrue.

I thank Camille and Gordon for helping me see the light on so many things. I am about to embark on a very difficult journey right now, but I know that my Heavenly Father, my friends, my family and the Southams will be right there in my corner.

I am very grateful to Gordon and Camille, and to so many other people who love me, for that.

Matchmaker

Spent the weekend nursing the egos of two friends.

Cowboy Jason is still broken up about the loss of his girlfriend. It's sad, and we spent hours this weekend talking about it. I basically tell Jason that I've been there and seen all of it before. It doesn't get any easier for him, and I completely understand. When you've invested time and spilled your emotions to someone you truly care about, only to have it taken away from you, it's really hard.

I know. It took me more than a year to get over my own pain. I still have it, sure, but it's not constant like it once was. I had to learn harder than most to let go of it and find ways to spend time so I wasn't always thinking about it. Cowboy Jason helped me through that, and he knows it. He and I have a bit of a different view of how to accomplish the same thing -- to love someone with all of your heart -- but it essentially accomplishes the same thing.

I also talked briefly to a good friend of mine, Wes, who lives in Wyoming. It's funny -- Wes and I at first did not get along -- but he's become one of a small circle of very trusted friends with whom I can talk about most anything. He's a good listener, and I've tried to be the same to him.

Wes has been dating, by all accounts, a lovely young woman at work. They've taken things slow (a very good thing) in that they haven't even kissed. I mean, that's not only sweet, that's, well, thoughtful, because they spend a lot of time together talking about life. I get the sense that Wes really likes this girl, because he's taken the time to get to know who she is. That's so very important, I think.

I think Wes is as classy a guy as I've ever known. For starters, he's a great boss who treats his employees with respect, and he certainly lent me an ear when my family left me. He was always there to offer rides to me to work, to talk -- whatever I needed. We've talked about once every two weeks or so since I've been gone, and when I talk to him, I get nostalgic for the crunch of snow under my feet, for the smell of the oil refineries near the Casper Star-Tribune, even the wind that whips around during the winter.

Now, I'm wondering how things are going with him and his friend. I told Wes that I was pulling for him in the worst way, even being as far away from him as I am now. I would love to be a character witness for him. I want him, as I do Jason, to be happy.

About a year ago, people were counseling me about feeling better and trying to cher me up. Now I'm doing the same thing for them. It feels good...it really does. People have been so kind to me, and maybe this is Heavenly Father's way of telling me that I, too, can help people when they need it most.

The cannery rocks, or paying it forward, part II

On Friday evening after work, I had the opportunity to do something I hadn't done in years. Myself and about 15 other members of our church ward headed to Sacramento, where we cleaned, sorted, peeled, processed, canned and labeled hundreds of thousands of tomatoes.

It was a job so enjoyable that I never even bothered to ask what time it was, or complained about being on my feet or the fact that my hands looked like prunes when I was done.

It was that much fun. I vividly remember working at the cannery about four years ago, and how fun it was to sort through tons of tomatoes, and then use these fire hoses to clean up the mess several hours afterward.

On Friday, I was working with a very fine gentleman from a nearby ward to bring the tomatoes off the truck and load them into the conveyor belts to be sorted and processed. We were, you could say, the first ones on the production lines.

A little about this operation, if you've never been: What they have in Sacramento truly defies description, if only because the people who run the place, nearly every single one of them is a volunteer from the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. We don hairnets, rubber gloves and aprons and go to work. It's in a huge facility, with conveyor belts, overhead canning lines, and tables where the product is sorted.

Essentially, we are "civilians" doing the Lord's work. We don't get paid, and we don't need to. We get an ice-cream sandwich when we're done after about a five-hour shift.

I was working with a gentleman from a ward near mine. He has six children, all of whom served missions, and a gaggle of grandchildren. All but one of his kids lives far away. I asked him a few questions about life as a missionary, and tried not to delve too much into my own situation.

But you know something? After hours of standing on my feet, I never felt tired, I certainly was never bored, and I felt like I accomplished something. I told a friend of mine in the ward how much "the cannery rocks" and that now I wish I would be in church on Sunday to bear my testimony about how much I loved doing that work.

I told the man I worked with that I found it fascinating that for one day, all of us -- owners of businesses, working mothers, reporters, engineers, teachers, insurance brokers, executive assistants, delivery drivers and retirees -- became experts in our field for one day. We stood side-by-side with one another to get a job done. No one cared what walk of life we came from, how much or how little we made, or even how strong our testimony was. We all just worked together. We laughed -- I even saw a friend of mine whistling -- joked and worked together.

It was an amazing thing, to be sure. And I think that's exactly how Heavenly Father wanted it to be.

Paying it forward

I had a great day on Monday.

For the longest time, I have had so many wonderful people help me, console me, counsel me, make me feel good about so many different things. It's why I think I've been able to make it through a very difficult time.

It reminds me of a song by Tracy Lawrence, joined by Kenny Chesney and Tim McGraw. The song is called "Find Out Who Your Friends Are" and it describes a guy who thinks he's down on his luck...when all he has to do is call up his friends, and he knows they will be right there for him. Those are the kinds of friends I have. We may not be together all the time, but the miracle of the telephone and the Internet, and yes, Facebook, we can easily find out just who our friends are.

On Sunday, my good friend Gordon was about as down in the dumps as I'd ever seen him. He was quiet at church, and I immediately knew something was wrong. I sent him a text message to let him know just how much he and his family had helped me through the most difficult part of my life. He and his family have been so special to me. I cannot ask for a better friend. I have spent literally hours talking to him and his wife Camille about my situation, and what I want to do, and how I want it to change. He and his family have done nothing but give me an ear to listen to. They do not judge and do their best to offer constructive criticism.

Anyway, I called Gordon and he told me of his unfortunate exchange with some individuals. And you know what? I did the best I could to listen to him. I told him that I knew him to be a man of great moral character and that I knew he would never do anything counter to that.
I hope I helped him, because I certainly felt good after talking to him. I hope he understands that I would do just about anything for him if he asked.

My friend Cowboy Jason has gone through a bit of a rough patch as of late with issues of his own. I pick Jason up for work each day and I drop him off to his house each night, when it is really late. We have often sat on his porch and talked for hours, or at his house, or even in my truck. I did the same thing for Jason on Monday that I did for Gordon, albeit in a different vein. We talked about relationships with people and how those can grow, and how to handle them. I mostly just listened, I offered some counsel, and then I helped Jason express his feelings to someone he cares about.

When I went home, I felt like my heart had grown about three sizes. I felt so good. I told Heavenly Father that I loved Him and that I thanked Him for giving me the opportunity to help others, after so many people had helped me. It felt so good to help people I care about.

So much of this has been about me and my feelings, that sometimes I forget others have feelings too. I just hope that I can continue to help anyone who might be in need, whenever they need it. It makes me feel good, and makes me feel worthy to be called a son of God.

There are times when I often feel like I haven't deserved that. Monday made me realize that I do.

A very interesting Sunday at church

I will admit something here.

For about a year when we lived in Wyoming, we did not attend church. I believe it to be partially to blame for the reason why we are not a family at the present time.

Now, I am not perfect and am a man with many, many flaws. But if there is one constant in my life, it is that I try to do two things on Sundays that at least get me closer to my Heavenly Father.

I attend church regularly, and I fast every Sunday that I attend church. Those are two things I know I can instantly do that at the very least make me feel closer to Heavenly Father. I genuinely get excited about going to church and feeding my soul.

At church today, at Sunday school, they talked about a subject that hit directly to the core of the relationship between my wife and I. The subject was adultery, as well as the need to be close to one another as husband and wife.

I am loathe to say that what my wife is doing is adultery, for two reasons: one, I am not perfect, and two, I would forgive her in an instant if she ever said she was sorry for doing such a thing. She has nothing to apologize for. I love my wife unconditionally, even if it might be hard to show.

But it pointed out sections of the Doctrine and Covenants that talk about the importance of a man and his wife and their union. We talked about sealing one to another, and the joy that brings.

As I sit here typing this, I wonder what would have happened if Heavenly Father directed me to those sections in the Book of Mormon when things were tough for us under the same roof. Would I have been able to fix the damage that was being done? The entire time we lived in the last house in Casper, I never knew where my Scriptures were. I found them while I was packing to move out. When I found them, I cried. Where were they during the last near-year that we lived in that lovely house in that wonderful neighborhood that looked as close to Mayberry as you could get?

While things might have looked good from the outside, they were a hell inside -- for all of us. I can't fault Heavenly Father for not tapping me on the shoulder, perhaps, and directing me to those scriptures that might have saved my marriage, and my relationship with my children.

My scriptures have not left me since. I read them all of the time. I read them practically every day when I lived in Carson City, and I really, really read them intensely on a trip to Idaho way back in July of last year, when I had to go to court for the first time. I read them now, though my pace has slowed considerably. Still, like a few other tangible things in my life, I hold tight to them as a reminder both of the faith that was given to me by the Holy Ghost and a reminder of how things can be. In a zippered pocket, I still keep the line of progression given to me by a dear friend who confirmed me as a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. The progression goes all the way back to Joseph Smith.

Tomorrow is the first day that I will make a concerted effort to contact Isaac and Savannah every day. For the days go by too quickly, and you can become too comfortable in your element if you choose to do nothing but stand still and not change it.

If nothing else, I am determined to let those children know I love them. And perhaps, in some small way, I can convince others of the work that I have done to change the way I have been so that they, too, may know of my love for them.

I cannot imagine not having Heavenly Father in my life. We talk every day...sometimes for a few minutes, sometimes for hours. But He is my rock, my confidante, my sounding board, in as much a way as any living human being that I know, love and trust.

Spilling my emotions

I had an interesting conversation with a woman this evening. She's actually a friend of Cowboy Jason's, and ironically, is separated from her husband. They have a five-year-old son together, she and her husband.

I feel bad, first of all, that I infringed upon Cowboy Jason's time with this individual. I felt bad as I was talking about my situation.

But a few interesting things happened during the conversation. I opened up with her in a way I never have with my wife. I told her that I really wanted to be with my wife, despite the place where she was in her life right now. I told her it was wrong for me to judge my wife's friends, even if I didn't agree with them. The fact of the matter is, they are Cherie's friends, and I can't judge them or dismiss their thoughts and feelings, no matter how opposite they may be of mine.

I told her how I had to learn to change my thought process and my feelings and how I had hurt Destiny so badly. She said she couldn't believe that I had been as bad as I had been. That's interesting. Everybody who knows me says the same thing, that I couldn't possibly have been as bad to Destiny or my family, that I didn't have it in me. I rolled through the things that made Cherie leave me, and how they made her feel the way she does now.

I want to write these things to Cherie and tell her exactly how I feel. I have not told her how I feel in a long time. I don't even know if she would read or care or listen to what I had to say.

But what am I waiting for? Why can't I just tell her what I told Cindy, Jason's friend? I mean, would Cherie understand? Cherie knows so much more about me than anyone else in the world, and she seems to be closed to the thought that I might have given the way I treated her and the rest of my family a year and a half to think about my conduct. I certainly have given it a lot of thought.

I told Cindy that while it might be nice to look at someone and be nice to them, that is not what I want, and that my concept of family is more than just being a unit where people coexist just to be a family, so they can say they were a family. That's incorrect. My concept of family is one where people love each other, where they forgive each other, respect each other's opinions and, perhaps most importantly, realize what they might have lost in the first place.

I want my wife and children back, and I want them to know that I am committed to them for the rest of my life. I have not wavered from that stance, and I never will.

I certainly have learned my lesson. I learned it a very, very long time ago.

Waiting

I am waiting.
Waiting patiently for something good to happen. I got some good news the other day. I don't want to jinx it, but it involves the possibility of moving closer to my family.

I want to be more specific, but I am afraid of doing so. What if it doesn't happen? What if something else does?

I just want something good to happen. I want something to happen that gives me hope for the future. This could be part of it. I am relying very much on Heavenly Father as this plays out. I really would like to be closer to the ones I love. They need me.

I wish I could say more. But until it happens for sure, I will refrain.

What I've been feeling all along

Life sucks sometimes for people who don't have significant others.

I say this because of last night. Cowboy Jason and I went out to Gary's Place and did the karaoke thing. It was kinda dicey because we're both as broke as Job's turkey this week, and spending even a few dollars for a Coke is pretty much sacrilege at this point.

But it brings me to a point that I alluded to in my last post. I think ultimately, people want to be loved, and want to have someone to love. Those that don't have that and want it are always looking for that.

I will admit, especially after seeing my wife's alleged love interest, a part of me was probably jealous, no matter how illegitimate he appears to be. The fact is, she apparently has found someone. Whether that someone is actually true isn't up to me, but it got me thinking. I know there are people out there who are perfectly happy with being alone.

I am not one of them. Especially after essentially throwing away what once was a very good thing. And yes, no matter what she did, I threw it away.

But is it wrong for me to want that again? To want the affection and perhaps love of someone else? A good person would say I'd have to fix my affairs first. But still, I think of my wife. I mean, really, that's what I really want...my wife. I would love to have her back. But that won't really happen. I want someone to love, someone to care for, someone to be there for, so bad. It's like I told my wife once...I have a giant pot of gold just waiting to give to someone. I want to give it to someone, so bad.

But I don't want to give it to someone who is so superficial they can't see past my physical appearance, or someone who doesn't share the same qualities I have.

I think I'm answering my own questions here. I know what I want. I just have to go and get it. And not settle for anything less.

Being true to myself

This will be a difficult post for me to write, because in it, I will write about things that I have struggled with for some time.

For a very, very long time, I have wanted my wife and children to come home. I have prayed for it all the time, and, especially at night, when I'm by myself, they are chiefly what I think about, as if I have no other interference from anything else. It's like listening to an AM radio station at night, where I just learned why the signal carries longer when it's dark. That's how my brain is -- as if it were a one-track mind, wishing and hoping and dreaming of the people I love the most.

But there is one thing that does cross my mind when I'm alone with my thoughts. I'm not always proud of that thought, but it happens anyway. What can I say -- I refer to these thoughts as primal urges.

Sometimes I wonder if there isn't someone out there waiting for me -- someone who isn't my wife, but someone who wants love and caring and compassion just like I do. It's hard for me to explain, because I know what I want. It should be obvious to anyone.
But there are times I think about it, and times I wonder if it is right to even be contemplating such a thing...I mean, I know in my heart, that if my wife and I were to ever come back together, it would be the most glorious thing on Earth, and I would never, ever ever want anything more than that.

But I do want to be happy, you know? I do want to love someone, and share deep thoughts with them, hopes, fears and dreams. I do have those, you know? And I would love to share them with someone.

I am eternally hopeful that someone is my wife, where we can learn to love again, and learn to laugh and share and spend the rest of our lives together. Because wanting something different than that, I have learned, isn't real.

The love I have for my family -- for my children and my wife -- is.