Nathaniel Sewell's Blog, page 4

I Will Say Her Name

My happy heart socks and skullcap

I wrote this for me and for others that understand what tragedy and loss feel like.

Which is everybody? Right?

Perhaps, I am triggered after talking with a business friend yesterday that experienced the death of two close family members from the current pandemic. Yes, they each had underlying health problems, but the virus pushed them over the edge.

In fact, his uncle understood the virus was about to take his life, so he called his daughter, and said goodbye. He died the next day. He was not an abstract number; he was a human being.

We shared our heartfelt concerns for our businesses future, mostly; I listened. But I felt the same.

It shook me down to my core as I have trapped my mind inside a whirlwind for a variety of reasons. But soon I’ll clear my thinking, and then I will get back up, I always get back up.

And, I would be remiss not noting the recent passing of friends from my youth. It was a swift punch to the gut.

But I can take a punch, and I will always get back up. But then again, it’s great to get a gentle hug. I like hugs without intentions. If you are hurting, I am sending you a soft hug.

However.

I think the best time to write, to express my emotions comes when I can feel the raw internal waves from allowing myself to be vulnerable. I rarely open up and share. I rarely let anyone into my internal space.

I know I am quite fragile.

But then, aren’t we all fragile?

Next Saturday is not just a date in time for me, June the 6th.

It is an anniversary for a specific moment when someone that loved me unconditionally left the living tense. It was a cruel experience for everyone. I loved her. Her daughter loved her unconditionally. I marveled at that gift. I did not understand or feel what unconditional love was all about. I didn’t.

Truthfully, I did not grow up experiencing unconditional love. I grew up experiencing daily conflict.

So, I write about her every year in a poem or now, in this piece.

She and her beautiful daughter taught me that feeling. And now, I will not fail her or her memory. I hope in some fashion beyond my understanding she knows I am writing about her.

I think if you love or care about someone that feeling never dies – it might cool, but the flame exists. Blow on the ember through your minds-eye and the flame will reappear. It’s magic.

I will always remember her. I will always say her name.

Take yourself there, you have a name, don’t you? Say it. And now you feel like I feel.

I’ll quote myself from my first novel, Bobby’s Socks.

“Even so, I recognize, even today, I have a distance to me. I’m easy to talk to, but difficult to know.”

To a certain degree, I think we are all distant because we’ve experienced trauma. It’s part of living.

So, the photo I shared are a skullcap and socks an artist made for me. She was crazy talented using the symbol I drew and weaving it into the socks and skullcap.

The woven colors represent genetic code and taking a walk inside the character’s socks. I wrote the book from the victim’s perspective. The symbol I drew means to “always have a happy heart.”

If you exam it closely, it was inspired by looking at a lit candle wick and thinking it was a teardrop. I try to turn the teardrop up and make myself smile even when I do not feel like smiling.

We have all experienced a tough patch in life. I’m sending loving thoughts to anyone that reads this. I try to smile and try to be a kind person. I know I fail; I have a nasty temper, but then, I’ll express I am sorry, hope for forgiveness and then I will get back up.

The one thing I know, one thing for certain.

Next Saturday will be June the 6th. Perhaps my friends will be with me, I don’t know; I am okay being alone.

I will not fail her. I’ll get myself an adult beverage.

I will remember her boisterous laugh and her curious gaze at me after I told her a dirty joke.

I was the smirking son-in-law with a boyish look that got away with being naughty.

I think she would have encouraged me to keep writing, to keep creating and allow my artistic instincts to bloom. I know she loved me.

I loved her, unconditionally.

I will take a sip. And I’ll say her name.

NS

Making Pizza

Before




After

Before and after photos… I made the dough from scratch. I let it rise. I have bags of dough in the freezer.

I chopped up all the veggies that I bought at a grocery store. I used Newman’s Own marinara sauce. I buy it because of the not for profit and philanthropic philosophy.

I’ll quote from a song by The Band, “take what you need and leave the rest.” I never buy more than I need.

Thank you to farmers, truck drivers, and those endlessly stocking the grocery store shelves. And I hope we all have a newly refreshed respect for them all… without them, we starve.

I have a deep appreciation for my depression and WWII era grandparents.

They existed under these current pressures and anxieties for – years, not months.

Sometimes the best lessons come from human failure and crisis.

I’ll quote Maya Angelou. I regret I never got to meet her.

“You may write me down in history, With your bitter, twisted lies, You may trod me in the very dirt, But still, like dust, I’ll rise.”

We will persevere. In the morning, we will see the yellow dawn emerge above the flat horizon and the sparkle spread like fire across the land and sea.

And I’ll keep making comfort food.

NS

Good Judgement

This a photo of the novel, Bobby’s Socks.

I rarely write about politics. Why?

Perhaps it’s my desire not to offend and the singular idea that in my country we have certain rights.

I might not agree with a view you express, but I support your right to express it.

“Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the government for a redress of grievances.”

I will share exactly what I am thinking. And you can decide if you agree or not – I’m fine either way.

I think several state governors and city mayors will learn the hard way what the above First Amendment means inside a courtroom.

And the voters in those states and cities will decide during this crisis if they used good-judgement.

After this mess clears, we need Dr. Birx; I trust her. I think she’d use good-judgement to develop a go-forward national strategy and protocols on how to respond to a pandemic. There will be a next time…

Understanding pesky things like data to prevent certain individuals from attempting to create their own kingdoms… And to prevent the foolish from entering an obvious suicide pact.

When I was a younger man, the company I worked for taught me to underwrite using ‘good-judgement’. I’m serious. That was the overall strategy for deciding who to insure or not to insure.

Medical malpractice underwriting is tricky because you are calculating the odds that a highly trained healthcare professional will use good-judgement.

If I were in NYC, New York, I would get provisions and keep my front door locked. If I were living in Omaha, Nebraska, I’d go about my life, but I’d be careful and try to use good-judgement.

I can promise you, you DO NOT want to get the Coronavirus. If you have no underlying health condition, it will probably not kill you, but you’ll be sick for about two-weeks. It’s a highly contagious, nasty bug.

I wonder about good-judgement. I wonder about the madness of crowds.

My first novel, Bobby’s Socks was published in January 2012. The underlying themes were child sexual abuse and the epi genetic link to young adult suicide. It’s still a serious problem, and a misunderstood issue. Unfortunately I know what it feels like to be humiliated and remain silent for decades.

And, if anyone on planet earth thinks I’ll be silent about the accusations from Ms. Tara Reade against presumptive Democratic Party presidential nominee former Vice President Joe Biden – you are mistaken.

The clock has been ticking and I want a response from Mr. Biden. Now.

I suspect Associate Justice of the Supreme Court, Brett Kavanaugh, is curious.

Where is the media’s moral outrage? Where have all the #MeToo peeps gone? OH, self-quarantined… cowards.

I wonder, money, power and fame are your gods? What about consistent integrity?

It’s a simple answer for Mr. Biden, walk before a microphone and say, “I’m sorry if I hurt someone.”

After, the entire issue would evaporate. I know most assault victims wish for a simple act of contrition.

I think you should seek the truth, the facts, and not rely on family rituals established before you were born. (You have FREE WILL.)

I wish we had more Walter Cronkite’s sharing the actual news and not sharing with me what cheeseburger an actress ate with her new partner, or how a poor professional athlete is enduring the pandemic.

President Trump and his strange wasp nest hair style and spray tan are not from being a choirboy. I remember him haranguing about former President Obama’s US citizenship – endlessly.

And I think about allowing two political parties to play jousting games while the country burns.

In truth, I do not agree with many of Representative Tulis Gabbard’s policy ideas – but she’s earned the right to speak.

And she appears to me to be bright, well-mannered, and has a spine. She served two tours of duty.

The Democratic Party disrespected her. It’s wrong.

I think she’d give President Trump a serious challenge. I think she could win. And I’m far from being labeled a progressive. (I’m not sure what these labels mean other than rallying cry’s for support and most of all, money.)

But that political party will nominate a man that has ‘lost a step’? A man with a credible sexual assault allegation against his name.

I’ll keep the family corruption off the table as I think that’s a pox on both houses.

But he’s their presumptive nominee?

So, in November, we get to vote for the current president who will be 74-years-old and recommended injecting disinfectants, or a 77-year-old who has a serious sexual assault charge, dementia or worse, and has never owned or operated a business and – neither candidate served in the United States military.

I’m lucky as I’ve gotten to be 54 years old. I have my hair, my mind, and I think good health.

I wonder what nation we will have left behind for those that come after us?

I hope I’m using good-judgement, sharing my thoughts.

NS

Paper Towels

Paper towels? The grocery store shelves stocked with plentiful paper towels.

It was an odd experience since my last sojourn into the grocery store, dutifully wearing my charcoal filtered mask from when the paper product aisle appeared like abandoned metal. The toilet paper section still barren and cold.

But brave stocking clerks were getting ahead of customer need. I know it. I feel it. The daily things assumed to be plentiful – no longer, the once ignored clerk, the truck driver, the maintenance people, the checkout lady, no longer assumed or ignored.

My daily survival depends on them existing, otherwise, my survival no longer easy and comfortable.

Maybe I’ll get a haircut sooner than later?

I know I’m follicle rich, but that’s a genetic thingy and the relative length and style has nothing to do with my survival. I can wait, it’s an easy decision.

I wondered about the invisible mother of two without a job or savings?

Her decisions are much harder than mine. I’m alone and in control of my carbon based spaceship.

As I walked home with my provisions, I was thankful I had only bought what I needed for a few days into the future.

And then I noticed the little things along my downtown St. Petersburg route.

The bright sun warmed the early afternoon and freshly planted flowers blazed with color.

A construction crew actively repairing a city street corner. Another human group building out a restaurant. A middle-aged man painting a wooden surface. Bikers glided down the street, passing me on toward the Tampa Bay waters well-stocked with powerful boats and sailing vessels. The tall masts pointing upward toward the blue sky.

Paper towels?

I guess paper towels are renewing like a springtime ritual and all my previous lifetime assumptions and expectations no longer valid.

I’m thankful to have a basic need managed.

My thoughts are like the slow cadence from Aaron Copeland’s work, Appalachian Springtime. It starts slowly, and then it gets faster and faster until we return to calm.

Life will reemerge. I am confident. I am resolute. But I wonder what will be normal?

I know that invisible mom’s going to discover a new job. I may not know her or see her, but she’s nearby. I know it in my mind and in my heart that life will work out for her.

And going forward, her children will view their lives through new lenses.

I’m thankful for my life. I am thankful for my health.

It’s springtime. I have hope. And I have paper towels.

Maybe someday soon I’ll get a haircut?

But for now, I can wait.

NS

Dr. Birx & Random Thoughts

On December 28th, 2020, I hope to turn 55 years of age.

I hope.

I have hope. The hope I have gives me joy.

Several years ago, for a variety of reasons, I took time to self-examine my thinking and my life journey.

I’d like to share some of my observations from being self-isolated from humanity.

1. My body is closer to dying than away from my birthdate. It is simple math and benchmarking.

I do rituals like eating a healthy diet, stay hydrated, keep my weight managed and exercise daily.

I try to keep my life in balance and focus on a positive mindset. (I’ll not comment on genetics and random good or bad luck.)

But I don’t want to hasten my death. And I don’t want to harm anyone else.

2. I added this picture because it tells the story. It’s an invisible snow blizzard that can kill you.

These viral snowflakes have spikes that attack human cells.

I could be Coronavirus asymptomatic and accidentally infect another innocent person.

A child or a senior citizen?

I’ll keep hunkering down.

“Be ye kind, one to another…”

3. In my time on earth, the two words, ‘political-thought’ are oxymoronic.

If there has ever been a national call for congressional term limits – we are watching the case study.

An eighty-something is the Speaker of the House, elected in 1987, and we have an eighty-something Senate Majority Leader, elected in 1984, playing political gamesmanship while people I know have a zero income, no job, and are told to self-isolate. And that assumes they don’t have any children to feed.

My definition of hell on earth.

4. The country of my origin, the United States of America, has a 73-year-old president that likes to pretzel style his hair into a yellowish wasp nest like thingy and personally earned a lot of Federal Reserve Notes being a reality television star. I don’t like his tweeting, or his combative nature. And yes, I voted for him.

But, I think he’s done a good job managing the unimaginable.

I express that sentence based on watching the daily evening news conference and how he respectfully treats Dr Birx. She’s kept me sane through this mess, she’s brilliant, factual and not a drama queen (that’s neither a masculine nor feminine concept).

After this pandemic calms down, she should be awarded the Presidential Medal of Freedom.

NS

WRITE A THANK YOU

I have an idea, share a selfie wearing your protective mask on any social media. But then write a thank you to someone that had a positive impact from your life journey.
Thank you, Grandma Hazel.

As I’ve Aged…

It’s a frustrating time for everyone. Consider that last word, everyone, as in every person alive on planet earth.

I intellectually understand my work-work life hit with the metaphorical pause button.

I attempt to scratch out every opportunity.

But it’s emotionally scary and I suspect physically a genetic scar. (Look up epigenetics and the potato famine)

Since I’m spending A LOT of time alone here in downtown St Petersburg, I’ve been scratching my writin’ and creatin’ itch. I wrote those two words from my Central Kentucky mother tongue.

I’ve discovered I can watch endless YouTube pod casts about interesting things. I’ve been learning from interesting people and not watching the news.

My body and mind are my spaceship, so it matters what fuel I allow inside it.

For example, I’ve started another novel – working title: Caste Into Darkness.

It’s a follow up to a novel I wrote over a decade ago, (excuse the terrible grammar) Fishing for Light.

I wrote it as a satire because the underlying theme are serious. As in, if you really went searching for a high-power, where would you find it? And if you wanted to take over the world without firing a shot – how would you do it?

Two days ago I wrote the below opening – I know the ending because I wrote it already.

The sun’s dispersed yellow rays yielded the day below the horizon as darkness overcame all meaning as it mindlessly slithered across the Appalachian forest floor. Professor Quan understood his body was dying. It was his conscious choice. The late evening was chilly, the forest peaceful, quiet.  High above him two turtle doves were snuggled together into a makeshift nest, made from circular thorn bush limbs, protected by thick sycamore tree limbs. They cooed down at him.

Now I have a side-hustle to occupy my mind, waiting for my main-hustle to reemerge from stasis.

I think if you keep your mind and body working on a project during the life journey; it makes the destination meaningful.

I wrote that last sentence for a specific reason.

Perhaps, like me, you have been monitoring the Johns Hopkins coronavirus statistical infection and death map?

I know what really hit me hard was looking at the photos from NYC digging a potter’s field on Hart Island.

I am not attempting to overstate the obvious, but those numbers and coffins are, or were, living, breathing human beings.

As I’ve aged, I have worked to seek a positive idea from a negative experience. The basic predicate being love is by far a more powerful human emotion than hate.

Therefore, I write and create just for the love of it.

I don’t enjoy expressing a political view. If I had my way, we’d treat each other with kindness and courtesy and follow the Hippocratic Oath.

IF you approach these things from a Biblical view:

“And be kind to one another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another…” Ephesians 4:32 – King James’s translation.

NS

Voice

Voice

Perhaps it’s my cynical nature, but during these uncertain times it reminds me why humans take risks.
It’s a scary concept to step forward and not know if your flip-flop will find solid metaphorical ground. 
Ask a girl out? She might say no… A no response being a deeply personal rejection.What? Am I ugly? 
My point is inclusive, I can only view a life moment with clarity from my own experiences. 
And I never understood the pursuit narrative. 
Since I have time to stay-in-place, I think. I write. I have a question. I think it a great question. 
What’s the best moment of your life? (Consider that moment… I’ll come back to the question.)
From an artistic point of view, to me, it’s understanding your voice. 
It’s the cadence from a poem. 
It’s the joy of writing a thoughtful short story. 
Or, it’s the creative journey to write a meaningful novel. 
Voice allows a freedom I cannot define, it’s a simple feeling that you have to seek.
And if you discover it, you’ll try to never let it disappear. It’s a universal magic.
I’ll go back to my question, what’s the best moment of your life?
Let me guess?
Another human being says this, “I love you.”Or, you tell another human being, “I love you.”
It’s the most powerful voice you’ll ever hear inside or outside your mind.
I guess that’s my Tuesday in lockdown thinking. 

Life. Death. Rebirth.

Life. Death. Rebirth.

If you are a practicing Christian, today is a cool day.

In my mind, it’s the point to the entire religious exercise because Jesus got back up and started walking amongst humanity.

And he was moving about his old hood for quite a while before the text shares his accension.

Consider that last sentence.

Close your eyes and take yourself to that exact moment.

What would you have thought?

If you were alive during Jesus’ time, you could have watched the Romans go all Roman on him and kill his body.

It was a brutal death. I cannot imagine the pain, the suffering he endured.

Then the Dude reappeared.

In modern terms, The Dude abided.

He strolled about the grocery store. He hung out in his pajamas.

Virus? What virus?

And there we have the life trick.

From the story, Jesus had nothing else to prove. Right?

He WAS the Dude. He outmaneuvered death.

He feared nothing.

Consider this notion, if you know the ending of the novel before you read, you’ll never suffer.

Reading the back of the book first makes life seem like an easy glide.

(As a minor point, if you author a novel, you don’t start writing until you know the ending.)

My point, if you never suffer, you’ll never feel good or evil.

You’ll never stop to think. You would exist as a numb organism.

If you don’t suffer before success, will you feel successful?

My truth.

I believe in a high-power because I have felt pure evil.

I have felt hate in my body. I have felt hate in my mind.

A cold, calculating hate. It’s a terrible experience.

Somehow, I resisted that hate. I killed that virus off, slowly.

And then I started to understand kindness, generosity, and forgiveness.

I suspect it was from a seed planted inside my genetic code from my Christian missionary grandparents.

They were true believers. They devoted their lives to their faith. And they were the happiest people.

I did not understand them until I noticed gray hair appearing in my thick hair, and inside my thick brain.

I think they saved my life.

Otherwise, I would have taken my life.

On this day, of all days, during this present tense.

I would be remiss if I did not take a moment to say thank you to them.

To write something praising them and perhaps expressing in words the same thoughts others feel about their loved ones.

Thank you to their wondrous spirits.

Thank you to their unconditional loving memory.

And thank you to a spirit I do not understand.

A spirit I cannot comprehend.

Thank you for my life.

I will die someday. It’s a fact. It might be from a deadly virus, a cancer, from violence or a simple accident.

I do not know the date, the hour, or the circumstance.

I will leave it to the fates.

I possess hope. It’s free.

I’ll give it to you.

I feel love for others. It’s free.

I’ll share it without reservation.

I pray you’ll share hope and love, too.

Someday I believe our spirits will remain.

I know our spirits will abide.

NS

I have something to say…

I have something to say…

Have you ever been so powerless you screamed?

What I’m expressing is a silent scream.

You know the moment… we’ve all had that life situation that appears like our lives will never recover.

A moment in your life when you were so poor, powerless or other that you had only an internal desire to survive.

I have.

I know what it feels like to put my heart and soul into a business or artistic pursuit and get a – shrugged response or worse.

It hurts.

It is the moment you learn something about being positive and seeking the beacon of hope.

By the way, it’s easy to be a critic. It’s brainless.

My recommendation, take a moment and express hope to another human being in crisis.

Hug a hurting friend with kind words or actions that might mean everything to them.

Love is a powerful pinprick into your soul that shines for eternity.

Hate is a sad disease that infects the ignorant fool.

Someday, if I say your name, or you say my name, what will others think and remember?

NS