K.J. Stevens's Blog, page 6

a good stretch

December 21, 2023 – 6:27 am

You have a good stretch. You have a bad stretch. That’s the experience. It will not be flat, straight, without hiccups, accidents, or fear. However, you must remember that it is happening. That you have the opportunity to have the good and the bad and navigate the ups and downs.

Some don’t have that.

You do.

You are awake and conscious—at least on some level—and you’re here going through all of this with me. With us. We’re in it together. It may not have been our choice—the unexpected arrival here into a place both beautiful and cruel—but since we’re here let’s make the best of it. We don’t have the answers, and it’s debatable if answers are ever to be found. There are plenty of questions though. Lots to learn. So, let’s just get up, get at it, and enjoy all of this for what it is—a shared existence.

Just one simple moment in time.

~ KJ

Eight Days

December 16, 2023

Wet and warm for December. Hard to believe St. Nick visits in eight days. That the Reindeer will land on the roof, rest, and bask in the glow of the multi-colored lights we strung so they can find the place. After all, there are a lot of houses on our street, and we are only an itty-bitty speck in a big old world. It’s important to stand out. Decorations are essential, but each home has a fingerprint that goes much deeper, and its identity is determined by all the action and energy that happens inside.

I believe we’ve been good enough this year. That Santa will stuff our stockings, give a few gifts, eat our sugar cookies, drink our 2% milk, and share the bag of baby carrots we leave for his hard-working, magical beasts. But who knows?  When it comes right down to it, there are houses with brighter lights, decadent treats, and more meaningful fingerprints because they’ve put together much longer streaks of good-decision-making days.

So it goes, I guess. We can’t win ‘em all. We can only improve. And one thing I can say about our home is that even though our team is comprised of misfits, we are united and usually headed in the right direction. Looking out for others. Giving people the benefit of doubt. Believing in their good intent. Even if that means learning hard lessons in silence.

The holidays are no different than other days. At least, they shouldn’t be. Peace on Earth. Goodwill toward humans. Tossing glove-box change into red buckets. All of this should be everyday practice. Or maybe every other day. Once a week. A month. Whatever a person can muster when they aren’t locked away in their own little world. Fretting and frittering away at all the bullshit we create to muck up our lives when all we really have to do is take care of one another—and eat and drink and be merry.

Of course, there’s much more to it. Taking care involves thinking and patience, compromise, and sacrifice, and it is not meant for the faint of heart. You’ve either got the guts and love to land and live on the Island of Misfit Toys or you don’t. For those willing to do the work, to make better choices and follow through, you’ll start to see things, once again, like a little kid. Tucked in bed. Brimming with hope. Listening, even in the darkest, coldest night, for that sweet sound of rooftop sleigh bells.  

~ KJ

an entry (18 years ago)

6:00 PM

            There are many of these days.

            Hard-waking. Slow to rise. Stumble down the stairs. Shower to life. Dry. Deodorize. Dress the part. Head out to the truck. And there it is. Fresh air. Clean snow. A brilliant, rising sky. And I want to stand and breathe and believe all of those things that I used to believe. How simple life is. That love is all around. That there are beautiful, thinking people out there rising to the day, carrying dreams, wanting something else, a bit more, but I stop myself. Once I start, I will not want it to end.

            Reality is momentary. We must equip ourselves with the tools of the day. A pleasant attitude. A phony smile. False confidence. So that we can find the key. Turn the ignition. Motor into the day. Live the life of a person we weren’t meant to be. 

            We weren’t meant for this.

            These routine days. This forced permanence in a world of flux. But we settle anyway. For family, we say. For security, we believe. And we convince ourselves of this so that we can feel that we’ve accomplished something. That we’ve done right. That we have provided, helped and loved, so that someone else can carry on. Maybe grow up, make the break, be the person we wanted so much to be.          

            It’s too late for us to change. There’ll be no breaking through. No rising high. We will live the middle class life of living, buying and dying, and we will pass as surely as any others. We are the bridge between the Haves and the Have Nots. The part that’s skipped when a person goes from rags to riches. Riches to rags. We are filler in the pothole. Caulk around the winter window. The hands that bear the caskets.

            We are not meant for greater things. And greater things are not meant for us. Slowly, blindly, we lose touch with those things that burn deep. The childhood beliefs, the enthusiasm, the heart-pounding urgency. All of it  is sighed away to sleep. 

            Until we wake the next day.

            Here is another chance, we think. Maybe this is the day.   

            The alarm sounds. We struggle to pull ourselves from the warmth. Shower. Dry. Deodorize. Dress the part, and walk into another cold winter day.

~ KJ

unfinished

Aging thoughtfully makes life better. I like the way the present and memories, the mornings and nights meet and mend. It’s worth investigating. Piecing together. Taking apart. Piecing together again. Like a puzzle that no matter how it’s assembled, makes sense.

Mornings

Dark early mornings standing on the porch. Stars leftover. A sliver moon. Dogs stretching, sniffing the ground, searching for the best place to poop and pee.  I scan the sky. Will lights to move. To bring calm. A sense of peace. A wash of big perspective. Like I experienced when I was a kid. Late teens, about to leave the nest and achieve greatness. Absolute certainly I was writing stories that would change the world. No money. No common sense. Only a brain of know-it-all-ness. At 50 now, looking back, I understand I needed that holy white disc and the way it bent space, warped speed, and slowed time. It probably should have beamed me up for a good probing and proper scare, but it didn’t. Instead, it left me feeling small but connected—that I wasn’t alone.

Nights

At night, before bed. Dogs into kennels. Wife and kids gone upstairs. I clean the kitchen, pour a mug of milk. Drink it while eating cookies. Though we live across from a funeral home, our big, old house is quiet. Not a ghost in sight. This is disappointing. With the living and dying that’s taken place here over the past 120 years, there should be mysterious footsteps. Shadows darting by doorways. A lost voice struggling through dimensions to be heard. But it is only me. Standing in the pantry. Not hungry but munching my way to comfort. Crumbs falling down the front of my shirt. Regressing. Filling emptiness with sweets. Or maybe I just enjoy a few cookies before bed. Time will tell, I guess.

~ KJ

you got this

April 25th, 2023 – 6:38 am

You may not be able to physically remove yourself from a stressful situation, but you can do so mentally. The deep breath trick works. Each breath can back you away from the situation. I like to think of each long inhale as a step back and each long exhale as another step back. Then, when I’m far enough away, I consider the situation, why I’m feeling stress, and how I can navigate the opportunity. Because that’s what the moment is—whatever the moment is. A disagreement. An important test. A car accident. Funeral. A party you don’t want to be at. Opportunity everywhere.

People think that opportunities are always good. Pleasant experiences when a big golden door suddenly opens in the middle of a flowery field. One you just happen upon as you move through your life. This is not true. Also, it’s important to remember that even when people fall ass-backwards into goodness, there’s a chance they’ve made some decisions previously that have led them to an opportunity which has benefited them. Opportunity can be ugly and it’s often worked for.

What I’ve discovered, albeit a bit late in life, is that there is truth to manifesting your destiny. It’s not all sitting and wishing, hoping, and dreaming. You must have some of that, but manifesting your destiny is about creating opportunities, carving out your success and happiness, whatever that may be. And one of the best ways to manifest your good is to step back from stressful situations, analyze them as best you can, and seek the opportunity within that moment. Believe it or not, there’s much more to be had from taking the high road, making good choices, rather than engaging in negativity.

Grace under pressure. Give yourself grace. Patience. Those deep breaths and seconds to collect yourself. When you do, you’re also giving others that same chance. I’m not saying one should always back down from a fight. That is not the case. What I’m saying is make sure you are focusing your energy on the right fights. Those that truly matter. Learn from stressful situations. See them for what they are. And if you remove yourself enough—even if it’s only a few breaths and a couple steps—you’ll likely see that what you’re smack dab in the middle of is a chance to make a decision that will help you level up and grow.

So, here’s to some deep breaths, folks. You got this.

~ KJ

zoom out

April 14th, 2023 – 6:08 am

Zoom out for perspective. Take that second or two to envision yourself observing the situation you’re in that’s causing frustration, the grief, the worry. Rise, like a ghost—or if you can’t wrap your head around what that might be like, imagine a drone. It’s rising, up and up over the situation. Perhaps, it’s an argument. Maybe it’s a competition. A job interview. Whatever it is, you are feeling stress. But as you move up into the sky, you notice things. At first it is the situation at hand. An office setting. A soccer field. Your very own backyard. And there’s the other person riling you up. What a prick. Not seeing your point. Not listening. Prodding. Or could you be the aggressor? In any case, as you continue your pullback, a straight shot up, you recognize the buildings, wide expanses of green, trees, water, and all the other activity we humans are engaged in. You pause in wonder at all that activity. People going to and from wherever it is they think they must go. Some engaged in happy endeavors, some not. They are stuck in similar situations, feeling the stress of a moment. All of us, together. As you continue your ascent, you breathe easier. You can’t even see yourself anymore. That argument, that disagreement that got your blood boiling, when looked at from above, is pretty inconsequential. By now, you see from horizon to horizon and you feel, once again, the magic of this place. You begin your descent armed with the knowledge that it’s not so bad after all.

~ KJ

one in a million

April 8, 2023 – 7:42 am

Late start, but I needed the rest. Not that it was solid, but when moments of sleep came, I took advantage. Slipping away deep enough for my brain to play and charge. I don’t remember where it took me, but I remember birds, eggs—trying to save them. From what, I’m not sure. Impending doom of some sort. This could have happened just prior to waking, cooing in the darkness outside our house, filling that space between wakefulness and dream. Or it could be because my daughter has a dove egg propped up on a small blanket under the desk lamp on her dresser. She and my wife found it on the ground near the bird feeder a week ago. We all know the egg isn’t going to hatch. But we also know that stranger things, all weird and wrapped in beauty, happen every day.

∞

Trees emerge from rocky cliffs.

Flowers spring from rooftops.

Blind women see into souls.

Men without legs walk on water.

Deaf children hear the ground.

∞

But all magic isn’t one in a million. We get so steeped in what’s big and moving that we neglect the smallness that thrums our veins moment by moment.

∞

Tis the season for renewal. Birth. Our chance to shake off the cold, ban the snow, and march headlong to warmer days. Riding backroads with windows open to smell the woods and hear the pop and crunch that gravel makes under manmade metal and rubber. Fishing streams for trout, but watching frogs and crayfish, herons and muskrats instead. Family gatherings at the lake. Boat rides that start hot enough for shorts and tank tops but end with sweatshirts and blankets. Yard games. Bonfires. Food and drink and music and great giant breaths of air. In and out. All day, until we begin to blink with heavy lids. And yawn under starry skies. Just little creatures of wonder getting sleepy as they wait inside their shells for the right moment to hatch.

~ KJ

morning routine

April 3, 2023 – 6:42 am

Brush teeth. Wash face. Feed cats. Feed dogs. Grind coffee. Start water boil. Empty dishwasher. Play California Dreaming. Let dogs outside. Wait in the dark. Listen to Lake Huron crash the shore. Feel the cool breeze flow around me. Taste moisture in the air. Hope for rain. Not snow. Start thinking about the morning. All mornings. Wonder at routine. Consider change. Certain I’ve done all of this before. In with the dogs. Boiling water over coffee grounds. Wipe countertops. Tidy up living room. Stretch. Pour coffee. And then they come down. Daughter first. Fresh, clean, bright. Gone are colorful dresses, purposely mismatched socks, hair clips and bows. She’s t-shirts and sweats. Long flowing blond hair. She looks like a girl from the late 70s or early 80s. This morning, it’s a Dirty Dancing t-shirt. Wife is next. Glowing complexion. Smiling. Hair up, which means business. We hug, exchange all that we can so early in the day, and she’s off to the den to log in for work. I ask if she wants coffee. Yes. Creamer? A little. I hand it over then head upstairs. My son sleeps in longer than he should, but he’s 17, needs lots of rest, and like his sister, is on the homestretch. School will be over soon. A few months and they’re free. Sunshine, cottage, friends, work. Plenty of time though to be kids, make decisions, and create a path that will or will not afford them the good fortune of a morning routine.

~ KJ

a dog and his man

April 1st, 2023 – 5:24 am

At the cottage. Wind howling. Rain pounding. And lightning. An eerie delight so early.

I can’t sleep any longer, not because of the weather—Mother Nature doing what she’s always done, rule this place—but because being here after being gone so long, gets me thinking. A dangerous, yet beautiful activity. So many thoughts come simultaneously that I need to engage as soon as possible so that when the wheels start spinning, they have traction. Focus. Solid ground. Direction. That’s what a man needs when he’s caught up in the negotiations between daylight and dark. So, we rolled out of bed about five.

We, meaning me and my dog, Astro. A Husky mix that’s playful, nervous, inquisitive, and always ON when we’re at home. If he’s not playing with his buddy, Iggy the cat, he’s following, laying on, or playing with his life partner, Spindle—the Buggle, a beagle, pug, and bulldog mix. When they’ve had enough of his companionship, he finds his way to me. Watches me work, never completely resting, and nine times out of ten when I look at him, he has at least one eye open, on me.

Astro came for all of us. My wife, my kids, the other pets. We were meant to meet. I know he’s a dog. An animal. But I’m an animal too, and I understand what it’s like to know where it is you’re supposed to be. That there is a connection between all living creatures and love and friendship is love and friendship no matter what we look like, how we smell, or what language we speak. The bond I feel with Astro is old school. Like one of us was sitting at a fire in the wild one night. Lonely. Struggling to stay warm. Contemplating the secrets that darkness keeps. Looking for hope in the flickering flames. The other was making his way through the forest. Doing what was necessary day and night to stay hydrated and fed. Always on the move. One foot in front of the other, but never sure-footed long enough to rest. Propelled forward by an innate will to survive, or anxiousness.

Neither of us expected or asked for a partner. And I’m not sure which one of us was at the fire and which one was in the woods. But here we are now.

The wind and rain are quiet now. The April Fool’s storm has passed. The cottage’s lights and furnace on generator power.  Astro is relaxed. It’s a side of him I don’t see often. Zonked out. Both eyes closed. His head on a pillow on the couch. I’m getting there too—to relaxation. But mine will come much later. For now, there’s work to do.

~ KJ

winter marriages

March wrapping up. Leading us into the month of showers so we can have flowers in May. Bright spots. The reward for making it through another winter in Northeastern Lower Michigan.

It was fun when I was a kid. We played in the snow until our clothes and boots were sopping wet and our fingers lost feeling. From morning til night, it was indeed, a winter wonderland.

It wasn’t as tough when I was a younger man. I could throw snow like nobody’s business. Never tiring. Even enjoying the act of lifting over and over again. I would set beers on the bumper of my pickup truck. Shoveling, like anything else, went hand-in-hand with drinking.

Today, older and weaker, I shiver at the thought of having to shovel again. I hope it doesn’t snow anymore this year. Not that I shoveled all that much, anyway. Brooke did most of that. I had the easy job—snowblowing.

As always, we divide and conquer. She doesn’t want to mess around with gasoline, choking, priming, and an extension cord, a clogged chute, deflated tires, and broken shear pins. But I don’t mind it. Even with all its peccadillos, the old Huskee still makes quick work of deep snow, and most of the time, the heavy stuff.

After 15 years, I have come to know that machine pretty well. Top off the gas every third use. Twelve pumps of air per tire each outing. Place it fifteen paces away from the outdoor electrical outlet so the extension cord doesn’t hang in the snow. Push the primer eight times. Adjust the choke. Hold the start button three seconds. Move the throttle closer to the bunny than the turtle, unplug from the outlet, and we’re off.

Once we’re at it, there’s no stopping us.

Except for the slushy mounds that city snowplows layer at the end of our driveway.

It’s been a couple of years since I had to replace a shear pin because I have learned our limits. And so, after Brooke has cleared the main sidewalk to the house, the front and back steps and porches, we meet at the end of the driveway to tackle the big mess. Each of us with a shovel in hand.

~ KJ