Bearded Gang

I can’t rank them. It would be like ranking your favorite child or sibling. I love them all the same.

I’ve never watched a sunset and thought “meh”

I’ve never experienced one without a smile on my face even if I was walking out of a slow day of work at Southern. The sun always set right when I’d leave work on a summer work day. I’d drive home while it disappeared over the distant Appalachians. Sometimes it would be the only smile I could conjure up from a long day.

I’m rarely on the west coast so a good beach sunset is rare for me. I spent 6 sunny days in Hawaii and every evening I’d run down to the beach, find the coziest spot on the rocks and melt into the set with a cold vodka in plastic cup. I wish I had better control. I do miss that initial burn down my throat. I could feel the icy liquid run through my blood from head to toe. That’s the only part I miss.

I watched that sunset every night. I planned my whole day around it.

I ate my first lobster roll in hand while the sun set over the bay in Bar Harbor, Maine. I pulled my truck over and sat under a bridge right outside of Acadia National park. Same trip I ate outside of a cafe in Delaware and watched the sunset right over a bed and breakfast. The food was terrible but the sunset brought tears to my eyes. Two days later I’d cut ties with Southern

Tailgate wrapped in blankets in a vacant parking lot in Buena Vista on a cold October evening. Shivering in 27° pre snow forecast. Recently unemployed. Too caught up in the moment to give a shit.

The one I saw with my old high school buddy straddling Utah and Arizona lake side on Lake Powell that spanned along the wide horizon, now I know where they came up with the colors of the Arizona flag. I bet I took a thousand photos. If I were ranking them that one would give all of the others a run for their money.

Utah outside of Moab, a old gas station highway side after exploring the Arches. Feet dangling out of my tailgate with a can of Campbell’s tomato soup and potato chips. One of my favorite childhood meals. I was on a nostalgia bender that day. Earlier that day I’d bought a can of Pepsi with a side of junior mints. My mother and I would walk to the grocery store in Piedmont in the summers to grab these and snack on the way home.

Piedmont had a few that would set over the pastures. I acknowledge them now. My young mind wasn’t ready for the value of a good sunset. I had MTV instead

Our old home in San Souci I never got to see one because of where our house sat. Maybe that’s why I never liked that house.

Gulf sunsets warming my face, eating bang bang shrimp with while a small trio, wearing floral shirts, paying homage to Jimmy Buffet.

Feet submerged in the Rocky Broad in Hickory Nut Campground after a fat burger in the village. Site 78 I believe. The sun set would touch my site briefly before resting for the night. I had no idea that the last time I was there it would be my last one in that spot.

Two of them I watched back to back outside of Glacier. 23zero camping chair under my truck awning. The second night I felt like a mountain lion was watching the same one as me. I spent the rest of the evening in my roof top, mossberg nestling close by. The full moon shown brighter than the sun that night.

Watched the sun turn purple one night outside of Gallatin, MO with my daughter on our tailgate

Shitty seats at a Elton John/ Billy Joel concert in Death Valley stadium in the early 90s. Nose bleed level but that sunset took over the concert. Joel was playing Scenes From an Italian restaurant. It became my favorite song of his.

Big fat one sat over the plains opposite the Wall in South Dakota. I had driven 16 hours to get there. Exhaustion diminished that one a tad.

Crested Butte- camped in Washington Gulch. It was amazing enough for me to drive back to see it again. Mosquitoes be damned. My mind lives in CO some days.

A hundred of them in Linville. My little spot that sometimes I just shake my head in wonder that I get my own little sunset. Rarely see another soul. The dusk light stretches all the way across the gorge. In the winter when the air is crisp you can see for miles. I’ll sit on a rocky ledge alone and feel my reset switch flip. I’m terrified of heights everywhere except for that one particular spot. I intend to get back there soon. I don’t give a shit if I have to buy three chainsaws. We were meant to be together.

Although I’ll never rank them Linville does have an unfair advantage of being one of my favorite places in all the lands.

I read a quote some time ago “Sunsets are my escape into the reality I want to continuously live”

It’s resonated ever since.

I lost power at exactly this time last week. Sitting in the dark while I played out a dozen different scenarios in my head of “what’s your plan if the shit hits the fan?”

I got my family up so we could all be in the same room just in case we needed to get out of dodge. We aren’t in any sort of flood zone, we live on a hill my biggest worry were trees and high wind. My camping trailer is parked in a position to where I can get out in 2 minutes. I can pack every needed resource in that trialer to last us 2 weeks except for water. 10 days of water.

Quick fyi here’s something you don’t really think about until you have to – water is heavy. I have enough vessels to carry 30 gallons of water. That’s around 250 lbs when you include the carriers. Don’t over estimate the payload of your vehicle with people, pets, luggage, gas cans, food etc. If you aren’t careful you’ll have your belongings broke down on the side of the road. I drive a Toyota Tacoma. My payload is around $1000 lbs. That’s really not a lot. Water would take 25% of that. My camper shell which I bought because it was aluminum and lighter is around 150 lbs. Sure that’s the safe number and you could probably add another 200lbs but I wouldn’t push it. My truck can pull 4500 lbs but I’d rather it didnt. My trailer weighs 1700 lbs. it’ll hold another 1700. My camping storage and tent weigh around 400 lbs. awning is 80.

I have a 14 gallon gas can on wheels I’d put on the back of my trailer hitch which would add another 125 lbs ish and my trailer rack can hold up to 200 lbs. My Tacoma gets only 10 miles to the gallon when I pull that trailer.

Full tank and back up I can leave my house and drive a good distance before worrying about gas. Real bad scenario I add 2 more 5 gallon containers. I have room for it.

If it’s get the family and pets and get the fuck out of dodge I forgo the trailer and we can drive as far as Little Rock without stopping.

If you had asked me for these equations last month I could’ve given you this same answer just as fast.

I’m not prepared for everything but I’m prepared for anything.

My first mini catastrophe. I fell short on butane, gas containers and certain food provisions. Also my one water filter is in pieces and I’m sure I’m missing a thing or two. I procrastinated on water filtration. That won’t happen again. My generator is just right for camping but lacks a little for household. Not sure if I want to purchase another one but I’m thinking about it. A fan would’ve been nice. I got lucky with propane. I’m keeping a record on how long it takes to go through s green canister of propane. First one lasted right at 4 days. I used it for coffee and a few meals. The butane in my grill is the only one I have. It may have enough for a hotdog. Also real quick don’t rely on butane if you’re in weather below 32°. Propane is much lower boiling point. Isobutane will work in much cooler conditions too. I actually found this out the hard way trying to make coffee in Cortez, CO while freezing my ass off.

Lighting for the home I have a half dozen Luci solar lights that work great. I grab them all up at 8am and leave them out in direct sunlight until 7. We’ve been fortunate to have clear skies all week. Two of my solars have charging ports so I can charge them with a battery if needed. I also have a battery operated latern. As of right now I haven’t had to use any valuable power to use them. It’ll be overcast today so I may only be able to use two of them.

I get REI gift cards for my birthday every year so I try to purchase things I wouldn’t necessarily buy for myself due to cost. I always shop in the return section. REI accepts returns all the way up to a year with no questions asked. Some asshats take full advantage of that and will buy something and “rent it” for one use and return it to get their money back. I take full advantage of the returns. I bee line to that section when I walk in. Rarely do I pay full price for anything. They also send out deals to members and you get a return on your purchases every year. I bought a Ecoflow battery for a very reasonable price.

I also have an old goal zero battery that can be used to charge all of our phones all day.

And it has.

My daily power routine is full generator up at 8am and hook up the fridge and Ecoflow. The battery can fully charge in 80 minutes. I haven’t had it below 60% all week. It’s a lithium battery so the shelf life lasts longer if it’s used sparingly. I cut the generator off in the middle of the afternoon to give it some air and then give it another pull at 5 until 10 then she’s shut down for the night. The fridge can keep cool for most of the night but I still put the important food items in coolers with ice over night and then transfer. The power outage gives me around 1.5 hours of extra chores a day. I don’t mind. It takes my mind off things and that’s important for my mental health.

We have natural gas water heater so we’ve been fortunate enough to have hot water. My deli does too.

Probably would’ve bought more candles. I really didn’t think we’d be out for a week. That’s another plan of action. Plan for the worst not plan for inconvenience.

I’ve been trying to push my camping life out of my head. It’s not been easy. This isn’t a hobby for me it’s a part of my lifestyle. Leaf season has been around taken away from all of us. Parkway has been shut down indefinitely.

I’m fine

Deli will open today for a few hours. I have to watch the temps inside. I don’t perform as well under sweltering heat like I used to. How long can you sit in a sauna? 4 hours? 10/10 don’t recommend.

The big trucks keep getting closer so that’s encouraging.

I’ll be playing the “let’s see what we can make with what we have” all weekend. Some things I can’t get from the grocery store.

Man if I hope I come home to some electricity after work today but regardless I’m thankful for what I have at the moment. WNC has been on my mind all week.

The last 4 years have been a bit volatile for most of humanity. Covid, rising cost of goods, political propaganda literally every hour of every day at least on this continent. I have been very public about how Covid reshaped my brain and thinking. If anything it’s prepare me mentally for this regional emergency and somewhat physically with my emergency prepping. I’m not that deep into it but I may be after this. My wife is very grateful for my outdoor hobbies.

We are temporarily indisposed from this hurricane. This is my longest power outage I’ve ever been through. I’ve been longer without power at my disposal when I’ve done some cross country camping but there have always been stocked gas stations, supermarkets or hell if I want to swing into town and catch a movie it’s an option. In the grand sense of things we aren’t dealing with shit. When I say we I mean my household. We have running water, we have food, a small generator, both cars filled with gas. Fridge broke but since I used to do charcuterie from my home in the summers I have three mini fridges in my garage and patio. We’ve spent the last three days sitting outside under an awning from my trailer cooking out three meals a day. You won’t hear a peep from me about our circumstances. We are better off than most right now.

There are people currently dealing with the worst week of their lives.

Asheville

For me Asheville is the gateway into my haven. When I refer to spending time in Asheville it usually means all the surrounding areas. Black Mountain, Mills River, Montreat, Chimney Rock, Hendersonville, Saluda, Blue Ridge Parkway, Burnsville, Mount Mitchell. Even as far north as Nebo, Morganton, Linville.

I call all of this the Asheville area out of brevity. If I’m not up there weekly then it’s definitely bi-weekly. It’s literally my second home.

I probably camp 80- 100 nights out of the year. Between my quick overnighters, weekends, three day excursions and before I opened this deli I was up to three week long trips a year. Of those times 75% of those trips center around “Asheville”. When I was building the deli and didn’t have the time to spend two hours driving I’d go an hour uphill to Chimney Rock. I’d go up to Hickory Nut campground, set up my little zen and rest my feet in the Rocky Broad. Summers are often too hot to camp but I found some relief camping by the river. I’d fall asleep with the river running through my mind. I would walk into town, have a burger at Burntshirt Winery and would occasionally sip on a beer just to feel normal again. I’d pay $7 just to sip on 1/4 of a Sierra Nevada pale ale. I’ve been very transparent about my drinking. I allow myself to have one beer if I want one. Still much better than 6 vodkas, 2 fireballs and Jameson.

I’d leave and walk back into camp and sit in my chair with my feet in the river and read.

I closed a lot of chapters sitting in my little chair in that river.

It canceled my stress properly. Next morning I’d brew some coffee, shove my head in the cold river and go for a walk in the village before 7am. All the shops would be closed, only vehicle on the street was a PFG truck making his deliveries. After a few stays we began to wave and say “good morning!”

I have no doubt by fall we’d know each other’s names.

I’d walk along the little neighborhood street that paralleled the village. The peaceful bungalows sitting at the in the shadows of the Rock. I’d turn off my earbuds and listen to the river while I walked down the quiet street. I text my wife “when life slows down this is where I want to rest.” This little street. I wanted to put my old feet in the river everyday, rain or shine. Let me sit on one of those wraparound porches, write and sip coffee until it’s time to get my day going if there was a need.

Simple simplicity

Chimney was one of my happy spots. It soothed my soul. When you find these places they become a part of you and vice versa.

I hate that I typed “was”

Everyone has their happy spots or at least I’d like to think so. If you don’t then come along with me for a ride and we’ll find you one. These have saved my mental health 1000 times over.

They are paramount to my functioning.

And they are gone.

My jaw dropped when I saw videos and pics of Chimney Rock. I didn’t believe it. I thought/hoped that it wasn’t a real pic. It was so goddamn empty that you couldn’t tell where it was. Until I saw the same exact mountain hump in the background of one of the photos replicated in a photo I had taken and then I knew exactly where the feet were planted for that pic of devastation. And i cried.

“Chimney Rock is gone y’all” – the voice in the video

Lake Lure is blanketed with the remnants of Chimney Rock. You can’t even see the lake. Just imagine had that damn burst..

The nice host at the campground. She lived there. Two spots down from the office. Couldn’t be more than 20 years of age. I grieve for her and her dog. I hope she left that campground. You have to cross a small bridge over the river to get back on that road. The other side is a mountain you can’t climb. That bridge rests in Lake Lure now. As does much of that campground. No one wants a storm this level when you live in a small cabin or even worse an RV. It bothers me that when I watch over head videos I can no longer pinpoint where the campground used to be. It’s completely gone. And so is a part of me

Asheville for the last several years has been my gateway to my happy spots. It was where I’d pick up my last minute needs going up the mountain. Sometimes I’d stop up on the way and grab a farm burger and walk around downtown. I do a lot of Christmas shopping when I up here for the holidays. I’m still of the generation that has to see and touch things before purchasing. If this makes me old then I embrace it.

I like to bring home things made by local people’s hands. It brings more soul to your home.

Biltmore Village

Arts district

I’ve walked a 100 miles in those places. Sometimes I’d sit by the French Broad in my truck with a coffee in my hand and watch it roll.

The road to Linville I-40 is gone. It’ll be 2025 before they even reckon with it. 221 will be a hwy now. That road was already congested. Imagine I-85 being washed away up near Pelham Rd.

I can’t. Can you?

I-40 rolled through the mountains.

I have no idea what my camping zone looks like up there. I have no idea if there’s a road left up there.

It was just a skinny gravel road to begin with. My camping spots might’ve slid down to Linville River or they’ll have to cut through hundreds of widow makers to open that road back up. If they need help give me a chainsaw.

I feel extremely selfish even thinking about how this has inconvenienced my camping trips when hundreds have just died. It’s not my intention. I’m only trying to get it out.

I went to Boone for the first time just last week..

In my head I’m having to tell my mind over and over “your resets have been temporarily closed. Don’t ponder on what you can’t control. Find another path. Your reset isn’t physical it’s mental”

Covid took away my resets too. It didn’t go well for me the first time. I’m thankful for working on a new perspective in life the last few years. It prepared me to handle big things as they should be handled.

Covid I give you credit for that. That’s all you get you crusty bitch.

When I’m finishing my work week my head is in the mountains. “Once I lock this deli up and heading to the hills”. That won’t be in my head for a long time now.

But

If this is the worst to be thrown at me I’ll be ok. My family is safe and healthy. So am I.

Remember how we used to say when the shit hits the fan you should run for the hills? Shit ran downhill this time. No amount of preparation would’ve helped Asheville. Mother Nature wins every time.

I hope to sit on this little bench in chimney again one day.

Took my daughter for a short drive to Ace Hardware down the road from our house to see if they had service open for propane. My current obsession is camping just in case no one was aware of this so in these weather emergencies I have somewhat of the upper hand in comparison to someone who doesn’t practice outdoor adventuring. I’m not that skilled at bushcraft. I’m not into building lean to shelters, bushwhacking or skinning hides to wear for winter

But

I’m capable if it’s the only option. Another hobby of mine is reading material that’s relevant to those skills so I have the knowledge. I’m just a little too busy/lazy to practice it. I can purify water in an emergency, I can set a bone or treat a wound. I can read a compass and navigate a topical map. I can use a flint to start a fire but I think I’d rather keep some matches and lighter on me at all times. And I do

I prefer not to be put in charge of these tasks . I’m no expert on any of these in fact I hope to never have to do these things in real life because most of my knowledge is literary not experience.

But

At least I’m aware and could do it if called upon. Knowledge is power

Took my kid with me because I wanted her to be involved in certain preparations should god forbid something happens to me or when she’s on her own wherever she resides she’s physically and mentally prepared for such an emergency. We should all be doing this.

I have camping propane somewhat stocked. I have propane cylinders and a mini tank I use for long camping trips. I have three on me at the moment and my small tank is about half full. It’s fine and dandy for the weekend but I can’t take for granted the power coming back on by the end of the weekend so just to be safe I figured we’d go ahead and fill the big one I keep in the garage. We were literally the last ones that were able to get propane. We got lucky. While we were in line I was discussing emergency scenarios with her and how to react. The line was a long one and people were already getting fidgety and upset. The registers were moving slow due to the power outage and card readers were taking their time. I told her to watch how everyone was behaving and how to learn to read body language. We paid cash and were whisked out quickly.

“Always have emergency cash on hand even if it’s a $20 bill”- I told her. I keep cash on me and have some in some quick grab spots for emergencies. I keep some in my truck also.

She asked why we were getting more propane since I had several containers so I explained to her that you can’t have too much when it comes to valuable resources.

“We can find propane today but if the power is out all week it may be more difficult to find.” I had no doubt that the supple chain would probably provide more soon but why put yourself in a situation if you can head it off. It wasn’t that long ago that the supply chain shit the bed. I told her to look at the faces of the other customers. “They’re frazzled” – I said. Some are scared and buying chainsaws, bottled water, outdoor grills, tools, running around looking for $1k generators that started selling out as soon as the weather man said to stay indoors.

“It doesn’t pay to procrastinate” I told her. “Let me show you what the gas stations look like right now”

We drove near Spinx and when I say near I mean I stopped about 1/4 mile and showed her the line around Spinx for gas. We passed several cars out of gas on the side of the road. Ive seen several people walking to the gas station with a gas can in their hands. We filled our tanks Wednesday. I also filled up my gas can just to be safe. This isn’t bragging I’m just doing what my parents brought me to do. Technology is amazing until it’s not accessible. I’m old enough to know how easy it is to get fucked if you aren’t prepared. If your car broke down on the side of the road you either walked to a phone booth or a gas station. There were no cellphones. Bought a generator last year had never been used so it came in handy yesterday. It’s not a big one but it keeps the refrigerator fridging and I have a solid lithium battery for charging essentials that I keep charged from the generator. We are lucky it’s not July. I’d be buying a window unit for the house. If this happened two months ago it could’ve been considerably worse. I don’t tell my daughter that.

I’m not that concerned for our safety. Not at the moment that is but I’m anxious. It’s in my primal instincts to protect my family at all costs. Like a woman with her first child you follow your instincts that have been ingrained in your DNA since the first ancestor hit a large piece of meat over the head to feed his tribe. I’m sitting in a cozy (not so cool right now) bungalow with a roof over my head, running water and a decent amount of food. Pets are lounging and my family is safe in bed. That’s about all I can hope for at the moment so my instincts are at ease.

For now.

I haven’t really thought about the deli this morning because my concern circle is extremely small and tight. My proteins and cheeses are resting in a good friend’s walk in. He reached out without provocation like good friends do and saved the day for me. My prep as far as sauces, dressings, desserts are all slowly dying in their closed coffin cooler caskets (A+ for alliteration). When graze does reopen it’ll be quite a prep day. Being closed for the weekend is the equivalent of a paycheck and a half. It’s gonna sting a little.

But

I have my family safe at home. 60 miles up the road my deli would be under 5 ft of water. And so would we.

I’m much better prepared than some but if I had to give myself a personal grade of preparedness it would be a C minus. I didn’t underestimate the storm I knew it was going to be shit I just didn’t think of how easy it is to miss the little things. If you indulge in the outdoors and camp like I do you get a little idea of what it takes to live without the comforts of your home and resources but you still have access to the finer things in an emergency. I’ve been in some sticks for a few days and try to maintain self sufficiency because I enjoy the skills it takes to do these things.

But

If I forget something I can drive an hour or two and find just about everything I need. I’ve never been camping and thought “I forgot this item, it’s paramount to my survival.

Camping is a hobby it’s not a situation of survival. It can be if you make some bone head decisions but I stray away from those type of things. Also I’m not a sportsman. I don’t hunt or fish. I can shoot a gun with fair accuracy. I’ve been hunting I know all the rules of the game I just don’t enjoy it. Has nothing to do with shooting Bambi it’s just not my thing. Fishing? Fishing scares me because I’m a gear geek and I’ll go spend $5k on fishing gear in a heartbeat. I don’t need that right now.

I suffer from “What If’s” a lot. The past three days it’s all been those two words. I deal with these stressful situations by staying busy. I also do my best to make my family feel safe at home. It’s not my job it’s my primal programming. It kicks in without me flipping a switch. I go out and forage for food while my family sleeps, I find fuel and resources to get through the day to make sure we are fed, warm and healthy. This isn’t a “I’m a better man than you” exclamation. My instincts are wound up like a toddlers toy and set me out to do what I’m supposed to do.

My biggest fear is letting my family down in these scenarios.

We aren’t in any danger. I am blessed to have a healthy family and live in a stable environment

But

If another big one dumped right on top of us again well we might be in some trouble. Then the resources and infrastructure can breakdown and that’s where the “what ifs” come into my brain on tumble dry.

I have 30 gallons of water on hand in case of an emergency. If only used for drinking water sparingly that amounts to about 15-20 days and that’s a stretch. If you’re eating mres it’s an average of 12-16oz of water per serving. Three meals, three people is over a gallon of water. So now I have 10 days of water. You’ll spill some I do all the time camping, might have to wash your hands, brush your teeth. I can wash my hands and face with 4oz of water but it ain’t easy. So now we have a week of water. I moved my cold water pod into my backyard to catch water for practice just in case. I would’ve used that for ware and body washing had I needed it. Still scares the shit out of me. I’ve gone 8 hours without hydration in a camping debacle and it was tough. Some of you drink sodas and tea to stay hydrated. You’d dehydrate much quicker. Just stating facts y’all.

I got up to hit the gas station at 4am this morning to fill up my gas can for our generator and I went ahead and topped off my wife’s jeep. Just about every pump was full but I didn’t wait in line. Some of you are getting angry about gas stations being too busy or out of gas.

You don’t go shopping on Black Friday at noon. It’s fucking Black Friday all week yall.

I kicked myself for having only one gas can. Even more so that I bought it on the way to work Wednesday at a gas station. My other one has old gas and probably sediment now. I could use it to fuel a fire if need be but that’s about it. I’m aware in an emergency I could siphon gas out of my truck but I’d rather not drink any gasoline.

I drove up to whole foods yesterday and bought some essentials, proteins and canned foods. Whole Foods was at about 50% capacity. Food Lion was packed to the tits. I didn’t mind spending the extra few dollars to save some hassle.

My generator’s job is to keep the food in the house cold and my lithium battery charged and that’s it. In the evening I turn off the generator and transfer my perishables to coolers with ice and ice packs I keep in the freezer. Next morning when I cook I hook it all back up again and place the ice packs back in the freezer. If I feel there’s something I’m doing well it would be that. Food preservation is my itch to scratch. I’ve worked in enough restaurants with shitty old refrigeration to know how to keep it cold. I’m looking at you AZ steakhouse.

My cache of food is below average though. We don’t eat at home that much. I have an emergency supply of boring dehydrated food that would last me 30 days.

Just me

I don’t like the idea of ever having to ration out food. It’s terrifying.

I always kept it around for a just in case in fact I have a lot of things around here for just in case and it has just in cased. From my perspective it’s not nearly as sufficient as I thought it would be.

My instincts at this time tell me this is just a practice round.

My brain is a full time analyst. My career has made me that way by proxy I didn’t go to school for it. For the last 30 years I’ve been programmed on how to analyze purchasing, inventory and stock rotation for a dozen restaurants. It comes in quite handy in these situations. I know consumer habits and how they react in stressful situations. Yeah these aren’t super powers and anyone can form their own logistics for food and supply but for me it’s a knee jerk reaction.

Things that worry me are how the general public reacts to emergency situations. Some people require leadership and guidance. We’ve gotten way too comfy with letting our infrastructure take care of everything for us and we’ve all taken it for granted. It irritates me to see some of you sitting at home pissed off that no one is helping you when you did nothing to help yourself. There was plenty of warning to heed. I watch people roll right through 4 way intersections and blow horns at the others who stop. People are breaking in line for gas. If that continues for a week I’ll put money on someone getting shot. And you know what? You probably shouldn’t have broke in line.

Imagine if it were a line for food or water supply? Imagine human nature patiently waiting in line for food and water? Can you see it? I sure as fuck can’t. We are chimpanzees that can operate heavy machinery.

We turn off the empathy when we are knee deep in shit. Whole lot easier spouting virtue on your keyboard than to actually observe it and practice it.

I’ve already comprised a list of things to get for next time. My instincts are instructing me to and that also terrifies me because these are the same instincts that said that this storm would be the one of the century and well it hit the fucking nail on the head.

It’s the ant and the grasshopper y’all.

If you have any capital or assets I’d encourage you to invest into some materials and resources that will help you and your family out in case there another shit storm. They seem to come around a lot more these days.

The more of you that prepare the more resources will be available for those who cannot. Not everyone can prep for a disaster but if the ones that can did there wouldn’t be as many breakdowns in the supply chain.

We were lucky in comparison to our northern neighbors. I can’t imagine my family being put in that situation.

I’m writing on my charged cellphone, on my dry sofa, sweats, hot coffee and I’ll be frying eggs and bacon on the last tank of propane that was available from Ace Hardware yesterday. I’m capable of cooking over an open fire if needed. My family is sleeping soundly, cold safe food in my two yeti coolers that I’m actually thankful for over spending money on. I’m extemely fortunate. We are safe, yeah we have guns but I’m not worried about marauders and looters.

But

If another storm hit on top of this one I’d be a little more on guard. Best time to fuck someone up is when everything is dark and the local infrastructure is too busy to help. No cellphones to call for help or ring camera to record a break in. I remember what it’s like to walk three miles to a phone booth to call someone.

Most of us don’t even have change to make a phone call. Not that you could anymore. Now is a solid time to shake hands with your neighbors (yeah I know the irony in this statement) and get a better foothold in your community so you can ride the wave together. That’s literally what communities should be for.

Human nature scares the shit out of me. I used to watch people throw hands over mask mandates.

I hope for everyone’s sake the power is returned soon. This’ll get real interesting by the middle of the week. Some of you are already getting unhinged and that puts me on edge.

My old baseball coach always told us “have a clue before the ball comes to you. Don’t wait to make a decision where to throw the ball after it’s in play. Play the situation in your head each time a batter is up at bat. Always assume the ball is going to be coming your way and have a gameplan as to what you’re going to do with it when it does”. I’ve used this philosophy for just about everything I do and it works well for me.

Stay safe yall

It’s taken some time for me to slow things down the last few years. I’ve always had it in the back of my mind that there are 101 more things I have to have completed in each of my days for it to be considered a successful planet rotation.

I turned 53 years old two weeks ago. We celebrated with some take out after I worked all day and I was in my gray sweats before 7pm. The next day it was life as it should be and I went back to work with the thought “I’m just another year older”

My mind is humming with the deli most of the time. I’ve got some new things I’m reckoning with as far as food ideas go. We are hitting week 8 next week although it feels much longer than that since I practically lived in the deli for two months before. The week before I opened took my menu and mentally threw it in the trash and started over. Covid had once again punched my brain in the face but this time it was the actual virus hitting me physically and mentally. I created a new menu and couldn’t tell you how I managed to put it together in two days because I was mostly out of my mind for over a week.

This story has already been touched upon.

It took me almost a month to get my gears moving again and still to this day I find myself fuzzy headed looking for something that’s literally in my hand. Not sure if it’s just 53 years of moving and shaking my money maker or if Covid has left a stain in my brain but I’ve definitely slipped a notch in my mental patterns. I’m making a few more mistakes on orders, leaving out key ingredients in somethings I make in a hurry. My short term memory has never been the greatest the last 15-20 years but now it’s much more noticeable.

When you’re a glorified short order cook it’s frustrating. I don’t forget anything in my boxes but if there are modifiers there’s a good chance I may have to repair my box after I’ve made it. The speed is still there but that may be an issue too. Maybe I’m moving to fast to keep up with myself.

When I look at my menu I wrote I see a lot of desperation and haste. It was forced and I got lucky with a few items but I look at some of what I wrote and roll my eyes.

If there are 20 menu items on my chalkboard half of them were thrown together to open my deli. I wasn’t kidding when I say I pulled a creativity muscle 4 years ago. It was this week 4 years ago that I split with my old company. It almost took all that time to make peace with myself.

But

I have

Once I did I felt a smidgen of my creativity come back to roost. Not all of it. Not even half but I’m getting closer.

I like maybe 5 things on my deli menu. I like the hoagies they are the star of the show but there’s nothing “amazing about them”

Hate the salads or how I have them provided.

Not a fan of the build your own sandwiches. They are necessary but sometimes it may take someone a solid 2 minutes to order one. And it might take me another 2 to write all the modifiers down.

Again it’s a necessary option if you’re going to operate a deli.

I’ve sat on my new charcuterie menu the whole time. I’ve only posted two new boards and even then I have yet to advertise them after I did. Honestly I want to take the whole menu and start it all over again. Some of my plans for it aren’t flowing. Christmas is around the corner. I won’t have much time for going rogue with creativity once the holidays are here.

Still awaiting some box samples from a month ago.

Lunches were blah last week but charcuterie was the rage, if both can get hot at the same time I’d be estatic. Putting a hold on lunch specials on the weekend just not selling enough or I’m pushing some shitty specials.

There’s gonna be a lot of typos on this one. I’m wearing old contacts and can’t see shite

Went camping Sunday early morning, found my epic spot and sat under the trees all day. No hiking, no adventures I just read and cooked my myself three squares. Sat by the campfire even though it didn’t drop below 70° and gazed at the gorge. I watched the mountains by moonlight until I fell asleep.

And healed

The mountains hit different up there yall.

My intention was to camp for two days but the forecast looked a little wet so I went up north to Boone for the first time in my human career to check out the town. I had a local coffee walked around all the shops and had a snack at a local bar. I still prefer the atmosphere of old college bars when I eat. You can’t take that away from me.

My main reason for going up there was I wanted to find the home of my keychain I’ve had for the last 30 years. I’ve shared my story of this keychain that I’ve gotten quite attached to a few times. I’ve slowly absorbed it’s philosophy and now it’s a part of who I am. I’ve had a couple of friends when I found the keychain tell me that the tag line on it resembled an outfitters in Boone. That was over 20 years ago. I didn’t google anything when I got there. I pulled up, paid a parking meter to keep ticking for two hours and went on foot to see if I could find it.

Found it in 5 minutes. I saw a outdoor business and said “that’s it”. Walked in and the older man at the counter asked if he could help me and I just layed the keychain on the counter and he smiled.

“I haven’t seen one of these in years”

And I said “let me tell you a beautiful story about this keychain”

We chatted for a bit and his manager took a photo of keychain and my tattoo.

It was an oddly emotional experience for me. It was like bringing my good luck trinket home to meet her folks.

I got a handful of t shirts and stickers with my life philosophy, shook hands and left.

Mission accomplished.

Three hour drive home through all the Asheville valleys and little towns. I didn’t mind shorting my trip to one night. Chimney rock was stained with a big black cloud when I drove through. I may try to dip my feet in it next week.

I also have a little overlook in WV on my mind for a two nighter again soon. I loved being perched over Lewisburg in that farm pasture.

6 hour drive not so much

This week is dedicated to that menu reckoning. We’ll get it done when it’s ready.

Cheers

The transition from living in a small bedroom apartment with my parents, three sisters and brother in Greenville to an overnight relocation to a small bungalow house residing next to a two lane drag strip otherwise known as Hwy 86 in Piedmont was quite the culture shock for me. 1979 I believe the year it was. I have to be honest from ‘79-‘82 ish I have trouble pinpointing memories to exact years. It was a long transition for me to adjust to from parents divorcing, half my siblings leaving the nest and adjusting to the lifestyle of Piedmont right before I slid into puberty. My parents were splitting right at the same time as my third grade year came to an end. I can recall this moment vividly because I had to tell my best friend from third grade that my parents were splitting up and I would probably never see him again. When you’re a kid you don’t mince words. You say it like you see it and well I nailed it.

Let me add this real quick before things get started. Divorce has a forever impact on your children. iIt doesn’t matter how old your children are. They are the friendly fire casualties to your decisions. I know everyone has their stories and backgrounds but divorce should be your absolute last choice for resolution. Relationships break all the time. So do bones but you don’t see people sawing off their arms when they break them.

This isn’t a knock on anyone who’s ever gone through a divorce. I just feel like some of us get caught up in the rituals and ceremonies of marriage without thinking that there may be times when you can’t stand each other or the new car smell wears off and then you have to start taking each other in for maintenance. We all break down over time. Act accordingly

I wasn’t on the planning committee for the divorce nor was I given a handbook on what to do next. It was a confusing summer for me. In fact I can’t recall what I did the whole summer before 4th grade. My dad moved into my oldest sister’s house and that would be where he’d live out the last six years or so of his life. My mom put me on a bench seat in a stranger’s green Ford truck with the bed full of our belongings to we headed to Piedmont.

I had no idea who this man was. He wore a cowboy hat, jeans, boots and a giant belt buckle with a bucking horse on it. He looked like something out of a John Wayne movie. I thought he was giving us a ride into town and dropping us off. I had no idea it was his house we were driving too. *see note on planning committee

We pulled up to this white bungalow and the first thing I saw was a bunch of hoarded “junk” on the side of the property. I mentioned something about that junk and my mother told me to shut up. I don’t think she had ever told me that before so I went sullen and kept my mouth shut. I had no clue as to who that man was and why we were staying in his house. Most of my siblings were starting to scatter with college and jobs so I felt mostly alone for quite some time.

Around this time of my life is when I sort of shut myself into my little own world. I created a small fantasy world that I played in for years albeit it evolved over time but to this day this is why I’m not comfortable in large social gatherings. A part of me went away and never came back. The first summer I had no friends in Piedmont. It would take half my fourth grade year before I found a solid friend. I made a few friends in Mauldin where my father resided but I don’t talk to any of them anymore. I spent most of that summer hanging out at my new house just trying not to get in anyone’s way. The house sat on an acre of land and some woods behind it. One side was a cow pasture and across the street was yet another. That summer I found out what it’s like to be surrounded by hot, humid cow shit and with no HVAC to be had we welcomed it all with box fans and opened windows.

Our house also sat about 80 feet from hwy 86. At least once an hour you could hear the local shitheads driving their muffler less cars about 80mph down the road or even drag racing on its two lanes. I used to walk down this road all the time to get groceries or grab a Pepsi at Hazzards. People used to throw shit at me all the time or veer their vehicles towards me like they were going to hit me. I started walking in the ditch each time a car approached me.

When I tell people I’m from Piedmont it doesn’t mean I was born and raised there. I was born in St Francis Hospital in Greenville. My first 5 were spent in Belle Mead.

I grew up in Piedmont. I say this in a literal sense. My first few years of life I was a kid doing things a kid should do. Playing with friends, yelling at my siblings and eating dinner with my parents. Surrounded by toys and a great imagination. Worst thing that ever happened to me was getting chased by two boys for throwing a dirt rock at them.

Piedmont was a whole ‘nother culture. I hated Piedmont when we moved there. I was introduced to violence and a completely different civilization. To be thrown into all of this because of a divorce was just icing on the cake. I never stood a chance. If you read my write up about my school bus adventures then you’d understand a little. I talk about systems and how I adhere to them. Piedmont was/is a system that’s been ingrained in me and will never leave. I’d be interested in seeing what I would be like had I’d never landed in Piedmont. I’d probably be a lot softer. The first few years was like a cultural boot camp. It definitely hardened me. To the point of almost maniacal.

When I refer to fond memories of Piedmont it’s mostly due to the friends I made there. The culture is passionate and loyal to a fault. I fucking love how hard these folk support me. If I were about to square off in a bar fight I know anyone from Piedmont would be standing next to me. I’ve even used “I’m from Piedmont” to stop someone from trying to fight me. It’s different y’all. I have a love hate relationship with Piedmont. I fucking earned it.

Take the good with the bad I suppose.

Back to the story

I didn’t get the memo on why my mother moved in with this man. How they met and why my father no longer lived with us. Yeah I get it now it was my brother who spilled it all on me in an unnecessary way and I wasn’t ready to accept it.

Also this isn’t about how it happened. I loved my mother and Tom with all my heart. Things happen. They stayed together for over 30 years. Let’s move on.

The man who drove us to Piedmont to be his new roommates terrified me. Maybe it was because I didn’t know who the fuck he was. There was no introduction. Mom could’ve handled this a little better but it’s too late to change that channel now. The house was small but still bigger than our old apartment. My sisters got the one spare bedroom and I got the mudroom next to the kitchen. My mom was an early riser so I always woke up when she got up to make her Folgers. We kept the windows open at night with a fan on to sleep. The house wasn’t very well insulated so it got hot in the summer and I’d freeze my ass off in the winter. Eventually I’d ease into the other bedroom when my sisters left home.

Some neighbors down the road kept a muster of peacocks on their property and for the first entire summer in thought it sounded like a spirit screaming for help. If you’ve ever heard a peacock croon you’ll understand.

The cowboy that took us in worked construction out of town that summer, it may have been Georgia, if my memories have any lapse it would be around this time. Some memories have a way of locking themselves out during not so fun childhood experiences.

I remember Piedmont seemed hotter than Greenville. Could be the sea level or the fact we didn’t have air conditioning. My mother’s new friend had a sectional made out of some itchy fiber material. I can recall it almost sticking to my body when I’d sit and watch tv. The stitching had these tiny little loop holes in it and I’d use the point of my school pencils to pull them apart. The split up of my parents caused me to develop some weird quirks and OCD behavior that I still have some control my everyday routines. During my adolescence I started to believe that if I didn’t do certain motions 7 times something terrible would happen to me. This lasted for about 3 ish years. The odd thing that broke it was my father’s passing. The two days he was in a coma I did almost every physical thing in sevens to keep him alive and it didn’t work.

I was a weird kid y’all. Still am

What is it that Forrest says when the subject needs to change? “That’s all I’ve got to say about that”

Tom

I knew his name the first time I met him but had no idea I’d have to remember it. If my mother thought I was too young to understand she was only half right. I knew what was happening but I had no idea where it was going. I do hold a little grudge with how I became the kid in thr corner for a few years and then left to ponder those years on my own. The situation was nothing to brag about from either of them so I get it but man yall left me to write my own story and I could’ve used some cliffnotes

Tom was the opposite of my father on several levels. My dad was from the north and you could tell in the first 20 seconds. Tom was southern and well same. My dad, not being one who took his fashion sense from GQ, usually wore some outrageous checkered golf pants or khakis, one pair of shoes and I white v neck undershirt regardless of climate. Over the shirt would’ve been a polo shirt usually yellow and windbreaker if it was winter. Hailing from Bethlehem, PA I suppose the winters didn’t get to him down here.

Tom during that time was jeans, cowboy hat and boots to match, button snap shirts and a belt buckle the size of my head. He had quite a few. I used to go in their closet and wrap them around my waist like I was Ricky Steamboat. His other go to wardrobe were denim overalls. I had only seen these worn as a prop on the Real McCoys and Hee Haw. I didn’t know what to think.. Tom had a thick country Appalachian accent that also brought out my mother’s southern twang that I guess she kept underneath her dress the whole time my parents were together. Tom always called me Slick which I couldn’t stand at the time. Now I’m in my 50’s and if I want to get your attention I find myself calling out “Hey Slick!”

It funny to look back and see how you adhere to somethings over time. I own several pair of overalls and you’ll rarely see me wearing a tee shirt that’s not a v- neck.

My dad talked as a yankee should with the old “oh geez!” exclamations that you get from that Pennsylvania zip code.

Both are Air Force veterans just different wars.

One drove a Lincoln one drove a pickup truck.

My dad never laid a hand on me. Tom eventually did.

Now, anyone that actually reads this I’m not trying to build up a surprise ending, I’m not creating hyperbole to make anyone look good or bad. I’m telling a story as it unfolded into my life. There may be things that you’ll read that might make Tom look like a villain and that would be 2000 miles from the truth. Let me skip up the story for a moment to let everyone know that I loved this man like a father once we moved past our hardheadedness. We had a lot of obstacles to overcome and it took some time. Anything that is written in here is part of a bigger story of how we got there. Tom had one of the biggest hearts you could ever experience. I loved him and everyone I inherited from their relationship with my all. They are all a part of my family now.

Back to the story

I tiptoed around Tom the first year or two. I was scared of him and I didn’t care for the way he looked at my mother or kissed her. (Talk to your fucking kids y’all). I didn’t like the look on my dad’s face each time he dropped me off in Piedmont after our weekends together. I was team dad all the way. One parent was happy while the other seemed to suffer in silence. It wasn’t hard to pinpoint. The first few years Tom never stood a chance.

I’m not sure if Tom ever held a job in town the whole time I lived at that old house. Construction took him everywhere out of town so usually when he was home I was at my dads. We would see each other for Sunday supper at home. There were no pleasantries involved I had already developed my RBF and still to this day have no idea how to conceal it. Sunday supper was a big meal for us. Didn’t matter if there were only three of us at home at one time my mother would have at least three different proteins with its selected gravy, a few sides and loaf bread, biscuits and or cornbread to sop up the beans. I’d give all my camping gear away to have one more supper like that with them. I’d kill for some butterbeans stewed in fatback with cornbread right now. I’ve had a diner on my mind for the last few years “Peggy Ann’s” that had I opened it would be reflective of those Sunday dinners. My culinary love is comfort food and always will be. It ain’t happening yall. I’m not splitting myself in two again.

I was never privy to table manners for the first 7 years. I smacked my food, held my fork the wrong way, slouched. Table etiquette was not my jam. Tom decided to help me along with some table manners. If I smacked my food he’d say “you eat your food like that on a first date your girlfriend will get up from the table and leave!” Well shit I didn’t want that to happen to I’d try my best to close her shut when I ate. Also I didn’t know having your elbows on the table was a bad thing until Tom started hitting me in the elbow with the handle of a butter knife. Right on the fucking funny bone. Tom always knew exactly where to hit. I was a fairly picky eater as all kids are growing up.

We base our palate on appearance and the character on the box the food came out of. That goddamn frog from Sugar Smacks always got on my nerves so I hated that cereal. It also smelled like pee when once you poured the milk over it.

Where was I going with that?

My “new” family became plate cleaners. No not dishwashers that o could never keep employed we were made to eat everything on our plates. Something I don’t seem to have an issue with anymore. For someone that weighs 175lbs I’ll fuck up some food.

My mother would stack my plate with some goodness and then fuck it up with fried okra or peas or some salmon patty shit.

I despise okra. I can eat it gumbo but I’ll stack sausage, shrimp or eat it on a saltine but you can keep that milky green sandpaper shit somewhere else.

Peas? Fuck you

Salmon patties I don’t mind that much now but I won’t eat it. I’d make them at southern with the pieces of salmon too small to grill but I never did it with a smile on my face.

But

My ass would sit at the dinner table until bed time if I didn’t clean my plate. I spent a lot of time sitting at the dinner table with the lights off. I could be a hardheaded mother fucker too. Sometimes I’d put an napkin over the missed carnage but Tom was too smart for that shit. Some nights I’d pull squished peas out of my pocket in the bathroom, napkin and all and flush it down the toilet. I got caught once. I got the belt. It might’ve been the only time I got it I don’t remember another time. It caused quite a stir in the household. My sisters raged for war. It wasn’t a welp beating. It scared me more than it hurt me. This was all new to me. Violence had been kept away from me my whole life. Before I had moved to Piedmont I had never been punched, slapped, beaten or spit on. We got all those out of the way my first year. Sometimes when I say I’m from Piedmont I’m not bragging about it.

I didn’t take the belt so well. Tom was something of a hoarder. He kept just about everything. Some things he kept were kinda cool while other things we bought in bulk maybe to resell although he never did. I went out to garage that week and smashed everything I could smash with a hammer. Was he mad oh yeah you betcha but that was the last belt that’s ever touched me. I’m sure my mother had a hand in me not getting another one.

Tom became a long haul trucker in the 80’s. He’d haul textiles to California and bring back produce. He’d make these trips up to three times a month. I always knew when he was coming home because you could hear that big ass Western Star down shifting when it neared our house. He’d somehow manage to back that giant rig up in the side of our yard the first try every time. When he’d pull up I’d grab all my shit and go into my bedroom. I still wasn’t ready to accept him as a father figure. I think this upset him at times. I’ve never hated Tom. He never gave me a reason too. I didn’t want another father. I had chores I had to tend to at the house aside from the daily bed making, feeding whatever animals we had at the time and dishes after my mother cooked. One of them was washing Tom’s Western Star, his pride and joy. He’d come back after a 7000 mile round trip and pull the hose out for me and a bucket with a sponge and scrub pad. There would be bugs from 20 different states on that truck along with feathers and hides of animals dumb enough to stand in its path. I would sit out there for hours scrubbing road kill and dragonfly impacts until I wanted to cry. Shining the rims and using a ladder to wash the windows. Sometimes I’d gag while peeling off crunched hairy things off of the bumpers. Tom would come outside and inspect the work.

If he thought I half assed it (and I tried quite a few times) he’d make me do it all over again. This time with him supervising it.

My other chore was cutting the grass. If you’re familiar with our old house you’d know how big the yard was. Just shy of an acre on a down slope. The side of there yard we used to keep as a small farm filled with corn, melons and such. I actually enjoyed going outside to pick food for dinner but the aftermath left rows upon rows of humps that would stall the push mower whenever it crested one. Did I mention I cut this grass with a push mower? Took 16 hours to cut our yard. Tom would go out and inspect the yard when I was done. He’d lift up the low hanging branches around the bushes to see if I mowed under them. Sometimes I did sometimes I didn’t. If I forgot he’d find something else to have me work on.

I was not used to this. Tom could come across very crass to me. It didn’t help that I’d only see him sparingly for years at a time. We never got a rhythm going it was always brief intervals of toxicity. We just didn’t get along.

To make it even more awkward he and my mother got married on Christmas Eve. I may have completely missed conversation of my mother telling me she was going to get married. I came back Christmas evening with Polaroids of the vows and ceremony. Listen if I knew it was happening my little brain must’ve locked it out. I have no recollection of it.

My father never said anything negative about Tom and Tom did the same. I was always grateful for that and it spoke volumes of both of their integrity. If there were any words passed I never saw it or heard it.

The times we did things as a family weren’t bad. We spent a lot of time together in Walhalla and Westminster camping and playing in the river. I enjoyed the family reunions and riding in the back of Tom’s truck. He had three children of his own Geanie, Rocky and Joe. Geanie and Rocky lived with us for a while. Both were in California with their mother when we moved in. Joe who lived in Idaho with Tom’s second wife would come visit occasionally during the summer.

I got along great with Geanie and Rocky sometimes better than some of my other siblings at times. We’ve been family for 45 years now. Blood relation no longer matters they are all my siblings. I simply don’t see them in any other way. My life wouldn’t be the same without them.

Tom loved his children it wasn’t hard to see that. I might’ve gotten a little jealousy because at that time I felt I wasn’t loved the same way which I didn’t do anything to encourage it either. We just didn’t get along.

When my dad passed in ‘86 I was devastated. My life got turned upside down and now my weekends would be spent at home full time. I needed that break from Piedmont to feel normal.

I love my friends that I’ve met from my Piedmont days. I had some good times there but Piedmont itself? I’m still working on it

Mom and Tom took me to my father’s funeral and I basically stood in the corner of the room. I didn’t want to be there. I didn’t want all these strangers seeing me cry. I had one of my dad’s friends I barely knew try to pull me into the viewing area. I don’t do funeral viewings. It’s not my thing. The man trying to pull me in there meant well I suppose but I was getting upset as I was being pulled into the room. Next thing I know Tom is quietly pushing the man back out of the room. They had a brief discussion and I didn’t see that man for the rest of the night. I never thanked Tom for that moment but I was extremely grateful. I needed to see that happen for some reason it helped.

I went into a quiet place in my head for months after that.

I kept to myself and any A’s I used to get on a report card would cease to exist all the way up to graduation. I didn’t care about school anymore. I graduated with the lowest possible GPA you could pass with. And that took an effort.

After my father’s passing I became a full time Piedmont resident. No more weekends from the house to see my dad it was a difficult transition for me. I did manage to escape my little reality during the summers. I’d hook up Tom’s little camper we kept in the back of the property and that’s where I lived for about 2 months out of the summer. It wasn’t to get away from Tom it was a little sanctuary from everything else that was going on around me. High school was tough for me. As a figure I was barely noticeable in high school. If you looked at my accomplishments in my senior year annual you won’t find shit because I didn’t do shit, I was there to get my diploma and leave and that’s what I did. The minute I secured a full time job I left Piedmont for good at 18.

That little camper was my fortress of solitude. Anyone who’s even glimpsed at my social media the last 5 years will see that I still seek out that need for solitude almost on a weekly basis.

I know what it level me out.

After my father’s passing Tom softened up on me but not by much. Not only did he have to deal with a 14 year old kid who didn’t want two dads he now had to deal with one in deep mourning. I didn’t make it easy on him.

One freezing evening we had a septic tank line get clogged and Tom pulled me out of my nice warm tv setting to help dig holes to find the issue. He gave me some overalls that were 3 sizes too big and a shovel and we went to digging in the cold frozen mud. Tom was having a one sided conversation with me while I had something only slightly less than murder on my mind. To top it off it was a weekend and even if it was almost a year after my dad’s passing I still missed being away on the weekends. I was covered in red mud and shivering. I was soft as a kid. Looking back I’ve been thankful for a lot of the mental bumps Tom gave me and I mean that with a full heart. It made me stronger.

Tom had his cigarette dangling from his mouth and he was looking sour at me so I returned the face. Adolescence and getting my ass kicked on the school bus had my hormones all over the place. My soft ass was starting to get some edges on me and it was about goddamn time.

Tom looked over at me and said “You can’t stand my ass can you boy?”

I didn’t say anything I just kept digging.

“You ain’t gonna answer me? Just say it” . Tom wasn’t yelling he was looking at me with a matter of fact.

I looked him in the eye and told him “I don’t hate you Tom. I hate digging up this fucking shit in the freezing cold. Don’t you?”

It was the first time I’d ever cussed in front of Tom. I don’t know how ya’ll were raised but you didn’t cuss in front of your parents. My mother has never heard me say the F word in her 83 years of living. She may be the only person in my life that hasn’t.

I expected Tom to throw his shovel at me but he didn’t. He smiled at me. I think he finally got what he was looking for. He wanted me to stand up for myself and I did. Not in a crazy way mind you Tom had a 100lbs on me but it was a start. He tossed his cigarette in the mud “Boy you ain’t wrong. Let’s go inside and finish watching the game it’s cold as hell out here.”

We went inside, cleaned up and sat down to watch tv. Both of us on the same sofa probably for the first time ever. I could feel my mother smiling behind us.

It didn’t happen overnight. This ain’t a hallmark movie but a page was turned that day.

Over time when Tom arrived home there were hugs exchanged (that man gave the best bear hugs) and pleasantries. Authentic ones. Plenty more times we spent watching football on the same room. Tom had his dad chair now but we’d shoot the shit and smile. Somedays I’d hit Tom on his elbow for having them on the table. When I left home to be on my own he’d come see me at work. My first job was at Quincy’s. I was a dishwasher and Tom would drive to Grenville sometimes as late as 1am to pick me up from work. One night he had nestled his truck under the tree line while I was sitting on the back dock with my new much older kitchen friends enjoying my first real beer. Tom flashed his lights as I took my first sip.. I knew I was fucked. Tom and I had just started getting along. Tom quit drinking years ago I didn’t want to piss him off. I got in his truck and he was laughing at me. “I scared the shit out of you didn’t I boy?” I just nodded my head. He pulled over to a gas station and bought a six pack. Cracked one open and handed it to me. “You want a beer I’ll buy you one but don’t go sneaking off that’s when you get in trouble.” I sipped on that beer all the way home. Tom never opened one. I didn’t drink another one for over a year. I don’t know what Tom told my mom but my job at Quincy’s ended that evening. I enjoyed drinking that beer with Tom though.

When I left the nest and went out into the real world there were two people that always called me to check up on me. My mother and Tom. Whenever I got a new job it was always Tom that came to see me. If I was down on my luck and man there were many times it was always Tom that helped me get back on my feet. He did that with all my brothers and sisters and if he were still around he still would make himself available. Some of my siblings need to acknowledge that a little better.

Father’s Day when I was 19 I sent him a card that read “love ya Pop” it was the first time I outwardly acknowledged Tom as my father figure. He’d earned enough valor years ago but it felt good to write that down.

Over the years Tom became my biggest hype fan. Meanwhile he managed to beat cancer twice. Tom had developed a new zest in life. He started juggling new hobbies and even bought a motorcycle. He always had some amazing energy.

When I opened my coffee shop he was there every weekend. He’d get a light roast and buy up all the pound cake. The coffee shop was shit for business so we’d sit at the little two top and talk for hours. My Saturdays weren’t the same if he didn’t. When we had our little Lily surprise you couldn’t pull Tom away from the hospital. He was there four times in three days to see and hold Lily. He loved that child in the way that only a true grandfather could. He called her papa’s little buddy and she indeed was. As she got old enough to walk she’d jump in his arms when she saw him.

Love is authentic

When I got married the choice for best man was a no brainer. When I asked Tom he might’ve teared up. I hadn’t seen Tom cry except for when his own father died. Jesus I’m crying now.

Tom stole the show at our wedding. With his charisma and zest for life it was contagious. I think he had a better time than anyone there.

My mom, man she’s always had the worst position of the matriarch of bad news. While we were in Charleston for the copper river bridge run I received a call from her after the race. Tom had been in a terrible motorcycle accident at a rally in Charlotte motor speedway. He had collided with another motorcycle. That was all the info she had at the moment. Half an hour later she called to let me know he passed.

I sat in my truck and cried. I cried for at least an hour. All the years of us avoiding each other when I was a kid kicked in. I wished for a few of those years back so we could’ve had more quality time. The pain of losing two fathers took a lot out of me. We drove home immediately to console my mother.

If you can measure a man’s character by the populace that shows up at his funeral then it speaks volume of Tom’s. Hundreds showed up for memorial. There wasn’t a dry eye in Dolly Cooper.

One of my two biggest regrets are

I was just about to announce my plans for opening Southern. I wanted to Tom to know that I worked my ass off to get to that point of ownership. Those days of washing his semi over and over when I wanted to run him over with that truck instilled a rock hard work ethic in me. Those days of pushing that shitty lawn mower over those humps gave me an appreciation for hard work and confidence. Every place I’ve worked I’ve moved up the ladder rapidly. Not because of my experience or a degree. I out worked and out hustled everyone. There’s nothing special about me I had to work my ass off for everything I’ve built. I got that tenacity from what Tom exposed me to.

I’m grateful for it.

Lily if you’re reading this my biggest second regret is you’ll never get to know him like I did. That man loved you like no other grandfather could. You’ll never know what it’s like to experience a grandfather. Just like me. Although I will say in the brief time I knew Frank, Tom’s dad, he left quite an impression on me.

Tom passed in April of 2012. My best man, my best friend, my father of over 30 years.

I am grateful for all that you taught me even when I fought you tooth and nail for almost a decade. Whenever I find myself slacking at work for half assing a project I can almost feel Tom watching me “boy you better not half ass it”

I’m 53 year old now. I find myself calling people Slick all the time. Sometimes I can hear you talking to me when I’m having a moment with myself. Hyping me up as you always did. I wear my overalls and smile at how much you’ve influenced me over the years. My two father figures gave me a solid one two punch in life.

I miss you old man. I miss those bear hugs and whiskers digging into my cheeks like that shovel digging in that frozen red mud. Went to see you and mom a couple of months ago at Dolly and had a good healthy cry.

I think you’d be even more proud of me now and that means the world to me.

This photo will always be my favorite of you two

Somedays at Southern weren’t all the glory and delight that I reflect upon when I look back at my tenure there. We opened back in 2012 and I think we might’ve had a combine 18 months of harmony in the 9 years I spent sticking all of my fingers into the dam leaks that needed most of my toes too.

All those years we never had a stable GM or KM for the most part. LTO was the only concept that graduated two really solid GMs that are now proud representatives of Community Tap which puts a smile on my face to see two good people go to a fine company with a great reputation.

Southern we pushed out GMs like a pez dispenser. We had a couple come and go that would’ve done well had they stayed but the constant turmoil of the restaurant business pushed out too soon.

We had some not so good ones too that I’m just elated didn’t burn the fucking place down whenever I stepped out of the building.

Side note Southern almost burned down twice the first two years..

I didn’t have much to do with the GMs the first three years my partner handled the front while I handled the back. It worked for a bit until after the first partnership crisis.

Kitchen managers were of the same chaos there. I lost my first one about a month after opening for a dozen different reasons. He had quite the impact when he was hired and was released the day before our first weekend brunch.

The next one stuck around for a couple of years but it was mostly me standing behind him making sure the roof didn’t fall on his head. He meant well but was more interested with his tinder app and what little brains he used for work he usually kept it in his Johnson.

He never let the truth get in to way of a good story. Especially when discussing his culinary background. I lost count of how many women at Southern that broke his heart. I let him go for his third tardy in a row. I got tired of him clocking my kitchen staff in early to make up for waiting for him in the parking lot every morning. When I let him go his last words to me where “at least it’s raining”

The next guy had a solid background with a local chain. He was somewhat professional and talked a good resume. He had the leadership skills of Kim Jong and suffered from a massive napoleon syndrome. He was 5’6” ish when standing on his toes. His palate was terrible (looking at you pork chop special with cranberry glaze and smoked coleslaw. He also had 20 different recipes containing leeks because every weekend it seemed I had some sort of protein laying over some sad wilted leeks.

He also broke the cardinal sin, don’t ever cry in front of the line cooks. He did. It was over after that.

In the 9 years I spent in my old company I was the main guy in the kitchen 6 of those years. Even when Dive, LTO and Habitap were around. It made for a fun time. I kept my leash tethered at Southern. She was always my favorite.

2016 I was training a new KM named Josh. He was a solid human with a good background and he had a good temperament. He was on his first week and his only itinerary for that month was to work and shadow on the line. My KMs were never administrative. Your prep table was your desk. You worked a position during crunch time and you never sat in the office unless you were doing data entry. It’s a system I was bred from. The GM was the administrator. The KM was the motor. I had an office too. It stayed nice and dusty.

Saturdays could be a real mother fucker at Southern. We would do about 200- 300 covers for brunch, flip the restaurant in 2 hours and feed another couple of hundred with a completely different menu with additional weekend features. This particular Saturday it was all that along with a 200 person catering downtown.

To accomplish this feat of a triple service day I needed everything to go exactly to plan. If you’ve worked in a restaurant for more than one hour then you know it’s an impossible feat. I spent a lot of time crossing my knife riddled fingers.

To start my day off with a bang my egg guy was a no show at 8am

9am

And then 10am

Line cooks are overachievers when it comes to sleeping in. I’ve driven to many a homes to beat on doors or if you leave them unlocked you may find me standing over your bed smiling with a redbull can in my hand.

It was all out of love y’all. I had a passion that was hard to pinch and a restaurant with a fat monthly lease that needed to be paid. I’ve only had one employee threaten violence for waking them up and I gave them that opportunity. They declined

I could never see myself doing such a thing now. I was in such a rage for so many years.

I drove about 2 miles down Pleasantburg to wake my egg guy up. Got him going and 3 minutes before I had my brunch line accounted for. One short of course because that was the standard most of the time. When we are short handed I would prep and run up to the line to run inside expo if tickets went over a certain amount. Then I run back and prep for dinner service while keeping stock on grits, biscuits, gravies, pancake mix, gallons of waffle mix, pudding portioning oh and I was also prepping for a 200 person catering. There would be no break, it was 15 hours on my feet. I was primed for it. As I always told myself.

The employee I had taken the time to drive to their home to wake up was also interested in becoming my km number 4. He wasn’t selling himself that well. He had potential. We was a great line cook. He had talent and an ego to match.

When he walked into work he was upset I had hired a KM in training. He had never approached me about the km job but as an employer you’ve got a good feel for the ones that want to climb the ladder but sometimes they miss the rungs. He had missed quite a few and this wasn’t the first time I looked up his address.

When brunch service ended at 3pm he decided to end his employment with the company and left with no word to say. I would’ve been clueless to the situation had it not been for Brady, one of my long time guys who now helps me at the deli, was leaving for his break and came right back in once he had received a text saying “I quit” or whatever it might’ve read but it meant we were going to now be two people short. Brady rode that wave with me all night. Which is another reason why he fills in at the deli with me.

I tried to call the employee but he wouldn’t answer his phone. My new KM in training spent the evening with a raised eyebrow noting the chaotic environment he was witnessing all day. He said it wasn’t a big deal but he put in his notice the next month.

I cannot recall anything about the catering other than 200 plus Mac and cheese balls. It was a $3k catering on top of a $12k day with three line cooks all day, one trainee and myself. The kitchen never flailed but man it was smoke and mirrors all night. By 9pm we had 86’d most of our menu. My partner actually took a moment to question why it went so bad.. Could’ve possibly been one of our last conversations together. Partnerships are like marriages sometimes. They don’t always work out.

We got the catering out too. We were spent. To add more fuel to the fire we still had to reckon with Sunday brunch the next morning with no egg guy. Every single linecook worked from 8- 11pm that night without a break except for the cigarette suck down on the way to the dumpster. They were the fucking heroes of the day.

I have what I call “notches” on my work belt that I added emotionally and mentally that I use to refer to what took you out of the business. This was a big one.

Pretty sure the water heater went out that night too. We were boiling pots of water to put in the three compartment sink to wash dishes.

At least I had a dishwasher that evening.

I can’t place these in order from worst to worst but this one stuck with me for awhile. It definitely took a permanent chunk out of my passion.

I haven’t spoken to that employee since that day. It’s nothing personal I get it. Somewhat. He would be one of at least a few dozen walkouts over the years.

When I departed from my old company and would wrap my head around another concept this story along with a few others would always pop in my head and I’d immediately think “fuck you no thanks”

I’ll even share this story in much more colorful detail when someone wants to talk to me about opening their own spot.

I’ll ignore the irony of writing this before a busy Saturday at the deli with two of my employees that were there that day.

At least I can say I’ve got two veteran warriors that have my back.

Haven’t written in the last week. I’ve had it in me but sometimes it distracts me from deli ideas. So I’ve taken a break and could feel the Graze taking over. It’s what I intended it for. As the deli progresses it puts more on me to pull a little more uniqueness out of my butt. It’s intentional. I’m trying to revive a lot of creativity that fell through the cracks. I’ve mentioned in several writings that my creativity took a dive during Covid. It’s all completely mental I’m aware . Doesn’t make it easier. Like a closer in baseball giving up that crucial homerun in the bottom of the 9th to lose the game and can no longer throw a strike over the plate. That’s me. I’m getting a little of the rust off but my arm is tired.

I was talking to my one full time employee and we were discussing how we both ended up in this business because we are good at it. Not because we wanted to. It took me years to make peace with the fact that I’m good at something that I had no passion in. I have a passion for creativity. Cooking pays the bills.

Positives

I’m getting better with engaging with customers. I might even go a little overboard. I’m still terrible with anyone that rubs me the wrong way. I had a really nice couple come in and the first thing the lady said as she walked in the door was “BLOW US AWAY”. It was 4pm and by that time of day I’m spent. “Maam what would you like me to put on a piece of bread that will blow you away?”

They spent about $70 eating and purchasing market things. They had a good time and she enjoyed her keto box that I made with the eyes almost rolled into the back of my head. Inside joke between me and my new patrons.

I love how everyone loves the pudding. “I’ll never make that shit again” rears its ugly head.

Someone asked for a Hoochie Snack instead of a scooby snack. Also I love that I have something on the menu called a scooby snack. It’s these little things that keep my mind in the game.

I love seeing people’s faces when they walk in. The aesthetics are doing exactly what I hoped for. My old company wanted me to be the face and shake babies and kiss hands but it never worked out because I practically lived in the BOH. And after a while it became my comfort zone to hide in. There’s no hiding in this kitchen. I did this on purpose to bring me back out.

When I get excited and energized in the deli I have to pull back to keep from adding a hundred new things. I’m having trouble keeping up with my chores as it is. I’m thr salad guy in the deli. What I used to refer to as the vacation station. Pantry is usually the rook position. I pick it up because hoagies get nailed during prime time so when it gets busy I may have one salad to make or 50. Thr station is not set up for high volume. I’m real close to making market salads ahead of time and bringing glizzies in on my station. I’m a glutton for punishment.

Soups are coming next week.

Other things

I enjoyed my little two day camping trip. First night was interesting with the big tent push but I moved the next morning to one of my two top spots on the mountain. Made for a good balance. I grilled a hot turkey samdwich for lunch and enjoyed a steak for dinner. Spent the evening watching the horizon 8 feet in the air with Prine in my ears. I could almost feel my mental health purring.

And that’s why I go there.

Find your happy spots folks. They are out there.

I could sit, talk and write about camping all day long. I spend about 30% of my free time outdoors. You can’t buy these vibes from a pharmacy.

I’m taking my daughter hiking Sunday. I might wake her up to catch a sunrise. She’ll hate me for it and I don’t care. I would too at 14 but when she’s staring at this journal one day just know kiddo I love you and this memory will make us both smile when we look back on it. You’ll understand as you hit your older years how much good memiries will bring your mind peace when the storms come.

Mentally I’m on a good ebb and flow. This is my season. I survived another summer.

Fall, I love that morning breeze that drops the leaves. Pumpkins resting on porches, chilly nights and cool morning walks in my hoodie. Coffee tastes better and the meat sweats aren’t as schweaty. My music slows down with the season changes. I love slow and melancholy vibes with my feet toasting a campfire. I’ve already got hunting island on my mind when the outdoor thermometer hits below 50 at night.

Man I love a beach sunrise.

If you want, go back and reread how many times I used the word “love”. As I continue to write I try to keep from using the same word over and over.

My mental vibe is healthy and it reflects from the over usage of that word. It’s coming out honest so it stays.

I’ll ride it as long as I can.

Cheers

My brother was a good soul. Sometimes you had to look underneath his chaotic behavior and temper to find it. He had a heart of gold but he rarely applied it to himself.

David was my big brother. He was 9 years older than me. There was a decent gap in between my siblings and my introduction into the world. My oldest sister Marsha has 20 years on me, my next two sisters Kelley and Tania 10, David 9 and Sabrina 6. My other siblings that came along after my mother’s final marriage were Geanie 9 and Rocky by 7. Sorry Joe I always forget about you and I don’t mean to. Living all the way out in South Dakota the whole time I think you spent 2 summers with us and I gotta be honest I have no clue of your age I know you’re in your 40s. Shit Linda you too! Although we’ve only briefly met and one of those was your father’s funeral.

I have a rather large family y’all. I love each and every one of them in a different way but all the same if that makes sense. Being the youngest in the household you got knocked around a bit (not in a violent way) but I’ve had a fairly good relationship with all of them. If anything I need to work on reaching out to them more. 10 years at my old company put me in a chamber of seclusion for years and after a while it just becomes an afterthought.

Still doesn’t make it right and I’m working on that it’s part of my reckoning. I’m on a sudden tangent here..

David and I weren’t close when it comes to brotherly love. My first memories of my brother are when he was a teenager. He had long shaggy hair (it was the 70’s) and even at an early age it seemed he always had a mustache. In all my memories he’s always had one even when he finally shaved it off in his early 40s. I’m beginning to think he was born with it. David was a natural athlete. He was eventually an inch shorter than me but could slam dunk a basketball in high school. He played baseball too and walked around with a skateboard under his arm. He participated in quite a few lightweight bodybuilding competitions. Physically things always came easy for him. Before all of his injuries that is.

I looked up to my big brother growing up. Just like you’re supposed to. I was a little scared of him because David had quite the temper. Physically he might’ve pushed me a few times or acted like he was gojng to hit me but I can’t recall him ever actually doing so. My sisters probably would’ve kicked his ass.

Your uncle wasn’t a violent person but he seemed to surround himself with it in his environment. I’ve never met his father, my mother’s first marriage but my mother never had too many nice things to say about him. Mom had quite a temper on her too so I guess David never stood a chance.

Athletics were my brother’s passion. He played and watched every sport. Saturdays and Sundays during the brief time we roomed together he was always watching the big game and every little game around it. Football especially. My brother was a Clemson fan and I’ll have to sit and think on his favorite NFL team. It might’ve been the cowboys? I know it’s Rocky’s team I’ll have to come back to that or I may not.

David wrecked his knee playing basketball in his teens. He went up for a basket, came back down on his knee and it went the other way. Knee surgeries in the 70s were extremely invasive. His knee would never be the same. To bring in some brevity he would wreck that knee a few more times. Usually right when he was getting his life back together. Chaos followed my brother like a horsefly on an uphill hike.

You ever meet or know someone who could never catch a break? That’s my brother.

When we moved to Piedmont after my parent’s divorce I’d see David pop in and out like a revolving door. Our little 2 bedroom 1 bath house became a sibling hostel over the years where we’d all come to visit or lick our wounds from poor life decisions. My mother always being the host, my stepfather always busting his ass to feed them all.

David always seemed to be the one that came back the most. Break ups, injuries, suspended licenses or just down on his luck.

Off and on I’d say we shared the same bedroom for over 20 years. Or it feels that way. That’s one way to bond I suppose. As I said before I looked up to my brother. He was always strong, muscular even when he was halfway crippled multiple knee operations.

He’d kill for me and I don’t think it would’ve taken much.

When he was away on his own it seemed we’d receive a lot phone calls concerning my brother as the subject. Alcohol and addictions steered my brother’s life and decision making. I can’t tally how many DUIs and DUS David had but it was more than 6 and less than a dozen. All of his cars were purchased for speed. My brother had the zest for life but couldn’t keep up with the responsibilities that come with it. He had a Monte Carlo for awhile that always had that distinct skunky smell to it. He loved to drive fast. It mimicked his lifestyle.

Often times he’d sell his cars to pay off debts that piled up in between DUIs while he tried to repair his life. David did try to fix things. He knew his life was tumultuous and a fair amount of his life was spent cleaning himself up. Unfortunately he’d keep sliding back.

David chased the quick money grabs. He sold Amway for a bit and colloidal minerals if any of you have ever heard of those. He’ll he might’ve sold Tupperware. One of the reasons why I’m so indifferent to these money making schemes is that my brother spent half his life chasing them.

Its personal.

Alcohol controlled my brother’s life. Much more than it ever controlled mine. I had one DUI in my early 20s and never touched my car the whole time when my license was suspended. My brother pushed things much farther than me. I spent a lot of time as his taxi.

Story time

While everyone was sitting tight in their houses during Hurricane Hugo I was driving down hwy 20 trying to find my brother in the pouring rain. He’d driven his car in a ditch I believe it was his Monte Carlo and while trying to pull it out he tweaked his knee. He was heavily intoxicated and had crawled to a phone booth to call my parents. My stepfather was furious for a half a dozen good reasons so I snuck off into the hurricane to find my brother. Regardless of his state of affairs he was my brother. Nothing would stop me from finding him.

It wasn’t hard to find the emergency lights in the ditch and my brother sitting next to it in the pouring rain. David had the affinity for dramatics. I pulled him into the my stepfather’s Silverado and brought him home. The bourbon and weather had made him a little hard to deal with. I was only 17 and still wasn’t a match for his temper. We screamed at each other while I dodged tree branches flying across the roadway all the while avoiding ditches flooding with rain water. When we got home I instructed David to go straight to bed.

Instead he chose to jaw at my stepfather and some blows were exchanged. Mostly by Tom. David was in no sorts to fight anyone. My mother screamed probably the loudest screeched I’d ever heard from her. That was enough for me. I picked my brother’s wet drunk ass off the floor and we got back in the car again until I found a parking lot with no trees and we sat in that lot while Hugo rained hell on us until dawn. I was too tired to care.

My brother the next morning had no recollection of what happened. I don’t blame him.

David and I moved in together when I was 20. We nabbed a one bedroom apartment in overlook apts. We’d rotate who got the bedroom but most of the time it was my brother who got the bed. I didn’t feel right letting him sleep on a sofa with all of his injuries. I

should mention another nagging injury of his. It was a bad one. When he was working for circuit city he tweaked his back lifting a garage roll up door that had a snag in it. He had actually reported the snag and in the report it was mentioned that an injury may occur if it wasn’t taken care of.

My brother, with the luck of a bird in a lion’s cage, was the one that got injured. It fucked his back up permanently. Aside from his multiple knee operations he now had back issues and multiple surgeries which got him hooked on pain killers. Not recreationally. Out of necessity.

He sued Circuit City and got a small amount for his troubles. With that check he bought his dream car, a 280Z. He always wanted one. David needed that car like a I need a hairdryer. He flipped it while cornering too fast off exit 35 on I-85 My parent’s home exit. He didn’t get a scratch on him. My stepfather might’ve pulled him out I can’t recall.

Real quick, I haven’t said much about my stepfather Tom yet. The hell that man put up with concerning my siblings over the years is worth the Medal of Honor. I miss that man greatly.

The time stamps on my brother’s adventures are hard to pin down. They were replicated quite a few times. I was also out and about in my new world of independence so sometimes we were just passing through time.

I recall one conversation he had with me while he was driving me home from work. I was around 15 and he spilled the beans on my whole parents separation. Spouted off about how mom married my dad for security and never loved him. Not sure why he felt the need to share that with me but that was just David’s way. I never forgave him for that.

When we lived together we got along fine. I had just turned 21 so it was surreal hanging with my brother at all the same bars. I recall hanging out at Night Times at the Hilton on Haywood and someone recognizing me as David’s brother. He proceeded to insult my brother to provoke me and I hit him in the ear. Later I found out he was an offi duty police officer who had a hard on for my brother. When I told my brother that story he laughed for two days while in between saying “you’re not so bad for a shithead”.

It was probably the only time we bonded.

It wasn’t that long after I was chasing him around the small galley kitchen trying to smash his head with a pot.

Brotherly love man.

His first marriage was to a mousy girl named Angela I think. I was in it as one of the grooms I was excited to be a part of something good in my brother’s life.

It didn’t last long.

My brother’s first love was a young lady named Pam. I liked Pam she was beautiful and my brother doted on her. They were together for awhile. I’d say it was David’s first love. I can’t speak for Pam but it might’ve been the same. My brother can make love hard man. She did it though. Pam was the only one of David’s significant others that I liked. I truly believe they were soulmates. It still didn’t last. That’s the thing with soulmates, just because you were meant to be together doesn’t mean it’ll work out. Just makes the heartbreak harder.

This ain’t Disney.

I don’t think he ever got over Pam.

I don’t think she ever got over him.

David and I got along most of the time. I dreaded getting phone calls from him because it was never about the weather.

Unless he owed the weather money.

I had more fortunate turn of events than my brother. As much as alcohol tried to control my life there were separations. I never allowed alcohol to affect my careers. Not after my first DUI left me unemployed. I was more functional than my brother.

We had a big falling out over some money he borrowed from me and went sometime without speaking.

He got remarried to some therapist he’d been seeing and if there was a ceremony I wasn’t there for it. I wasn’t a fan of hers and I can’t tell you exactly why. David had cleaned himself up a little but with David you could never be sure. We’d see each other at holidays but it was a tad different after our big falling out. In my mind it was always “it’ll pass with time”. All of our arguments usually did.

September 4th, 2004 my mother called me while I was driving back from vacation at the beach. My birthday is the 5th so I figured mom was getting a head start. It wasn’t the phone call I was excepting.

As soon as I could say hello my mother was sobbing into the phone

“David’s dead!”

I was 3 hours away from my parent’s home. I’ve never felt so far away from my mother. I might as well of been on the moon. She couldn’t tell me how he died she was crying too hard. I pulled over to collect myself and set my truck to home. My real home.

My brother had pulled over to help a car broke down on the side of the road and he was jumped and hit over the head with a pipe and robbed. I believe that story although with my brother sometimes you just can’t be sure.

He went home and took some painkillers he always had on hand. I guess he took one or two too many and he never woke up

To this day 20 years later you have to hold me down to take an Advil.

My brother passed. As did all of his problems.

If you ever have an argument with someone you love never let it hang. Close that door, have that talk. We never did

Watching my mother bury my brother will always be one of my toughest memories. This isn’t part of the game plan of life. She was never the same.

I don’t do funeral viewings. I never have. I didn’t go in to see my father, my stepfather or my brother. My mom did. I could hear her screaming “he’s so cold!” from outside of the room. She fainted on the way out. It might as well have been yesterday. That memory wil always be fresh. Sometimes I hate how my memory will hold onto certain life experiences. This one I could do without. It was the only year my mom forgot to wish me a happy birthday. I didn’t notice but she did. She called me a week later bawling about it.

My brother was buried at Greenville memorial gardens cemetery.

His ex girlfriend Pam from 20 years ago left a note on his grave. I never read it but my mother did. I hope it made her heart deal with his death a little easier.

Mom was never the same. Who can blame her?

No one spoke for my brother at his funeral and that still bothers me.

I hate that you (Lily) will never get to know your uncle. Aside from all of his shortcomings your uncle would’ve doted on you. He had the biggest heart he just didn’t know how to handle everything else around it.

Your uncle’s life does not reflect the good human he tried to be.

Everyone that knew him needs to hear that.

I was watching a clip of Billy Bob Thornton and something he had said about his brother’s death struck me as relatable as it gets.

“I have to really force myself to think that things are going to be OK in terms of worrying about my family, myself or one of my friends. … There’s a melancholy in me that never goes away. I’m 50 percent happy and 50 percent sad at any given moment. … I don’t want to forget my brother. I don’t want to forget what it felt like when he died, because he deserves that — that’s how important he was to me. So, if I have to suffer and I have to be sad for the rest of my life, and if I have to be lonely without him… then that’s the way I honor him.”

20 years this week. As you go through life and experience the passing of friends and family you can feel parts of your soul getting lighter as certain ones pass. I’ve been fortunate, if that’s even the appropriate word of holding onto loved ones for most of my life. The four big ones for me are my father, brother, stepfather and my lovely mother.

A part of me has died with all of them.

As it should be.

I often hear of when you pass you’ll see one of your loved ones coming into your sight to take you back home. It’s odd that I’ve always pictured it being my brother. Maybe he thinks it’ll be debt paid for us almost dying in that damn hurricane. Don’t worry yall I don’t plan on going anywhere soon, I know I have a lot of things I’m suppose to do first and I just got started. How do I know? Because I’ve seen it but that’s another story for another time.

Hey David, I miss you shithead.

Your brainwaves change when you stop your self pickling habits. I imagine an EKG of electrical activity to monitor quick intervals of savage segments of the little blip going up and down up and down up and down. Like a heart beating at 199 bpm. Mine gets close to this when I used to run up Paris. My brain functions emotionally the same way. Much worse in my drinking days. Now that I’ve cut out some terrible habits my emotions will still spike but they come down much faster. I had a little episode Wednesday that spiked quite high but I came down and landed safely. I’m better at acknowledging these episodes now and another positive is I recognize them as I’m in its vortex.

Sharing helps. It’s like letting go of a balloon that’s been tied to your wrist all day.

Years ago I would sit in the cockpit for the ride spinning round and round not knowing I was in a downward spiral. Alcohol kept my emotions numb. They were still there I just never reckoned with them.

The outbursts are still hard to deal with but at least I’m in the present to wrangle them when they try to wreck everything. For years I could feel all of these emotions raging inside of me and it scared me because I thought they made me dangerous and intolerable. They definitely made me intolerable. It made me want to leave my family so I wouldn’t hurt them emotionally.

Self destruction is a ridiculous path that too many of us glamorize. Stop bragging about it. It’s like a polyester suit that will never fit your shoulders correctly. A bad haircut that you keep getting because you’re afraid to hurt the barber’s feelings.

Yeah I still get them. They’ll never go away. It’s like that nagging injury that you have to always be aware of when over extending yourself. Like my hamstring. Every once in awhile I’ll trip over a root hiking or running and my right hamstring will remind me that I pissed it off 30 years ago. Just enough to scare the shit out of me.

Brain injuries are weird man. You can’t put bandaids on them. Bactine and Neosporin don’t do a damn thing. Depression doesn’t dissolve but you can dilute it with living the healthiest, happiest life you can conjure up. That’s been my motivation for the last 3 years.

Throwing away the vodka didn’t heal my brain. It’s done some irreversible damage to my mind over the years, I have no doubt. Physically I’ve healed quite a bit. My body hurts quite a bit from years of working in the industry but it’s more like a sturdy old wooden bridge. It may make a lot of noise when you drive over it but it can still hold its weight. When I’m working I’m full of energy. Sometimes too much.

I’ll always have some permanent reminders of my drinking days but I’ve managed to dilute quite a bit. Working in this deli brings back a lot of the old me and I have to put him in the corner sometimes. As long as I don’t reward him with Stoli he will stay down.

There’s nothing to worry about. My legacy means much more to me than that 750ml retail container . The more I go without it the easier it is. There are still triggers but I manage to fight em off.

Long hours on my feet

Chaotic environment

Stress

Employee comradery

This were triggers. Still are.

I worked 13 hours yesterday and my brain was starving for some alcoholic attention. She’s such a bitch sometimes.

She got ice cream instead. It’s never good enough for her. 974 days without vodka or any liquor and she still wants it. At least she’s quieter about it.

The alcohol always put a chip on my shoulder. I wanted to be successful to piss off all the haters.

Who were they? I’m not so sure anymore. At that time I thought they were everywhere.

Watching me. Waiting for me to fall.

And boy did I.

Hard

But

There was no crowd of haters cheering and clapping for my collapse it was just me hating on myself. Its easier with assumed company so I think I made a lot of it up. Don’t get me wrong there’s a healthy amount of folk that I have rubbed the wrong way over time. I used to try to. Alcohol had a big hand in that too.

It’s different now. I was discussing this with a friend recently.

People are pulling for me.

People are counting on me.

I get random folk I’ve never met that will come in and tell me they’ve been watching my reckoning.

Watching my new business birth.

How proud they are of me. I don’t know who a lot of you are but it chokes me up.

It makes me smile.

I say all the time if you do something you’re proud of wear it with pride. I’ve worked hard at changing my legacy. Like sculpting a new likeness of myself from a boulder 10 miles up a mountain.

Little by little step by step. Still have a lot of carving to do.

For years now couldn’t grasp what life would be like without my daily numbing buzz. Now I can’t imagine it still holding that crutch that held up nothing but a false feeling of euphoria. I might as well of shoved a needle in my arm.

Life is smoother now. It’s just as rewarding knowing you’re making people smile with good food and philosophy.