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Monthly Archives: December 2007

Hello. I’m John Grow and you’re not.

(I really couldn’t resist. Too tired)

I’m up here on the northwest side of town, officially unemployed. I quit Captaris effective yesterday morning. Gave notice, worked all the way to the end, and surprisingly am relieved to be out of there. Which is weird–almost two years spent there, you’d think I’d feel sad. Not so much.

I am ready for a change. Not the change that is constantly in motion, I mean a conscious alteration in the patterns toward which I tend. That is my homework for this open period.

Some changes may not be pleasant. Some, like paying attention to the ever-changing NOW, will be difficult to manage. I mean, when you spend your days in your head, it’s hard to stay on that balance beam called NOW. But I’ve always known it was the way. While compiling my next book (yes there will be another), I found some old writings of mine all admonishing the reader directly or indirectly to stay in the NOW. Eckhart Tolle’s The Power of Now was one of those books that really resonated with me, not the least of which because I’d already explored that territory through Buddhism and the Tao Te Ching.

The ideas are ancient. The problem is as old as human awareness. The distractions are more enormous and seductive. Not just drugs, power, pussy and killing like in ancient times. More like variations on old themes.

It’s not the first time I wanted to turn everything on its ear, of course. It’s why I am in Tucson. It’s why I worked for Captaris.

I may have an opportunity to really do something new and different. That is, beyond the shaking out of the rut I gave myself for my birthday. See, this stems, really, from events surrounding my birthday. At that time, I thought everything I treasured–house, job, girlfriend–was gone. I thought I’d really messed up. In one sense, perhaps I did. In another, I smashed my fist on the tabletop and let the game pieces shake around.

My own stupid game of solitaire.

I wanted to take some pictures of the foothills at sunrise. I got up here too early. Sooo, I’m catching up on downloads I wanted to get, and wrote a poem.

Nope, I ain’t putting it here. Somebody besides me has to buy my blasted books.

I love you all.


You were my friend in every sense of the word for such a long time. I knew you when you were as you are now, only not as deeply literate. But wise! Wise for a thirteen-year-old girl. Wisdom is sorrow, my love, and no one bore it–or bears it–as well as you.

And I was so in love with you. I still am, because you have a lush palazzo on a hill in my heart. And for a time I could revel in that unashamed. But the weird thing about me is that love becomes so serious to me. And love becomes no-fun to me or to anyone else when that clicks into place. And I was so in love with you. And still am.

(If you knew her, you’d be too.)

Along with that comes unworthiness. Where you want to be with someone, and believe that your uniqueness and theirs combined can withstand anything in the world, only to find out they’ve withstood so much and prevailed that the most you could add would be, what? An off-color joke here? Stupid flowers there? Spiritual abstractions everywhere? Twenty years of in-jokes? This is not “poor pitiful me.” Fuck that.

I guess it’s a way of explaining why it’s been so long since we’ve talked. And doing so in a way that avoids the vapor-lock I go through in any emotionally wrought conversation. I am a writer after all, and though I can speak extemporaneously my brain freezes me out in heavy emotional situations. It’s quite unnerving, actually.

So here it is. Here you are. But remember, 36 (almost 37) is only as tough as you let it be. 30 was a bitch, though fun at the time. I was certain I wouldn’t make 36, and almost didn’t. 39? I gave myself a special present for my 39th birthday: The gift of clarity. Don’t ask for details, because I’m not happy about some of them, but pleased as punch about some others.

So I sent a copy of my book to my father in Missouri, and got to talk to him today. Which was really nice. John Grow is one of the smartest men I have ever known. We talked about everything, as usual. We think in much the same way, although he is much more of a news hound than I ever was.

I love you Dad.

To quote one of my favorite people, “It is finished.”

I took the plunge and published my book Turboblues. It is available at…

Please take a look. Please buy a copy. One of the things I will concentrate on as I get out of the rut I’ve been in is getting this book noticed. It is a sampling of my poetry, with a couple of short stories, that has no single subject, but covers the love-eager, idealistic person that is me.

This is a side of me that many know, those to whom I’ve shown my work, but only now do I have something more than one or two printouts.

Damn, I am so looking forward to the new year!

So much to report.

First, RIP to something that meant a lot to me. The wounded animal was hopeful eyed to the end, even through the pain and struggle. But even the most valiant have to stand down for a last time.

I’m metaphoring this because it was the only way I could talk about it. I wish you the best, Tammy. I know you will be fine. It hurts way too much. So making you hate me was the only way to give us both release. Sounded this morning like it worked.

You will be fine. So will I.

I am also changing jobs. I have a number of irons in the proverbial fire, and I can’t wait to begin that transition.

One more announcement, long overdue, in my next post.