Transcendance

Sometimes life just shows up at the door with a bag of snakes and asks you to sort them out. In the process, the peripheries of life, even those we care about, often fall by the wayside. I find it hard to believe that its been nearly a year since I last posted, but that would seem to be the case. And as is the case with many writers, once the act of writing is neglected, a twisted sort of insecurity about writing keeps one from the act. And the snake eats it's own tail.

The past year's seen some significant changes in my life. My wife and I have relocated to Louisville. We decided to trade the country for the city. I'm fortunate to now have ample garage space rather than just a bare patch of off-level concrete driveway. The trade off comes at a small price. Instead of being two minutes from the nearest stretch of open highway, I must now navigate at least twenty minutes of speeding cars with drivers on cell phones, elephantine city buses, pedestrians materializing suddenly from between parked cars, and let's not forget the drunks weaving their way home from the bar and their latest failed pass at Kathy Sue Loudermilk. Still, the luxury of working indoors on a bike despite the weather dims all potential sacrifices. Did I mention that the garage has its own central air and heat, eight banks of fluorescent overhead lights, and 110 amp underground service?

I've added another horse to the stable as well. I think I'll postpone the introductions for a little while, in the interest of suspense. Rest assured, the Ninja's still pulling strong with 79K miles on the clock. Well, except for the discovery of a dead battery last Wednesday. Seems my blog hasn't been the only thing I've neglected.

I've spent more than a few days on the road over the past year, and a few nights motocamping in some of my favorite locations. I reintroduced myself, as well as acquainted my new machine, to the wonder that is the Blue Ridge Parkway. As soon as I sort out the photos, I'll give you a glimpse into some of those journeys.

Now that I'm settled in at the keyboard, I wonder what kept me such a long time away from this place. That nameless fear--and senseless, I might add--of writing dwindles with every tap and click. My wife has a signature that accompanies all her electronic correspondence, one I find most appropriate.

"If you hear a voice within you say "you cannot paint," then by all means paint and that voice will be silenced."
-- Vincent Van Gogh