Bearded Pen

Fisherman and not so good of a writer, well now that I think of it. Not so good of a fisherman either.

I am assuming it's obvious in many ways I am not a professional writer in any sense. I have no formal education in writing or literature, well I don't have to much formal education at all.

But I've always loved books. I used to consume them veraciously when I was younger. I even would sit and read encyclopedias when I was a kid. As a teen I would discover an author or subject and read 4-5 books in the week.

After I dropped out of high school, yes dropped out, I fell in love with Edward Abbey. I devoured everything he wrote as fast as I could find it. Another were the books of Tom Brown Jr. the survivalist. Around this time I became an avid fly-fisherman. Let me tell you of all the literature written on that sport. John Gierach occupied many of my days and luckily he wrote many books.

After this period I spent many years in the Army. In the Army you do have a lot of downtime. I would read, to be honest many of us read a lot. I remember in one 30 day field problem I read the whole Ann Rice Vampire Chronicles.. that was around 10 really thick books.

In all this time a fantasized about being a writer or journalist. I pictured myself like Ed Abbey. A little rough around the edges spewing forth wisdom to the masses. Or like John telling my fishing stories, which is my other love. None of this happened of course.

So i'm 48 now, I think I am at least. And just going to write, screw it. Some people may like my babble and some will not. But that is ok by me. At least I'm getting it out there. And you there, if your actually still there reading, thanks. Beyond this point I may drive you or myself insane.

So hold on tight and enjoy, or ignore. But I'm spewing forth my wisdom, or idiocy either way. Thank god for the inter-webs.

Cheers! Tim


I responded to Cues the other day with the topic being 'Afraid'.

What would you do if you weren't afraid?

My response was...

In all reality, if we're not afraid, I don't know if I would want to be alive. The things that I fear are the most important to me. My wife, my children, dear friends. If those fears or worries were gone would that mean I was all alone? I will be happy to hold onto my fear. What it comes with is way too important.

I wanted to talk about this just a little longer. I think some people consider fear a completely bad thing. We have people who then also brag that they “aren't afraid of anything”. I have sometimes even caught myself saying such things.

But I do get afraid. I worry constantly about my kids, and I am pretty sure I always will. Especially in today's world. If I take them to any public place I am ultra aware, looking for exits, inspecting people in the room. It doesn't help that in a past life I was a soldier. I've seen ugly and want it nowhere near them.

I worry about work, why? Because again, losing my job directly affects my kids. If I lose work, maybe we have to move, they have to change schools, new daycare, relearn a bunch of people, learn to trust them. It's a pain in the arse.

I am afraid of death. Not for me, to be honest I can't wait at times. But I can't go, again there are those who depend on me. Are they ready? Have I done enough to prepare them for that time? There are things I still want to teach them.

You see, I am very afraid. Not shuttering in my shoes scared, but scared. This mixed with a good dose of worry. If I were not afraid, something seriously wrong is going on. Very important things are missing in my life. I go as far as saying at this point. They are my purpose. Without them, who am I? So I am scared. And happy to be.


So I've been looking for people to follow in the twitter sphere that talk smartly and actually use common sense. There are way to many people who are to extreme on one side or the other. Anti-Racists are so Anti-Racist they have become racist, the anti-sexists have become sexist, and the religious have lost their faith.

It's pretty hard to find a true free thinker. You know, someone who actually forms their own opinions. I don't even care if I 100% agree with them as long as they are thought out and not the same old stuff spewed out by the masses.

The only thing I'm not into is hate. So if you can suggest people to follow that would be great.


So this is the first of my journal entries on here. If you ever see a post where the date is a the title, assume it's a journal entry. Of course it won't be my deepest private life stories. I am a bit of a privacy advocate. So it will be more thoughts and ideas..ramblings we could probably say. Things that don't have a specific topic or form.

I find that when I wait till I have somthing specific to say I don't write for ages since I feel like I should have somthing

And so it begins. The beginning of mindless babbling. Be warned!


This is a small Poem I wrote some years ago, inspired by my daughter.

My little one spins, my little one bounces, my little one twirls, my little one smiles, my little one dances.


It's the Friday before Veterans Day and I'm here sitting in my living room trying to gather my thoughts about it. I have held the title of veteran since 2004. I have built a big part of my identity around it even. But today, my daughter who is six came home with the assignment. She needs to get a picture of a family member who is a veteran and a little history for veterans day.My daughter doesn't know that part of my life existed. I'm not sure she even knows exactly what a war is. She understands what fighting is, but full blown war, no. She sees the KIA bracelet I wear and asks about the names. All I say is 'they were my friends.'

She needs to know about my brothers now. I will tell her how we care for each other. The bond we have. The fact that we may not see or hear from each other for years and still drop everything when one of us is in need.

I am going to spend the next day or two explaining in the softest way possible a little bit of dads history. How we formed those bonds together. I will explain that 10 years of my adult life I was a soldier. I went to war twice, and participated in one of the ugliest things any human being could.

I imagine I will get the why question. And I'll say my country called and explain duty. She will understand, right? Then their are the things I won't share, the dark stuff, how scared I was, what I felt when I saw my friends fall. How it felt when I fell. The fact that I relive certain moments in my head over and over to this day.

Do I tell her I cry?

Even weirder, do I tell her I miss it? That I wish I was still doing the work. Not war itself, but the stuff I did during the rest of those 10 years. How I wish the bonds I built in the military world could be built in the civilian world. How I wish everyone else loved one another. Not in the hippie sense, but in the “you need me? I will be there” sense. How I miss being able to count on people.

I hope someday not only her but all 4 of my children will understand me some day.


I wanted to write something, I really did. But now that I started, I don't know what it is. So maybe I'll wait, and see what comes to mind. Or maybe I'm just wasting time.


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