Sunday, bloody Sunday.

Trying my best to fight severe clinical depression. Fighting hard to get well and be up to being a full time employee somewhere.
Fighting, fighting, fighting.
I try to be the light for others, and hope some of it might rub off on/in yours truly.
Be the Light.
News not only of over another two dozen dead in a Texas church massacre today, but also an additional shooting outside yet another church in California. It kind of puts a dark cloud over the day.
No matter though. A few Twitter comments will solve ALL of this…(and also comfort, feed, support, nurture, and heal the bodies and minds of all the victims and their families.)
And don’t forget to send those victims and their loved ones all guns. LOTS of guns. And ammo. God bless ammunition.
Forget prayers. We got guns. lots of them. Our God given right in fact.
And be sure and look the other way. Always. THAT will fix it for sure.
Then quickly find some other issue to move the spotlight elsewhere. Point fingers and make random accusations about something. Anything. Just make shit up if need be.
Not sure why I can’t seem to get past my depression.
Must be something I ate. Being fed bullshit on a daily basis might have a wee bit to do with it.
Gotta laugh.
Dad and Momma, I GUARANTEE you’re both in a much better place.
Be the Light.
In the end, each other is all we have.
That, and the Serenity Prayer. I checked.  Love Matty

Hello friends. I haven’t posted anything on my writing site since January. Sigh. Somehow though, folks are still visiting and seeing what’s up. Altogether over 16K visits.
It has been a different sort of year for me, and my family. My Dad is resting now, next to Momma. And I’m sure that while their physical beings remain still and silent, somewhere those two are laughing, embracing, recalling and basking in the love that grew even more so for the + fifteen years they were apart…
I wonder if Momma still drinks a black coffee from a slender cup, and fries his eggs the same way. I wonder if she burns her toast just a little, and steals away with most of the egg whites…And has a bit of orange marmalade to top off her toast? I wonder if he still calls her “Vim”, and makes her laugh so with corny jokes and dotes over her now and again?
I wonder if the lot of them there are able to gather and bask in the light of love and divine healing that prevails…I more hope, and less wonder of that.
The division of family here is like a terminal condition, and yet a soothing balm at the same time. I ache because of its presence, and thank the Lord above for keeping some of them away.
I need to get mobile here in the last few minutes of morning. I have a couple tasks to tend to this afternoon. I hope though, that these few words will incite the creation of more in the near future. I need them to heal, to be the light, and to feel again.
Be well friends. I shall keep on, not one day at a time, but minute by minute, the best I can. If you pray for me, and you should already know I have always prayed for you first…then we’ll all be blessed and one day know all the answers to the questions posed here earlier in this collective piece. Matty

Sunday afternoon. Quiet day. A day of fog and cool. Very January and deep of winter. Yet the days grow steadily longer, and harbor a quiet promise, a journey that concludes with life underground becoming life the eye can see. Winter is in fact a time of promise, a time of slumber and what will be. Winter is but a quarter of the cycle, ninety degree of the circle of life. If one can endure, then one can bear witness to the emergence of new…of perseverance and will.
Winter is still, and poetry in motion all at once…
Huddle close my friends; the act that follows is well worth the wait…Matthew

Walked by the river under frosted trees white and true. Frozen shoreline with a steam off the water. The Canada Geese wondering aloud if they ought not have wandered a bit farther south. Grass not covered in meager snow is hard and crushes in protest under my boots.
The silence of a winter day, broken only by the trails of my breath, the warming of engines while the windows clear. I walked alone with just memories in tow. Broken skies and patches of blue with a promise of an even colder snap.And as I bury my hands into warming pockets, I feel an old key you left me, and fill my fingers with memories of me and you…
Cord wood stacked in the yard ‘neath the eaves, top row covered in tarp and snow. I’ll bring in a bundle and feed the coals for a bit of a blaze to warm my feet. Another cup, and other set of songs to keep me company. Maybe ice cream and toast before I call it a day…another peek out on the porch to see the moon through the icicles and mist on the fields.
Night time in winter is a sad song all its own. A chorus in the foggy valley and a fresh layer of straw where the calves are born. I’ll stoke the stock heater, slide the rug up to the door to kill the draft and feed the fire a little more. There might be more hours of darkness, but there is extra time to read, to plan work in the greener months and fence lines to stretch, and thoughts of tender grass shoots to chew.
Time for the slumber and fire to die to coals. A chapter or two before the light is doused and sleep wins the hours…I hope you’re warm and safe and sound. Matty

to believe…

Potential is a seed in dry ground. Hope is the smell of rain in the air from a passing cloud. Faith is in setting the table and waiting. Love is sharing the harvest …

Matthew, 3:50 am, 12/01/16

Friends; I’m making a biased and controversial political statement here. I’m going to address bigotry, racial profiling, pipelines, misogyny, religion, borders, immigration, economy, war, WMD, division, joblessness, hate, abortion, credibility, broken promises, etc.

“God grant me the Serenity to accept the things I cannot change,
Courage to change the things I can, and Wisdom to know the difference.”

(I haven’t stayed friends with folks, loved, likable, in love with life, and SOBER for the past 29 years and 9 months without a lot of help. That little prayer is THE most powerful tool in my life arsenal. Try it out. It works!)


(It took me about ten minutes to put this here on the screen, but 57 years to write…My gift is your gift, Matty)

I think Bob Dylan was right…sadly; still right. Through the ages, and even more so today. For our Veteran’s, for our fighters, for our innocents and innocence. For our praying souls, and souls who need prayed for…for the dread of dawns and troubled nights.
For the known, the unknown, those tied to the tracks, and the engineer bearing down on the throttle…There’s a darker day to come…but dark is always followed by the rising, of the Son and sun.

There will still be you, still be me. I’ll pray for you, you for me. We’re invincible, you and I. I’ll hold your torch while you light mine. And collectively, we’ll all light the night, light the hope, light what’s right.
Let’s all find a bit of shelter in one another, ’cause indeed, “it’s a hard rain’s gonna fall…” Matty


Having a second cup of coffee. Every day I go to a news page here on my PC, and every day I fully expect to read a news report of another major tragedy here in our country. I’m never surprised when I do see it. I am always grateful when I don’t.
But this morning the headlines made me sick, made me weep, made me angry, made me afraid, made me sad, made me search for strength, for faith, for answers. At this moment I’m looking to the heavens for the solace I need.
My thoughts first went to my own son, a gay man with a healthy long term relationship with a wonderful man. I also recalled the moment decades ago when my son shared his sexuality with me. Among other concerns I shared with him at that moment over fifteen years ago, was the possibility of him one day becoming the victim of a “hate crime”, was, and is still a very real and lingering concern of this daddy. (that’s what he still calls me to this day).
I am a man of much faith, diversity, empathy, acceptance, and love for life. Today I have just two words to encompass this sad moment in Florida, which is fast becoming a sad metaphor for what is infecting our nation and world…Tears, and sigh.
A very heavy sigh.
Momma in heaven, if you can pull any ethereal strings, please put in a strong and good word for us. God help us all. Love, Matty

My liddul sisters. They showed up as a pair/team in an Alberta spring. A good gesture by God to give Gordy and Vimy TWO girls after having gifted them four boys in a row.

I’ve come to know over the decades just how special the girls were to our Dad as he held them close, protected them, and held them to very high standards to be “ladies” and leave a good impression. I know too that our Grandpa Norman had a special place in his heart for this bundle of girls who’d arrived at once.

I can’t remember clearly how I felt about the girlie addition to our brood, but photos and stories tell me I was good with it. I was just a year and a half old when they came to us. I know I was too young for my older brothers to much care about their scrub sibling being in tow and a pest…so I imagine I made the girls my own charge and welcomed them.

And Momma had her hands full, and I know she doted over them, gathered matching outfits, did like hairdos, and spread her love evenly to these very similar, yet very different little souls. They had after all, arrived soon after Easter and in the time of renewal and thaw in our city to the north.

At the same time, I became a big brudder for the first time. I began being a young version of who I am today. If I’m ever told I’m a good man, a good brother, a protector, a soft place to land…then I have the addition of my liddul sisters to credit for those qualities. I won’t say I was always an exemplary big brother, but during the teen years, few people are exemplary of anything.

Over the years, I think I may have been a bit inept and unaware of the place of esteem Lynn and Lori held me in their lives. But I too believe that realizing this in retrospect and sharing as much should hopefully make up for prior digressions. Today, we are fondly known as “the unit”, three of us in arms against the perils and tragedies of life, and in celebration of the joys and well-earned validations. We are a tripod together, leaning on one another to give the impression of strength where there may be little or none at times. And if one should begin to falter, the other two stand fast and help faith to be maintained…After all, faith is believing in something that can’t be seen. Support and undying dedication is one such thing in life, and we possess it in bushels for each other, come what may.

My sisters rarely need ponder what to do when life calls to them. They simply do the right thing and most Godly without hesitation, and consider themselves later. When deliberating a calling to community good, they somehow fit in the needed efforts in on top of their already full plates. Dedication is not just an option, it is a humble call to duty and a thing of honor to be answered to and gifted to those near and far.

My sisters are sentimental, proud of those who came before, and grateful for all their sacrifices. They are kind, compromising, aware, and a grade above so many…They are in fact, the loving product of Gordy and Vimy in the sense of not charity, but in doing what is right, fair, and good. In the heavens above, our Momma could not be more proud, and likely is adding to her brag book there and sharing regular updates with the celestial gatherings there.

My younger twin sisters harbor a bounty of empathy for one another. I think they would do just fine if each had only the other to turn to, but I am fortunate they allow me into the fold and I have exclusive membership in the benefits of our little trio.

That I am proud of Lori and Lynn should go without saying. That I never cease to be amazed by their strengths and compassion is yet another wonder. I marvel at their pursuit of self-betterment to let them better serve and support their beckoning causes and life’s duties. In this aspect, they emulate our Momma and Daddy to a tee. “Whatever it takes” is the common the theme.

I’ve rambled on quite enough I think. And yet have hardly scratched the surface. I need to touch on their amazing parenting, their blind charities, and extended family with no ties of blood, but huge joining bows and holding fast of heart strings of those in need of family ties where others have failed them. My sisters are able of forgiving, of the essence of the Serenity Prayer, of knowing our true reward is yet to come.

But mostly my sisters are, put most simply and eloquently; best of friends. Not just to each other, but to me, and scores of others. On the table of life, they are salt of the earth, and the kind waters that are the tears, the sweat, and the needed rains. They’re the soft breezes that keep others aloft and the guiding hands in the darkest moments and fury of the proverbial storms.

They are the best people I know, and make the world a better and more loving place to be…Today I honor, thank, prop up, and send my love and unending Big Brudder protective love into the universe for all to know. My greatest gifts in life collectively include these sisters of mine, my parents, my loved ones too. But most present in my life on a regular basis are these wunnerful liddul sisters of mine.

Love ya both to the stars and back, your big brudder, Matty.



Election Infection

Several months from now, the untruths will have been dissected. The misdirections will have been corrected. The distortions will have been focused. The hatred will have been pacified. The bullshit will be back in a pasture where it belongs. The muckraking will be superseded by the fresh clear waters. And the devil’s seed will be made dormant, never to be germinated and planted among God’s good greens.
Love will bring things back to a True North. Reason will reside and fools will be cast back into the shadows. Panic and fear mongering will be tamed and made sensible by the air of kindness that prevails.
At the moment, a raging truth is filling the air…not unlike the smoke of cannon fire and rifle shots, and the screams of the dying during the original Civil War…At this moment, those soul’s ghosts and their fury and anguish from the 1860’s are being roused and the embers kindled to a raging flame…And our enemies are licking their chops at the opportunities that are arising…
But several months from now, love will prevail and this foolishment (a fitting term from The Green Mile) will again be made silent, or at least this ignorance will be nullified.
God Bless us all…Matthew.
PS, this is about as political as I get. It will be an interesting year.