At some point I found myself having a twisted obsession for castaway figurines, statuary, paintings, needlework, plaques, etc. All of these things can be found on thrift store shelves.

Like people, these items all have a complex tapestry of stories; the person who thought up the creation & made it reality, the store/merchant/catalog that decided that this product was an essential addition to their inventory, and of course… the all important person who fell in love with said trinket and purchased it (either for themselves or as a gift).

Lets also consider the rebirths that these items have through countless gag and white elephant gift exchanges across the country. This is beginning to sound a lot like the inspiration to great movie scripts for films like Toy Story.

I decided to share my obsession today. I’ll add my own thoughts and made-up stories for these items and will be making posts that highlight these great finds regularly.

The Majestic Smoking Owl

The first one has to be my most favorite and one that I still kick myself for not buying.

I saw this painting of an owl when I first walked into the thrift store and walked straight to it.

As I got closer I realized that this was no ordinary owl but it was a SMOKING OWL.

So the story I came up with in my head occurs between two people. We’ll call them Alex and Drew. Alex is an aspiring wildlife painter who lives in Sonora, California. He paints this amazing owl as part of a project at the local community college (where he goes to school). Alex thinks he will someday hit the big time and will be able to paint for a living.

Drew is Alex’s friend and room mate. Drew isn’t an aspiring artist but instead, fancies himself as a rapper whose rhymes are born in the mellow landscape that surrounds Sonora; rolling hills dotted with oak trees, mountainous terrain covered in manzanita and cedar trees. Let’s just say that Drew’s greatest accomplishments are found in his delusional self-importance and consumption of cannabis. He thinks of himself as a ‘Player’ but has an uncanny ability to scare women with his persona.

Now that we’ve established this, the story is really simple. This is an act of vandalism. Drew has a party that gets out of hand and in a moment of pot induced mayhem, Drew makes his first contribution to art. He changes this majestic spotted owl into a poker playing, whiskey slingin’ bad ass.

Alex and Drew were not friends after this happened. Alex was so distraught that his creation was defaced that he donated it to a charity.

Band of Angels

The last installment for today is found in this band of angels. When this gem caught my eye I took a closer look.

They all seem innocent enough until you see Ariel – she’s the one member of the band who seems to be the dark angel (you’ll see what I mean in the close-up to follow).

The story that came to mind: Edna, who lived in Tacoma, WA. was excited about the upcoming winter rummage sale at her church. Her husband Arnie just finished making their new mantle over the fireplace. Edna was eager to decorate that mantle for the holidays.

As she strolled through the rummage sale she found these angels. She called Arnie to her side and with much excitement asked him to agree that these little angelic darlings were the perfect thing to adorn the mantle. Arnie grunted once (which meant ‘Yes’).

Edna & Arnie returned home. She wasted no time setting these angels up by the light of the silver tinsel Christmas tree, the sweet sounds of the holiday record by the Seattle Lutheran Church Choir, and the smell of a meatloaf cooking in the stove.

Dark Angel

Sadly, Arnie left a can of varnish next to the oven. The heat caused the can to ignite and they both perished in the resulting inferno.

Amazingly, the angels survived and were then donated to the local Salvation Army.

Edna’s eyesight was poor so she couldn’t ever see the eyeballs on our dark angel.

Sometimes I come up with fictional stories that are horrifying. Some of the stories are boring. Some of them totally vulgar and inappropriate. Please know this before you decide to read more of my posts in the future.

Before I go, I did want to show off one more piece of art. I really want to surprise my wife with this one. This die cast metal work of art is rather large. It is approximately 3 feet wide and about 21″ tall. Nothing says “Honey, I am a virile macho man” like a huge Matador wall hanging. I kid though. My wife would kick my macho ass if I hung this bad boy on the wall.

Mas Macho?

I would like to take a moment to reflect on this past weekend.

Friday isn’t even worth mentioning. Except for the fact that it was not only the attack of the jeggings, women wearing the most awful tops (where their bras were almost completely exposed? What fashion trend is that?), and what seemed like an endless procession of men whom apparently have a penchant for being assholes.

I want to take a moment to thank the folks who were extremely mellow (mostly patrons of the bar who appreciate and love the bar) as well as the abnormally large number of cougars that came down last Saturday night. I am not sure if it is because I insist on seeing your IDs, or my general disposition that makes you… fond of me?

To the one cougar whom my co-workers had to witness interacting with me (they are often amused by these interactions) At first, that thing you were doing (where you walked up to random men whose ID’s I was checking and shouting “HEY! This is my husband… Where the HELL have you been?”) was funny but after the 3rd time it wasn’t. The 6th, 7th and 8th times were kind of pathetic but I politely smiled and played along.

Then, when you thought you were being flirtatious, handing me your broken cigarette (as a tip I think?) and proceeding to take my cap off my head (which you are lucky that I wasn’t grumpy because I may have escorted you out of the bar) you stood next to me, leaned in close and whispered in my ear: “What the fuck is up with the hat? Don’t wear the hat. The hat says I’m a pussy. Take it off and own that sexy bald head! You gotta say YEAH bitch, my head is bald and you love it.”

You were funny, albeit a bit annoying at times, but I appreciate your compliments about my biceps, my beard, and when I explained how cold it gets & why I need to wear the hat I was suddenly seen as practical rather than a ‘pussy’. You were much more entertaining than the 22 year old man who was upset that he had to pay (apparently, mister newbie doesn’t go out to see live music enough to understand that bands don’t play for free, exclusively for him… just because he’s handsome) and even more hilarious than the fellow who decided to light entire matchbooks, one at a time, at the wood picnic bench out front and ask me if I was going to get all tough with him…

The weekend is always a mystery. You never know what will happen. What I do know is this:

• I came home in the wee hours of the morning
• I gradually make my way to the bedroom
• I quietly sneak in, I have a little flashlight in hand
• I hear the trio of deep breaths coming from my family, sometimes there is a three part harmony (occasionally some snores)
• In that moment I am filled with love and peace
• I quietly retreat into the bed
• Sometimes Sam will move a bit, sometimes his hand or arm will wind up being placed on my shoulder, or embracing me…

So, I try to find the humor in all the things that happen during long hours and late nights. I do my best to be a ‘good sport’ and to make everyone feel welcomed, cool, funny, etc.

I can’t always be 100% all of the time.  I am lucky to have an extremely strong connection to calm and patience because I certainly believe it has saved me from getting into bad situations.

10 years ago, September 11, 2001…

I went to work early in the morning.

My shift began around 7:00am so my commute had to start around 5:45am.

I worked on the 5th floor of an office building in Campbell, CA.

I had a cubicle.

I worked in the software industry and lived in Boulder Creek, CA. in the small loft of a home that was under construction.

I was living an odd life, recently returning to silly-con valley in early 2000 from years in the mountains of Southern Oregon. I had a giant black beard, black plastic frame glasses, shaved head, tattoos… I was far from your ‘typical’ silicon valley software industry worker at that time.

I had some extremely wild adventures, most notably:

• Flying to various cities to play hard with friends both new & old
• Was a male escort (I hired myself out to show up on dates, at parties, & events dressed as Fidel Castro or as an Amish fellow)
• Went on 14 dates in a 2 month span with women who responded to a series of Craigslist Personal Ads I composed (mostly as a sociological experiment) and learned what ‘Bat Shit Crazy Woman’ meant
• Rode my motorcycle all over the place
• Was a dedicated mountain biker
• Traveled frequently to Northern CA. / Southern Oregon often to build straw bale homes (at that time the Strawpenter in me was still very much alive and well)

I had been corresponding with a woman named Jen McGreer for about a week.

She had responded to an ad that I placed on Match.com 3 or 4 months earlier. I had placed an ad to inspire/encourage my dear friend to also place an ad so I wasn’t really looking to meet someone. My profile and ad were way too honest, way too real, very much a reflection of the mountain dweller I had become then. But amazingly enough… Jen McGreer was the first person to write to me.

From the first words she wrote to me, Jen had reached a place in my soul that no one had really been to before. There was a spark that, at the time, was about to ignite an inferno.

So back to the morning at work. It was quiet. I watched the sun rise on my commute in to work. It was oddly beautiful, made more colorful by smoke on the horizon to the East as fires throughout the Sierra Nevada Mountains filled the sky. I drove through the Santa Cruz Mountains, through steep hills covered in majestic redwoods, manzanita, and oak. I was the first person into work that day. I recall thinking that the weather that morning seemed like ‘earthquake weather’. I made the pot of coffee and started my day.

Soon after, more folks rolled into work. It wasn’t long before a co-worker reported the news of an airplane hitting the World Trade Center in New York City.

Our work that day was simply non-existent. We stayed at work to await word from the corporate headquarters as to whether we would continue our work day or go home for the day.

We were all glued to our computers, where streaming video on our monitors showed us everything that everyone else was watching. I was at my computer when I noticed in my Yahoo! Chat window that Jen McGreer was online. I don’t remember if she wrote to me or I to her. I just remember that we were chatting throughout the morning, as each tragedy occurred.

Before our conversation ended, Jen proposed that we meet for sushi in Santa Cruz later that evening. We left the plans totally open and were going to just see if the timing would be right.

I eventually made my drive home and waited to see if she would call.

Time passed, no call. I figured it wasn’t meant to be that night and settled in for an evening of quiet solitude.

Then the phone rang. It was like a bad comedy, me, running around like a fool to find the phone that was ringing, knocking shit over, racing, panting, hollering… I got the call. It was Jen.

We decided to meet in Santa Cruz at a sushi restaurant.

I made the drive to Santa Cruz, nervous, giddy, and excited.

I parked. I walked toward the restaurant and standing with her back to me was a woman with long red curly locks, in an attractive long skirt. I totally don’t remember what happened exactly, how she turned around, if I hugged her, or we hugged each other, regardless… I remember feeling an almost electrical ‘zapping’

The restaurant we planned on going to was closed because of the events of the day. We both knew that Shogun Sushi was just down the road. We decided to try that restaurant instead and it was there that we began what I still refer to this day as the “Summit of honesty”

I apparently talked a lot (nervous), Jen apparently giggled a lot.

What happened next was a multiple hour airing of each others dirty laundry, our greatest moments, our lowest moments, the tragedies, the embarrassments, who we slept with, how many, and it goes on and on. It was absolutely the most exhilarating, most honest, most human, most compassionate and loving date I have EVER had.

We wound up going out for tea after dinner. More conversation, more confessions, more connecting.

Somewhere around 11pm we decided to end the night. I hugged her (though I wanted to kiss her) and we made tentative plans to see each other again as soon as possible.

My drive home was again, like something out of a bad comedy. I was talking to myself, excited, telling myself to not fuck this one up, that I was totally smitten with Jen, even tossing in outbursts like “she’s hot”, “wahoo”, and “yes!” – what a geek.

It was on our second date that we kissed.

Jen and I in Seattle, 2001

I was certain on our second date that I wanted to marry Jen McGreer.

In December of 2001 I proposed to Jen.

We were married in May of 2002.

It has been 10 years since we first met.

We have had some really intense times, Jen and I. Some seriously fucked up stuff has come our way, yes this it true but on the flip side, some seriously amazing and wonderful stuff has come to us.

Jen and I just after getting engaged

I am still very much in love with Jen.

To this day I get butterflies in my belly when I look at her.

My favorite thing ever is dating my wife.

In a world full of stress, intense challenges, where 80% of couples who have a child with Autism get divorced, we are here fighting against all that chaos as a team. We believe with our hearts in fairness, compassion, humor, humility, and love.

So, September 11th means something completely different to Jen and I. It sometimes feels odd to be filled with such joy and love on this day every year and yet it somehow seems fitting that from tragedy and suffering is this love, this partnership that always seems to rise from the ashes like a phoenix.

Happy September 11th

Jen and Rob get married - May 2002