New beginings. . .

Last evening I became an uncle. It's not the first time that this has happened, but it got me to thinking. And that (most of you already know) can be dangerous. However, I would like to keep things on the lighter side today. So, Congratulations Heather and Chris, there is no blessing (or trial) quite like parenthood. And welcome little Tyler. I know this world seems so strange to you now. But get used to it, things won't get much better . . . but you will learn to roll with it and manage the weirdness as time goes on. As a welcome, I would like to post something I wrote awhile ago. Some of you have seen it, but it seems fitting for the occasion.

Autobiography

An empty page. That's how life starts; as an empty page. The first experiences are cold and scary. Thoughts scarcely understood and only vaguely recorded. But this is a great way to introduce the story. It must be, because they all start that way. Yep, a stranger in a strange land surrounded by strange things and even stranger people. Sound Familiar? An original tale, and each of us with a story. Encyclopedias, paperbacks, comic books, classic literature and trashy romance novels; many different types of texts but all are written in the first person. And they all start the same way. Peculiar yet oddly comforting really, that they all start the same way. And fascinating how differently they all turn out. Some are tattered and worn. Well used tomes that have been read, re-read and shared across generations. While others. beautifully displayed on a pedestal or under glass like fine works of art, reveal themselves to be entirely sterile and devoid of substance. And musty old journals, left mostly unrecorded, undocumented and unwritten. Still stiff, the uncreased spine complains as the cover is lifted on this obscure text and pages rarely turned stick to each other as if embarrassed for their naked leaves and unwritten chapters to see the light of day. One account may require considerably more paper than another while others are written on cocktail napkins or the backs of claim checks. Some of these chronicles are chiseled in stone and others are etched in precious metals. Bold and brash tales with a sense of permanence. Others still are written in the sands by the shore or on the ethereal scent of early spring blooms. Fleeting fairy-tales; beautiful to behold but lost with the next tide and the summer rains. These enchanting tales tickle the back of ones mind like the comfortable memory of an old friend. But no one book is any more or less significant than another. An autobiography; written one day at a time, hour by hour, moment by moment. Is it fiction? A fantasy? Maybe a little of both. Critics say that is usually the way these things turn out. If my experience is any indication, I would say mostly a comedy of errors with hints of tragedy for effect.

Welcome to the world little Tyler. May yours be a bold & brash tale to be remembered fondly and forever. May you slay your dragons, rescue your damsels, feast with your friends and of course, live happily ever after.

Uncle Bill