Buon Natale

I can remember when I was a kid, how Dad always made Christmas such a big event.

Dad was a big kid.  Because he never truly had a childhood, he lived childhood through us.

To get a good idea what Christmas was like for me as a kid, think the super bowl.

The super bowl has taken on a life of its own in our culture.  At times, the event of the super bowl is bigger and better than the actual game.

That’s the way Christmas was for me growing up as a child.  The only difference was that the event of Christmas and the actual day of Christmas were equal in quality, perfectly balanced between the anticipation and the experience of it.

Dad was great—he’d even leave the cookie crumbs and a few drinks of the milk so I could imagine Santa having a snack after dropping off my gifts.

Every kid should have a Dad like mine.

Every Christmas should be like the ones I experienced as a kid.

Merry Christmas, Dad.

I bet you have great Christmas mornings in heaven.

Give Mrs. Santa Claus a kiss and hug for me.

Frozen in Time

I live in a standstill, frozen in time.

November of 2010 was the worst month of my life.

As Mom fought for her life on her deathbed, my marriage died.  I saw it die before my eyes.

Mortality stripped me to my critical elements.

The critical mass unleashed is all that remains of me.

Now I live in a vacuum, resistant to anything but the truth.

The truth is, I saw my marriage end, knowing well how to save it.

I lost both Mrs. Bolados in the same month.

I loved my Mother…

I loved my wife…

The slow kill is the worst.

When I got married, I had it all figured out.  When the day came and I lost Mom, my wife would comfort me.

I’ve never dealt with betrayal well.

The problem isn’t the betrayal.

How do you reconcile the breaking of a marriage vow and still have a marriage?

Forgiveness was easy—I forgave her, even though she never asked me to.

I choose pain over reconcilement not because it is the easy way.

I filed because it was the right thing to do.

All of my life, I’ve stood for right.

I had a choice to make.

I could be right…

…or be married.

I chose right.

The Culture of Me

The toil of the wordsmith is to entice the muses in the hopes of gaining inspiration.  And if the muses be not enticed, than to hunt after inspiration into the guts and tissue.

In human braveries resides the writer.

The art of communication is more than words.  In our acts is formed our culture.  In our culture is found the ultimate form of communication: our legacy.

Culture (from the Latin origin: cultura) has improved in its meaning from “the tilling of land”.  To me, culture means to dig and prepare the soil of my character, thereby elevating my spirit.

Culture is the honesty of who I was, who I am, who I will be.

My culture is from the earth, is inherent to the ground—I live in the soil of my soul.  It is in the soil of my emotions where my thoughts, speech, actions, and artifacts exist.

From the richness of my soul’s dust, I transmit my culture to successors.

The heart of Love; the freedom of Truth; the eternity of Life—these are the precepts of the culture of me.

The culture of me is a culture of peace, where happiness is pursued and love is hoped for.  It is a place where communication is always welcome and ideas are exchanged.

At the center of my culture lives a garden in the glory of bloom.  Amongst the flora and young branch lives the poet and the dreamer, the beginning and the child, the creation and the yet to come.

Feel free to enter and speak from your culture.

My culture is serene and you are always welcome there.