Well, I'm writing this from Evart, Michigan. That is home for me. Lots of reasons why I am here, none of those are as important as: I am here.

I am here in the modest home that I was raised in. On the street that I use to walk to school on.

I remember entering kindergarten in 1974. I walked the 10 or 12 blocks to school the first day with my mother. My teacher then told me, "You tell your mother that you are a big boy now and you can walk to school by yourself." To which I did and from that point on I walked to school alone (later with my brothers and others).

It wasn't a more innocent day then (it was, however, before the Iran Hostage Crisis and the Tylenol scare). The Vietnam war was waging; child abuse and neglect abounded. But it was a small town. There were plenty of "safe" houses along the way, but it was naive to think a 5 year should walk that far to school by himself. Yet I did and I was never hurt (not entirely true, but that is enough for now).

I'm not sure which naivete I'm working on, if it is 3rd or 4th. But there is something nice about believing against all the evidence. For you see, that was my job. I was a professional rainman of hope. I've been so upset about losing my job that I forgot who I was and who I am.

I'm a veteran. I'm a Veteran of Hope. (See Vincent Harding's project).

I don't know yet where I will plant my stake in the ground. But wherever it is. There I am.

Listening to: Don't You (Forget About Me) by Simple Minds