First blog post

His-tory

The irony of a giant dog in our home wasn’t lost on us. On our half acre in town, we had bantam chickens, bantam ducks, a miniature lamb and miniature cows. We jokingly called our menagerie “Mini Acres”. Then there was the animal that was not to be. Not because it was too expensive, not because we didn’t have space, nor because it wasn’t legal (it wasn’t, but that didn’t stop the cows either). It was cute, it was small and it captured my wife’s imagination. “No,” I told my wife, “we couldn’t have the miniature fuzzy burro because she already had one donkey in her world, we didn’t have room for another ass in our family as long as she had me”. I was her donkey, her jack ass, her fuzzy burro!

My grandfather was German, born in the U.S., but learned to speak English as a second language. He was a dashing young man who threw caution to the wind. His whirlwind life was probably driven by his demons that resulted in fast times, fun times, foolish times. But he had a heart of gold, he would give you the shirt off his back, if he thought you needed it worse than him. But stubborn as the day was long! His name was Jona, but he went by Jack. Some what appropriate, given that you can tell a German, but you can’t tell them much!

Thus was the world I was born into. I looked like my grandfather and I appeared to just naturally assume the role of being a donkey (pejorative term) in my world. Leave it to me to be that stubborn, angry person who wrecks the mood of the day. The one, who when hungry or irritated, can become the explosive bundle of anger. Or when hurt or disillusioned, could get lost in the depths of despair. My highs were high, and my lows were low. Life was fun, fast and foolish, and it came with it’s fair share of angst.

In my youth, speed, art and poetry were my pressure relief valves, my mechanism for coping with the stress’s of teenage angst, a broken home, an abusive childhood and a lost journey through life. There are pages and drawings who’s inspiration had a name, some knew it, others didn’t. As time and life marched on, there just didn’t seem to be time for that any more, besides, I thought “I’m an adult now, I should just be able to Cope!”

I was wrong! Adulting sucks and I need a release! So here goes. A journey, slightly mapped out, attempting to scratch out some meaning in my world. Be forewarned that my ramblings might make you uncomfortable, angry, sad or numb. Sorry, but its my journey and my release, you’re welcome to come along, just be forewarned, it might get a little raw.

So at the end of the day, I’ll take the moniker of Fuzzy Burro, as a term of endearment, that carries a little to much truth.