Kilted Eric . com

(EDIT) Remember what Bilbo used to say, about leaving your house?

August 12, 1976.   I was born in Northfield Minnesota, to my parents Howard and Linda.   For 5 years we lived on a farm in Nerstrand, Minnesota.   Then we moved to the “big city” of Faribault, Minnesota.   I lived there until I was 25.  Then I moved to Olympia, Washington, chasing a dream of love, only to wake up one day and know it was truly over.

I met my wife, Carrie, at a Red Lobster.   I was a cook, she was a bartender.  We started dating and one things lead to another.   Now I live in Seattle, I am 31 years old and I am married with one happy, healthy, and huge baby boy.

I have been having little reflective thought moments all day, while getting ready for our camping trip.   I have done and experienced much since leaving Minnesota, but today I am looking back to the people who inspired me.

Steve Austin was a punk rocker.   He was smart, funny, and brilliant with a yo-yo.   He brought me into the midwest punk scene with the Dead Kennedy’s and pot.   He died way too young.   Suicide.   He did not belong in Faribault, but knew no other way out.   I cried for a day, not just for Steve, but for myself.   You see, earlier I had tried to end my own life, but I failed.   His death was like a movie showing me what my friends and family would have gone through had I not failed.  I am glad today that I did not finish the job.

Flint, gosh I can’t remember his last name.   He was the “old” punker in town.  He came to Faribault from California, I think.   He took me to Hard Core punk shows, and to the woods to drink.   He played the dark music of Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds for me, and I was hooked.   For a single guy, he kept his small apartment very clean.   I remember on my 25th birthday (or was it 24th?) starting the night at his house, smoking cigars, drinking Guinness and playing chess.  He was my friend that had traveled overseas and now I have traveled overseas.  He helped get me out of Faribault.  I miss him, I think he is living in the Twin Cities, possibly starting his own family.

Ralph Stuart.  He owned a deli that also sold Role-playing games, the ones in books that are played with dice; often played late at night, drinking coffee and Jolt cola.   He showed me you don’t have to totally grow up.   I worked for him for a while, best job ever.   All my friends hung out there, it was never like work as I know it now.  He made the best beer cheese soup ever.  Ten years of cooking, and I have not been able to replicate it.  He was a father figure in a trying time of a young man.  I remember him telling my parents that I was the rudder of my friends.  I was not the Captain, but quietly steered the group away from dangers.

I have many other friends who have supported, cared for, drank with, and cried with me.   I could fill pages writing about them, and I just may at some point, but today I think to Steve, Ralph, and Flint.   

Life toddles always forward.  Keep going, even when your head hurts.  I am happy I no longer live in Faribault.  I am happy with my life now.  Finally.  This is the path I was meant to be on.  Sometimes it’s just nice to turn around for a moment, and see that long road you just walked down.   Off to the horizon line, down to the sea.  Turn back around, see that road?  No?  You can’t see for the road is cloudy, but that’s ok, just walk with care.

August, 12, 2007, I am 31, alive, and have good walking shoes on.

( My wife, aka The Editor came home, and helped clean this up.  Even at 31 I am still learning the English language.)