Kurt was born on the shores of Lake Erie.

He has touched waves frozen in their curl.

He is tall, but he hopes to accomplish more in life than just that.

He will always be a Buckeye but he now calls Pennsylvania his home.

He loves his family.

He is a husband who owes his life to his wife.

He is the father of three. When his first child was born, he nearly passed out from fright. When his second child was born, he was stuck in Alaska desperately trying to get a flight out. When his third child was born, he was the one to deliver him.

He is certain that his children are the most creative and talented living beings on Earth, and, since he’s pretty sure life anywhere else is not quite as advanced as on Earth, that means his children are probably the most creative and talented living beings in all of the universe(s).

He couldn’t wait to graduate from high school so he could conquer the world.

He joined the Navy at eighteen and “retired” twenty years and four days later.

He learned much. He worked hard. He played hard…maybe he played too hard sometimes.

He was cooped up on Hawaii for a three-year Pearl Harbor tour of duty once, so afterward he drove cross country to his next duty station with his wife and two oldest children in a completely packed Ford Tracer. The daughter sat on the floor and drew pictures. The son sat in his car seat and pointed out the cows and the moon.

He stared down in awe at the beauty of the Grand Canyon. It was one of those times in his life when he wished he could fly.

He still remembers how he felt when driving through the understated beauty of the Smokey Mountains.

He believes each American and each person aspiring to become an American should be required to drive across the United States to witness firsthand its beauty and grandeur.

He loves his country.

He also loves Japan.

He regrets that, even though he feels almost Japanese himself, he has never really learned the language. Some day, perhaps.

He sometimes feels like Godzilla when walking within a crowd of Japanese in downtown Tokyo.

He has stared up in awe at the beauty of Mount Fuji. It was another one of those times in his life when he wished he could fly.  Someday he’ll climb that mountain.

He has soaked in an outdoor natural hot spring and drank cold beer with naked Japanese men and women while it snowed.

He has happily napped under a warm and cozy kotatsu.

He loves to travel.

He has sailed to many ports of call throughout the world and wishes he had taken more pictures and written more letters home.

He is a Trusty Shellback.

He has sailed through a Nor’easter on the North Sea and has taken refuge in the spectacular fjords of Norway.

He has sailed the choppy and chilly emerald waters of the English Channel and has seen the spectacular White Cliffs of Dover.

He has sailed the San Bernardino Strait while steaming to the Philippines and may have witnessed the most beautiful scenery he has ever seen.

He has seen a severed foot floating in a Sri Lankan harbor.

He once walked on what he thought was the moon but soon realized it was actually somewhere in Oman.

He has seen Tomcats take off at night from the deck of aircraft carriers and then he has seen them land with a full moon rising on the ocean’s distant horizon.

He loves to eat.

He loves to eat with chop sticks.

He has eaten fish and chips in a hazy London pub.

He has eaten grass soup (at least that’s what it tasted like) on the floor in the small, bare home of a wonderful Thai family. An ornate picture of the king hung proudly on the wall.

He has eaten something in Hong Kong that may have been the best meal he has ever eaten but he has no idea what it was.

He has eaten spicy, very spicy, shark and sting ray in an outdoor cafe underneath an overpass during a muggy night in Singapore.

He has eaten beefsteak in a quaint Norwegian pub while serious looking Norwegians rolled their own cigarettes and drank strong beer.

He loves the Arts.

He loves good poetry but he has a hard time defining the characteristics of what good poetry is.

He knows it when he feels it.

He loves music like it’s nobody’s business. He loves Tom Waits, Beck, The Smiths, Jose Gonzalez, Sun Kil Moon, Tindersticks, Yo La Tengo, The Avett Brothers, The Doors, Nirvana, Modest Mouse, Vivaldi, Marilyn Manson, Chet Baker, Nine Inch Nails, Stan Getz, Tupac, Notorious B.I.G., Black Flag, Rollins Band, Eminem, Hole, Cake, Foo Fighters, Bob Seger, Blink 182, Rage Against the Machine, Elvis Presley, The Beatles, Violent Femmes, and…you get the picture. He especially loves the Pandora app tunein app for his Blackberry Droid RAZR.

He loves language in all its forms.

He loves the English language; not because it is the only language he speaks, but because it is so expressive and quirky and confusing and, yes, he must admit since it is the only language he speaks, because it is so accessible.

He really doesn’t care if adverbs are supposed to be after verbs.

Well…maybe he does.

He loves books, even the boring ones. He thinks they look good on his bookshelves, both before and after they have been read.

He has just recently read his first e-book. It does not look quite as good on a bookshelf as does a p-book…which of course is, a physical book.

He tries to write but too often he just thinks about writing; though, he is getting close to finishing did eventually manage to finish his first novel.

He also published a collection of poetry entitled Poems from the River.

He loves the concept of Spirituality.

He believes in God but probably not in the way you would want him to.

He loves sports but he is a fan of Cleveland teams so he often seems bitter and disappointed and he is happy and oh so very relieved that the Cavs won the championship in 2016.

He loves politics…you know, acting for ugly people.

He is a disgruntled Independent.

He loves internetworking.

He spends much of his time online.

He spends used to spend way too much time on facebook.

He feels he is much friendlier and easier to be around online than he is in person.

He would rather write, type, tweet, or post how he feels than say it.

He loves Humor.

He loves to laugh, but you probably wouldn’t guess it about him.

He prefers to make a point through self-deprecating humor, especially those tougher points that deal with other people and may hurt feelings. He feels it is much safer to make fun of himself, and so easy to do since he’s such a bumbling dork, than to try to tap dance around other people’s emotions and feelings.

He enjoys communicating through sarcasm and satire. He really enjoys it, so please be wary and please be open minded (and thick-skinned).

He has found no other author who can make him laugh harder than David Sedaris can. Though, he does feel rather sorry for Sedaris’s family because he exploits and belittles them so much. When asked once if what he writes is really true, Sedaris’s response was, “true enough.”

He likes that response.

He recommends you keep that response, as well as this, in mind during your stay here.

He guarantees what he says on this About page is sincere and from the heart, but since he was born with his tongue permanently attached to his cheek, he cannot make that guarantee for any other page or post on this site.

He will leave it up to you to determine whether he is being serious, satirical, sarcastic, or all of the above, in regards to any of his writing anywhere else other than on this About page.

He fancies himself an EO and Human Relations guy, but he admits, after all his years of study and research, he still has a hard time figuring the damn human species out.

He believes that humans make it awfully hard for him to like them.

He still likes them, though; because, even while they’re driving him stupid crazy with all the stupid crazy stuff they do, they are also amazing him with their mind boggling genius and limitless compassion.

He is a firm believer that schadenfreude is inherent to human nature.

He feels that’s why he follows the news so closely…at least the bad news, anyway.

He feels that’s why the good news bores him.

He thinks he probably focuses on and worries about the negative side of life a bit too much.

He had leukemia once.

He is sure some might say that there’s a relationship between his affinity for the negative and his affliction with the cancer.

He is sure others might say there isn’t.

He is not sure who is right.

He is sure, though, that he overcame the disease by the grace of that infinite and inexplicable universal power supply we call God, with the help of lots of loving prayers and support by family and friends, and from the gift given by one truly amazing person—his bone marrow donor.

He still has a hard time believing that there is one person in this whole wide world who perfectly matches his bone marrow and who was willing to donate it to him to save his life.

He thinks his donor is a female from Germany. He now knows his donor is a female from New England.

He is looking forward to meeting her and thanking her some day.

He is looking forward to many things.

He is thankful to be able to continue to look forward.

He is as thankful to be able to have so much to look forward to as he is to have so much to look back on and be thankful for.

He is thankful to be a survivor.

He is thankful to have survived Nor’esterners, earthquakes, typhoons, Snowmaggedon, a Polar Vortex, an appendectomy, Lyme disease, leukemia, neuropathy, Cytomegalovirus, Graft Versus Host Disease, Bronchiolitis Obliterans Syndrome, skin cancer, pulmonary effusion, pericardial effusion, heart failure, and having to watch hundreds thousands of chick flicks over the years with his lovely and loving wife.

He is thankful to you for stopping by and visiting with him here.
 
 
The Writing Hand

Advertisements