The Hallmark of My 27 Years

Today is my birthday.  In addition to maintaining a miraculous, near-100-percent survival rate for 27 consecutive years, I have a lot to celebrate.  For instance, this year I created a revolutionary home laundry sorting system that drastically reduces the time it takes to do laundry.  My wife not only tolerates me, but even repeatedly insists that she loves me despite my tenacious talent for placing the dish cloth in the wrong spot (there is no greater love than this).  I also continue to be grateful for the kindred camaraderie my brother and I share.  And of course, I'd like to thank my parents, you know, for making this day, and me, possible.  After all, mom and dad did most of the work.  I was just along for the ride, throwing in some crying for good effect.

At lunch today, I received my first birthday present:  A card.  Not a graphics card -- which does happen to be a great gift idea for hardware enthusiasts like myself -- but an actual paper card.

When I was little, I had to open all my cards before my presents.  It was an excruciating exercise in patience while waiting to unwrap the "good stuff."  Today, I count this card as one of the best presents I have received.

A lot of this has to do with the fact this is a card that can't be bought, only made, homemade.  Don't get me wrong, I appreciate a well-chosen, nicely annotated Hallmark card, but you have to admit. There's something special about a homemade card, no matter the caliber of the artwork.

The homemade card came courtesy of my lovely and loving wife.  Not since my "Fiance of the Year Award," have I felt so officially recognized.  For my 27th birthday, she chronicled a whopping 27 reasons to love me (cue audience-wide Awwwww)!  Now, I don't have a "Proof People Love Me" collection (though the more I think about it, it's probably a good idea.  I'm a sensitive soul.), but if I ever start one, this will be one of the premiere pieces.

Inside this artistic masterpiece are "27 Reasons to Love Mark Chase as He Turns 27."  Take note.


27 Reasons to Love Mark Chase as He Turns 27

1)  He composes amazing songs that touch the heart.

2)  His athletic prowess helps him survive close biking encounters.

3)  He can't help but teach other people with the very core of his being.

4)  Computers stand up straight and salute when he walks in a room.

5)  The USA Olympic Snuggling team called to give him a spot in Rio this year.  I told them he was beyond their league.

6)  He believes the best in people, and brings it out.

7)  He has a strong desire to do what's right and see that others are treated fairly and justly.

8)  He would give you the shirt off his back if you asked for it.  That's why he goes shirtless so often.

9)  His laundry organization systems are cheap and effective.

10)  He is a fighter and once he determines to do something, he does not quit.

11)  He is a lover and can give you a bucket of sunshine with his encouragement.

12)  He is patient.  And patient.  And patient.

13)  He is the best dance partner you could bring to a wedding, including your own.

14)  He is a loving, loyal son and will always be there for his parents.

15)  He is a good brother who plays Guild Wars 2 on the regular to combat Veteran Ice Wurms and loneliness.

16)  He builds the best fires, and they're even better when it's rainy or your fireplace gets zero draft.

17)  He cares deeply for the planet and advocates for the beauty of nature.

18)  He loves breakfast as much as I do.

19)  He will bring you your favorite treat when you're bummed to be at work.

20)  His eyes are more expansive and dreamy than the sea.

21)  He is a skillful musician and has a knack for looking "under the hood" of a song.

22)  As a recreation he could still qualify for Guinness speed eating competitions.

23)  Nobody comes close to being such a proficient plate stacker and well-mannered restaurant patron.

24)  He still buys you flowers even when he doesn't see the point.

25)  Even on a bad day, he can climb Mount Marathon faster than you.

26)  He proficiently produces preposterous prose, poignant poetry, plus proprietary poppycock.

27)  He's my favorite man in the whole world, and I wouldn't trade him for anything.

And with that, I would like to give the highest honor bestowable by the 27 years vested in me,  "The Best Birthday Card of the Year Award" to Aimie Chase for her astounding achievements in birthday card technology and unparalleled contributions to the distribution of love.  For this card alone, it was worth turning 27.

You Are My Delight

This year has been one of the toughest of my life.  Both my wife and I have been dealing with unforeseen hardship.  Even though the struggle itself has been trying, it's the length of it that's been the hardest.  It feels like we've been running a race where someone keeps moving the finish line.

Humans aren't well equipped to deal with obstacles that don't have well-defined ends.  Anyone can deal with known difficulties that will pass.  It's the challenges that suggest they could last indefinitely that try to break you.

Even though we are both just ready for this difficult season to be over, I'm grateful for it.  I know that sounds weird, but I think one of the most powerful ways to conqueror difficulties is to be grateful for them.  Difficulties expect you to fight them, but when you can find ways to be thankful, the difficulties kind of just lose their oomph and deflate like an awkwardly activated whoopee-cushion.

For instance, I know this trial is strengthening our marriage.  When we get through this, we are going to have the tried-and-true conviction that we can make it through anything.  I'm grateful for that.

I also think it's going to greatly enhance my already natural gift of empathy.  I've always had an organic compassion for others going through hardships.  It was just in the past, I felt like I was mostly caring for them out of a place of surplus rather than from a place of having-been-there emptiness.  And, really I think that's one of the most powerful things you can give someone:  The hope of having been where they are and somehow pulled through.

Struggles can also give birth to great songs. The following is a song I've tried to write for awhile.  But yesterday, it happened almost effortlessly.  Amidst, a tangle of tears and bed sheets next to my wife, this song came together in the course of about fifteen minutes, chords, melody, lyrics and all.

It's a song that wholeheartedly acknowledges the suffering that is all too real, but simultaneously embraces hope, striving to channel that hope with each note, chord, and lyric.  It's called "You Are My Delight."  Give it a listen.

You Are My Delight
by Mark Chase

You've been pushing long and hard
Heart is heavy, soul is scarred
Can't even walk another mile
Whatever happened to the light in your smile?

But Hope is coming fast today
Hope is coming here to stay
Hope is coming here to say

You are my delight
The sparkle in my eye
The teardrops down my face
Happiness enough to cry

You are my delight
I'll never let you go
I wrote this song
So that you'd always know

Trapped by the lies in your head
Curling up in this unmade bed
Finish line not even in sight
Will we make it through the night?

Where We Belong

"Death is not always the tragedy we perceive it to be." - Daisy Moser

We live in a world ripe with tragedy:  The attack on Nice, Paris, the shootings in Dallas, Texas, the shooting at Pulse nightclub in Orlando, Florida, just to name a select few.  

But, for all the pain and turmoil they create, tragedies produce a strangely fertile soil for beauty, hope, and love to take root.  Whether it's drawing people together, smacking us sober, or injecting us with an adrenaline shot of thought and emotion, a surprising amount of good can come from tragedies, even if it's just reminding us how precious life is.

Life is precious.  Every day.  Every moment.  Every breath.

Most of us know this, but it's easy to let it slide to the mental back-burner as we go about our routines.  After awhile, life can start to feel more given guarantee and less precious privilege.  I mean, I've been alive for 26+ years with my mortality "relatively" unchallenged.  It can be pretty easy to start feeling falsely invincible.

But life is as fragile as it is beautiful.  Like a flower suspended on an easily snapped stem, our lives are housed in delicate vessels.  Whether it be a car crash, capsizing, medical mystery, overdose, or out-of-the-blue, we are all probably a little less invincible than we'd like to admit.

We are here for, but a season.  That season could be as long as a winter in Alaska or as short as a summer in the South Pole.  No matter how many heartbeats we've been bestowed, someday we'll all have to turn in the keys to these bodies.

On the surface, that can start to sound pretty depressing, but in the acknowledgement of life's fragility isn't that where we come face-to-face with its beauty?  Isn't it in the moments where our lives uncomfortably butt up against mortality that what really matters comes into clear focus?  

Maybe it was when you spun out in the snow and weren't sure if your car was gonna drift into the other lane or not.  Or maybe it was that time you almost sunk your boat and weren't sure if you were gonna make it back to shore.  Maybe it was the loss of a loved one to sickness, or maybe it was just listening to a stirring song.  Whatever the scenario, these moments bring us together, smack us sober, and remind us what really matters in this fleeting, but precious thing called life.

Saying life is precious doesn't mean life isn't hard.  Life is hard.  Really hard.  To quote one of my friends, Bill, "Life is messy."  I couldn't agree more.  Sometimes life feels as messy as me eating spaghetti in a white shirt.  Heck, writing this has been a messy, struggle.  Still for as much as we'd like to skip over struggles and tragedy, they do have a way of laying a strangely firm foundation for beauty, hope, and love to build upon.  That's why struggle and tragedy never have the final word no matter how much they'd like to.

Regardless, I think we all still long for that moment when all will be right with the world and within ourselves.  I think that's one of the reasons the following song speaks to me so deeply.  It delves into the difficult divide between how simultaneously precious and hard life is.  Here's a raw, personal rendition of it:




An excerpt from the second verse:

"Feels like we're just waiting! waiting!
While our hearts are just breaking! breaking!
Feels like we've been fighting against the tide"

And from the first verse:

"But I'm not sentimental, this skin and bones is a rental
And no one makes it out alive."

And yet amidst all the lyrical struggle, I find this song incredibly hopeful.  Maybe that's the real reason I find it so meaningful.  It injects hope into the middle of the struggle with hope singing the loudest.  And isn't that what we're all here to do?  Inject hope into the middle of the struggle?

My New Squeeze: 3dfx-tion

I've always had a soft spot for you, 3dfx.  You've been gone awhile, it's true, but even so.  There's still some not-so-subtle affection between us.  You might even say we have a "thing" for each other.  If there's such a thing as a tech-crush, I've got one.  On you.

Back when I first caught wind of your name, I fell for you.  Hard.  But who couldn't swoon?  It seemed the whole world was in love with you all at once.  And, rightfully so.

3dfx, you not only legitimized, but revolutionized real-time 3D desktop graphics.  And you did it all while the PC was still a fussy, smelly, babbling infant.  You accomplished what had been deemed by many to be impossible.  Things people said could only be done on massive, overpriced, over-sized workstations, you brought to the comparatively puny PC.  You were a real stunner 3dfx.

An old 3dfx commercial.  Gotta love a company with a sense of humor.

However, despite your amazing technology, you had some less than stellar business moves that ultimately sunk you.  By 2000 you had gone bankrupt and were ultimately acquired by your nearest competitor, Nvidia.

You were young.  Far too young.  Some of your best ideas were still ahead of you, nipped in the technological bud.  Man, I hate business.

But like a lot of things, death only made you stronger, propelling you to the status of mythos and legend.  Having a product line named Voodoo didn't hurt the notion that there was something truly magical about you.

It all happened so fast.  Right when I had just started getting to know you, you were gone.  I was also a little young for you.  When you were in your prime, I was but a wee lad.  If only we could have slowed down and savored the moment.

But, all is not lost!

Thanks to the wonders of Ebay, I have found you:  The last ever product you released, the legendary 3dfx Voodoo 5 5500 AGP.  You were just sitting there, staring at me fetchingly.  The moment I saw you, it was love at first sight all over again.  I had lost you once.  I wasn't about to lose you again.

So, I caved.  It was a little bit of an impulse buy, I confess, but I had always wanted to be able to get to know you better, to experience you more fully.  So, I bought you.

Naturally, I wanted you to feel at home and I'd never want you to be lonely.  So, I tried to find some components you would get along with, maybe some old friends even.  After all, you've been through some tough times, and you deserve to be able to rest and relax.  So, along with you, I purchased a few components for a retro PC gaming rig.  Then, it happened.

Today, that fateful moment arrived.  Or, should I say, you arrived!

The box you were in was a little worse for wear, but I welcomed you with open arms as if you were brand new.  We hugged.  We embraced.  I couldn't believe it!  You were finally resting in my arms at last.  Safe.  Sound.  Secure.

I proceeded to undress you.  You know, to make sure you were still in good condition.  I have to say.  You've aged amazingly well.

I know it doesn't make sense.  Sure, there are younger, sexier, better looking cards that have come along, cards that could easily outperform you in this day and age.  But no one will ever have as much style, grace, and personality as you.

It's been a long time, but soon you'll be resting in a vintage PC gaming rig, pumping out pixels as if it were yesterday.  3dfx Voodoo 5 5500 AGP, welcome home.  Welcome home.

Sun, Sea, Stars

The name of this blog is Poetry, Prose, and Poppycock. If you've read any of my previous posts, you may have noticed that so far, it's been a little more like Poppycock, Prose, and Poetry, or maybe even just Poppycock, Poppycock, and Poppycock. I've been pretty heavy on the poppycock and comparatively light on the poetry.

This is partly intentional. After all, a dose of poppycock-riddled prose is good medicine for this crazy world we inhabit, but, alas! Since this is Poetry, Prose, and Poppycock, I figure, it's high time I post a poem. I wouldn't want to disappoint all those people coming to this blog with the outlandish idea there would poetry amidst these digital pages. So all of you thirsting for a little poetry, here you go:

Sun, Sea, Stars by Mark Chase

Your face shines like the sun On the dew covered dawn Your smile the gentle beam My soul the flower it falls upon

A privileged partaker In this garden that you grace The most beautiful morning view Painted across your face

Your eyes sparkle like the stars In the crisp night sky A breathtaking galaxy born In the silent opening of your eyes

But your eyes are just the surface A sea of stars dancing ballet beneath You show me as I dive in A galactic tour of your heart's coral reef

Coming up for air, souls as full as lungs A middle, an ending, or a story just begun Heads lay on the ground, eyes lifted above A star in the sky for every chance to love

Your heart a constellation Mine the shooting star in flight Love and life crossing Our place beneath the Big Dipper tonight

Credit: Bob King

Rainy Day Dabblings in Music And My Not-So-Secret Love of "Bad" Weather

I'm such a bad weather person. I know that's not a popular thing to say. But, I love rain. Really heavy rain. Maybe, it's because my blue eyes are sensitive to high light. Maybe, it's because I grew up in Seward where learning to love the rain is practically a prerequisite for happiness. Maybe, I'm just wired backwards. Whatever the reason, rain has always excited me.

Some people run from rain like they're being chased by a bear. Me, I run to it. When I see rain, I want to dash through each drop. I want to play in it, dance in it, sing in it, get completely soaked by it. When it rains, the Earth takes a big collective swig and comes alive. And, so do I.

You have to admit. There's something really cozy about bad weather. Being warm is nice, but it's the cold contrast that makes snuggling up in your blanket so appealing. You can look outside and see the world wrapped in its own blanket, a quilt of clouds. You can press your nose to the window and look closer, taking it all in while sheets of rain cascade down the window, a see-through waterfall.

Today, is one of those days. It's raining. Hard. Less pitter-patter and more drum-solo-downpour.

This morning, with the rain dancing outside my window, I woke up with a song in my head. Not someone else's song, but a new song, a song yet to be created.

The creative process, the art of art, if you will, has always both perplexed and amazed me. What leads one to choose a certain note in a song, a certain word in a poem, a certain color or texture in a painting? There's an element of craft to it, drawing from the fundamental toolbox, but there's also an element of art, that almost subconscious intuition that steers you towards a particular idea.

Honestly, sometimes I feel like the ideas choose me more than I choose them. I don't know really know where this song came from. I just woke up with it in my head and tried to do it justice by getting it out of my head and onto my guitar. So, with the rain banging out a rooftop rhythm, I proceeded to craft this rainy day acoustic guitar duet.

Mark

P.S. You'll have to forgive a couple of the "buzzy" notes towards the end. One of the frets burnt out on my guitar.



P.P.S And just for fun, here's another oldie-but-a-goodie that also happens to feature some weather-based imagery.

The Misadventures of Mark - Episode 1: Bench-Mark

It was like the Terminal: Dimond Center Mall Edition, except instead of Tom Hanks, I was the star in this stranding film. I just didn't know it, yet.

Dad had dropped me off so I could do some shopping while he went to a doctor's appointment. Being one of the last humans on Earth without a cellphone, I have come to rely heavily on the ancient art of "meeting." This lost art involves two people agreeing upon a time and location to convene. It's surprisingly effective when both parties follow through. It's also completely useless if they don't.

Our agreed meeting time: Approximately 11:30. Location: Bench in front of Old Navy.

I started shopping at approximately 10:30 and wasn't about to dawdle. When I go shopping, I go in with all the careful preparation and purpose of a SWAT team hostage rescue. Don't get me wrong. I actually do enjoy shopping. I just lack the necessary endurance to extensively revel in it. For me, shopping is a lot like swimming underwater. It's fun, even exhilarating, especially with friends, but sooner or later, I gotta come up for air.

A poor soul after shopping too long

By 11:10, I had rescued the hostages...err, purchased my shirts, all ten of them. I was a little early to the bench, but what the heck. Better early than late to the agreed meeting place.

I sat. I waited. I twiddled my thumbs. I pondered life. 

Eventually, a potent combination of curiosity and boredom led me to find a clock. The time: 12:30. Using my highly advanced mathematical mind, I calculated the elapsed time. Wait a minute!

Wait a minute indeed, I had waited a full 80 of them. That's when it dawned on me. Like the fog lifting during a morning sunrise, it all became clear. I was stranded.

Possible survival scenarios began circulating through my head. I took stock of my resources. Two Cinnabuns for 99 cents. Food check. Bag full of clothes doubling as pillow. Comfort check. Entertainment? Well, I could probably squeeze into the climb-in toy helicopter for kids. Would I look ridiculous. Of course. But, this was a survival situation. Entertainment check.

On the bright side, the bench did have indoor heating.  Indoor heating is good.
Otherwise, I probably would have ended up looking like this.

I continued to wait. People began to look at me funny. We had left for Anchorage early in the morning to make the two hour drive. As an ardent lover of sleep, this meant omitting certain non-essential activities such as shaving and picking out a decent pair of clothes. Now at the mall, I started receiving looks I can only interpret as, "You must be the resident hobo." I was now upgrading my status from stranded to abandoned.

Thoughts began to crop up in my head. Did Dad even know where Old Navy was? Maybe he thought I was at a different store. Should I go look for him No. The only thing worse than being stranded is being lost. At least one of us knew where the other was. Myself not being the privileged bearer of this information, I stayed tethered to my bench.

As I sat, I could feel myself becoming one with the bench, the molecules within my body slowly changing into wood one-by-one. Before long, I would be more bench than man. I had to do something. I had to fight back, to save the remaining human parts of me. So, I did the only thing I could.

I took a nap. Hoping to fall into a sleep-induced time warp, I pulled my yellow "Bean There Done That" hat over my head and closed my eyes.

As I napped, I dreamt of perfectly placid lakes and serene sunrises...and being picked up...or even just adopted.

An undisclosed amount of time later, I awoke, jarred from sleep by the sound of a voice. I tipped my hat back. There standing above me was my father. Breaking free of my benchly prison, I stood up.

Meeting that late person can be an emotionally conflicting experience. You're frustrated at their lateness, but simultaneously overjoyed they finally showed up. Where you find yourself between these two can vary depending on the circumstance. In my case, the later won out, partly because I had to take pity on his situation.

I looked down at my Dad's foot. He was walking around in a sock wrapped in what looked like a produce bag snagged straight from the grocery store. I knew he'd gone to the doctor to get his ankle checked. What I didn't know was that they were going to bag it like a bundle of apples. For being so expensive, the medical profession really knows how to make you feel like you've gotten your money's worth.

So there we were, reunited at last, Dad walking around in a grocery bag, me putting on my best hobo impression. If we played it off right, I figured we had a pretty good chance of making it as a traveling comedy team...at least as good a chance as meeting each other on time. With that we walked off into the parking lot, bagged, but not beaten, sloppily dressed, but not defeated.

How I felt after being reclaimed.  

(For maximal effect, read in voice reminiscent of Braveheart) 

FREEEEDOOOOM!