All of My Ink is on the Inside

Every tattoo I have is printed on my heart and in my head. . .

I have never understood tattoos. Even now my age addled attempts to understand are somewhere between a distraction and a serious attempt to understand the truth. Much of the ink I’ve seen seems to be a form of artistic expression - sometimes a simple direct message or an adornment much like jewelry and other times a revelation of some kind of pain. I have never seen any kind of pronouncement of glorious success or happiness. Perhaps I just don’t speak the language. Frequently, in my opinion, it’s an indecipherable story known only to a select few - perhaps, in fact, just the bearer of the art.

Roe, the father I mentioned in a bit a few months back, had an anchor tattoo and some reference to the Navy I think. He must have gotten that in the 1940s and wore it till the end. I don’t think it was a direct parallel to most of what we see today but I suppose there are still a few wearing a simple biological post such as his. The heck with Instagram and our instant world of e-this and e-that the anchor said well before its time.

If the ink in my head were to illustrate, even vaguely coherent messaging, it would present as rustic - nearly child-like art, expressing past pains that I have waded through - a simile of wandering off trail and into the bush while backpacking. Bushwhacking - Grizzlies, wolves and mountain lions - oh my. Muted colors would interestingly clash and I suppose there would be plenty of abstract, scribblesque black ink outlines. Regret in grays and muddy yellows - leaves, trees and other natural items trying to explain the whys and the whens and the recent pains of friends and acquaintances that I have witnessed. Oh and the helplessness and grasping vines of hopelessness reaching towards my heart only to be derailed by an army of illegible stick figure-like entities of the kind and big-hearted we’ve gotten to know over the course of the last decade or so. Scribbles and more scribbles expressing a life filled with love, frustration, wonderment and a bit of confusion as we try to make sense out of unexpected circumstances.

But all of that said, the reality is that the pain symbols would be vastly outnumbered by the hope and gratefulness I enjoy most of the time.

- excuse me for a second I’m feeling ancient - deep breath . . .

Now where was I - oh that’s right, racing along one of our fabulous rivers on my bike for 30 or 40 miles. Why? because I still can. Relishing the success and happiness of our children, grandchildren and now the heart melting sweetness of our 2 great granddaughters. How can this be? Wasn’t it just a minute ago that Peggy and I were strolling down the Champs-Élysées reveling in our 40th anniversary, a souvenir here, a delightful meal there, sidewalk cafes, businessmen in suits pedaling to work and then in the twinkling of an eye, here we are. Well it’s not a bad place to be. In fact, it’s actually a lovely place to be but just a bit surprising at how fast we got here. What now? Is that some kind of abstract alien ship sitting on my heart? Another imaginary tattoo? Who cares, here we are. Live every minute you have - enjoy and appreciate every bit of your ink. Scribble away!

Merry Christmas,

Mike

Unsupervised Wall Art - Permanent Marker on Plaster 36cm x 40cm October 2023 by Great Granddaughter Alaina