Lost friends and Lasting Memories

Today I searched for an old girlfriend to see if I could learn something about her life. Rennea and I dated back in the late 60's in Grand Rapids, Michigan and in 1970 while I was living out in San Jose, California I convinced her to hitch a ride with my roomates and return with them from Michigan. She did, bringing with her a sense of humor and energy that I was missing in my life.
Rennea was 17 or so when I first met her. I was 21. She loved teasing me to loosen up when I was uptight. I was raised to never swear. I remember just about having a heart attack once when I heard my slightly drunk father say "Damn" (or maybe it was "Hell")as he gave a speech at a bowling banquet when I was probably 20.  That's an odd pairing; "bowling" and "banquet."
So Rennea knew this about my upbringing and used to stand behind people I was talking to and mouth the word "fuck, fuck, fuck"  She did it over and over again while I tried to remain composed and focused on the person in front of me.  She broke down that rigid wall of language that kept me away from people.
We had a lot of fun and she showed little reverence for fuddy duddies and those who thought they were better than us. I loved that about her. I guess she was a good role model for me.
So, she moved to California and I remember when I took her for a job interview at a JC Penney store in San Jose, Rennea insisted on spelling and signing her name with a lower case "r."  It was a time of rebellion. The woman interviewing her said it had to be capitalized. I don't remember who won that one, but Rennea did get the job.
Then I had to hitch hike back to Michigan to work for two weeks so we could pay the rent, and when I got back a few weeks later (after hitch hiking back) she had moved into a commune, put my money in the bank for safe keeping and was dating another guy. I moved in there for a short time. The money was still mine and came in handy. I liked her too much to feel really bad and we remained friends as I moved back to Michigan and she remained in California.
Years later I moved back to California. I was able to meet her husband Don and their little son Ethan on a later date when I was hitch-hiking from Southern California to Canada. 
There are bits and pieces here I'll share another time.

At one time I surprised her by learning where she worked in San Jose at a time I was attending a state conference for School Psychologists in the early 90's. I went into the Macy's store where she worked, spotted her at a perfume counter, and walked up asking "Do you have this in Purple?"  She looked up and was delighted to see me for the first time in 20 years. We chatted some before I had to return to attend workshops and she had to get back to work. That was the last time I saw her. 
Now today, I did a search for her on Facebook. I found her son Ethan, now 31, and wrote to him asking how she was. Then I did a search on Google and found her obituary. She died last July 21, 2009. She was born on August 31, 1949. I am so sad tonight.

I've come to a fork in the road. Should I, As Yogi would say, "Take it?"

So, for the past few days I have been imagining life in another world; say, Southeast Asia or Mexico. I want to shed myself of some of the tethers that hold me bound to the modern world and retreat to a shack on the beach or a flat down some tropical lane. I'll need help with the plan.  I learned that it's easy to bring a dog into Cambodia; as a pet, not for lunch, you nitwit. 
I have friends and distinct blood relatives in Thailand and would love to live the simple life there as well. My travels to both countries have shown me the friendly people, life with less stress, and the tropical though turbulent weather that can bring heavy rain or sweltering sun. I could shed my sweaters and jackets; leave them behind. I could sell my car since all I'd need would be a motorbike with a box big enough for Pappy on the back.
I have thought that I might cash in one of my retirement plans as a short term remedy to pay off the trailer and head out of town. But, that would mean less to live on later.

I have always acted on such dreams; packing my motorcycle and furniture into a U-Haul back in the 70's to move to the westcoast and college. Heading to Paris to meet a stunning Czech woman and her daughter with the hopes of becoming a family. Coming out of retirement to live and work in the Southwest. Trimming back to live in a trailer and drive a used ugly car. So, I've never worried too much about the downside of such adventures. That has left me out of touch and disconnected at times. That has opened doors while not leaving a trace. Any thoughts from any of you?

Ah. So that's what it's all about....

'Going "large" for my aging friends and for my own eyes. . I awoke early this morning mid-thought about how my life has both prepared me and previewed where I was headed. That whole "nature/nurture" thing.
My earliest memory was of life on the west side of Grand Rapids, Michigan, over off of West Fulton on Lexington Street.  It's hard to know how much of these memories is rumor, hand-me-down stories, or true memories from the vault of a childhood. I remember walking around the corner from our two story house to visit some of the businesses on Fulton. On our street there were only home along with the Lexington School , and a fire station. But, on West Fulton, a few blocks across the Grand River from downtown Grand Rapids where the tall buildings were, there were small shops, restaurants, and maybe a neighborhood store or two. My favorite place was a pawn shop or "junk store" owned by a guy, I remember as "Adam."  I used to toddle over there when I was around two or three and just hang out. I can't imagine what I did to entertain the people there, but I was always welcomed. It seemed like there was a small grill next door as well. Someone in one of the places always rewarded me with candy or gum if I let them kiss me. At least that is the way I remember it.
So, if you want to explore the surface influence of this experience, you could point to my life long sweet tooth. Or if you want to go a bit deeper, you could suggest that I learned early that affection came at a cost. Or maybe even; "Bribery makes the heart grow fonder." 

But, I think what I learned was that I was comfortable meeting folks, talking with people, and venturing out into the world beyond my sanctuary. I guess I developed some sense of direction as well, because I always found my way home. It was only a half a block or so.
So, had hints and rewards. Look back. Look forward. Look within.
Tomorrow; The girl on the porch and the lady at the DMV.

Old photos in black and white. Imitations of Life

My brother sent me some old photos from our late sister's family archives. They arrived today. After fighting through the layers of heavy duty taping and bubble wrap, I leafed through the pictures. It was strange to find the family portraits full of vaguely familar people. There is a set from the mid-50's that was taken in a photography studio our father used to work in. Dad worked at Kendale Studios in Grand Rapids, Michigan (The Postal Service is one designation I won't use when writing these "letters").  That would put me at 10, Bec at 12, and Jane at 14. Tom was only 4 then. The set were proofs taken as an effort to get a photo of a "typical" American family of the 50's for a Sunday morning TV show about such a family. The studio had contracted to find models and provide the pictures and our Dad said that his family would perfectly serve as such a family. I don't really know what the show was about. But do remember our photo showed up on the TV screen Sunday mornings on some show on Channel 8, I think it was. All of us, including my two sisters had really short hair and sat somewhat stiffly posing in a group, attentively looking at Dad as he read a book to us. The proofs that Tom sent me were small; maybe 2"X3" so it was hard to tell what the book prop was. It could have been a religious tract, or a furniture catalog.  The pictures were varied by who was in them. Some had all 6 of us in them; looking at the camera, attending to Dad, or oddly looking off to the distant left as though we expected a bus to arrive, or bad news to enter the room.  In this last one little Tom looked down at me from our mother's lap, as I and the others peered across the room.
There were some photos with just Dad, Mom and two or 3 of us, some laughing, and in one Dad, Mom, Jane and I are sticking our tongues out for the photographer. Or at least, 3 of us were. Jane was just smiling. I don't know who looks stupider. And I don't know which photo they finally chose for the typical family shot on Sundays. But, I remember feeling like a celebrity or sorts with a Dad who had "connections."

I looked that those photos and some of the others that arrived today. I looked at them hard and found it puzzling that the figures didn't strike more emotion in me. But, they all seemed so young and so far away. And 3 of them are no longer here. I do miss my mother, father and sister Bec.

 Get out the old photos and sit down with those in them when you can. Give them all  a hug, and hold onto the memories.

A small Spanish traveling circus in town under the stars, Dome of Death finale.

What a perfect way to experience our small town flavor here in Superior tonight. I had intended to attend our town council meeting tonight, but remembered there had been Circus posters all over town and they were in town tonight. So, I drove down the road near the RV park and found a dusty lot full of vans and cars, and trapese artists appearing just above the tent top. So, I bought a ticket and came back to let my neighbor Fahlene know about it. She decided to join me at the circus. It was a a small circus, full of energy, charm and humor. The local Hispanic families filled the arena. Time out to watch "Celebrity Rehab."  More later...

This small roving band of circus folk brought life to our poor little town and we loved it. The small circular open air tent was ringed by bleachers on two sides; a third folded up for overflow crowds which didn't show up. The performers were darked skinned, handsome, beautiful Mexicans and Columbians who may have been family members. They ranged from a tiny 6 year or so girl with sequins who postured and preened while a 12-year old or so boy balanced atop a table, with a board on a rolling cylinder. He juggled and swayed and showed his years of practice; never wavering or falling off. The was followed by a young clown who entertained as a bridge between acts. The ringmaster spoke mostly Spanish, which is the primary language of most of the audience. He also spoke English at times, introducing the acts and "arousing" the crowd. But, most of the time it was hard to tell what he was speaking because the loud speaker system they employed was so distorted and garbled. But, he entertained us with a colorful ever-changing tuxes, and jackets.
Most acts were trapese and wire balancing acts. They were "low wire" by some circus standards, but were very entertaining and professional. The trapese artists were the same I'd seen earlier in the day as they emerged above the tent top and were seen from the road out front. There were two young men and a clown and they were great; doing flips mid air before grabbing an adjacent trapese and returning to their perch. There was a Columbian couple who road a bycicle on a high wire as she road on his shoulders from one end to the other. The finale was the Dome of Death with two motorcycles, crossing paths in tight formation within the small wrought iron dome. Wow. They were good.
They set up on the side of the road for one night; two shows, and the town folks who attended walked away with some very special memories on a cool Thursday night.

General Funk...

I don't think most use the work "funk" much anymore. It's not a medical or atmospheric term that means exactly the same to everyone. And for God's sake it has Disco connotations!
But, this is how I have been feeling the past few days. I hit the sack (went to bed) at 7:30 last night after an exhausting day with little accomplished. It felt like a mix of depression, stress, boredom, and old age. A toxic mix, but a curable one.  Finances are stressors right now, and after dealing with my first exchange folks at AARP RX, their Part D Medicare program and changing my auto insurance to save some money, some of what I was feeling can be blamed for misinformation, long on-hold sessions with irritating music, and trying to make sure that the steps I take are in the proper sequences so I don't jeopardize my health, and/or safety. And I'm only on one prescription. I felt concern for those who have multfiple prescriptions and doses to worry about and who are not assertive or patient enough to ask hard questions, over and over again.

Well today the sun out. My Mexico dreams are on hold until a bit more dust settles in my life. I still have no strength, but will try to get Pappy out for a 3 mile walk in a little while. I think exercise helps build my stamina no matter how tired or weak I might feel. So, off I go with Pappy.

Stood Up...and I've still got the tickets to see Simon and Garfunkle...

Sometimes we get what we deserve.

Sometimes we don't have a clue.

I still have two balcony seats to see Simon and Garfunkle in concert. Granted they are from Feb. 8, 1968 and all the scalpers are probably dead, but my plans for a birthday date with a young woman I met at a MoPar auto parts office were with good intentions. I can't even remember her name (some defense mechanisms are really good), but around 15 years later I was visiting Michigan one Winter and ran into her at the mall with her young daughter. She never appologized that I remember, but said she'd moved to Canada to teach and have been out of town.
That reminds me of the excuse I got at Snelling and Snelling Employment Agency ("Northtown" as it was introduced to clients over the phone) when they told me my employment agent had left to take over an uncle's ranch in Alaska and was no longer available to help me find work. This in an office made up of "Clue" characters with names like Mr. White, and Les Taylor. All of them fake, with desk signs and business cards to match.  I told the office manager I bet I could do my late agent's job as well as he did. They agreed to give me a try and just like that, I had a job. I watched the Chet Huntly video pep talk, and adopted the name Les Taylor (Yup, He is me now) which was already running in the papers. I worked very hard making cold calls to all sorts of business even remotely related to what a former milk man might do. Though I'd never met my client Lee S. and didn't know if I was pronouncing his name correctly, I told the bottling companies and beer delivery companies who answered my calls, that he was a determined, hard-working guy, who was personable, and well liked. I secured him several interviews which when they were offered to him (by someone else since after one day I'd had enough of the charade) were presented as almost sure things that he only had to show up for.
This proved to be one of many "one-day" jobs I had in my life.
So, what do we, or rather I, deserve?  I had stood up a sweet girl named Candy about 4 years before the S & G concert. She had been dating a friend of mine and I took a liking ot her. Not enough to be honest or true though. At least not after running into a kind of Susan Summers type of blond while cruising around Grand Rapids, I saw her driving and paid more attention to my hormones, and her fancy glasses with the poodles on the corners, than I did to my heart, and brain. I stood up Candy in order to take this new girl to the stock car races at the Speedrome. That was the last time we went out and the last time Candy's mother would let her talk to me. I got what I deserved 4 years later. 
Oh wait my birthday date was Trudy.
How did I ever get so lucky as to find Pappy at the Humane Society?

So, any takers for two classic tickets to see Simon and Garfunkle?

Media; Then and Now.. Hey, if it's in the paper it must be true.

A small side note; 3 days ago my dad would have been 95. He died in 1986 after a life of smoking. I figured a long time ago, when his mother lay dying that she was 90, he was 60, and I was 30; exact numerical generations apart.

 My first memory of a newspaper that mattered was when I became a paperboy for the now defunct Grand Rapids Herald; a daily morning paper delivered in Western Michigan up until 1963. When I was 11 I stood in the middle of Main Street in Lowell, Michigan, the small farm town I grew up in, and shouted out, while waving a paper in my hand, "Extra, Extra, Ike Wins by a Landslide." It wasn't Times Square, but it was big news and our small group of newpaper boys sold lots of papers that day. This was Nov., 1956.

It was a great paper to work for and my friends and I made the hard work seem like play on warm summer mornings. In  the bitter cold Winter days we met at Mrs. Fuller's house where we would fold our papers around the heater in her living room. We were all bundled up in our mittens, scarfs, and heavy winter coats to ward off the cold of the dark mornings.
The paper did much to support and encourage our efforts, both to provide good service to our customers, and to expand circulation of the paper in the area. Some of us were taken by car to solicit in other small towns; signing up new customers with the promise of good service and prompt delivery. I don't know about the other boys (no girls had routes, but my sister Jane helped sometimes on Sundays when the paper was it's biggest), but I was a pretty good salesman even at 11 or 12 years of age. We would be dropped off in rural towns and told to knock  on doors and get people to sign up for the paper and insurance that was offered as well. I would cajol and compliment people about their nice lawns, and well trimmed hedges. I also assured them that the boy delivering the papers would do a great job, (even though I didn't have any idea who he was or how hard he worked,)
The Herald offered us a chancd to buy things either my making mayments or cashing in points we earned through sales. This is how I bought a new Schwinn bicycle and also bought gifts for my family at Christmastime.  The paper also held contests for the best sellers and I won several trips because of mt sales skills. I won a trip to Milwaukee, Wisconsin and took the Milwaukee Clipper ferry across Lake Michigan to stay in a YMCA, and go either to see the Milwaukee Braves play or go to a local amusement park. I chose the park. I later won a trip to Silver Beach Amusement Park in southwest Michigan on the shores of Lake Michigan. The best trip I got was when I finished 2nd in a state-wide competition for new customers and won a trip to Jacksonville, Florida, as the age of 11. I traveled Ted R. a Dutch boy who had recently emigrated to the States and finished 3rd in the State. We had done very well for two boys from a small farm town against those boys from bigger cities. Our local paper, the Lowell Ledger posted a photo of us and a short story. To my dismay they reported wrongly that Ted had placed 2nd and I had placed 3rd., But, we had a fantastic time taking a train from Detroit to Florida, walking the beach at Daytona, and drinking from the Fountain of Youth in Saint Augustine.  I wonder if he is "forever young" too,.

Much more to come about writing for a campus newspaper in San Diego, and moving on to Humboldt State in Northern California where my journalism program put in the dark room late at night, and down on the local nude beach during the day; not all on the same day thought.

Beware of Falling Coconuts..

This week I cut loose of some "baggage." I cut the minutes allowed for my Verizon cell phone, saving 20 bucks a month. Ended my broadband subscription with Verizon, saving 60 bucks a month. Changed insurance companies; saving another 25 bucks a month. All this in an effort to clear the path for a move to a simpler life. Starting down in Mexico, maybe by the sea shore, maybe under a coconut tree (if they grow there.)  My life has been a pattern of aquisition, consumption, selling, purging, and poverty. I continue on that path. I plan to drive down to San Felipe, Baja, Mexico next week and check out life there, for me and my dog.
When I was young I lived a simple, some would say poor life. I remember one Christmas, 1951 or 52, I think when the only thing I remember getting was a dozen eggs; fresh from the farm across the road, no doubt. That was the best Christmas ever. My parents, and I suppose Santa Claus, knew how much I loved eggs, but since there were 6 of us, I was never able to have as many as I really wanted for breakfast or for any meal. Getting that dozen eggs, in a pink plastic egg container that I knew to be my mother's was as though I'd struck it rich. I could eat as many as I wanted at any given time. I don't remember eating all at one sitting, but who knows?
I think my brother got a new Teddy Bear. I got eggs. And I was sooo happy.
Then there were the years my parents bought me the best they could afford and I went out and got myself something better. I got a used electric train for Christmas. Since I had been working since I was 11 years old, selling newspapers, I went to the butcher store on Main Street in Lowell, Michigan, where we lived, and bought a brand new American Flyer Electric Train they had for sale. I guess they sold more than meat. Then another year my parents (I think my Dad was behind it) bought me a used bike. It has toussles on the handle grips, and a new plastic seat cover, and was probably painted. It was fixed up pretty well, but still didn't match the new bikes the neighbor kids got. So, through my newspaper job I bought a new Schwinn bike for myself. I never heard how that made my parents feel, but I was proud and happy.  Just in case I missed saying this to you, "Merry Christmas" or Happy Holidays.   Forgive me for any mispelling. I wish this blogspot had a spell check.  
Next time old media, new media....

Cheap Skate..Trimming the fat.

My home and car reflect some much needed changes I undertook this past year to scale back on expenses. Since I am not working consistantly had to move into a 5th wheel trailer and get rid of my Miata. I decided as penence to buy what many consider a giant mistake by General Motors; a 2003 Pontiac Aztek. I guess in light of what has happened lately, that can hardly be called the kiss of death.. This car is really a great small crossover and has been a great car for me.

I live in a small RV Park in what was once a prosperous mining town 60 miles east of Phoenix, AZ. It's a town in which several movies have been shot, most notedly, "U-Turn" a 1997 movie by Oliver Stone. The whole film was shot here in Superior and while cosmetic changes were made for the movies, the town still reflects the images shown in the movie.

Today I have $00.00 dollars in the bank. I guess that is a true reflection of my riches at this time. But, my dog Pappy and I have plenty of food, and lots of sunshine. It is a good life. Granted she isn't getting her "Greenies" for doing her duty since I gave her the last piece (I have to cut them in half) to her last night after she went out to pee). I am rewarding her with small pieces of cheese until we can afford to get her regular treats. She loves cheese. If I mention the word I can hear her little bell ring as she moves to check out the possiblities. I bought bell in a mountain town in Switzerland a couple of years ago. It's a small "cowbell" and helps me keep track of her if she gets loose to sniff out cats or lizards near our trailer. Pappy has several things from my trips to Europe. I think that makes her a bit worldly herself. She has a collar I bought in a small pet shop along the Seine in Paris, as well as a rain jacket from there. I felt a bit snobbish about her accessories until I saw they were all made in the USA. Go figure.

Let me know how you are cutting corners or trimming the fat. Times can be tough, but cheap can be fun. 'See you soon. Tim

City of Light, and dreams.

This is the last time I was in Paris, last October, 2009. I always feel pure joy and exhileration when I first arrive in Paris and head into the city on the train from the airport.