Hi Everybody,
I have just gotten done looking at a few of my posts I've left so far. I wish to apologize to people for the grammatical errors and spelling mistakes. When I type, I can get pretty intense. Plus, after I'm done hammering my thoughts out, I will only briefly try to catch some obvious errors that need correcting before I click the button to actually have them put to this page. In my last post on my time at Hamann, I was embarrased to spot that I spelled nuturer (among others) incorrectly. I hope the impact of what I'm trying to say is still managing to come through in spite of my clumsiness. I imagine that if one was to observe me at a keyboard when I'm typing, I must resemble the look of a mad scientist at work. On top of it, when I made my last post, I was also in need of getting over to my Mom's house.
Friday, October 30, 2009
Thursday, October 29, 2009
Patriotic Songs (Requiem For The Backstabber)
It was the Fall of 1967 when I entered Hamann and started Kindergarten. The woman who taught us kids there was Mrs. Heisch. If you really want to get a sense of what it was like to have been there, all I have to tell is that I remember singing "My country tis of thee/sweet land of liberty/of thee I sing". My hearing impairment prevented me from figuring out the rest of the words. To this day, I still do not know the words beyond what I've just quoted for you. I used to just muble and fake it the rest of the way. I was able to figure out the Pledge of Allegiance because I had kids next to me who were reciting it loud enough that I could eventually get the whole thing down in my head so that I wouldn't have to fake it anymore.
My hearing impairment is based mostly in my right ear. I was born with about half gone in my right and about a quarter gone in my left ear as a result of Mom's rubella. I also have tinnitus. The ringing in my bad right ear has gone on since the day I was born and has never stopped. I have never known a world without it. I will have shifts in the sound during the course of a day, but it never stops.
When I was at Hamann and I was in class, I would always position myself to the right side of calss as you were facing the chalkboard and Mrs. Heisch. As far as I was concerned, Mrs. Heisch and the chalkboard were one and the same because they both shared the same personality. They had none.
I never really feared Mrs. Heisch, but she was an incredibly distant person who did not make much contact with me during the course of the year. I had no idea of what she was up to.
A few of us kids who would eventually go on to St. Clare's were there. We didn't really connect then. But there were two fellow students there who stood out to me and left deep impressions on me at that early age. There was the first girl I ever had a crush on. She was a little blonde named Cindy. And then there was a kid who struck a lot of fear in me because he was just plain crazy. I don't remember his name. He had the distinction of having successfully run at full speed and put his head through one of our classroom windows. I recall him attempting this at least two other times without success. I think that on one of the attempts, he hit the glass and only put a crack in it. I studiously avoided this kid.
Mrs. Heisch was supposed to be a teacher and a nurturer. Instead, she turned out to be a backstabber that I sang patriotic songs for and made sure that I slept on my mat during naptime as part of being a good boy. I had no idea that she was observing that I didn't interact much with other kids and was plotting to have me removed from the Santa Clara School system. Instead, she got it in her head that I was retarded and that I needed to be transferred to a school for them. She began arranging for me to be tested by people. I was taken out of class at least two times that I can recall and given tests and interviewed by two adults to determine if I was retarded or not. I told my Mom about this and she went through the roof. She found out from Heisch that she was attempting to get the proof she needed to get me pulled out. My family doctor and a cousin of mine who taught at Hamann Elementary got involved to tell her that it was not the case at all. I don't know if my hearing had been brought up. If it was, I don't think it convinced her. I think what happened was that enough of the schoolyear passed by that it wasn't feasible on her part to continue the fight anymore.
Obviously, I hate her for what she did. But there is something else that I hate her more for that I've rarely spoken about before. She knew that I occasionally spoke to Cindy from time to time in very brief spurts. I recall very clearly to this day a conversation I had with Cindy where we were talking about marshmallows (sp?). Because of my hearing, I kept saying marshmellows or matmellows and Cindy spent a few minutes getting me to hear it correctly as marshmallows to no avail. I didn't have enough high-end frequencies in my ears to hear the "a" part of marshmallows as well as her soft voice making it doubly tough to figure out what she was trying to impart to me. To this day, I am convinced that Mrs. Heisch knew I had a crush on her and she egged Cindy on to have a conversation with me or that she got Cindy to reveal the contents of that very conversation with her to give her the ammunition she needed to prove I was retarded. She used the vulnerability of my crush towards Cindy as a weapon against me. That is what I hate her for the most. She spent most of the year trying to get me kicked out of the school and yet she didn't get the nut-cased windowsmasher kicked out. I wonder if that kid is even still alive?
Other wise, I spent most of the year winging through everything and just picking up on what she would write on the board or if I was close enough to her to hear her voice when she taught.
My last day at Hamann was the worst for me because it was the last day I ever saw Cindy. Her mother came to pick her up and I watched the both of them from a distance in the schoolyard as they conversed. I was sitting inside a big city sewer pipe that the city left on the schoolground for us kids to play in. I was in that pipe all alone when I saw Cindy's Mom take her hand and then they both walked out of the yard. It was the first time that my heart really sank over a girl and it hurt.
I think that Doug M. and I (Doug would go on to St. Clare's though he would not stay there) went walking to school one time together from his house and we took took some shortcuts to get there. The reason why I remember this is because one of the shortcuts involved going through somebody's backyard. The man of the house spotted us going through his yard and he got pissed off at us and yelled at us for doing so. I felt really uncomfortable afterwards.
I learned some things at Hamann, but it was through my own powers of observation that anything sunk in. I don't recall much as far as lessons were concerned. Hamann was a place where I hung out by myself again and acted as an observer. Things would change a bit when I went to St. Clare's.
I'm sure Mrs. Heisch is now long dead. She wasn't a spring chicken when she taught us. I wish she could have learned that I made it through college so that I could have smirked back at her.
My hearing impairment is based mostly in my right ear. I was born with about half gone in my right and about a quarter gone in my left ear as a result of Mom's rubella. I also have tinnitus. The ringing in my bad right ear has gone on since the day I was born and has never stopped. I have never known a world without it. I will have shifts in the sound during the course of a day, but it never stops.
When I was at Hamann and I was in class, I would always position myself to the right side of calss as you were facing the chalkboard and Mrs. Heisch. As far as I was concerned, Mrs. Heisch and the chalkboard were one and the same because they both shared the same personality. They had none.
I never really feared Mrs. Heisch, but she was an incredibly distant person who did not make much contact with me during the course of the year. I had no idea of what she was up to.
A few of us kids who would eventually go on to St. Clare's were there. We didn't really connect then. But there were two fellow students there who stood out to me and left deep impressions on me at that early age. There was the first girl I ever had a crush on. She was a little blonde named Cindy. And then there was a kid who struck a lot of fear in me because he was just plain crazy. I don't remember his name. He had the distinction of having successfully run at full speed and put his head through one of our classroom windows. I recall him attempting this at least two other times without success. I think that on one of the attempts, he hit the glass and only put a crack in it. I studiously avoided this kid.
Mrs. Heisch was supposed to be a teacher and a nurturer. Instead, she turned out to be a backstabber that I sang patriotic songs for and made sure that I slept on my mat during naptime as part of being a good boy. I had no idea that she was observing that I didn't interact much with other kids and was plotting to have me removed from the Santa Clara School system. Instead, she got it in her head that I was retarded and that I needed to be transferred to a school for them. She began arranging for me to be tested by people. I was taken out of class at least two times that I can recall and given tests and interviewed by two adults to determine if I was retarded or not. I told my Mom about this and she went through the roof. She found out from Heisch that she was attempting to get the proof she needed to get me pulled out. My family doctor and a cousin of mine who taught at Hamann Elementary got involved to tell her that it was not the case at all. I don't know if my hearing had been brought up. If it was, I don't think it convinced her. I think what happened was that enough of the schoolyear passed by that it wasn't feasible on her part to continue the fight anymore.
Obviously, I hate her for what she did. But there is something else that I hate her more for that I've rarely spoken about before. She knew that I occasionally spoke to Cindy from time to time in very brief spurts. I recall very clearly to this day a conversation I had with Cindy where we were talking about marshmallows (sp?). Because of my hearing, I kept saying marshmellows or matmellows and Cindy spent a few minutes getting me to hear it correctly as marshmallows to no avail. I didn't have enough high-end frequencies in my ears to hear the "a" part of marshmallows as well as her soft voice making it doubly tough to figure out what she was trying to impart to me. To this day, I am convinced that Mrs. Heisch knew I had a crush on her and she egged Cindy on to have a conversation with me or that she got Cindy to reveal the contents of that very conversation with her to give her the ammunition she needed to prove I was retarded. She used the vulnerability of my crush towards Cindy as a weapon against me. That is what I hate her for the most. She spent most of the year trying to get me kicked out of the school and yet she didn't get the nut-cased windowsmasher kicked out. I wonder if that kid is even still alive?
Other wise, I spent most of the year winging through everything and just picking up on what she would write on the board or if I was close enough to her to hear her voice when she taught.
My last day at Hamann was the worst for me because it was the last day I ever saw Cindy. Her mother came to pick her up and I watched the both of them from a distance in the schoolyard as they conversed. I was sitting inside a big city sewer pipe that the city left on the schoolground for us kids to play in. I was in that pipe all alone when I saw Cindy's Mom take her hand and then they both walked out of the yard. It was the first time that my heart really sank over a girl and it hurt.
I think that Doug M. and I (Doug would go on to St. Clare's though he would not stay there) went walking to school one time together from his house and we took took some shortcuts to get there. The reason why I remember this is because one of the shortcuts involved going through somebody's backyard. The man of the house spotted us going through his yard and he got pissed off at us and yelled at us for doing so. I felt really uncomfortable afterwards.
I learned some things at Hamann, but it was through my own powers of observation that anything sunk in. I don't recall much as far as lessons were concerned. Hamann was a place where I hung out by myself again and acted as an observer. Things would change a bit when I went to St. Clare's.
I'm sure Mrs. Heisch is now long dead. She wasn't a spring chicken when she taught us. I wish she could have learned that I made it through college so that I could have smirked back at her.
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
Odds & Loose Ends # 1
For those of you who used to know me from Marist High School, I remember quite a few of you who used to talk to me about your various boyfriend/girlfriend problems. I was being a good sport and trying to help you out using common sense and powers of observation. You surely must have known that it wasn't experience on my part when I used to try to help you out. I have always wanted to ask those people with whom I tried to help out through those two years I was there, "Did you ever stop to consider the irony that was present when you used to talk to me about these things and considered the fact that I would have killed to have had your problems? " I used to help out a lot of people and I don't recall that anybody tried to help me with perhaps finding a girlfriend. I did, however, get told by friends in the class ahead of me that I shouldn't even bother to have tried pursuing some of the girls I pursued. I was even told by someone from that class that I wasn't good looking enough to go after some of the girls I went after and that I needed to lower my standards. Of that group of people I used to know, only one person has ever come forth to tell me that they were embarrassed by having tried to convince me of that at the time. This person actually called me up, years later, and apologized to me for having bought into the idea. Because of that, I will always speak positively of that person. He's the only one who came to his senses and had the guts to speak up. In short, I will never let my thinness, my IBS, my wearing hearing aids and being a little different prevent me from my dream of being with a beautiful woman/women (whatever the case may be). Who are you to tell me otherwise? I do think of something that my late Dad once told me. It makes me wonder if, in the Afterlife, he wishes that he hadn't said it. He told me the year that he was to pass away that he thought I was going to have so many women knocking down my door that I wasn't going to know what to do with them. Dad? Do you still know something that I don't? I hope I don't have to wait until I'm with you before what you said to me comes true.
I support three organizations-MoveOn.org, ONE.org and Amnesty International. I have known about Amnesty International for many years. In a post that I will address one of these days, I will tell you the story of how I became aware of it from my having been at Bellarmine for my first two years of High School.
I've been thinking a lot about the first house I lived in on Franklin Street lately. I keep having this fantasy that I could be in a kind of commune type situation where a bunch of friends and I could live there so that I could occupy the upper floor. I have especially been thinking about the bedroom where my oldest brother used to sleep and the one my other brother and I slept in. I keep thinking about how I could have one of my small stereo systems in the room that my oldest brother had and I could hole myself up there. I could also have my headphones-only system in there as well. I just keep thinking of all of the '60s history I lived through in that house and all of the associated music to go with it. Over the years, I'll be listening to the old Decca/Brian Jones Era period of The Rolling Stones and I'll have very vivid associations and feelings of that house and time going on as I'm listening to the music. I've even listened to those Stones CDs and have imagined myself being back there listening to those very CDs and conjuring up the literal happenings and feelings I had when I lived in that house. I got to go and revisit the house back in the 5-month 1996-1997 period when I was down there. It was really amazing how much of the upstairs had not changed at all. I will talk about this house a lot more as time goes on. I will most definitely talk about the Camino Drive house as well as my favorite times occurred in that one.
I've never wanted kids. I just wanted a woman. Now, I just want a woman I can grow old with because I don't want to grow old alone. My kids are of the four-legged variety. The German Shepherd I have is the love of my life. She is going to be 10. You'd get sick if you saw just how much affection we shower each other with everyday.
I'm thinking of Eric Clapton today and I hope he is recovering nicely from gallbladder surgery.
I am entertaining the idea that I might go to see U2 in Oakland or Seattle next June provided that I have the money and that the CD reissue year is light. What I'm really hoping for is that Cowboy Junkies will come through Eugene again. If they do, it won't matter how light or heavy the CD year will be for me next year, I'll be there to say hello to Margo and enjoy the band.
I support three organizations-MoveOn.org, ONE.org and Amnesty International. I have known about Amnesty International for many years. In a post that I will address one of these days, I will tell you the story of how I became aware of it from my having been at Bellarmine for my first two years of High School.
I've been thinking a lot about the first house I lived in on Franklin Street lately. I keep having this fantasy that I could be in a kind of commune type situation where a bunch of friends and I could live there so that I could occupy the upper floor. I have especially been thinking about the bedroom where my oldest brother used to sleep and the one my other brother and I slept in. I keep thinking about how I could have one of my small stereo systems in the room that my oldest brother had and I could hole myself up there. I could also have my headphones-only system in there as well. I just keep thinking of all of the '60s history I lived through in that house and all of the associated music to go with it. Over the years, I'll be listening to the old Decca/Brian Jones Era period of The Rolling Stones and I'll have very vivid associations and feelings of that house and time going on as I'm listening to the music. I've even listened to those Stones CDs and have imagined myself being back there listening to those very CDs and conjuring up the literal happenings and feelings I had when I lived in that house. I got to go and revisit the house back in the 5-month 1996-1997 period when I was down there. It was really amazing how much of the upstairs had not changed at all. I will talk about this house a lot more as time goes on. I will most definitely talk about the Camino Drive house as well as my favorite times occurred in that one.
I've never wanted kids. I just wanted a woman. Now, I just want a woman I can grow old with because I don't want to grow old alone. My kids are of the four-legged variety. The German Shepherd I have is the love of my life. She is going to be 10. You'd get sick if you saw just how much affection we shower each other with everyday.
I'm thinking of Eric Clapton today and I hope he is recovering nicely from gallbladder surgery.
I am entertaining the idea that I might go to see U2 in Oakland or Seattle next June provided that I have the money and that the CD reissue year is light. What I'm really hoping for is that Cowboy Junkies will come through Eugene again. If they do, it won't matter how light or heavy the CD year will be for me next year, I'll be there to say hello to Margo and enjoy the band.
Friday, October 23, 2009
Letter To My St. Clare's Classmates # 1
I am going to attempt to rewrite what I composed last night before this site has an outage. On the last day of our being together, I was very sad about it all coming to an end. It was Graduation Day 1976. I can still recall seeing some groups of you having what could resemble conversation amid our parents scrambling us to get seated in Church. On this day though, I was feeling very lonely and very disconnected from you all as I know that you were getting concerned with how brittle I had become. Bill R. and I had been having an ongoing major fallout with other during the whole school year, I was going through mood swings and I knew the end was coming and I wasn't comfortable about it. When we all got done with the ceremony, that was it. I never got a last goodbye from anybody. I just left and went home to a new turntable and a pair of DWD speakers that were hand me downs from my brothers and dove into the new Rolling Stones album that just got released. It was the first post-Mick Taylor Era album-Black and Blue.
So who was this guy who walked among you for 6 years (Fall '68-Spring '70, Fall '72-Graduation '76)? Why was he like he was? In order for you to know, I need to take you back to a time before we ever got to know each other either at St. Clare's or at Hamann where a few of us went to Kindergarten.
What I am about to describe to you is something that has been a recurring theme throughout my life. It comes back to me frequently in thought. It is something I've brought up to God and to people I've known. It has a symbolic importance to me that I can't put a full value or estimation on. It just is.
I don't know where the place was. Even my Mom doesn't recall where this place was. She does recall that I went to more than one Nursery School. I believe that this particular Nursery School was a very large house. I did not spend a whole year there. I only spent a small portion of time there. All I know is that I don't believe that I ever spoke to anybody there. I never got to know any kids. I believe that my hearing impairment was preventing me from being very social. I also had a really close bond going with my Mom because of all of the heart problems I had. This particular experience that I am describing to you has to have taken place in early 1967. It is one of my earliest and most vivid memories that has stayed with me.
Another day at the school was rapidly coming to a close. I had been slowly walking around and killing time. There was a group of kids sitting outside in the patio area and they were seated in a semi-circle. I decided to join them. As we were sitting there, I was observing the sun as it was starting to set. I'm sitting there and I don't believe any of these kids had ever heard me utter a word before at all. We were all pretty silent. There might have been one or two words mumbled among the group, but there was essentially quiet. All of a sudden, I just blurted it out out of nowhere. It's just that I really felt it from deep within myself when I said it. I said, "Please Sun, don't go down yet." The kids heard me very clearly and they all looked at me a little bit. And then we just sat there. As time went on, kids were getting plucked out one by one by the arrival of their parents coming to take them home. Eventually, I was one of them as well.
This moment in time has remained with me. Over the years, I have said this very thing. I am still saying it now. So, if you classmates have ever wondered why my being with you holds so much reverence to me, it's because I need your company and because I didn't want to sun to go down.
During the Summer of 1974, I got reminded of this event when Elton John released "Don't Let The Sun Go Down On Me" from off of the Caribou album. I also think of it when I listen to Bessie Smith sing the line in "St. Louis Blues" "I hate to see that evening sun go down".
I was emotional around you people because I didn't want the light of my days and my hope to disappear. I am writing in this blog for the same reason.
I just want to let you know that I'm going to cover a lot of ground. I also want to let you know that this is going to be a challenge for me as well. But I want to get it out. I love and miss all of you so much. When I speak of these different events, please know that I'm not doing this to hurt you in any way. I will take breaks from this type of writing directly to you and talk about other things. I have a lot to say to a lot of people. There are people who were not a part of our group that should know. I want them to know more about me. So, there you have it. This is my first letter to you. You are welcome to send one to me. If you want me to cover something that you are curious about, let me know.
So who was this guy who walked among you for 6 years (Fall '68-Spring '70, Fall '72-Graduation '76)? Why was he like he was? In order for you to know, I need to take you back to a time before we ever got to know each other either at St. Clare's or at Hamann where a few of us went to Kindergarten.
What I am about to describe to you is something that has been a recurring theme throughout my life. It comes back to me frequently in thought. It is something I've brought up to God and to people I've known. It has a symbolic importance to me that I can't put a full value or estimation on. It just is.
I don't know where the place was. Even my Mom doesn't recall where this place was. She does recall that I went to more than one Nursery School. I believe that this particular Nursery School was a very large house. I did not spend a whole year there. I only spent a small portion of time there. All I know is that I don't believe that I ever spoke to anybody there. I never got to know any kids. I believe that my hearing impairment was preventing me from being very social. I also had a really close bond going with my Mom because of all of the heart problems I had. This particular experience that I am describing to you has to have taken place in early 1967. It is one of my earliest and most vivid memories that has stayed with me.
Another day at the school was rapidly coming to a close. I had been slowly walking around and killing time. There was a group of kids sitting outside in the patio area and they were seated in a semi-circle. I decided to join them. As we were sitting there, I was observing the sun as it was starting to set. I'm sitting there and I don't believe any of these kids had ever heard me utter a word before at all. We were all pretty silent. There might have been one or two words mumbled among the group, but there was essentially quiet. All of a sudden, I just blurted it out out of nowhere. It's just that I really felt it from deep within myself when I said it. I said, "Please Sun, don't go down yet." The kids heard me very clearly and they all looked at me a little bit. And then we just sat there. As time went on, kids were getting plucked out one by one by the arrival of their parents coming to take them home. Eventually, I was one of them as well.
This moment in time has remained with me. Over the years, I have said this very thing. I am still saying it now. So, if you classmates have ever wondered why my being with you holds so much reverence to me, it's because I need your company and because I didn't want to sun to go down.
During the Summer of 1974, I got reminded of this event when Elton John released "Don't Let The Sun Go Down On Me" from off of the Caribou album. I also think of it when I listen to Bessie Smith sing the line in "St. Louis Blues" "I hate to see that evening sun go down".
I was emotional around you people because I didn't want the light of my days and my hope to disappear. I am writing in this blog for the same reason.
I just want to let you know that I'm going to cover a lot of ground. I also want to let you know that this is going to be a challenge for me as well. But I want to get it out. I love and miss all of you so much. When I speak of these different events, please know that I'm not doing this to hurt you in any way. I will take breaks from this type of writing directly to you and talk about other things. I have a lot to say to a lot of people. There are people who were not a part of our group that should know. I want them to know more about me. So, there you have it. This is my first letter to you. You are welcome to send one to me. If you want me to cover something that you are curious about, let me know.
Monday, October 19, 2009
My Fear Of Horses
Before I start diving into some other subjects, I have something a little on the mundane side to talk about which has been on my mind for the last half a year. I've had this fascination with wanting to get over my fear of horses. I haven't trusted them ever since I had a very bad experience on one back in the '60s.
When my parents used to have the big ranch out in the community of Lorane, there was one day when my Dad decided it would be nice to have me on one horse and my Dad would ride on another one and he'd lead my horse on a nice little ride around the countryside. It's too bad that it didn't work out this way. I can chuckle about this now, but I sure didn't that day when it was over with.
My Dad got the horse out that I was to ride on and proceeded to put me on it. Everything seemed to be fine. He figured the horse was just going to stay there and wait. I didn't do anything. I didn't kick it or make any sound to indicate anything to the horse I was on. As my Dad was making his way to go and get his horse to accompany me, my horse decided to bolt on me with me on him. It wouldn't have been too bad if it was just a nice little trot. Instead, the horse took off on a high-speed run which involved me holding on to dear life. I can still remember the feeling of power underneath me. I felt like I was riding atop a thundercloud. To make matters worse, my horse was making a run for a very steeply inclined drop which led to a creekbed. I was pretty certain that my either 8 or 9 year old life was about to end. It appeared to me that he was going to hurl himself into this drop into the creekbed.
All during this terrifying ride I was on, my Dad hauled ass onto the horse he was supposed to have lead the horse I was on. So, eventually my Dad and his horse arrive in high-speed to catch up to my horse. The horse was beginning to run out of room and I guess he saw that the drop was coming. He started to slow down and my Dad was able to reach out and grab the horse I was on and slow him down even more to the point that he got it to stop completely.
Suffice it to say, we didn't go for that nice ride. In fact, my Dad was not very happy with that horse either. It took for him to get his beautiful horse who only trusted him to save the day.
To make matters even more complicated for me was the fact that I would later have a horse of my own later on. I ended up with a Shetland who was called Little Chief. I can't recall if I ever rode Little Chief. All I recall of him was of how moody he was. He was a nipper. I was usually the target of his nipping. I could never understand why Little Chief was so moody. I've been told by a few friends of mine over the years that a Shetland was not a good first horse to have because they have a reoutation for being ornery. I have no idea what would have made a better first horse to me as I'm not very familiar with them. I do know that Charlie Watts of The Rolling Stones dearly loves Arabians.
There was my Dad's beautiful horse anmed Button. Button only trusted my Dad as he was previously owned by somebody who was terribly abusive to him. As such, my Dad always used to tell me to admire Button from a distance and never get close to him even when I near a fence and he was on the other side. Button was the horse my Dad used to take to Utah to go Mule deer hunting with in the rugged country there. He really was a magnificent beast.
If we fast-forward to the '90s, we had neighbors next to us on the Lorane Highway property who used to have a pair of horses on it that I used to have to occasionally go over to feed. They were Carrie and Laddie. I was always scared of how big they were and if they would get a little impatient with wanting their food and use their heads to get a little rough with me. If I'm recalling correctly, Carrie was supposed to be the mischief maker who liked to occasionally take advantage of Laddie by raiding his food.
So, as you can see. I have this thing about horses and I have decided that I want to deal with it eventually. I would really like to ride a nice, gentle one with someone who knows what they are doing and has done this kind of thing before.
Also, because of my ecclecticism, I think I'd really dig riding a llama too. Well, the idea appeals to me because of two things. It makes me think of Neil Young's song on Rust Never Sleeps "Ride My Llama" and the fact that Cowboy Junkies fans are referred to as llamas. The irony of all of this, combined with my thing about horses, would not escape me.
So, if any of you people out there knows of somebody who really has experience with horses and truely knows what they are doing, could you let me know about them? I'd really like to start all over again and bond with a really nice horse who won't take advantage of me.
I spent all of those years on the Lorane Highway property having a great time with all of my cow buddies. I think it's about time for me to get over this horse fear thing. I think it would be a really fun thing to ride a horse and a llama. Plus, it would be nice to have this under my belt to talk about with women because I get this impression that women love horses so much. I've been a cow guy for so long that I get wondering if people think I'm weird when I tell them my cow stories and how close I got to so many of them. Though I will explain later at some other point, I am sure happy I don't live on ranch property anymore.
So, there you go. This is one of my weird posts that I thought I'd throw out to you all as a curve ball of sorts. I promise that I'll get back into the swing of writing about other things as time permits. There's so many different things I want to dive into.
When my parents used to have the big ranch out in the community of Lorane, there was one day when my Dad decided it would be nice to have me on one horse and my Dad would ride on another one and he'd lead my horse on a nice little ride around the countryside. It's too bad that it didn't work out this way. I can chuckle about this now, but I sure didn't that day when it was over with.
My Dad got the horse out that I was to ride on and proceeded to put me on it. Everything seemed to be fine. He figured the horse was just going to stay there and wait. I didn't do anything. I didn't kick it or make any sound to indicate anything to the horse I was on. As my Dad was making his way to go and get his horse to accompany me, my horse decided to bolt on me with me on him. It wouldn't have been too bad if it was just a nice little trot. Instead, the horse took off on a high-speed run which involved me holding on to dear life. I can still remember the feeling of power underneath me. I felt like I was riding atop a thundercloud. To make matters worse, my horse was making a run for a very steeply inclined drop which led to a creekbed. I was pretty certain that my either 8 or 9 year old life was about to end. It appeared to me that he was going to hurl himself into this drop into the creekbed.
All during this terrifying ride I was on, my Dad hauled ass onto the horse he was supposed to have lead the horse I was on. So, eventually my Dad and his horse arrive in high-speed to catch up to my horse. The horse was beginning to run out of room and I guess he saw that the drop was coming. He started to slow down and my Dad was able to reach out and grab the horse I was on and slow him down even more to the point that he got it to stop completely.
Suffice it to say, we didn't go for that nice ride. In fact, my Dad was not very happy with that horse either. It took for him to get his beautiful horse who only trusted him to save the day.
To make matters even more complicated for me was the fact that I would later have a horse of my own later on. I ended up with a Shetland who was called Little Chief. I can't recall if I ever rode Little Chief. All I recall of him was of how moody he was. He was a nipper. I was usually the target of his nipping. I could never understand why Little Chief was so moody. I've been told by a few friends of mine over the years that a Shetland was not a good first horse to have because they have a reoutation for being ornery. I have no idea what would have made a better first horse to me as I'm not very familiar with them. I do know that Charlie Watts of The Rolling Stones dearly loves Arabians.
There was my Dad's beautiful horse anmed Button. Button only trusted my Dad as he was previously owned by somebody who was terribly abusive to him. As such, my Dad always used to tell me to admire Button from a distance and never get close to him even when I near a fence and he was on the other side. Button was the horse my Dad used to take to Utah to go Mule deer hunting with in the rugged country there. He really was a magnificent beast.
If we fast-forward to the '90s, we had neighbors next to us on the Lorane Highway property who used to have a pair of horses on it that I used to have to occasionally go over to feed. They were Carrie and Laddie. I was always scared of how big they were and if they would get a little impatient with wanting their food and use their heads to get a little rough with me. If I'm recalling correctly, Carrie was supposed to be the mischief maker who liked to occasionally take advantage of Laddie by raiding his food.
So, as you can see. I have this thing about horses and I have decided that I want to deal with it eventually. I would really like to ride a nice, gentle one with someone who knows what they are doing and has done this kind of thing before.
Also, because of my ecclecticism, I think I'd really dig riding a llama too. Well, the idea appeals to me because of two things. It makes me think of Neil Young's song on Rust Never Sleeps "Ride My Llama" and the fact that Cowboy Junkies fans are referred to as llamas. The irony of all of this, combined with my thing about horses, would not escape me.
So, if any of you people out there knows of somebody who really has experience with horses and truely knows what they are doing, could you let me know about them? I'd really like to start all over again and bond with a really nice horse who won't take advantage of me.
I spent all of those years on the Lorane Highway property having a great time with all of my cow buddies. I think it's about time for me to get over this horse fear thing. I think it would be a really fun thing to ride a horse and a llama. Plus, it would be nice to have this under my belt to talk about with women because I get this impression that women love horses so much. I've been a cow guy for so long that I get wondering if people think I'm weird when I tell them my cow stories and how close I got to so many of them. Though I will explain later at some other point, I am sure happy I don't live on ranch property anymore.
So, there you go. This is one of my weird posts that I thought I'd throw out to you all as a curve ball of sorts. I promise that I'll get back into the swing of writing about other things as time permits. There's so many different things I want to dive into.
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
Hello It's Me
Yes, I'm borrowing from the Todd Rundgren single from back in '72 to start this new blog. As promised to the readers of my Facebook page, I have finally found the time to begin this project. I have felt the need to expand on a lot of thoughts I've had stored in my head for years. It doesn't neccessarily mean that I will forget those very thoughts as soon as I post them. I do, however, want to make connections with people so that they can understand me a lot better.
I started out thinking that this blog was going to be soley for the purpose of my old St. Clare's School classmates to read of my take on our school years. As time has developed over the last few weeks, I have realized that I also want people to read about things I have to say because I also hope to connect with some musicians I privately admire and have met, some whom I admire and have not met yet and some who I may never get the chance to meet at all.
Those of you who currently know me or know of me, this is a chance for you to know more fully the person with whom you currently communicate with.
I would be lying if I said that I wasn't also using this blog in the hopes that some special lady may read these thoughts of mine and make a connection to me as well.
I am different. Over the years, I have been aware of the fact that I can come off as having a totally different feel about me than most even though a lot of my feelings have a commonality to many of you. I really feel that it is important for all of you to know of my school years, especially my early and Grade School Years, so that you understand what kind of foundation I am standing on. Maybe you will understand why I'm a little different after you learn of some of the circumstances I've come through.
Now that I'm only a few weeks away from turning 48 years old, I am feeling a sense that my form of isolation I've been living in for years is becoming a threat to me. I am in fear of growing old alone. If it takes something as wide open as the internet, with all of its possibility and danger all at once, then I still need to take the chance and open up. Perhaps there are those of you out there who have good hearts and will lead somebody special (and old & new friends) to this blog who will help lead me out of the loneliness I feel.
I will be covering a lot of ground here. I know that I will make some of you smile. I know that I will also possibly anger you, sadden you or make you feel a little uncomfortable. But you need to know that I have been through these feelings as well. I want all of the good people who I have loved to be a part of my life again. I also want new people with whom I could love to become a part of my life as well.
And so, this is where I will start. Before I take my leave for now, I wish to dedicate my new blog to two very special musicians who have tolerated me. The two people I speak of are Margo Timmins of Cowboy Junkies and former Rolling Stones guitarist Mick Taylor.
Far be it that Margo and I are friends in the regular sense. We are just very casual artist to fan variety chance meetings. But she has taken the time out of her busy life on the road to always make me feel like I was an equal. For that, I am grateful. I am also grateful that we actually talk about things which we are really interested in. Our conversations never last more than a few minutes, but they are full of quality in those few minutes. I will always treasure them. She truely personifies the normal person, super Mom, devoted wife and well-rounded human being who happens to make music for a living kind of person.
And then there is Mick Taylor. Mick Taylor is someone I met one time here in Eugene back in 2001 and just a few weeks before 9/11. My meeting him, seeing him play live and walking around the little dump that is The W.O.W Hall here in Eugene left a profound impression on me that covers a gamut of emotions. Mick Taylor is a quiet enigma. I do not mean this in the negative. It's just that the period that he was a member of The Rolling Stones has been a soundtrack to a period of my life that truely made me into the person who I am today. He's been through a hell of a lot-both when he was a member of the Stones and when he made the decision to leave. My heart goes out to him. I hope I get to meet him again one of these days. Word has gotten back to him that I am very concerned about his health. He's having to balance some paradoxes that I think would destroy or kill most regular people. It is this latter statement of mine which causes me to really admire him and also have such great concern for.
I hope all of you will enjoy this blog of mine and that it will cause you to think about things. Mostly, I hope it makes you want to contact me and stay a part of my life. I'll alert people at my Facebook page when I add new posts here. I send my love to all of you. Those of you with whom I've known from my past, I miss you dearly and have wondered why you have not stayed in touch with me.
Until Next Time,
Steve
I started out thinking that this blog was going to be soley for the purpose of my old St. Clare's School classmates to read of my take on our school years. As time has developed over the last few weeks, I have realized that I also want people to read about things I have to say because I also hope to connect with some musicians I privately admire and have met, some whom I admire and have not met yet and some who I may never get the chance to meet at all.
Those of you who currently know me or know of me, this is a chance for you to know more fully the person with whom you currently communicate with.
I would be lying if I said that I wasn't also using this blog in the hopes that some special lady may read these thoughts of mine and make a connection to me as well.
I am different. Over the years, I have been aware of the fact that I can come off as having a totally different feel about me than most even though a lot of my feelings have a commonality to many of you. I really feel that it is important for all of you to know of my school years, especially my early and Grade School Years, so that you understand what kind of foundation I am standing on. Maybe you will understand why I'm a little different after you learn of some of the circumstances I've come through.
Now that I'm only a few weeks away from turning 48 years old, I am feeling a sense that my form of isolation I've been living in for years is becoming a threat to me. I am in fear of growing old alone. If it takes something as wide open as the internet, with all of its possibility and danger all at once, then I still need to take the chance and open up. Perhaps there are those of you out there who have good hearts and will lead somebody special (and old & new friends) to this blog who will help lead me out of the loneliness I feel.
I will be covering a lot of ground here. I know that I will make some of you smile. I know that I will also possibly anger you, sadden you or make you feel a little uncomfortable. But you need to know that I have been through these feelings as well. I want all of the good people who I have loved to be a part of my life again. I also want new people with whom I could love to become a part of my life as well.
And so, this is where I will start. Before I take my leave for now, I wish to dedicate my new blog to two very special musicians who have tolerated me. The two people I speak of are Margo Timmins of Cowboy Junkies and former Rolling Stones guitarist Mick Taylor.
Far be it that Margo and I are friends in the regular sense. We are just very casual artist to fan variety chance meetings. But she has taken the time out of her busy life on the road to always make me feel like I was an equal. For that, I am grateful. I am also grateful that we actually talk about things which we are really interested in. Our conversations never last more than a few minutes, but they are full of quality in those few minutes. I will always treasure them. She truely personifies the normal person, super Mom, devoted wife and well-rounded human being who happens to make music for a living kind of person.
And then there is Mick Taylor. Mick Taylor is someone I met one time here in Eugene back in 2001 and just a few weeks before 9/11. My meeting him, seeing him play live and walking around the little dump that is The W.O.W Hall here in Eugene left a profound impression on me that covers a gamut of emotions. Mick Taylor is a quiet enigma. I do not mean this in the negative. It's just that the period that he was a member of The Rolling Stones has been a soundtrack to a period of my life that truely made me into the person who I am today. He's been through a hell of a lot-both when he was a member of the Stones and when he made the decision to leave. My heart goes out to him. I hope I get to meet him again one of these days. Word has gotten back to him that I am very concerned about his health. He's having to balance some paradoxes that I think would destroy or kill most regular people. It is this latter statement of mine which causes me to really admire him and also have such great concern for.
I hope all of you will enjoy this blog of mine and that it will cause you to think about things. Mostly, I hope it makes you want to contact me and stay a part of my life. I'll alert people at my Facebook page when I add new posts here. I send my love to all of you. Those of you with whom I've known from my past, I miss you dearly and have wondered why you have not stayed in touch with me.
Until Next Time,
Steve
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