To my Brother G, childhood memories

Coffeyville, Kansas, about 1967 or '68, walking home, maybe about eight or nine years old, from the west on 10th street. crossing to our alley at the end of the block. 


About then I was surprised to hear really quite loud rock n roll, blasting down the alley way. I recall  thinking Oh, some old people are gonna be yelling at someone about that. I walked on.  Once I got a couple of backyards down the alley, it was obvious the sound was coming from OUR old carriage house garage, OUR HAYLOFT! (I'm guessing Dad wasn't home). You were singing, um, pretty much screaming actually,  Purple Haze.


I went up to be in on this strange & amplfied wondrous happening.  I was the kid, didn't get to stay long.


My second mind expanding shock of the day came maybe an hour or less later. I was on the screened in back porch, trying to make a tornado out of play-dough. It was then a quite attractive young  lady, probably Joanne came walking towards me from the direction of the alley, with the bright sun behind her, silhouetting her form through a white  and yellow cotton dress. I had never seen that back lighted kind of view before. Oh my.


I remember her smiling and talking to me(probably asking after you) as she came towards me. It was pretty amazing, perhaps, as I say, even mind-expanding to an impressionable eight or nine year old. Now I can't help but see her, that dress,  or the old carriage house garage, whenever I hear Purple Haze.  

rock 101-mid 1960's

Mid 1960's; I remember that guitar, my big brother's Fender Duo-Sonic. I was too young to know it fretted badly. For many years I thought it had been a Telecaster or Strat, until corrected. I had never even heard of a Duo-Sonic.

I remember it from the living room on 9th st.,Coffeyville, Kansas(We killed the Dalton gang-woo-hoo?). I would have been six or seven-ish. I was not allowed to touch it, though I dearly wanted to.
It could not have been a more magical or mysterious an object to me if, if - anything. It seems like I only remember seeing it played about once each by my brother G. and by Dad. I may be remembering imagining or dreaming of Dad playing it. 

It did seem like seeing/hearing G. playing became much more frequent after the appearance of the Goya acoustic. I noticed here they're requesting photos of Duo-sonics and some other "obscure" Fenders. Man, wouldn't we both love to have that back, if only to put it on auction, or perhaps in a vault.
Here's a related memory - I remember being downtown, Coffeyville, Kansas at night, 9th street in front of about Newberry's, and seeing G. and some other guys, all about sixteen or seventeen, on a trailer, going down the street playing. Midnight Madness? The Roaches? was that a dream?

Sorting games

Through out the time we were raising our daughter Amelia we used to play some sorting type games with her. They were also, underneath, thinking games, and I think at twenty-nine now she would say they have served her well. Here are a couple of them:

Kitch, Klassic or Krap (and yes, they're spelled that way on purpose)

Pick an item, could be nearly any item, and name if it's Kitch, Klassic or Krap.

Pink lawn flamingo - Kitch

Black Converse high tops with white rubber toe caps - Klassic

Those "temporary" ad signs with the big light up arrows and cheesey slogans - Krap

Beaded Spacecraft sculpture, from Etsy's space craft competition - Klassic Kitch? Definately Kool, though. I know, subjective. That's kinda the point, which brings us to -

Obviously, this is a subjective game. It is however one that helps define to us the mind set of the person we're playing with. Hmmm, that might make it a good early-days in a relationship game.
Feel free to steal it for that. I have.


Here's another one. We call this one Insipid or Insidious , and it works better for ideas, strategies, group habbits, etc. Bear in mind some things may be partially or wholly both.

"elevator music" - insipid

consumer or voter manipulation based on fear or guilt - insidious

Most televangelist presentations - ooooh, I'm thinking both.

You can play these two games on your own, silently in your head, and then make people wonder what you're grinning or shaking your head about.

Another game I liked to play with Amelia was Name That Guitar, but unfortunately most music t.v. channels have long since ceased showing enough music videos to keep the game going conveniently. (and I realize that for our purposes here it's maybe too esoteric - ya kinda gotta be a guitar geek to care) Still, I wanted my daughter to be able to tell the difference between a Gibson S-G and a Fender Strat for example. Just a family pride thing I guess.

Ok, how about this one?
Maybe not fair, that's a Fender Jag-stang, the illustrious offspring of a Fender Jaguar and Fender Mustang.

Pardon, I digress.

more later...

Taking Aaron to school

Aaron has been in first grade for about a month now.

The first week we started out walking together, him holding my hand all the way to his class room. After the first day I was the only first grade parent to do that.

Ours is one of those close to an elementary school neighborhoods filled at that time of morning with kids, moms with strollers, grandpas with small dogs, smiling crossing guard ladies with florescent flags... The school is about four blocks away and he would fill that time and space pointing out items of interest - "that cool racing car"(a Nissan 3000 gt)," That cat's name is Max" (one of that particular kind of Siamese who want to be in the middle of everything), "Oh My Gosh that's a huge Christmas tree!"(a Red Wood that fills one corner front yard and up about a hundred feet).

The second week we still walked together, but he didn't seem to need to hold my hand any more, preferring to stroll along on his own, pointing out kids he knows and greeting them, petting Max the Siamese cat, lobbying to take the "short cut"(about half again as long). We've had to have discussions about how most kids are freaked out by being hugged, especially at or near school or in public-it's kinda part of his boggle. He does well on those walks at stopping at corners and waiting for Dad. I only have to tell him to stop once or twice, as opposed to his usual three or four times when he's doing something at home-again, part of his boggle, hard to get his attention.

This last week he has decided it's better to drive there. The first couple of days he wanted me to park the car so I could still walk him to his classroom. Now he'd rather I just drop him off in the turn out so he can walk in on his own, like a "big kid".

I still watch him until he passes by the principal at the door, often stopping for a hug, and is in the school building itself.

Time, as they say, marches on.

I'm going to miss walking him to school.

Noticing, again...

Slide one: Outside, I'm looking at vibrant green moss growing at the base of the plain cement step. Up close at near macro level, the moss presents as fractal, organic and living, against the backdrop of the step. The step by contrast is almost geometrically angular, man made and dead, though it is arguable that even those fused together grains of sand hold some common spark of energy from which, surely all life flows.

This is the kind of stuff that seems of compelling presence to me. Important that someone, apparently me, notices it and stores it away in woefully fallible memory for the record. You know, those records that are in our minds, constantly being made of everything in our lives, to be retrieved at the end by God - someone, or something. Again and again it seems important to me that these small things, small lessons, small miracles of juxta-position or other, be consciously witnessed by someone, and if not me, then who?


Even though I've been ill, chronically if not critically, for some time now. Even though that illness has caused much set back and trouble, fiscal and emotional, even though all those issues are of a certain urgency, I still find these small moments of noticing to be of large, perhaps larger, importance .

It seems a thousand times a day.

Hey, I'm a busy guy.

You just can't see it.

snippet

My older brother G. used to live right next to University of Utah. One night while I was visiting him he wound up having to go down the block to deal with a noise issue. Young presumably college guys were playing loud guitars from a second floor-over the side walk balcony. He did not go to tell them to knock it off, but rather so he could tune up their guitars for them. Imagine being young college guys thinkin' yer Rockin' out cool when some old(40ish) guy comes down the side walk, stops under your balcony and says "look, if you're going to do that, at least let me tune em up for ya boys" life is full of small, cool, yet humbling moments.

Just for fun, here's video from a friend of mine -
Back Porch Buddah - Neighbors

Back to school

Aaron, 6, started the first grade this week.


I was really surprised the first day when he woke and immediately went into full blown sobbing about "But, they won't like me!" After much discussion a /o attempted fatherly type encouragement we finally got down to the point of I gotta go to work, you gotta go to school. Of course once we got him out the door he was fine.

We've been walking the four blocks to school together. It's been good morning Father-Son time.
That's all I've got to say about that.