Life is a Fairway

Yesterday for the first time in at least 3 years I went golfing ..It was a wonderful Spring day , four men brought together in Gods purposeful way. Golf is a game that engages all the senses , the budding trees , the flags fluttering in the distance the sound of the ball going into the cup, the taste of fresh mud as your wedge cleaves into the soil , the smell of sun lotion and Ben Gay , The camaraderie was enjoyable , each person cheering each other on , and some good natured kidding and gamesmanship . Although the Starter Pistol gag was a little extreme. But considering this is the South I am blessed it wasn't a shotgun .

My only regret was the game I had planned to play remained in my mind and not on the fairways . When I was much younger I would frequently end up playing with these " older " golfers . It was not unusual for me to blast the ball far past their best efforts ...yet steadily they moved forward more often than not they actually played in the designated fairway , they hit it short but straight , simply by playing each long hole as one stroke more ( par fours became par fives , par fives became par six ). Mixing in some great short game play these old golfers would sail around the course posting scores in the low to mid 80's.

My game was usually more dramatic , turning 3's into par fives and par fives into threes as I would post scores in the low to mid 80's as well . When I was playing competitively in college I played to a solid 3 handicap , spending several hours a day working on my game , and while playing cursing every shot that was less than perfect . In those days I owned several club records including the greatest distance for throwing a Driver with no wind assist ( 123.5 yards ).

I wasn't much fun to play with in those days ...I was grouchy and my style of play left me alone in one distant fairway or another ...it wasn't until much much later that I started to enjoyed golf on a whole new level , this really started to happen when I actually had to pay to play . I had little or no time for practice , I started to put less pressure on myself and simply enjoy spending time on the course. I started to notice some interesting changes in my game . I was actually hitting the ball longer , much longer , due in part to the change in golf equipment ( metal woods, graphite shafts ) And a change in body weight ( I was no longer a slender Adonis , instead I had become a chubby wood nymph ..... Middle to long irons where just a little off , and the short game was unpredictable . But when I posted a score it was usually in the high seventies to low 80's . I found myself actually enjoying the people I was golfing with , especially my favorite foursome stubby , lefty and hoot. Not only an interesting group of nicknames but an interesting trio , these three guys had worked in the Portland Steel mills and were all now on disability leave since an unfortunate explosion in the foundry. Stubby had lost three inches off his left leg, Lefty was one armed , and hoot had no hearing and no balance . Suddenly I found myself wining more beverages than usual at the the 19th hole . Although in time Stubby became quite a good golfer when he learned to take advantage of uphill lies.

All good things often come to an end ..and this was no exception , married with child on the way...responsibility crept into my life , like a dust bunny under the couch ...for the next 13 years golf was pushed aside as I worked to provide for my family. I worked as hard on providing asI had worked on my youthful Golf game , I returned to grouchy and not being much fun to live with and in time I squandered the relationship , and watching my daughter grow up ...as quickly as a golf ball can swerve dead left and into a lake , I found myself alone with nothing but debt and set of golf clubs that had once ruled the Astoria Golf and Country Club Fairways ...

To take my mind off the failed marriage , I worked as a fireman at a local resort , Black Butte Ranch in the Foothills of the Cascade Mountains ..I had been very active with the local Volunteer Fire dept. and through this association I started also helping out at the resort , It was a busy department with a fair share of motor vehicle accidents , ambulance calls , forest fires and a few structure fires . We lived on site and that provided me with shower facilities since I had given the house to my former family. I also had golf privileges there and started playing regularly ...we couldn't play when we were on shift but we could hit balls and practice putting if we carried our radios .

It was at this time that I met Lori ...we met on the Internet , in a Christian Chat Room on AOL . In a short time I had found that special someone ...Lori and I were married in 1996 , by then I had once again put away the clubs ...I had actually sold my Ben Hogan Irons. left most of the rest at the fire department. Lori and I moved away from Oregon in 1999...we moved to Tennessee and I started working at the Opryland Hotel ...while in Nashville I tried to pick up Golf again , but I was surprised by how expensive it had gotten , and how humid it was in Tennessee..I couldn't understand why everyone used golf carts , that is until I tried to walk 18 holes on a pleasant July day . My golfing outings were few and far between. I found a public course that had a practice area which I could hit some and shag them , and as I moved up the ladder at the Hotel I started to play more often and thought about getting into some amateur tournaments ...And then came 9/11 .

After the attack I made a decision to move back to the Northwest ...In March of 2002 I drove to the Northwest with out a Job prospect but fully trusting in Gods Providence ..on the way I had a book on tape by M Scott Peck called Golf in the Spirit ...and it kept me company from Nashville to North Bonniville Washington . There my first stop was a Hotel Property called Dolce Skamania Lodge ...it was a great wooden building sitting above the Columbia River . the property had beautiful Golf Course carved into the mountains . After my first interview all I could think of was this is the Job I want , there are no others ...I was asked back for a follow up interview I was surprised , overwhelmed and blessed to have been offered the position .

http://www.skamania.com/lodge-photos.php

Skamania is about thirty miles from Portland in the Columbia river gorge ..it is one of the most beautiful places in the world ... Housing would be a problem , or not , in a matter of hours I had located a nice apartment in a wooded area just a few miles from the Hotel . Lori was in Nashville but it would be joining me in a few weeks ..the job at the hotel was a dream job , I was the front office manager and the weekend MOD at night , part of the Job included dining at the restaurant with my wife and critiquing the food and service , not to mention unlimited free golf.

Lori and I were close to friends and close to my daughter , we could drive to the ocean in a few hours or explore the Columbia River Gorge and its vast number of waterfalls and trails. My Golf game improved dramatically and it was certain I was going to do very well in the Senior golf tournaments in the area. I made it a point to visit some of the courses I had grown up on in the Portland area and set personal bests on most of them ...even though my game in many ways had suffered from the years , my attitude and enjoyment of the game was so positive and encouraging ...And then it all came to an end ...Just before Thanksgiving of 2002 I was downsized ...my position at the Hotel had been eliminated , low occupancy in part to 9/11 , forced management to eliminate some management changes and I was low man on the totem pole ...

This remote beautiful area I worked in which was at one time such a friend , became a liability ..and soon it became apparent that Lori and I would have to return to Tennessee where Lori's parents had suggested we could share their home with us ...We returned in June of 2003 and I went to work again at the Opryland Hotel ..assuming that with my experience I could easily work as a front desk manger ..I was humbled by a job offer for a front desk agent ...We needed the income and I accepted ..It was at this time that I received a small inheritance and we used the money to purchase a High end Digital SLR and I started reestablishing a relationship with photography ...soon I was passionately addicted and found myself also working for the hotel as what can be best described as an on site photographer. In time I was promoted several times. I was watching our income and found that I could either take photos or golf in my spare time . Golf was about $30.00 a game and photos were for all practical purposes free .. I choose photography. I played in two church tournaments. and twice in the Opryland employee tournament. These four tournaments were all a four man best ball format and in all of them our team did very well . The highlight round was at a local Lebanon Golf Course where my church team had three straight eagles ....and ended up scoring 59

I left Opryland February of 2006 ...and decided to reinvent myself as a Commercial/portrait Photographer ...I picked up a few weddings , some portrait work and some commercial work... but income was very scarce at one point to make ends meet I tried to sell my clubs ..but at the last minute held onto them .

One night as I was coming to the inescapable conclusion that I was going to have to give up my current " dream " job ..I was speaking to a friend of my wife , she was talking about her daughter's volleyball team and how disappointed she was with the quality of the photos she had of her daughter playing Volleyball , ..I offered to go to a game and take some photos, at the same time she told me of a company in Smyrna that had been taking the photos ..so I also decided to contacted them to see if they needed any Photographers.

I dropped off a resume at Micheal's Photography and a few days later I was contacted by a Dave Warren he asked me to come in for an interview ...Dave hired me and for a year and a half I worked for Micheal's as a free lance photographer ...I loved this job and it also became the glue that held our developing photography business together ...David and I developed a friendship based on our Christian faith , Photography and an Interest in Theater ...David even extended to Lori and I an invitation to come and see a production of Guys and Dolls at some place called Lamplighters theater ...Lori and I love theater , and we were involved with a theater company in Mt Juliet ...we loved the production and were really excited to find out that the Theater Company called Lamplighters was sponsored by a Church ...Lori and I had always wanted to start a Church based theater company . we had wanted to reclaim the arts for the Glory of God ..and here was a church doing it ! Only problem was we where very happy in our church home and we lived about 25 miles away from the Smyrna Church.

Lori and I went about our business we directed a play for the Mount Juliet Theater group and had great reviews ...in fact we shared some review space with a local blogger with another show at Lamplighters .."Much ado about nothing " .

That spring ( 2008 ) was interesting . I was on the board for the Local Community Theater , and was involved deeply in our local church ..Leaving Opryland had been very good for my Church life , Sundays could be spent at church regularly..we even had the opportunity to belong to a Sunday school class...with a modest but steady income from the Photography business , the ability to return to doing some theater and a developing church family ...everything seemed in perfect harmony ...

Then ...I started losing confidence in the Theater Company , who was in my opinion starting to experiment with titillating theater in order to build an audience ...one board member in particular was very uncomfortable to work with ...I choose to leave my board position , then I ran into some problems at the church I was going to and was asked to leave over theological differences ...

Lori and I decided to do some Church shopping and while preparing our list we accepted another invitation from my friend Dave warren and his wife to visit Smyrna Assembly ...the Church that sponsored Lamplighters .

We were simply overwhelmed by the Church service ...while we lived in Oregon we had gone to an Assembly of God and loved it , and we felt right at home ...Lori actually had tears in her eyes after the first service ...that was the first week of June ...and soon there was no doubt in my mind that this was the Church for us ... The worship filled such a void in my life , a void that I had tried to fill up with academic study in theology ...now I seemed much more at peace with myself and my relationship with God ...A few weeks ago Michael's Photography went through a " change " , I no longer have that account , but that has afforded me some " spare " time . I am in a play ( 12 Angry Men ) at Lamplighters. Ironically for the first time in years I am not angry ..I am feeling strangely blessed ..I look back down a series of fairways , of challenges , friends and opportunities all bringing me, a child of God born in Denver Colorado , with a wonderful woman , born in Pennsalvania to a town named Smyrna , with a set of golf clubs I should have sold several years ago.

Yesterday the day I started talking about I went golfing with my Pastor and two Church Members , I played horribly and left physically tired and drained , but it was without a doubt the best golf experience I can remember ...for me it was more than a game , it was an affirmation of Gods steady and mighty hand on my life ...A God who knows when to prune and when to graft , a God who knows how to knit and weave , and bring all things into harmony and unity in His time ... A God who bears us on wings of eagles and can even remind us in a great and ancient game of His grace and love ...

Looking back there has been no random actions ...all is part of a plan still playing out ...and I feel so blessed and so humbled to have been invited to the game .

It was a pleasant spring day , one day in a stretch of days that trail back to the foundation of time , a day purposefully and deliberately planned ...and I was so thankful to participate in it ...

Girdled for War and other memories

After the great raid , ( the name I had given to our Grecian adventure on 35th street ) we returned back to the safety and comfort of our block . By any stretch of the imagination the raid had been a total success , we had destroyed the oppositions fort , turned over at least one lemonade stand and left the 35th street gang in a total state of disarray. This had come at little cost to us, Rex had ripped his pants , one of our bikes had a flat tire , my brother was lost , and worst of all I had lemonade stains on my mothers new Girdle.
There was a chance I might get in trouble over that Girdle in the first place and the lemonade stains almost guaranteed it . The cost of our victory might be higher than I had planned to pay.

It like so much and so many other its in my life began with a choice. In this case the choice was whether to borrow the Girdle or not to borrow the girdle. And this choice was a in fact a confluence of Choices going back well into the past.

There was one area in our house that was supposed to be inviolate , a place of refuge and safety for my parents and this area was their bedroom. IT was an unwritten law that entering the bedroom without permision was a crime. And while my parents did everything possible to assist me in being a criminal in this regard at some point I knew I would not be able to blame them with any conviction if I was caught breaking this law .

On the other hand there was much to discover in their room . It all started innocently at first , I needed gunpowder ...and my father stored his ammunition in the bedroom, I wasn't supposed to know that , but in a two bedroom house there aren't too many secrets. I needed the gunpowder for my science experiments , in this case I was experimenting with gunpowder. I had found that a little bit of Gunpowder could add a little extra kick to my homemade bombs.

Latter I would find that gunpowder would also provide an extra kick to rocket fuel , but I am several years ahead of myself here. My father kept the ammunition in his dresser drawer which was right next to my mothers underwear drawer. Of course the first time I was pillaging the dresser I did not know about the underwear drawer nor did I have a really good foundational understanding of women's underwear, and that included my mother's.

Perhaps this is the time to also note that I do in fact realize that this is a " Christian " book and here I am telling a story about rummaging around in my mothers underwear drawer ...I hope in time to make all things clear and hopefully connect my curiosity with my mothers underwear with some great spiritual principals , but I am also severl years ahead of myself here .

The first time I discovered the drawer , I was somewhat confused as to what I had found , there was something deep down inside of me , something unexplainable that this was not my fathers underwear ..and with only the two of them sharing this room I was inspired to believe this must be my mothers ...there was some confusion after all these items were not made from sturdy cotton , they were silky and soft and ...well daintier ...and then I saw the girdle , I had no understanding of this device , at first I thought it was swim wear , but a careful look and I knew it was at best only half a swimmer . It was sturdy, it was white , it was quite long it looked to me like it would fit me and the pants leg part would almost extend to my knees , I gently placed the girdle back into the drawer and plucked out a couple of shotgun shells from my fathers drawer .

I preferred using the shotgun shells to the 30 06 shells he also had in his drawer . I learned form experience that it was easier to remove the gunpowder from the shotgun shells than from the metal jacketed rifle rounds ...you really know who your friends are when you ask them to hold a steel jacketed bullet in a pair of pliers as you try to use a hacksaw to open it up ....at one time I thought that if I heated the lead bullet part up with a stove top I could pry it loose easier , but it didn't work out the way I planned.

I has kept the discovery of the girdle safely tucked into my brain ..and then when we started planning the great raid and I was looking for the perfect costume I retrieved the information form my mind and decided that the girdle was just what I was looking for ...taking my dads socks was more of an impulse and I had already used the idea of the towel for a cape . The swim cap and feather was Rex's Idea ...he thought it would look silly on him so he suggested I wear it , and thought he was foolish for not seeing the possibility.

My plan was to wait for the right moment and slip into my parents bedroom , grab the girdle then run like all get out. I would change into my warrior uniform in the tree fort ...slid on a pair of jeans and slip away on my bike...for the most part the plan went well ...I was able to grab the girdle when my mother has walked to the store , changing was no problem , I ran into a little problem when I discovered my Bike was not going to make the trip , but when my brother rounded the corner with that " where are you going " look in his eye I decided to invite him into the gang ...At first Bob was somewhat skeptical , trust was always an issue with him , but I assured him he wasn't;t part of a science experiment. That he would be an important part of the foray , and the rope was definitely needed ...at one point he protested that since I was bigger I should pull the wagon , but I reminded him that I knew he had broken moms baking dish and I knew where he had buried it ...and he stopped protesting and let me lash him to the Wagon....A few blocks away we stopped so I could complete my costume and as I was putting the feather in the hat I heard some of the neighbor girls laughing ...I told them they shouldn't tease my brother like that then I gave a hearty giddy up and off we went ...cape flying in the wind and a blur of white girdle as we headed down 33rd street.
we were a group of hard driven neighborhood kids ..Led by Rex and myself we were also accompanied by Mike squirrly Hukins, Norm stinky Simpkins, Andy one hand ( after an unfortunate accident with a pair of pliers and steel jacketed bullet , and Linda beefcake O'mally who for a short period in the 80's was the lead blocker for the San Francisco Bombers roller derby team. each of us had dressed in their best fighting clothes. rex was wearing his coonskin cap and genuine Hop Along Cassidy leather vest and chaps, Norm who was part Nez Peirce indian was wearing war paint ( actually lipstick and eyeliner ) , Andy still had his hand in a cast which he had dipped in black paint , and Linda was dressed like Peter Pan with a Baseball bat . Of note was Norms Bike which had half of a Antler set strapped to the handlebars .
As we caravanned down Capital Highway we could easily see the looks of admiration and envy from the passing cars , and even a few noses pressed against the glass seemed to be weeping and convulsing as viewers seemed to instinctively understand the grand undertaking we were undertaking ...while I felt a little odd standing in a red wagon being pulled by my brother with a rope around his waist in mothers girdle I knew that most driving by would quickly see it was no girdle at all but the gilded armor of a dashing Greek warrior ...Anyone who had read the Iliad would instantly recognize the similarity.
Later I learned that Zane Grey's book the Broken Spur was the most popular read in the Northwest.
We traveled down Capital highway for two blocks then turned right on 35th street , enemy territory ...we had only peddled a few feet when we saw them gathered around the Karnes Kid's Lemonade stand ...they were surprised and terrified when they heard our shouts and screams Four of us were shouting my brother was screaming. Although to be fair our war shouts could have used some improvement. I had Asthma and when excited I wheezed better than I shouted , Rex had a lisp , Norm Stuttered and Linda hadn't decided on a good war cry so she just shouted Hey Ricky !!! ( she loved the I love Lucy Show ). My Brother was screaming because He couldn't swerve fast enough to avoid the lemonade stand. There are some images that don not fade away , they are etched , nay sculpted in to the matrix of the mysterious place where Memories are reside. Here the five of us dressed in our warrior garb , led by half naked chubby boy with lipstick and mascara smeared across his cheek , on a bike with half a deer head wired to the Handle bar , followed by a Greek warrior in his mothers girdle being pulled on a red wagon with his wide eyed brother lashed to it , several other s in distinguished gear following close behind , startled the 35th street gang scattered like watermelon Seeds at a Ghallager concert ....unprepared for this reaction my brother caught up in the moment and showing al the signs of a first time rookie , rushed forward and in the confusion I was thrown head first into the lemonade stand ...thank God for the Swimming cap ...I was soaked all over with fresh squeezed Lemonade ...I think it was the combination of the warm day and the sticky lemon drink but I could actually feel the girdle shrinking up and soon my " armor " undergarments were tight enough to kill my pet hamster and I was still in them ....the walk home was not as fun as I thought it might have been , I was walking because my brother had taken off ..and we were not sure where he went ...I was concerned about this because Bob still had the rope and it was my Dad's ...As I began the long walk home I was feeling a little discomfort , not only was the armor shrinking the wet lemonade was staring to chaff , by the time I got home I was walking bowlegged and with a definite hop ...

winding down

So there you go I was a normal well adjusted young child growing up in Portland Oregon, the fifties were years of celebration and innocence , the sixties were in the future and few clouds could be seen on the horizon.
As my adventures escalated I was becoming more aware of the background noises , the static of the world I was growing up in. I remember listing to the radio in 1953 that the Koren war had come to a uneasy end. I was aware in the same year that we had a new President of the United States a war hero name Dwight D Eisenhower. Each year brought more and more awareness of the world I had been invited into During this period from 1953 to 1960. I didn't know it at the time but I was a Boomer, part of a great wave of children born as World war two ended and hundreds of thousands of young men and women settled down , after the brutal World wide conflict. The parents of the boomers were gracious and giving , no expense was spared to build schools and playgrounds. Boomer parents wanted above all else that their children live in a world that was better than the world they remembered before the War began. I think they also knew there would be a cost and they were prepared to pay it, roads were built , schools were raised , college's were getting record enrollments.
American Victory in World war 2 gave Americans a profound sense of moral certitude , good had triumphed over evil , and we were very good. There are a great number of books that explore this period in our countries History , this is not one of them , I care to note that growing up in Portland Oregon between 1953 and 1960 was not growing up in a vacuum ..the politics of the nation and the politics of the world were a backdrop to my life , my growth and my understanding of the world.
These early years were helping me to lay down a foundation that I would continue to build upon for the rest of my life. early in my life I was Diagnosed with Asthma which usually manifested itself in the form of severe Hay fever , from a very early age I was taking shots for this affliction, the shots were given to me at a doctors office about a mile and a half from where I lived so twice a week I would walk either with my mother or by myself to the clinic and receive two shots in each arm. While pretty annoying , these shots allowed me to participate after a few years in most outdoor activities. For several years I spent much of my time indoors and with little or no television available I discovered the magic of books , I read voraciously devouring books at an amazing rate. I was interested in science and nature and in the classics. I spent long hours at the Hillsdale Library which had recently opened. IN the third grade we were required to read at least one book per month and I was reading one a day. I was becoming a nerd and was unhappy with this development , I would hide my glasses when I went to school and I would try to excel in sports and and adventure often failing spectacularly. I quickly began a pattern of easily getting the highest grades in my tests and neglecting to turn in homework ...as a result I recieved the grades of an average student , and was also involved in several accelerated programs for above average students as well , I was in a speracil language class that taught German as a second language , and I was in the Seventh and Eight grade special science class which I was admitted to when I was in the Fourth Grade .
Both of these honors were readily embraced by my parents. Neither my mother or father had graduated from High School , yet both of them had a profound appreciation of education, My mother would spend long hours with both my brother and I using what were called flash cards , these flash cards were designed to assist us with Math and Language skills. Reading was encouraged and expected in our home , and both my Brother Bob and I were encouraged to have discussions with the adult friends of my parents. My father assisted both bob and I in our interests , he helped with Science fair projects and drove us to the Library even when bone tired and weary from his physically challenging job of lineman / tree trimmer for Portland general electric . My parents were not only concerned about our education they were also interested in our spiritual well being so they started taking us to the Hillsdale Community Church just a few blocks away. On Sundays we would go to Sunday School class , Bob and I went downstairs to the children's class , and my Mother and Father would stay upstairs. We would then meet together upstairs to hear the message sing songs and pass the offering plate.
In class we would talk about Jesus and the Disciples and the hero's of the Bible , Noah , we spent allot of time on Noah and Joseph. Our Church had lots of Youth activities and potlucks and seemed to be very pleasant. I have no negative recollections of my early Church life , and in fact learned to enjoy wearing my suit and tie to the service. If I had to choose I would say I enjoyed the later part of the service the most , espicially the songs ...even at a very early age I had several favorite songs that I enjoyed hearing . MY father had a pretty good voice and I enjoyed hearing him sing I come to the Garden alone , and the Old Rugged Cross . Years latter we would sing that song at his funeral.
My mother did not work outside of the home , when I came home from school she was there , and usually with some kind of treat , cupcakes , cookies , jello and kool-aide When we burst through the door mom would ask about our day and we would give her the highlights , sometimes we had friends with us and they would be welcome and fed as well. If we went to a friends house after school always let Mom know in advance that was our plan and where ever we went there would a mom there as well with cupcakes, cookies, Jello and kool-aide.

Lessons Learned ?

When I look back on the years between six and thirteen I have great difficulty squeezing it all in.In those seven years I have so many vivid memories. Our family going to the Drive Inn eating popcorn out of a brown sack that my mother had popped on the stove . We had a tree fort in the backyard that was the envy of our neighborhood that my father built, it was from this tree fort I first found that my brother would bounce at least twice if dropped from said tree fort .. I remember a green house on the vacant lot we owned and being told to stay away from it , and I remember Rex Riley and I sliding down the glass roof and dropping to the ground below each of us landing on a protruding nail butt first. Once I hit myself in the head with a brick while lecturing my friends about gravity This was before I realize it was easier to experiment with my brother. I remember the first time I met my best friend Lee when we were in the second grade by beating him in a feisty game of tether ball court have vivid memories of the Movie Theater in Multnomah Burning down. I have very fond memories of learning about the outdoors at two different cabins we spent time at on the Oregon Coast. .It was during this period that I learned to ride a bike and found that this gave me more freedom and a greater understanding of our neighborhood, from my association with Grade school and the ability to travel I found that there were indeed other blocks in our small part of the West Hills and these blocks had other kids on them , with other secret places and grocery stores and while the kids on these blocks looked like me somehow they were different and different meant going to war with them , Rex and I had gathered a few other willing kids from our block , and we would convert our red wagons into war wagons and fashion wooden spears and clumsy home made bows and arrows , we would make swords out of thin pieces of plywood and we would with our bikes tow the wagons into the enemy neighborhoods laying waste to their forts and knocking over their lemonade stands. I remember once my bike has been damaged and I tricked my brother into towing my Chariot byt tying a rope around his waist and attaching it to the wagon I rode in he wasn't as fast as the Rex's Scwinn, but with a little encouragement he was more maneuverable and he wouldn't get a flat tire.for these events I dressed offical Greek warrior mode ( having been inspired by the Illiad ) this uniform included a bathroom towel and my mothers girdle and my fathers dress socks with a rubber swim cap with a feather in it. I was nothing if not well dressed in those days . And quite fiercesome as I girldled myself for war.
I found out early that life can't all be fun , I had habits and I had to pay for them on my own, for awhile I received an allowance from my parents , but this allowance came with strings , I had to do chores , these chores got in the way of my new found freedom and were an insult to the growing Greek warrior that was consuming me . Washing Dishes was for sissy's I wanted man work. And I got it for several summers I joined up with dozens of other neighborhood children , who met very early in the mornings in front of the grade school grimly holding unto lunch boxes and canteens. We all had exchanged our allowance income and all of its strings and legalism for our own independence and real money earned by picking Strawberries and Beans and Blackcaps ...I became like many in our neighborhood a migrant worker. The work in the Fields was hard , the hours were long and the sanitary conditions were not very sanitary , but the rewards ! At the end of the day we were paid in cash ! Many of the kids who gathered at the school were the same ones my gang of Greek warriors had soundly smashed back in the day , and it was not unusual to have some defeated foe with tears in his eye ask meekly if I was the Girdle man ...All I can say is life was far less complex in those days. It must have been very difficult as well , for later as we grew up , we choose instead to allow other people to do this field work , then we ate the food they picked , and packed and stacked on our grocery shelves and told them they were not wanted in this country. there were several summers of Bean and strawberry picking , Newspaper route And the Cub Scouts. In school I was admitted to the Seventh and eight grade science class when I was in the fourth grade.the highlight of this association was putting a hand made rocket through the window of a National Guard Jeep. During these years my brother and I learned that Santa Clause wasn't real. The there was my first phone call to a girl , my first rejection, my first date , and my first Hospital procedure which came on the eve of my first date. Sometime in these seven years I found myself fancying myself as an outdoors man and took up fishing and hunting I still remember my first caught fish. And how clever I was to use my brother to drag my lure and line across a rain swollen creek so I didn't have to cast as far. There were family trips to Oklahoma , one or more to southern California ...Going to Sunday school . During this period I got my first suit and my first cowboy outfit , and thought I often got when to wear them Mixed up was able to always dress myself quite well. Wearing a cowboy outfit to Sunday school with six shooters plastered at your hip might have raised a few eyebrows in the 50's but I was simply way ahead of our times. Our Sunday School class was taught by a man who had a boat so I learned to water ski even thought it did take me longer to learn to let loose of the tow rope when your skies fall off.One of the truly great stories and high point of my my life was watching my brother fall like a watermelon over a cliff only to be stopped at the last minute by my father. while I am being somewhat brief in these recollections this requires ( demands ) some more explanation. The place was Ecola state Park near Canon Beach Oregon. This Headland area has broad picnic areas that drop steeply to a series of rocky pools that are filled with salt water fish, we had been told how good the fishing was so we set out to claim our share of the bounty of the sea. MY brother who had little regard for style was dressed in well used jeans and these thick clumsy looking shoes with reinforced steel cleats on the heel and toe. I was dressed more stylishly in white calypso pants , yellow rubber thongs. I Honestly don't remember much about the going down the cliff part , I know the slope was steep , and the fishing was not as great as it was advertised , my brother and father had not planned as well as I had and each had only one fishing pole and a small tackle box between them, I was much better prepared bringing two poles three reels and a sturdy tackle box about the size of a steamer truck. and a bucket to bring the freshly caught fish back home in. It was a wonderful day ..with only a few offhand comments from my Father after he had made the extra trip back up the cliff to bring me the rest of my equipment. My Brother had been smart enough to bring my tackle box with him on the first trip. I had found the trek a little difficult with my choice of foot gear but with my father carrying me part of the way all was ok. Like I said the day was wonderful , my father seemed to be not enjoying it as much as me , but I was guessing it was only because he was thinking about returning to work the next day, and he was a little bruised by my spare fishing pole that had fallen from my grasp and landed on his foot. Soon it was time to head back Bob started off first , I reluctantly agreed to carry his fishing pole as he lugged the steamer trunk up the cliff . I found his attitude to be a little annoying as I also had the empty fish bucket to contend with and my flip flops had suffered a separation fo the toe thingy and they were more flopping than flipping. The climb up the cliff was not going well at all ...I was having trouble with my footgear and my bare knees were brushing against the volcanic rock and boithering me some. MY father who was very gracious choose to help me as best he could and at one point I was holding on for dear life to the end of the metal pole I had brought and Dad was holding onto the other end , beneath me was the foamy waters of the pacific ocean about fifty to an hundred feet down we must have looked a little odd two people in the Chaos of life embracing the gentle curve of the cliff , My father holding onto a sturdy tree root in one hand , his other hand grasping a fishing pole which had attached to the other end his precious older son with hsi sparkling white calypso pants and his flopping flip flops, I was determined to hang onto the fishing pole al thought at one point I thought the Bucket might keep me afloat if I fell into the ocean. Then it happened ...slowly at first there was a little trickle of dirt and gravel from above , probably a seagull had dislodged it , then more and larger pieces of debris started falling our way ..I distinctly remember my father shouting gently to my brother to knock it off or he would beat him mercilessly , Dad did seem to be a little grumpy at this point. Then the Steamer trunk sailed past us ..I didn't have enough time to watch it hit the water because it was followed by my brother sliding down the cliff butt down and this rather odd quizzical expression on his face , one I had only seen once before when I dropped him out of the tree house, this time I was watching this expression from below and it was even more dramatic. This is one of those times when time does stand still , I am sure I could see my father weighing his options on one end of the fishing pole was his first child , the child who had burned down the forest , tried to burn down the grade school , the child who had failed to pay attention , who had stole a jar of pickled shrimp from Mr Colemans Grocery Store and hidden it in his Paper bag, all this and more , from above came hurtling the younger child who showed great promise in school , who had been injured once before in a fall from a tree fort and who had stayed home and raked leaves , and stacked wood and washed dishes ...two children one choice and with amazing reflexes my father while still holding onto me reached out with his only free appendage his left leg and stopped my brother in mid tumble , my brothers steel jacketed shoes dug into my fathers leg but the leg did not give and for a brief moment all three of us were firmly fixed to the side of the cliff all staring at each other , then with out even a word my brother turned and raced back up the cliff barely touching the earth ...a few minutes later we all gathered at the top, we were sworn to secrecy , my mother would never know about this. at least not for a few days.
This is how I remember it , I have to admit the story grows some each time I tell it , but it happened pretty much as written, we were held by angels on that day , a few inches made all the difference between a famous family story that would be told at reunions and late night conversations , and a moment of tragedy that would haunt the survivors forever.

...

7403 SW 32nd

what follows , is a narration which is not confined by the usual boundaries of Chronology. From age six to thirteen my life was shaped by all that touched me in the house at 7403 SW 32.
The house was small, two bedrooms , kitchen , back porch, one bathroom and a living room with a fireplace. After the problems with the discolored screen in our upstairs bedroom in Sellwood we would never again live in a two story house.
The house was on the corner of 32 and Miles. I used to think of this as the command center for the bull. The bull was the block we lived in. The block was defined by Miles Street to the North , 32 street to the East , 33 street to the West , and Capitol Highway to the South. If you were facing the bull the right hand horn was the local Grocery Store two blocks away, and the left hand horn was the dark and mysterious forest we called the woods. In fairness the woods were actually an undeveloped sliver of land about two blocks square , until I burned down a portion of it with a homemade bomb.
On the North Corner of 33rd and Miles was the home of Rex Riley , my childhood playmate and the only person I have ever wounded with a knife. Across the Southern Boundary was Multnomah Grade School , which boasted four separated classrooms two of which were used for Kindergarten , the other two for some sort of Cold War intelligence gathering ( or so we thought ), a large paved area used as a play ground for the kindergarten. The upper school had an auditorium which coupled as the school cafeteria , so that when you went to the annual Christmas Play you could still easily smell the heady aroma of mac and cheese in the air. There was a Gym large enough to have a trampoline , and a basket ball court where we would also play dodge ball , and learn about the mysteries of life. IN fact it was in this very gym that several of us younger boys learned that not all was what it seemed...for several months we had noticed that one of the eight grade girls had been not only been growing up , but out as well , the out part was what had got our attention , and it appeared the envy of some of the other older girls as well ...that is until the poor girl was hit full in the chest by a hard driven dodge ball by Bobby Devore and the entire gym seemed to come to a standstill as her chest deflated with an audible whoosh and she ran crying out of the gym. In an instant her life had changed , no more dreams of High School beauty pageants and homecoming courts , she became an source of jokes and ridicule , the story grew each year until at one point I heard a version of it where the concussion of the escaping air from her brassiere was enough to knock over Mrs Hannah the third grade teacher who needed a cane to get around. Nature abhor es a vacuum and in she was replaced in the hierarchy of adoration by Tam ONeil who was much more natural , yet still nicely curved .
Where was I ? Oh yes Multnomah Grade School had sixteen classrooms , until my seventh grade year then fifteen usable ones after the unfortunate incident with the Bunson burner and Turpentine that seemed to have something to do with me.
Directly across the street from the school were three buildings on the right was the Masonic Temple , On the corner of 33rd street and Capital Highway was Verdemum Oil , the local gas station and fuel oil storage for the neighborhood , there were usually three of four service station attendants and mechanics out an about at this location all dressed in green coveralls , after the small disasters in the woods and the fire at the school a large fence was built around the Oil Storage Facility , and several armed guards were added ...I also was asked to no longer walk past the facility but I believe that was an overreaction.
There were two other areas nearby that figured into these growing years one was directly north of our house propped on top of the hill we lived on , and that was the air raid tower, at least once a week we were reminded of the ever present danger of the Communist aggression and were sent diving for cover under our school desks as the long and mournful horn from the tower would cover our playground with the sound of doom , the other area was west of that a new housing development that let me shave several minutes off my paper route until I was denied access to the area after building a small dam , which backed up and almost destroyed a house and its foundation.
This then was the area I grew up in in West Portland. It was the neighborhood and it was a place dear to my heart. In time my parents would move a new home unto the vacant lot next to our home on the corner ( 7415 SW 32 ) , I would enter High School from that house and I would be living there until my first marriage , my father would die in the house , after a short struggle with lung cancer , and my mother would live alone there for Abbot twenty years , never getting over his passing, After dad died the house got darker , often the joy of my childhood seemed far away , and moms sadness and depression evident through her struggles against it made it more and more difficult to visit ..little did I realize then that I was also contributing to this cycle of despair by my reluctance to confront it. I had no way to comfort my mother , and in my frustration I drew away from her , I had no way to comfort myself with the loss of my Father so I looked for distractions where I could find them , it was like I had no currency to pay the piper his due. I had chased the dog laughing and teasing and pulling on his tail and the dog had inexpicably bit me ...and I confess there was a time when this magical block , this land of my soujourn , the neighborhood I grew up in was ignored , and shoved out of my busy life , all that had given so much to me was ignored and foresaken I had put those pieces of the puzzel away.
Mom moved to Spokane as she neared the end of her life , though we did not know it was the end ...I still go by the house on the corner of 32nd and miles when I am in the area , and when I do I often sit quietly in front of the house , think of those years of running green in the sun , think of two wonderful and loving parents who gave so much in service to their children...my jaw gets tight , and it starts to ache and tears will invariably flow ..so much past , so much lost , so many thank you's un thanked , so much unappreciated in the headlong rush to being a grown up.
There are more stories to tell ...and now I am between the house on 32nd and Miles and Los Angeles and San Diego with far less miles to go before I sleep.

Puzzeled by the past

When I first sat down to write this portion of my journey out I realized that there was alot I didn't even know ...in fact so much I had contemplated taking a trip to Oklahoma to spend some time with my mothers sister , and asking her a few questions , I had some time off planned and it would be a nice road trip , but then things changed , calls were made and I ended up working most of this week. So now I am going to try to go forward with out the answers to some questions and as I write perhaps even more.
I know this much , I was born in Denver Colorado , at the time my parents lived in a mining town called Climax Colorado , it is true I was conceived in Climax. The mine was an open pit mine and the ore being extracted was Molylibdium , a metal used mostly for Jet aircraft because of its strenght and lightness ..I am reasonably certain that my Father worked on the sides of the pit , placing explosive charges into the earth. Probably suspended by thin cables and dangling several hundred feet in the air.
I vaguely remember my parents telling me of that Winter in Colorado with snow literally piled over the house we live in. The snow and the cold was probably why Mom and Dad considered moving to Portland , which they did within 19 months because that is when my brother was born in Portland Oregon ...I am not sure if he was conceived in Climax or not , and that is one question I probably would not want to ask Aunt Alice.
When we moved to Portland we lived in Sellwood , a small suburb south of Downtown Portland, and about three blocks from my fathers Parents. Elizabeth and Herman Sitlger. Herman was an immigrant from Germany and work for the Blitz Brewery in Portland , Elizabeth an immigrant from England. My best recollections of Elizabeth was of her crocheting and making coffee.
My mothers home was far away in Muldrow Oklahoma , her Father was Native American , and her Mother was an Irish Immigrant. In those days there was little talk of " Illegal immigrants " and more talk about the sins of the Native Americans . so when my Mothers Father " registered " with the US Government he fibbed and said He was 1/2 native. So now legally I am 1/8th .
My first recollection /Memory of life was living in Sellwood , this Memory is more like a composite of many memories , and is more likened to the debris at the bottom of a large cliff where deposits are all mixed together giving no indication of Chronology.
I remember a babysitter who lived across the street , neighbors who become famous when they got the first TV in the block and we would go over to vist and take a look at the new device. I remember my brother and I shared a room and I had the top bunk until it was determined that my bed wetting was making his life difficult , so I ended up with the bottom bunk.
At first I was troubled by this but two great benefits soon extended themselves to me. The first was I found that by tucking a sheet or blanket into the top bunk I could make myself a private cave ..a cave that was my own private and personal fortress. and that my being on the bottom bunk gave me ready access to the bedroom window that afforded me an opportunity to relive myself with out hiking downstairs to the bathroom.
The screen in front of the window was no obstacle to me but I do remember a slight changing of color that soon gave me away , that and the fact that one night I urinated on my father who was taking out the garbage. MY father was understanding and only used his hand on my bare butt and not the belt , something that at the time I was unable to appreciate the grace involved.
We lived in that house until I was six years old ...I went to Kindergarten early , and I must have had some problems because the next year when we moved ..I repeated Kindergarten ...I am not sure if you can say that life is up hill or down hill after you fail kindergarten , but somehow I survived ...my only memory of my first school experience is accidental hitting a girl with a jumping rope and then being so frightened , and scared of the sure and swift punishment I hid behind a tree until the class went back into the school , then I waited until school was out and pretended I had been in class when my mother walked down to pick me up. I am sure that in time the realization that my class had spent the rest of the day not missing me had some profound effect on my life , but I am not sure at this time what it was.
There was a park not far from where we lived ( Sellwood Park ) and my mother would take my brother and I there , and she would lay out a blanket and watch us as we played on the swings , and teeter toter . I have a picture I took of this place a few years ago and I swear that the teeter totter boards look like the originals we played on.
It was there that I first realized how much I could torment my brother , I would spin him so fast on the playground merry go ground that he was no longer merry , I would raise him far up on the teeter totter then let him fall to the ground ..all this seemed to accomplish two things , one he lived in fear of me , and two I learned to live in fear of my fathers belt when he heard about behavior when he came home.
It was at a very early age that I learned there were consequences to my actions , but learning that and stopping them seemed like light years apart ...I knew from a very early age what I should do , and what I should not do , but I was compelled and driven to do the opposite.
As my sixth year was winding down , I became aware that plans were being made to move away from this paradise ...boxes were packed , furniture stacked , and we moved to a Suburb of Portland on the west side called Multnomah..the new house was smaller , there was no upstairs ( this is fallout from peeing on your father ). but it had a garage , and a very large lot and an extra lot as well ...there was room to roam and explore and still be close to home. There were adventures to be had , friends to make and books to open , and it all lay ahead of me ...

What happened between Weed And Selma ( Looking back )

What happened between Shasta and Fresno backtracking

There are two answers to this ..the first is I don't know where that part of the book went off too , I am not very organized and if it wern't for Lori , there would be nothing left of that project ... I believe I did at one time have a written record of that day ...but not now.
The second answer is I have a very good idea ....
It was early morning when I was in Weed at the gas station, the cold air would have kept me awake and I turned left just out of Weed onto Interstate 5 ...heading south..its a downhill ride from Weed and soon the temperature would have been warming , there was no evidence of the sun rising , but in a few hours I would be getting tired ...more than likely I stopped and found a place in Redding California to sleep ..I like sleeping in a car , it feels safe and cave like ...when you wake up you simply tilt your seat up and go ...Probably as I went to sleep then for the next several hours I owuld have started thinking , really thinking about the turns and twists of my life ...when I remove myself from all the distractions of life I start thinking about me. Selfish perhaps, but there are some times when you look back, you know how it is ...one day you are six years old , you are chasing dandilions and throwing tantrums when you are told to go to bed ...you feel the first startling twinges of independence , and every thing is new ...so much new you simply can't take it all in , so your mind stores up memories which come flooding back to you when you least expect it. I would have started to think about my life in terms of memorable periods ...The early years from six to twelve , High School years , Sandy and the serious dating years , First marriage and college , Divorce , college , and Diana , Karen , Kaisa , and the Store in Sisters . Once I had started putting my life into these spaces I would like putting together a beach cabin Jigsaw Puzzel begin to fill in the middle ...