Part VI

So, sometime around the first of March in 1975, we got back home to Los Angeles. Mom had left Jay while we were gone and lived in the San Fernando valley in an apartment off Saticoy. We lived very close to Reseda Park, which always seemed an area to which Mom liked to move. We lived upstairs from a man named Frank, who Mom dated. He had three sons and, to be honest, I thought we lived with him, but Mom says we did not. I first heard Elton John there, "Goodbye Yellow Brick Road." I first saw "Billy Jack" and took my first interest in martial arts. Darin played football and basketball at Reseda Park, had a friend named Christian (The son of the Monkee, Mike Nesmith) and was a generally good kid. I got a shy neighbor kid to pay me for being his friend, began a four year obsession with shoplifting, melted my army men with supplies from Darin's chemistry set and ran away twice. In fairness, I never got farther than two apartment buildings over and then forgot (both times) that I had run away. Mom would remind me with a whoopin' from a wooden spoon when she would find the note later.

There was a guy who owned a convenience and liquor store on the next corner over. He would often give us free candy when we would stop in and once took about six neighborhood boys to a Dodger game. He was a neat guy, he bought me a bobble-head Dodger toy and an autographed photo of Ron Cey. Down the street from us was a real estate office, the agent there was a working actor best known for his portrayal of the grocer on the Walton's TV show. He was still on the show when we would stop by, he would give us shots of behind-the-scenes & "on-camera" stills which he would autograph for us. I don't know if he remembered that we were the same kids every week, for all I know he had thousands stopping by his office every week. We met Mike Nesmith and Mickey Dolenz of "the Monkees" at Christian's house one day. Such was the way it was living in the valley as a kid, half the people you met were in some way involved in the entertainment business and so from time to time you would meet mid-level and low-level stars in non-entertainment environments. I am sure some people think it is pretty cool, I just thought it was normal and am pretty sure that is why most stars don't impress me. I do however like dropping names, because other people seem to like mundane stories about the "big names." But, most of the bigger named people I met, I did not meet until adulthood, but I will get to those stories later.

(I don't have time to write about Howard right now, so I will get into it in Part VII. Stay tuned...same bat time, same bat channel)

reviews

Cathy and I have often worried over whether or not we could recommend films we like, but which deal with either subject matter or content that not all people could embrace. As a sunday school teacher for 4th and 5th graders, this subject has come up more than once and I keep pretty quiet about my personal choices. However, this weekend, we watched two movies that I feel very comfortable recommending to anyone. They presented me with interesting reflections and I would be interested in other people's thoughts about them.

The first was the Steve Carell movie, "Dan in real life." I have, for months, been struggling with a thought in my head about how to write for a character whose wife has passed on and how he moves on when he feels the way I do about my wife (no, nothing is wrong with Cathy). The story has been written well in this movie. It is at times hard to watch due to him falling in love with his brother's girlfriend, but it is sweet and meaningful and touching. The soundtrack is worth buying as it is perfect for this score, but also just a great album. All of the songs are by Sandre Lerche. The difficulties of a single father raising three girls and dealing with all of that and the sense of personal loss was an awesome portrait of life. This movie tells the story of an advice columnist who did not listen to his own advice (a sentiment I can fully understand) and a father who does not have all the right answers. I loved it, loved it, loved it. Watch it and tell me what you think.

The second was "Enchanted." This was a very popular film, so I am sure many of you have seen it. We bought it within a week of it coming out on DVD. I do not need to describe it to you, but I have a question. As I watched Giselle going through the real world and really making the most of everything, I wondered what kind of a difference that would make. Someone who was truly positive, saw the good in people and situations and was kind to people, genuinely kind...what kind of impact could that make on the world. It was the character in the script playing out how a cartoon character would be if confronted with the real world. But, the way Amy Adams played it, I could see that it was possible that one truly caring person could change it all. We can say in our cynicism that we would be annoyed by someone like that, I would say that I definitely would. But during the whole film, I had a huge smile on my face and could not wipe it away. It was like a good natured character ate right through my natural cynicism. Anyway, I really enjoyed the film. It is not just worth watching, it is worth owning!

Sick

Sorry, folks!

The energy to write right now escapes me as I have come down with the flu. Sorry for the delay in new musings, I will try to post something tomorrow. I hope your day and your weekend are filled with joy, family and fun. And, in case I am not up to blogging tomorrow, may you all enjoy the day we celebrate our Lord's supreme sacrifice for us.

dorkiness

Sometimes it even surprises me what a dork I am. In my heart-of-hearts, I have always been a geek, nerd, dork, whatever. Every once in a while my great knowledge of useless information, my fascination with fantasy novels and video games or my snorting when I laugh remind me of my own dorkiness. It is somewhat humbling, but mostly I look on it with good humor. After all, being a nerd was seen as a little cool after the "revenge of the nerds" movies, and Bill Gates rise to fame has forever put geeks in with the cool kids. But, just being a little bit of a social misfit, even when it is in private times or just with my family is kind of cool. It reminds me of who I am and I am okay with that.

Part V

In may of 1975, Popo wrangled us all into the truck and drove to a lake. There were kids diving off a pier and swimming in the lake and Popo took us out into the middle of it. There, he asked us if we had accepted Jesus and baptized Darin. While Darin was under the water a baby copperhead swam right across the water above him and to old Popo, that was a sign of the devil. Everyone jumped out of the lake, including all of the swimmers. One of the older boys caught the little snake and killed it on the shore. It was very exciting. So, Popo piled us all back in the truck to look for a new spot to baptize me. We drove around the lake until we found a quiet little cove and jumped out, just in time to see a full-grown copperhead swim toward us. Popo cursed the snake, and the devil, for trying to keep his grandbabies from getting into heaven and we drove on again. However, every time we stopped a snake would come out, each larger than the last. We finally found a place, jumped in and Popo dunked me just before he saw the biggest copperhead he had ever seen just staring at us. He yanked me out of the water and we got in the truck and got the heck out of Dodge. He was so happy that he got one past the devil. I am not making this up.

My problem with my confession of faith is not that it was not genuine, but that the seed was thrown on untilled ground, I wasn't ready. I wanted to be a Christian, but really had no concept of what that meant. No one tried to explain it to me. Popo treated baptism like it was the ransom, you say the words and dunk the kid and he is saved.

Within a week or two we headed out for a long trip through the south. We went from house to house in different areasand different states. I don't remember where we went, but I remember some of it. It was fun. I remember crossing the Mississippi River overfull with the spring run off. I remember being in Nashville meeting his sister. We visited a couple of Civil war battle sites, a giant (at least to me) farm with a swing rope out over a stream, a giant barn where all the kids hung out and chewed plug tobacco and they gave Darin and I gifts of hand-me-down toys once they realized we didnt have any. I got a toy six-shooter made out of real metal and I used to shoot at truck drivers while we were driving down the road.

We visited my Mom's uncle, Ernest, who had a turkey, chicken and cotton farm. Turkey Eggs are brown, big and taste like heaven. I picked cotton on a hot summer day and chased around the still running body of a decapitated chicken we had for dinner that night. It was a blast. One of the houses had a hidden room which I found really cool. It wasn't until I was an adult that I found out that room was for secret meetings of the Klan. My Granny described the Klan as good people who were just trying to keep things the way they should be. I am not kidding. It never seemed to occur to them that they were not white and that the Klan would call us "mud people." Enigma.

After a few weeks on the road we went back to Clarkesville. I really don't remember anything more until we drove back to California, which was in the first week in August. Granny stayed in Arkansas and Popo loaded Darin and I into the truck and drove us to L.A. This time we got to sit in the fron with Popo and we would take turns sitting in his lap where he would let us steer. While heading through part of the southwest, I distinctly remember Popo beginning to pray for safety. I looked up and there was a big storm with three funnels dropping out of it, when I looked the other way, there was a giant sandstorm. Popo told us to get down into the floorboard of the truck and he layed into the gas pedal. I looked up one more time and the three funnels had combined into one massive tornado. It was ominous and dark and so frightening. I huddled back into the floorboard and fell asleep. When I woke up all was clear and we were entering California. I asked Popo what happened and he said, "Jesus saved us."

stress

If you have ever been in the place of losing almost everything, you can understand. Cathy and I both suffer from irrational fear of losing everything. It is irrational now, but was a very real issue eight years ago. I had gone through an emergency appendectomy which had caused a strain on our coffee house business, I had to close down for a few days and due to some bad decisions prior to that, it began a downward spiral from which we never really recovered. We sold the house, closed the business and moved to an air mattress on my mother-in-law's floor. We stayed there for fifteen months.

It wasn't all so bad, but having issues with income causes us to really stress out. Last week it was me, this week it has hit Cathy. We are doing okay, we just have no cushion and that scares the poop out of us. On the other hand, it reminds us of just how dependant on God we are everyday. So, that is a good thing, even if it doesn't feel like it. However, I would appreciate any prayers you can muster for peace for our lives. Life is not easy, it's a bumpy ride. But we are supposed to exhibit some peace in our lives through it all, so your prayers for strength in that area would mean a great deal. Thanks!

banner

My lovely bride created the new banner. What do you think? I like it!

She is brilliant, isn't she?

By the way, on the autobiography, if anyone has any questions about any part, please ask as I can not cover everything in any semblance of order.

Also, what are your thoughts about blogging uncomfortable things? What about things that don't matter to the writer, but may bother the reader, especially if they are the subject? I am fascinated by this...and how it effects the future. What if your kids read it, would you be alright with that? What if my parents read this, am I willing to deal with Mom's pity-party or Dad never talking with me again? For myself, I have answered this question. If I tell the truth as I remember it, I can live with the ramifications, no matter how bad. How about you? What are your thoughts?

Part IV

A couple of days after Easter in 1975, we pulled into Popo and Granny's little ten acre "farm" and shack in Clarkesville Arkansas. It always makes me think of the Monkee's song, "Last Train to Clarkesville" but having lived there, I can not imagine a reason there would be a train to Clarkesville. When I say shack, I mean it. It was a wood-framed building with worn-out siding and one bedroom, separated from the rest of the house by a curtain. We had no running water in the house and had to draw water from a well-pump in the back yard. We did however have electricity and a TV, which got one weak station. I do not remember ever having the radio on for music, but Granny liked to listen to old preachers ramble on in their hellfire and brimstone approach to judgementalism. In fairness, I don't know what they were saying, as I usually would tune-out any words coming in that old Baptist Homiletics which I still associate with poor preaching.

Not having indoor plumbing was not exactly a treat, as it meant we had to use the old wooden outhouse to relieve ourselves. Well, I should say the men had to, but only for number two, otherwise we just peed in the field. Granny never used the wooden outhouse, she had a little ceramic pot with a seat on it and she would go into her room, pull the curtain and (quite literally) sit on the pot. Unfortunately, one of us would then have to empty the pot out into the outhouse. It was gross. The outhouse was more than stinky, it was scary. I was convinced that there were rattlesnakes and spiders of enourmous size in every dark corner. I feel confidant that I did not poop for 5 months, until we got back to California.

Snakes, Tarantulas, Black Widows, Chiggers and Ticks were all in high abundance. These were the very real monsters we grew up with. All of them deadly foes to be scouted, trapped, shunned and killed. It was an adventurous time and inerestingly, one of the most exciting memories of my youth. When we moved, it was sudden and I brought no toys, no books, nothing to occupy my time. I took to reading the TV guide and acting out what I thought would happen in the brief episode synopses. Darin and I would go out to a woodpile in the back yard and build whatever, using only our imaginations and whatever shape we could find in discarded heaps of wood. I made mud pies and we would sit around and pretend to eat them. We made birdhouses. Mine was pathetic, but Darin's actually got some birds.

It is somewhat weird that we even had a TV guide, as we only were able to get one station which in the Ozarks in 1975 had very limited programming. Captain Kangaroo, that is all I remember. My grandfather would get up and dance whenever the dancing bear came on and Darin and I would laugh and laugh with such great joy. Seeing Popo dance was a fun exeperience. He was a tower of a man with a great smile and a kid's heart, sometimes cruel, but mostly just silly. He mostly wore overalls and was 6'5. Granny on the otherhand was 4'11" and wore flowery dresses. They both dipped snuff...yes, even Granny.

We got our milk from a farm up the road, it still had a layer of sweet cream across the top of the bottle. If you have never had freshly milked milk, you have not lived. This non-fat white water which I drink today can not compete with the creamy goodness of fresh from the cow milk. It was heavenly. Every morning Granny would make us some biscuits, which we slathered with churned butter and covered with Hershey's chocolate syrup from a can. My mouth is watering just thinking about it. Every once in a while, my Grandmother would boil up some root tea, using sassaphras roots and sugar. It was a real treat.

I don't know what other jobs Popo did, but his "profession" was a travelling evangelist. We would go to various towns in the Ozarks and he would take the pulpit and tell people they were going to hell, or at least thats how I remember it. Then they would take an offering and give him gifts. I must admit, no one has ever given me anything but a dirty look if I have told them they were going to hell. Popo couldnt get a regular preaching job, because he didnt go to seminary. Actually, he barely finished the second grade. His birth certificate read "Un-named Bowman." His family always called him OT and he eventually went by Oscar T. Bowman. He was generous, caring and loving on one hand and bigoted, hateful and mean on the other. He was an enigma in the truest sense and just larger than life. Once that spring, he said "Let's go get us some gooks." I had no idea what that meant. But, we all loaded up into the truck and drove hours away to Fort Smith. There, my grandfather applied to take on a family of Vietnamese refugees who had just come into the country. He was going to give them an acre of his land and build a house for them. This is part of his enigmatic nature, ne called them "gooks" and looked down at them, but was willing to give them a portion of his land and build a house for them. He was not approved for the program, maybe he wrote out why he was there, "to get me some gooks."

Tornadoes came what seemed every Friday. The warning would go out and we would go down into a storm shelter, which looked like it was built during the civil war. Rickety wood benches in a damp, dark hole, covered by a rickety door. We were never actually hit by a tornado but they would touch down in nearby homes and communities. For some reason, our house was always jumped over when they would come nearby. The tree out front was hit by lightning, twice. In the end, it was a stump which had been bleached white by the experience. I always thought that was neat. We would go down into the shelter with a flashlight, looking for rattlers who might have the good sense to seek shelter from the storm, but were grateful that we never found one waiting for us.

Darin and I spent most days playing in the fields, picking fruit from un-maintained vines or fields, or running though the dense forest which bordered our property. It was dark and forboding and with imaginations like ours, full of fun and mystery. Everyday, though, when we got back, we would have to strip naked and stand in a wash tub while Granny used rubbing alcohol or lighter fluid to get the chiggers out of our skin, or a lighter to burn out ticks. Sometimes the ticks were the size of a dime and full of our blood. One day, Popo took us out into the forest and we gathered rocks and built prayer altars, where we could kneel down and be alone with God. Again, he was an enigma.

Thanks!

Well, it always makes me feel happy and whole when people read this little dog and pony show, so thanks! There was an unusually high spike of readers on my birthday, which I take as a birthday greeting, so thanks again. And for all the well-wishers, birthday calls, emails and love, thanks a bunch! You are all appreciated more than I am feebly able to let you know.

the saga ends...or does it?

As I have stated before, I have been trying to obtain a license to perform certain improv shows and to begin an improvisational theater company under that name. Last week, we finally had a conference call (we being me and the board which covers expansion for them). To my delight, the questions were normal business questions about funding and capitalization and had very little to do with my faith or its effect on the company. I was so impressed with the questioning in fact, that I decided to turn them down, and re-address the possibility at a later time, because I feel under-capitalized to promote the image which they want to promote in any new groups. So I sent them an email thanking them and telling them that perhapos it would be best if I started a group, then re-applied for the license at a later time so I could do their shows.

Somehow, they missed the point. I received an email saying they would discuss it this week and get back to me with the things they wanted more info on. It went a little something like this:

Me - "Umm...I turned you down."
Them - "No problem, we will see what info we need to get you the approval."
Me - "But I am pulling my application."
Them - "Alright, we'll talk about it and let you know what's needed."
Me - "huh?"
Them - "What?"
Me - "Okay? I guess."
Them - "talk to you next week."

I still don't feel financially able to do what they would like done in a new group, so not sure how this will even work out. I do know one thing, by next week I will be even less certain than I am today.

getting old

I was reading the book, the Bourne Ultimatum, and in the book (not the movie) Jason Bourne a/k/a David Webb is 50 years old. There is a part of the book where he recognizes that he can no longer do all of the things he could when he was in his late thirties. Well, who can? I am just coming to grips with the fact that my body no longer rebounds the way it did when I was 25 or 30. I get sore from playing the Wii, heck I get sore from taking out the trash. Anyway, I thought it fitting to mention this as I am turning 41 tomorrow. 41!! As a friend said, "Wow, most of us never thought you'd make it to 31." It is hard when you begin to fathom the deterioration of your own body. When I was younger, I could gain or lose 5-20 pounds at a whim. Now I am happy to shed a single pound and find that if I do the same things which made me maintain in previous years, I lose ground now. I have every reason to believe, based upon a graph I have created, that I will be a living semblance of Jabba the Hut within ten years. Or, if I run every day, lift weights and eat well, I will only look like Chris Farley reincarnated.