My Mentor Tree and Eucalyptus Friend

“I AM WHO I AM,” and then said, “Tell the Israelis: ‘I AM sent me to you.'”~ ISV

This is a short story about a eucalyptus tree. A living friend, mentor and comforter.

My dad first visited the eucalyptus tree when he went horse back riding in the San Fernando Valley. Most likely the late 1940s.  He rode from Ventura Blvd towards the dirt hills of the Santa Monica mountains. It isn’t easy to imagine that there once was a horse stable located near Ventura Blvd. and Canoga Ave. He told me how he stopped one day under the eucalyptus tree and looked over the valley. Once he saw a for sale sign there, a hill covered with wild sage and wider nature. My dad made it happen. His brother was a carpenter / builder and his mother already invested in properties throughout the San Fernando Valley. They made his dream come true. They made it happen for my dad and mom. As a WWII Vet he secured a government loan.

Dad and his brother, Had, created a plan to build a house on that wild hill in the San Fernando Valley. They fought like brothers often do. My dad fought for the large sliding windows that looked over the valley. He also fought to build a house which cuddled around a eucalyptus tree.

I learned to climb that tree as I was learning to walk. The smell of the eucalyptus tree on foggy mornings before going to school or during rain storms often filled my bedroom. I climbed that beautiful tall tree on my way to the top of the red brick chimney often. Sometimes to see thunder storms break across the valley. There I silently sat  listening to the sound of  coyotes in the distance and viewed lights in the night sky. All of this magic still captures my imagination.

Once I left home I often went back to visit with my parents.  The first thing I would do was hug my eucalyptus tree. The seed pods from the eucalyptus are a wonder. Round and cone-shaped with a five-pointed star in the middle. Always a signal autumn was approaching.

Today a walk on a slightly foggy morning at the end of August brought back this memory of a eucalyptus tree I grew up with. I was beholding today to the only eucalyptus tree in my neighborhood. Whispering a scent and showing an aura that took me back to my nebulous childhood. The tree replied to me today, “”I AM WHO I AM.” Maybe this is the same whisper I always heard from my mentor tree and eucalyptus friend.


July moves into August

July moves into August. A time of justice and heat, a time of foresight and deep. For me it is about news… some bad and some good news. I have known this time of the year to be delirious dark and forbidden. Today it has reached an illuminating place of thanksgiving.

Between our psyche and the cosmos is magic. Magic moves between our hidden unconscious coming forth from our dreams. Yes, that Magic coming with psychic foresight of knowing. Real causality or synchronicity does not matter to me. Natural magic! I live all combinations.

Yesterday we went to Naval Air Station Point Mugu. Driving to Ventura from the San Fernando Valley can be harsh on a Sunday. We found a little farming street to follow down to Point Mugu. It romances the beautiful Pacific Ocean. Which is why we were there.

My dad was a WWII Veteran. As kids we enjoyed fishing on the pier that is located on this naval base.

Husband and I sat in our car for sometime. Wondering if we could approach and visit the pier for old memories. We did. A tight solider asked for husband’s driving-license. As the solider was taking the license from husband, I explained my family story. Before you could think we were quickly told to make a U-turn. No good byes or safe journeys.

Point Mugu has since merged with nearby Naval Construction Battalion Center Port Hueneme to form Naval Base Ventura County (NBVC).

We ended up at Port Hueneme Historical Society Museum. A sweet little place that smelled pleasantly old! The building was filled with old women and older history items. Outside the rather small building were many monarch butterflies. Hub bobbing around ourselves like best friends. We were then told the story.

It sounds like a magical potion. Milk weed, Cosmo flowers and chrysalis. It was the story of how someone took the time to love the process of this lovely butterfly. All it takes is a little love and a few nasty weeds to attract the attention of nature’s finest beauties.

Today upon my waking up I enjoyed a very good dream. A dream I have been waiting for since my mother’s death. It was a closure dream. In this dream husband opened the front door to the usual UPS knock. There was another package, another calculus book, or similar book, for the kids. Then we heard another knock on the front door. This time I opened the door. From top to bottom the front door was filled with packages. My husband gave me a guilty look. A pouting praying mantis face.

“It is not Christmas time,” I said.

I pulled out one of the packages.  A large white one. A box that might conceal a dress or new pants. Then I saw on top the name ‘Holly’ written in cursive.

“How could mom give me this after her death?”

A wonderful gift from her. That is what mom would do. Write our names on top of our gifts. It was her writing…. I know it by heart!

Today has reached an illuminating place of thanksgiving.


Dennis, Pat and Mike, The PUNK HUB MASTERS

THE PUNK HUB MASTERS

My talk today is a comparison essay about three characters from the early punk rock scene. A Punk Comrade GHOST Special.

Dennis Danell original bass player for the punk rock band Social Distortion, Pat Fear singer and guitar player extraordinaire of the mockery punk band White Flag, and Mike Conley singer of the popular punk band MIA. I call them the PUNK HUB MASTERS

To move my essay into the realm of where I am looking from, I will be using a concept from my favorite psychologist Carl Gustav Jung. Now for a short Jungian psychology concept…

“The specific role of the archetype in synchronistic phenomena seems to be to serve as the constellation hub of a situation across time, and to be the factor of [inner order] that gives this distinctive set to the situation.”

Punk rock is a phenomenon which created a situation of order as a constellating hub. A hub is a focal point a center around which other things revolve from which things radiate. I am applying this concept to the origin of punks and to punk rock…

We were nobodies of the underground, sitting on a youthful explosion, that was a riptide of good-fella punk friends. The early individual punks found each other through the hubs we created. Back in the late 70s and throughout the 80s, as you know the punk scene created a network of hubs that worked independently from each other yet depended on each other to sustain the punk scene. Examples of hubs were Fanzines such as We Got Power or Flipside Fanzine. Also, every punk band had its own hub. Record labels, music recording studios and record store hubs. The major places to make the scene!  Such as Licorice pizza, ZEDS, Tower Records and Moby Disk Records and our own Whittier Record hub Lovells Records.  Without forgetting the college and underground radio program hubs where the innovative music played. These were the greatest of supportive hubs such as Pat Hoed’s Adam Bomb (KXLU), Stella Stray POP and Rodney on KROQ.

The major hub that brought us all together was an amazing force known as gigs. The garage to Club 88, the Masque to the Whisky A go go and beyond. Where the fans, bands and promoters met! The focal point here was the paper flyer. These papers were handed out at gigs. Unique band flyers with local and logo band art. Mostly Xerox copies. Xerox machines a revolutionary major hub for the punk scene.  The US Mail and the ring ring telephone press buttons or circular dial extenuated the positive communication hub…remember? Punks spent a great deal of time alone…creating, practicing, and thinking in our own hubs! Coming together via shows, the phone, and the mail.

This is where the hub masters such as Denis, Pat, and Mike were found. They shined there. They masterly brought all the HUBS together. These three punks were genius hub masters. Networking was their punk underground gift, and they are authentic examples of the early punk rock phenomenon. Dennis, Pat, and Mike are a part of the Southern California punk scene. They influenced a generation of fans and often are not known or acknowledged for their influence. They infected my little hub of a bedroom converted into a fanzine office. I often felt overwhelmed working on Flipside and under a big wave of stuff always about ready to crash. These guys showed me the skills of synchronizing things together. Making it seem easy.

Punk Hub Master: Dennis Danell

I first saw Denis when I was living with my sister in Fullerton Orange County. It was 1978. I was working at a local Dry-Cleaning Business as a cashier. Staffing on Flipside Fanzine on the side. He was riding a sting-ray bike sporting a spike haircut. At that time, he was unique. We were speaking the same language. I looked similar with my partial shaved hairdo with orange hair color. A year later we met at the scene and became friends. Dennis taught me loyalty of friendship. I witnessed his expansive heart that made his band stay tight. This is the work of the hub master. Denis still visits me in my dreams. Always polite, honest, and his happy Dizzy self. He had the ability of synchronizing punks together in a charming way. He will not ever be taken for granted. He was at the right place at the right time.

I will read some quotes from Flipside 20 A Social Distortion interview. I feel these short quotes embrace his character.

“Denis: We wanna sound like no one else, We wanna sound like us!!”

“Denis: Tommie’s chilly burgers. I ate one of those and didn’t have to eat for 2 days and I was shitting for 3 weeks!”

Hub Master: Pat Fear.

As you know Pat was a force to deal with. He lived in Riverside which was not far from Whittier Ca where Flipside Fanzine was based. Flipside put out a few music vinyl fanzines on Flipside / Gasatanka Records. Pat was the hub master and helped bring it all together. Was it only a few years ago I argued on Facebook about his hate for Sahara Palin? I would ask him to slow down and redirect his energy. White Flag played a show with the Simpletons around 2008. They played a Saints Song, Demolition Girl. A nice dedication to me. Yet that was Pat… he always tried to make his friends happy. He was humorous in an irritating and funny way. He had the gift of inclusion. He is a constellating hub across time which brings us all here together today.

I will read some quotes by White Flag Tape 6 Flipside Music Fanzine. I will try to read them the way White Flag said them. Pat Fear’s high degree of sarcasm.

This is a White Flag moment.

“What is the purpose of White Flag?”

“To create an illusion of creativity. Because we are too good to be believed.”

“White Flag is a band that’s done everything done before… but better.” “There are two kinds of people in the world, people who are in White Flag and all those who wish they were.”

“White Flag is more than just a band it is a concept of how to live your life.”

“We look like women, talk like men, and play like mother fuckers. (Twisted sister quote.)”

Pat wrote a theme song for our video fanzines. I would like to share a short description from our catalog describing the beginning of Flipside Video Number Two,

“Now if you want to see the good old video monster in action you just got to catch this video. So, if you get it, and put it in your VCR, you might just die. Because the opening Flipside Video Number Two is the band White Flag. Gutsy and pure, Pat Fear will knock your block off while he plays guitar for the opening theme song called “Flipside” with backup singers including some Redd Kross members and one Bangle member …”

Hub Master: Mike Conley

Mike originally came from Las Vegas and then stationed his band MIA in the Orange County beach area. He brought punks tighter together. He did this at parties, gigs or at the Flipside House. He could wheel and deal the punk zone. Back stage Mike would make me laugh. He would follow me around saying,

“Want a cocktail, Hudley,” while rolling his eyes round and around. Just like Groucho Marx.

In 2008 when editing my memoirs about the punk scene I came across some Mike comments in a Flipside Fanzine Interview with his band. Unbelievably I received a call at that moment from Nick Adams, a member of MIA, telling me of Mike’s demise.   A week later at his funeral his oldest daughter told us a short story.

She said that when they were traveling in his car her dad always had the music on too loud. She told him he could use headphones like everyone else. He never did. That is punk.

I will now read another short story from My Punkalullby Paperback book.

From the Pogo to the Slam Pit

Recently, at a benefit show for the passing of Mike Conley of M.I.A., a slam pit broke out at the Detroit bar in Costa Mesa. After about 19 years my natural feelings of irritation and perspiration filled with moisture above my brow. In the past, the slam pit became a testosterone-filled ring of jock bodies circling round and round before the stage. Bouncers and bands tried to control it.  They could not stop this wildfire. I grew to hate it. Yet, the recent show again proved me wrong. There were some women but mostly men dancing around having a great time. Yes, their firm bodies now had become a little soft around the edges, as one middle-aged guy stopped and said to me, as if Mike Conley for one moment materialized,

“…enjoy this moment, it is the best time of your life!”

This guy was beaming with youthful glee.

Flipside produced one of MIA’s albums entitled After the Fact. I will read lyrics from a song that Mike wrote. A Quote from the Song, Whisper in the Wind,

“In my eyes you’ll see a thousand memories, He said stare into my soul, All of me you shall know, Live your life full, live your life free, Tomorrow’s but a vision, Yesterday is a dream…”

Mike had the quality of inner order. A quality of depth and control that was not always easy to access.

This concludes my essay on three punk rockers of the early Southern California Punk Scene. Denis, Pat, and Mike were extraordinary. They were our friends!

They are the Punk Hub Masters!


(I presented this at Pat Fear and Other Stories~ December 3, 2017 )


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penny candies

I sometimes miss the wildness of the street. Every street corner there were many people hanging out. Most were friendly and handing out flowers. Most eventually grew up and went on with there lives. 


1968–69: Manson Family crimes Main article: Manson Family

In the late 1960s, Manson attracted a quasi-communal cult based in California that was later dubbed the “Manson Family”. The group gained national notoriety after the murder of actress Sharon Tate plus four others in her home on August 9, 1969,[15] and LaBianca murders the next day. The Tate–LaBianca Murders were executed by Tex Watson and three other members of the Family, acting under the specific instructions of Manson.[16][17] Family members were also responsible for a number of other assaults, thefts, crimes, and the attempted assassination of United States President Gerald Ford in Sacramento.[18] 1971–present: third imprisonment


rowing up in the San Fernando Valley during the 1960s was wild. All the corner streets were filled with hitchhiking youths. Carrying incense and their innocence. Topanga Canyon was a way to the beach. They moved towards the Pacific Coast Highway.

As a kid I would walk down to Gary’s Market on the corner of Dumetz and Topanga Canyon. My friends and I bought penny candies. We also got bakery goods. We would sit and eat. We sugar gazed at the craziness.

Now I often take a drive to Box Canyon. That place where the Manson Family once lived. I love writing about this place and that time. It seems to be a place that has not been touched by time. It still feels and smells like the late 60s and early 70s.

As kids we walked or rode our bikes there. Not as many cars made the ride or walk easy. There were trees to climb and plenty of friends. We felt safe. Gone for hours at a time! Funny my parents never seemed to worry about us.

It was not until after the Manson trial that I learned to fear the wild places of my youth. Yet smoking pot would always highlight this paranoia.

Charles Manson is dead or is dying. The creepy crawl is not over though. Today I will take a drive-up and down Box Canyon. With freedom there is always danger lurking about. Those corner streets filled with hippies were not so innocent as I thought they were. As I once was. Maybe darkness gazed at us, unaware to us, back then as we ate our penny candies.


 

 

Pluto Love

Pluto


I am Sun Square Pluto


“To improve the external situation in the world, we must begin by accepting that world as a mother accepts her child; to improve our intimacies, we much extend the same benevolence to ourselves. The acceptance we must cultivate is the same: the emphasis remains on the inner world. As Jung pointed out, “The upheaval in our world and the upheaval in consciousness is one and the same.” We must come home to ourselves with a mothering acceptance, and so give birth to ourselves with a mothering acceptance, and so give birth to true emotion, the basis of all true intimacy. ” Pg. 129 Astrology Beyond Ego – Tim Lyons

th (22) while back I had a scary dream. I was with a group of people. We were all running from evil monster zombies. The feeling was dread. We found a train and traveled to the country. It was horrid. The thought of death approaching was a sickness in us all. We found a cabin in the countryside. I had my white cat Mr. Po Po with me. He ran from the cabin out into the darkness of the night. The zombies were there. The monsters were close. I had to run after my cat. Terrified I ran out into these monsters of chaos and fear beyond enduring. As I found my cat. I hugged him. I was confronted by the evil that pursued us. Everything stopped. I looked into death and he said this to me,

“I cannot hurt you with that cat.

You all run in fear and hate

Yet there in your hands is your love

I cannot touch you or harm you with love.”

th (23) was overwhelmed with dread, then fear, and then I felt only my cat’s love. I walked slowly back into the cabin and told the others what happened to Mr. Po Po and me.  We all sat in a circle and held hands. We now knew what to do.

w e sang a new song.

Pluto and the underworld.
Pluto and death.
Pluto and nuclear weapons.
Pluto and power of the underground.
Pluto and transmutation.

Pluto loves Persephone!

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Orfeo ed Euridice, Wq. 30: Act II, Scene 2: “Torna, o bella” (Chorus)

Translated… I hope this is correct!

“Come to the realms of bliss,

great hero, tender husband,

rare example in any age!

Amor returns Eurydice to you;

already she revives and recovers

all the flower of her beauty.”

Follow Me

The CambionNimue herself and Merlin all are “denizens of another reality.” How can we humans begin to understand them. Why do we make them evil? Instead, I will enjoy their stories and not judge them. Life is just that, a mystery… like the denizens.

Walking in the early morning is a new part of my routine. I usually walk in the evening because I love capturing the night sky. Today, I had a talk with a local squirrel! The olive tree in front of my house was the perfect place for an official squirrel greeting, First, squirrel dashed in front of me. Then half up the olive tree turned round looking straight into my eyes. The squirrel’s eyes are a dark black brown with a reflective glimmering. A squirrel moves like a humming bird…deliberate movement, fast then still and focused. The squirrel moving away, then came back to look closely into my eyes again! About three feet between us was the distance we shared. This lasted about ten minutes.

I mumbled conversation as the squirrel responded with a deep vibrating sound from within its flexible body, while showing off its gorgeous tail! I would like to think; I am still a bit on the wild side too. I have let myself become too damn domesticated over the years. It is nice to know that I have not lost my touch with nature! This magic, also taught by Merlin the Magician, helps me to appreciate my little wild connection. I feel that nature still knows my name, as it did when I was young!

Mana

th (17)

“We know that something unknown, alien, does come our way, just as we know that we do not ourselves make a dream or an inspiration, but that is somehow arises of its own accord. What does happen to us in this manner can be said to emanate from mana, from a daimon, a god, or the unconscious…”

Pg 336 Par 2 Memories, dreams, reflections ~ C.G. Jung

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The yard is the shape of a crescent moon facing west. The cypress trees line the crescent shape that enhances the progression of the equinox in the night sky. Last night walking out into the darkness looking up,

“Hello Jupiter.”

Wings like a moth, or a big barn owl, or a giant bird swam through the darkness towards the south. Very high in the dark sky. A very large bird just west of Jupiter. A foreign site next to the consistency of the progression. All captured within the eyes of this little backyard. The ascending full moon was low on the horizon yet the light-numinosity surrounded the large creature.

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A bottle named Delilah

th (4)
Online image of happy and sad face….

A bar in the living room and a bar in his beauty salon. Drinks at the Chinese restaurant on Ventura Blvd. Lights that lit up the bar at Christmas time reflecting off gifts simmering gold, green and tall bottles of colorful liquid. Tall cupboards that he reached for, then pouring that rich golden juice.

Named at a bar from a book while she was in labor. Drives out with beers at the side. Music and laughter, screams and yelling while holding a hand and butter on bread.

Two faces one happy and one sad over their red brick fireplace. He always reached for that bottle…named Delilah. Jazz playing on the radio.

I thought those bars would last forever, I was happily fooled. They are now gone forever only stinging my memory now!!

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_prompt/brilliant-disguise/

Elderberry wine

th (4)

Once while working as a Home Heath Aide on the East coast I did a nice thing for a wise old lady. She had grace, experience and savvy. Her home was a grand home that had been in her family for generations. In my mind she seemed like Scarlett O’Hara. Now in a wheel chair most of the time she told me stores that I will not share here.  She survived her family and had none to tend to her needs. Her memories were as clear and vivid as her mind, well her past memories not her present ones as much. One story I will highlight is how her father made Elderberry wine. They kept the home made wine in their basement.

Her home had a spiral staircase, beautiful chandeliers and ghosts. I focused on the living room and kitchen because this was all the house that was in-use. We were both alone in Rochester New York.

I decided to visit her on Christmas Eve… yes I visited the wise old lady. I loved her story so much that I gave her a small gift of Elderberry wine. We shared a shot of the wine and that was all! I hope I never forget her smile. I put the wine up in a closet far from her knowing reach.

The Visiting Nurses Association told me another aide found the wine and accused me of being an alcoholic. In my defense they did not appreciate the truth I told them. I guess I stepped over  my bounds, yet I know this wise old lady and her ghostly dad… had a good ole’ family time that Christmas Eve. I did.

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https://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_prompt/nice-is-as-nice-does/

cock-horses

Ride a cock horse to Banbury Cross. To see a fine lady upon a white horse, With rings on her fingers, And bells on her toes. She shall have music, Wherever she goes. ~ Nursery rhyme

jup————————————————

Watching “That ’70s Show” with the teenage son last night took me back when I was actually a teenager at that time. Some of the show is superficially realistic. There were the pot smoking circles of deep reflection…ha ha. The same record (vinyl) playing repeatedly. Sex was a big deal as well as a girlfriend or boyfriend. The same old thing…my kids have a different experience.

It got me thinking about the time when my dad was asked over to my boyfriend’s house. I was 15 and went missing. I was gone for two days and no one knew where I was. Even my brother Greg looked out over the valley concerned that I may have been abducted.

Mike’s dad said to my dad, “So your daughter and my son are having relations.”

My dad gave a strange look, “You mean they are copulating?”

Of course, Mike’s dad laughed and said “Something like that…”

Mike and I were in the room and we were a bit scared. They had found us hiding in the attic above Mike’s parent’s house. Mike had a nice little set up, like a ’70s van with food, beer and pot. We had two days of copulating and I even read a book. Well that was the real version of “That ’70s Show!”

This takes me to the word my dad used, copulating. Tonight, Venus will merge with Jupiter in the night sky. It will not be a Venus Observa!

“Technical term for the male-superior sexual position, which Adam tried and failed to impose on Lilith, and which the Catholic church designated the only legal position for marital intercourse, since it afforded the least pleasure to the wife. Patriarchal societies generally opposed such female-superior sexual positions as those favored by the worshiper of Shiva and Hecate, and by medieval witches who, as the nursery rhyme says, rode on top of their “cock-horses.” ~ Pg. 1044 Barbara G. Walker*

Tonight, Venus is doing her magic. Lilith will be proud and a few happy men!! As Jupiter and Venus merge tonight guess who will be on top??

* The Woman’s Encyclopedia of Myths and Secrets