“This he [she] feels, is my proper vocation, this is the optimum, the law, the life for me to live. Here I find the degree of equilibrium, safety, calm and leisure which I need, or here I find the challenge, passion, fight, and hardship with which my soul’s energy expires.”
~ Pg. 256 Par. 1, The Varieties of Religious Experience William James
Dad, mom and me
Making fruit salad this morning is a proper thing to do for breakfast. It is when I got to the pineapple, after the strawberries, that I thought about Dad. He was the one that showed me how to cut up a pineapple. He grew up on the California Santa Monica Pier.
His mother gave him his own stand on the pier selling pineapple. She set him up good for a young teen. He cut up the pineapple and sold pineapple on a stick.
All profits were his to keep. Along with diving off the end of the pier for two bits, or body building at the original Muscle Beach, his stories where nice to hear while he taught me just this skill.
Memories are strange. Real experience, imagination and day dreaming in a few moments of time, take on a flavor in one’s mind. These all can be as a massive inward thinking collage blended together. What is it in us which differentiates the difference?
Husband and son went for a run around the block. Dusk was close at hand by an hour or so. The knock at the door took me off guard. I went to open the door thinking that son locked the door and wanted back in.
I opened the door and there stood mom and dad. My heart raced to see them standing there as if nothing had happened. I invited them in.
“We were at Trader Joes and thought we would stop by,” said mom.
“I see. Isn’t there one closer by your home?”
I looked at mom and she looked at dad.
“I wanted a certain type of beer and they ran out, so we went to the other. I think mom wanted to stop by and see the work you are doing on the pool!!”
“Ok, well as you see they took off all the plaster and next week they will pull out the skimmer and put in the new Blue tiles.”
“Oh that will look nice honey,” said mom
“Yes, the kids still swimming?” Dad said with a heavy voice.
“Yes they still enjoy it as well as myself!!”
I then asked if they wanted some coffee. Dad said a beer would be nice. Mom gave him an intense stare and said,
“Got a glass. I’ll have some too ‘cause I am thirsty.”
I cut up some Irish cheese and they had a few bites. Dad got antsy and said,
“Well gal, I think it is time to go, we have some groceries in the back of the car and they need to be put in the fridge!!”
I’ve learned not to fight this behavior of my parents; of coming and leaving in a short amount of time.
As in a whoosh of wind they were gone.
Son came back. Then about fifteen minutes later husband came back. I did not tell them about my parents visit. Mirage, a human mirage of brief moments that now seem real in my memories. Even though Mom and Dad passed away…a few long years now.
This above picture is a strange shot, on a strange day in the strangest month … well smash July and August together. I consider them strange months, which I hate. Yet, throughout this strangeness I finally framed a watercolor of mine called the Wild Holly Hawk. Thanks go to my Mom and Dad who indirectly paid for the frame and a selection of art supplies also. Even though it took a great deal of energy and will to get in the car and drive to Aaron Brothers, I finally did it. Some nice sales in the store added to the strangeness of the day in a happy strange way too. A new frame. It was not a cheap one either. I also got another one for a penny. A magnetic frame for a cartoon; a selection from the Adventures of Mr. Fuck, who by the way is a very strange human being. Mr. Fuck and The Annoying Orange is the chosen selection.
If ya can’t have fun with your kids over silly words and expressions…ya might as well throw in the towel. ~ Mr. Shit
This Horse saw us ‘a coming and came ‘a running up to the car… ya I know I have that horse vibe.. I am a horse woman especially the wild Mustangs !!
Being born and raised in the same hometown had its blessings and traps. Nature was plentiful. Building tree forts, dirt fights and running wild in the wind is what the kids in my neighborhood did. When I compare this to what my kids do, it is much different. Cell phones take away the freedom we have and from the danger.
Their free PlayStation fun compared to our saving dimes and quarters to play arcade games is a revolution in entertainment. I can’t say it is better or worse just different, as different as from what my parents did as kids.
Mom and Dad both living in the same house for over 60 years seems amazing to me now; especially now they are gone. My original long-term personal home base is gone. For me it was not so much the place as knowing that they would be there.
Mom cooking and Dad bellyaching about some silly thing. Playing poker at night after dinner or maybe a game of Hearts made it home. Mom always secretly helping Dad out with the games. He is acting like he didn’t know anything but like a shark that he would shoot The Moon.
I like to think that I am rekindling and bringing in this magic and epigenesis of youth to my youngsters. Telling scary stories while walking around the block at night and letting my oldest invite his friends over to the house, might do this. Once they were little. We had lots of room now the house is small, and we have less room for the same five or six young adults.
At this time in my life, I am letting go of the place that was my root-structure known as my parents. I have no say in the matter. Home is readjusting its meaning to me. First, I have kids and I am their home, but I also think of years as homes of adventure. The different events during different ten-year periods.
I can differentiate the different auxiliary-home-structures beginning with the 60s, then onto the 70s, 80s, 90s, until right this moment. I think we all have many homes where we put our roots down. Different places and people make us want to keep coming back for more.
I think home is where the heart is. It may be found in a foundational place, but it also can be more about the people or the person. When they pass on, they are remembered in the home of our hearts.
There was a constant hum in the air during the day and yells and screams at night.
Dad dancing outside to music… was one of those times life seemed endlessly youthful… ya we were all dancing to Suzi Quarto.
Twenty years of fireworks over our home was what I was born to. Across the San Fernando Valley the Woodland Hills Golf Course was a private club that displayed colorful bangs and loud lights across the valley. We enjoyed these free fireworks close over our home each year. Neighborhoods were tight and my whole family was together. BBQ, potato salad and sparklers at night highlighted the wild nature of the 4th of July during the 60s and 70s of my life. Watermelons soaked with booze were ready and waiting and the German Telefunken radio was put on a bar stool outside. The music blurred all day along with the bang-bang from our mini canon gun. It was a day of constant motion and movement and thrills of youth. There was a constant hum in the air during the day and yells and screams at night.
The many phases of life are like a bell curve. This was on the top and a great part of life. Now with Mom and Dad gone this 4th is especially a time of grieving for what once was. Ya, the low part of the bell curve. Yet, I know times will change again when my kids grow up and the family grows.
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