is anyone out there???
The Haulover Canal is affectionately known as BR 188… Isn’t that the phone number that Junior flashed on He Haw???
Finally, on my quest of life I have my garage time… How long have dreamed of a garage? I remember that apartment in Goleta with parking under the building. The adjoining room with the clothes washer/dryer had some space that I took advantage of and when the Caddilacc was not in the port I would set up my temporary work table and make sawdust. Oh, what I would give for a garage. I did make a magnificent coffee table in that port. A commission piece for a work supervisors kid, which all parties loved.
Our next abode had a real garage, again under the building, but with three walls. A step in the right direction. The Caddilac surely would not fit in it. Do not remember what i built there. Stored and worked on our bicycles i believe.
While still in Santa Barbara i moved into a house with two other guys and their girls. It was a party house and had a three car garage around back. Worked on making swinging chairs.
Then we moved to the Sunshine State and graduated to our own home with a full two car garage proper. Still did not park cars in it. Built a nice outside octangle picnic bench. Also, we had a killer Halloween party with Square One playing live in the garage.
we’ve all heard the tired old jokes about retirees not knowing what day it is. At first, i would scoff and boldly pronounce the day of the week. But now, 9 months into my new job of no job the view has changed. Ask me today what day is it.Is today Tuesday? Do i give a fuck? If you know me, you know my answer. The day of the week used to matta because i am such a television junkie, but now with DVR, mans greatest invention since the shower, I give another no fuck.
Right here right now has been a life long mantra and now more than ever it is the rule. Tick tock tick tock my days tick away no matta its name. Days are only made up of wasted minutes. Scribbling is not a waste. When the butt molds to the chair and the fingers fly on the keyboard a window may open for ones Muse to visit. Ahhh.
Greetings. Supposed to rain in 4 hours, so my list is weatherproofed for now. Outside chores early, inside chores later. But my urge to scribble is now. I worked yesterday on my current project and shared with the Sanford Writers Group last nite. I am thankful for the honest feedback and encouragement to proceed. The muses saw me working yesterday and rewarded me with the right phrases at the right time. All real writers know that a connection with their muse is as important as having ink in their pen. Not that I am real yet, but my desire is real.
What is real for me now is the addition to my vocabulary of three out of four new phrases. The Fabulous Four phrases we all want.
I have never dreamed i would obtain 3 out of 4 and number 4 is in my sights. These phrases have never ever lived in my vocab. Debt Free killed that monkey on our back like no other. We gladly pay for what we want, but it’s that damn “interest” that weighed down the experience. Someone earning monies by doing nothing more than lending money. Usury does not have a pretty history. Back in the day extracting even a single cent of interest was considered evil.
12 months before our oldest turned 18 i started the countdown clock. 365 days and you are out, spelled out. Well, it took a little more than 365 days, but that mission is now accomplished and all parties are glad.
Sorry sir, but your services are no longer required here. Boom. Retirement welcomed itself into my reality. Planning for one’s final day at work is the norm. But hey, when have i ever been normal? The gods knew i would never quit work on my own, so they decided to roll that dice for me. I’ve thought about going back to work because i love what i do.
When we make that final mortgage payment, which should be less than 12 months away, i will throw a Mortgage Burning Party. I already have a band.
Time for outside beofre the drizzle…
I get such good feelings while digging in my garden. Not so much of a crop yet, but digging dirt just feels good. Per “Candide” working one’s garden is the secret to life. I can dig that. Dirt doesn’t care if you are Democratic, Republican, white, brown, old, young, male, female or even if you are a good person or a not so good person, if you own a mansion or a cardboard box. Dirt doesn’t give a fuck about you. You will come and go, but dirt will always be there. Dirt is the dirty little secret. It is full of life and action and just does it’s business, not caring a twit about the crisis of the moment. It is what it is. Whew. Where did that come from?
Being of age I often wonder “what if I were to die right now?”. Working in the garden, that question always comes alive. Boom. I think it would be the perfect place and time to call it good. Then the movie “Godfather” comes to mind and the scene when Vito Corleone drops dead while working in his garden. Then the death scene of Sol Roth (Edward G. Robinson) in Soylent Green comes to mind. Sol is lying comfortably, surrounded 360 degrees by images of his favorite sites in the world and listening to his favorite music. Ahhhh. Works fer me. Then, of course, our hero A. Huxley who spent his last 6 hours tripping his balls off. The attendant nurse said it was the most peaceful death she had ever seen.
All these death thoughts are meant to enforce the idea of enjoying right here, right now. Enjoy your dirt while you can.
si o no?
Right now. Quick before it disappears. they say that once it is online, it is online forever. Hmm? Really. This fuckin stoopid note will live forever? Guess i better watch what i write.
Seriously. A few weeks ago after snooping around for a job, i got a phone call based on my reputation for what appeared to be the perfect job. Yabba Dabba Doo. I prematurely wrote a post about this “unbelievable” new position. Now those of you that truly know me, it’s a very small club, know how much i do not like certain words. Like, believe, so, unbelievable. I dislike the word unbelievable, not so much for its structure but of its use. A special teams receiver catches the football deep in his endzone and runs it back for a touchdown. What is the first thing the announcer, who just watches this happen, say? “Unbelievable”… wtf? you just saw it happen. Unbelievable would be if said receiver caught the ball then zoomed up in the air like Superman and flew around the world before scoring a touchdown. So anyway i don’t like the word. and what word do i decide to use while squeeling like a little school girl about the perfect new job? I knew just as soon as i wrote and posted that word, things were going to get squirrelly.
Just having a place to play to write and to think. what more can one ask for? oh, and the time. time is like gravity… I am currently counting the days until the 5th when I will learn my fate for the next three months. on one hand, I may have to go back to work for the man and punch a time card, on the other I won’t. I am listening to “A Confederacy of Dunces” now and enjoying Ignatious’s taking on wild and crazy jobs just to people watch and add to his writing toolbox.
I am getting re-inspired to write my great American novel and may be on the path to learning how to write and filling up my toolbox. I’m reading Steven King’s “On Writing” and like who knew? I’ve never been a fan. Guess it comes from not being a fan of scary movies and have never read a scary book. It turns out SK was an English teacher long before being published. His book is knowledgeable but easy to soak in. I find myself nodding my head at him. He plays one mind/time shift game that works. I won’t spoil it now. The first initial goal is 1000 words per day just to loosen up the machine. 2000 words a day when working on an actual story. Don’t even think about one’s muse yet. he only wakes up when one has put in the necessary work first.
SK refers to a prolific writer who spent his first 2.5 hours of the day writing. Exactly 2.5 hours. Middle of a sentence or last line, 2.5 hours was the stopping point. Then he went to work for a full day to pay the bills. So it can be done. Or use the word count method. I can’t stop till 1000 words have been spewed. I have no idea how long 1000 words is, so this scribble is as much of a test as anything. Never meant for human consumption.
I’ve been of the mind that one needs to be all in to write that great American novel. 24 hours a day. Now that I don’t have to work I could be all in. Excuse after excuse and now 6 months have sped by and no progress made on the Flying American Brothers. SK is helping. I’ve been going to the State College library to explore and am thinking about taking writing classes. Hell, I could go to school forever at this point in my life and not have to pay the bill. If you get a Federally insured student loan, it dies when you die. Boom…Learning and the seeking of knowledge is the secret fountain of youth you know. My formal learning is nil. I like to write. I like to think my writing works and have a few compliments along the way. The best one was from Joe Who. Joe Who is long gone now and resting peacefully, but while he was here he told me “You should write.” His encouragement lives in my toolbox if you will. When my brother was in Germany, we would write back and forth and he too told me my writing was a path I needed to continue. And of course my letters with my Mother. I have kept them all and need to type them up and organize chronologically.
Sen. Grassley bangs the gavel and says “we are done, 2 hours have passed and we are done.” “what?” the other side of the isle squeeks, “what about the vote, what about the issues??” “2 Hour Rule”, Grassley calmly claims and packs up and leaves the chambers.
wtf is a 2 hour rule. i’m honest here saying i’ve never heard of that one. So, what does one do in todays world? Google it of course. Wow. There is a 2 hour rule mindset, but i still find no mention relative to Congress. It must be in Roberts Rules somewhere.
The Two Hour Rule applies to business, tasks and problem solving. When you have a chore, give it two hours of focused attention then move on. The rule helps one to clarify the job at hand and not get sidetracked in its completion. Brilliant idea. So o no?
If you dare to proceed, be forewarned. I am working on my million words to throw away here. Nothing will be or pretend to be perfect. I in fact can not and will not predict what keys my old fingers will land on. Truth? Maybe, maybe not, who knows?
Really people? don’t you have enough stuff? I’m reminded of George Carlin’s bit about stuff.
who doesn’t love GC? there is nothing i can add, but Linda just got back from Iceland and remarked on the scarcity of television. I, being a tv junkie was glad i did not go to Iceland, but the reality of minimal television means the minimal of advertising which is the real drug. The ads that tell you what you didn’t know you needed. On and on and on. One cure for your aches after another. I preach that the remote is mans greatest invention. I’ve given mine a name. It is “the world”. With the world in my hand i can mute that advertising drug and breathe free of being told what to fucking do and what stuff i have to buy. Of course not working means not having dollars so buying is out of my concern anyway. I then realize i never really needed that cure/thing/chatski and was only told so by that advertisement.
Of course Steve Martin said it best “Alls i need”…
who doesn’t love SM. there’s nothing more i can add, except i heard the pharse “that’s all want” long ago and far away and that story is embedded and will be shared another day…