Those things which do not have to do with the Demon’s Wrest Chronicles, but are yet dramatic or important to myself or those persons reading the blog (all 3 or them – hope that improves) go here.
A Birthday wish for my good friend, Aing (Angie). Kind of an inside joke. I dunno if it was due to my dabbling in Middle Egyptian Heiroglyphics, but she always called me Ra. So I would write notes to her in Middle Egyptian. Here tis –
MAN. Summer time. I remember when we moved here to southern Indiana from Mississauga, Canada. Now that place was NOT fit for any self respecting Latino born in the confines of California, more specifically San Mateo. I remember Canada being bitterly cold and having snow up to my waist (I was in 3rd grade there at the time). It was horrid to navigate the wastes of the seemingly endless lots covered in snow 2 or 3 feet in depth. Coming from California I had been out to the desert on many occasions and had loved that place. The hot dry heat, the powerful sun burning through clothes to fire the skin. And the nights, so cool and crisp was the air at night that you could look up and actually see galaxies with binoculars. The sky filled with a symphony of lights typically beyond our vision, blotted from the periphery by the gaudy bright lights of the city. Well, it was gaudy in LA. Unhindered and visible in more glory than the panarama of the grand canyon.
Once we moved to Indiana my mom decided that in order for us to fit in we needed a place in the sticks, some cows, a few chickens a pig or 8 and other assorted livestock. As interesting as those creatures can be they can be a whole lot like work. I dont mind work, but I like to be sitting down when I do it (single click … double click if the going gets tough). However as upsetting as all of that was I did manage to fall in love with summer time here. A time when the muggy wind works to separate your shirt from your chest and the whip-poor-wills and turtle doves coo in locust trees on the edge of the wood. A place where I remember lying on the side of a grass hill drying off from a swim in a creek we dammed up before heading up the trail on my horse to make it back for supper. Evenings in the still nights of early June capturing hapless fireflies in kerr mason jars with holes poked into their sealed lids to keep our “lanterns” alive and shining into the night. Those days are gone and although they will never return exactly as they were (taxes have ruined the moment) I labor to spend moments about town and in the countryside with the top down on my convertible straining to catch that unmistakeable call from the turtle dove or the image of children filling jars with lightning bugs. These trips into the wild consume my time and I neglect the posting of further content to my blog. I feel like I have let my public down. Fortunately, I only have had 7 hits on this site today so I guess my public is rather small, sadly.
Perhaps some day there may be a call for those obteuse rantings, of which I have become famous in certain circles, and that number will soar to the heights of the childhood dreams I gushed as I lye upon my back in the cold desert staring up at the stars.
The Fiddle Chick
OK I realize that this is a bit… well WAY off topic but since I am THE MAN here I can (booming voice with melodramatic overtones) DO WHAT I WANT!
This here is a tidbit on my Little teensie Girl.
Actually she aint really that little she just seems that way to me cause I remember her when she WAS teensie.
Now you may have noticed that Nino shot this film. I am not gonna rip Nino on this, so don’t send me any money for this page or I will be compelled to share it with Nino. But seriously folks, Nino went on the tour and said since it was my kid I could use her photo – He moved to Indy from what I hear. I am sure he is still a great guy.
We sent Christa over to Our Japanese sister city so that she could perform with the Tochigi Girls Orchestral group. Now these folks were not amateurs they had a number of credits to their formidable list of accomplishments. So whilst swimming in the big pond I think that my daughter grew a few sizes in her artistic capacity and became even better at her craft. She looks like she is serious. She gets kinda brooding at times – she gets that from her mother’s side.
All in the Family
Today I attended my family reunion. If you noticed that I made that a singular point then it is because my dad’s family hasn’t really ever sent me a letter, called me on the phone or even sent a hit man to the house. I suppose thatz a good thing. On one hand I haven’t had to deal with the woes of jetsetting from Nassau to Monaco in time for the Gran Prix. Still I woulda loved to see them none the less. I consider it my loss , their loss – our loss.
OK – I juss had a self pity party – hope I’m the only one that got drunk there. Back to this.
OK – I juss had a self pity party – hope I’m the only one that got drunk there. Back to this.
My mother was a Tomlinson before she was a Sutherd, before she was a Malone before she was a Shipley. Mom was rather good looking. Did I mention that I was adopted? Anyway that said the Tomlinson family is jam packed and jelly tight with people that give a care about one another. Or at least it was when I was a kid. Now before I start down the trail of an unprecidented pity party I will point out that I am to blame as much, if not more, than anyone for the apparent lack of interest in family over the years. You see we always have some adventure that is more exciting to embark upon when the ole family reunion comes around. I dunno if it is because we believe that they will always be there or that we actually are that self centered, but peeps can easily find some way to ditch the folks that once rocked them to sleep, changed their diapers or did without some new coat so that we might meet a need and often a want. I’m guilty.
OK – I confessed my sin, now to find a means to actually repent; that is I gotta turn from being focused on self and assist in thebetterment of my family. The way that I see it we as a people (Americans) are in danger of falling victim to a tactic that we have, many of us, seen on National Geographic. Wahtz that tactic you tawkin’ bout’ – I tellz ya. Ever watch the lions upon the plains of the Serengeti? They wander to and fro seeking out a prey, meal for the pride, reluctant dinner partner and they are not choosy as to who they take out for dinner once they decide upon a particular dish. Once they decide upon zebra they don’t really say, “let’s get that one over there.” No they wait for some poor slob in the zebra posse to wander off or lolligag behind the crew separating him or her self from the safety of the pack. Listen this is not a time when you want to experience your 15 minutes of fame, trust me. If you find yourself in the sights of the pride then your name will not be the only thing upon the tips of their tongues. Simply this when we separate ourselves from our crew, posse, budz, family then we are all alone and easy prey for any enemy that might roll up with their own personal axe to grind.
So it is with us in the family we need one another. The young are too fresh and ignorant to understand this point. The aged know it all too well, but if we do not assist them in their actions they often no longer posses the mobility to act upon their own desires to protect the herd. It falls to those of us that are of the age of power and that have the strength to act upon our own. We need to take the wisdom of our patriarchs, or matriarchs and seek to be the strong arm of leadership for the continued protection of the family. In this time where everyone has something better to do, some place to be or some one to meet – there must be a means of voicing reason to our progeny and our relatives on the edge of the herd – Take care and don’t leave us. For if we are not careful we may find tragedy at the door, in one form or another. And when it strikes everyone acts so surprised. Some bolt off in another direction fleeing the horror of the condition befalling their relative. Others stand frozen in shock witnessing the event a moment too long and per chance falling into the same deadly maw. We need to seek safe waters from which to drink, pastures of deep, lush green and once there be watchful for the errant member of the tribe who, unknowing of the force and horror of the doom which orbits the group, seeks to make their mark in the big bad world. Make your mark little one, but make it here with us and leave it for all to see when we move to far pastures at the setting of the sun. Be more than a meal and a number of sun bleached bones upon the face of a stark and unforgiving world. Uplift and engage your family while they are here, while you can.
Remembering the family
As the car pulled up on the curb there at my Aunt Louise and Uncle Louie’s home I saw the glow of the tree from the window there at the porch. I was beside myself, aching for the car to stop and the door to open so that I might run in and get started in the festivities. Christmas eve and we would all open our presents in this home, which to all was an indescribable center of focus and sustenance for the entire clan. Up onto the wood porch that boomed like a drum as the stomping of feet loosened any debris or snow before entering the door to finally see that wonderful tree so finely decorated with heirlooms older than even my mom and dad. Not so swiftly could i dash in and see what confectionery wonders Aunt Louise had prepared for us. Cookies, candies and cakes from every lady in the family and that special gift of the Kuchen Roll which had been passed down through Aunt Louise’s family from before the time of their departure from Schlieswig – Holstein, in northern Germany, so many years before. Some hugs, a number of kisses, and the odd rib tickle and I was in the kitchen begging for something special before the main meal might be served.
Into the living room to hear a new story or an old joke from Louie or some rather seedy comment which I was encouraged to relay to my aunt Louise. Now Uncle Louie was always one to teach us kids some thing which we had no business knowing. Some message or gesture unfit for anyone most especially a preschooler. And Louie could laugh and light up the entire room with a feeling that not only was something funny, but all within were welcome to join in its cheer. He was a thin man with a stern face that could go from a frown to a guffaw in less than a second. He didn’t have to tell you how important family was, he lived it. You see I was adopted and despite my obvious difference from all of the other children in the family (and the town for that matter) I never felt anything but acceptance and love from this man and his wife. Indeed the entire family. From my uncle George, rocking me and my cousin Dee, and singing old Johnny Horton tunes. To my Aunt Nancy taking us to Sunday school to learn about Jesus, there was never any feeling of anything save complete inclusion and love. And when Christmas time rolled around we all came back to the home of our patriarch from all over the country, like so many salmon. It was a time that you simply cannot describe for within in it were sights and sounds and smells and voices and an energy that was so special that it eased into my psyche and rested there. It was later in life that I began to see a cold world devoid of such graces and simple pleasures, and though I did not understand how I guessed that so many others suffered through Christmas I did know that they were missing something special. I guess it was when I sat at the funeral home and looked over at my Aunt Louise, mourning the loss of her husband Louie. I began to realize that moments like those which we all shared there in that house for those all too few Christmas’ were indeed more valuable than we knew. Oh sure, we laughed and we reveled and we had a wonderful time, but when I grew up I departed to make my name in the world. I left to have a home of my own and to see the world. And although I have had many joys at Christmas and I have been loved greatly by my family I still feel deep longing and sorrow for those days gone which shall never return.
This week we buried my Aunt Louise and during the eulogy someone asked if anyone would like to say anything about her. Immediately I relived all of those moments in her home within a single instant. So many times looking back to those days as a child, playing with the Fischer-Price garage and the Lincoln Logs while mom and dad played clabber. I wish I could have gotten up and described the life that she and Louie placed inside of me, but even now I cannot get it all onto this page. So much of memories are pieces of things which surpass the bounds of their container. I can remember the moments, but from within even the smallest memory there radiates a lifetime of energy and thought. Sight, sound, smell, taste. A song that when heard reminds you instantly of so very many experiences. Had I stood and pressed through the tears I would have had to describe something that cannot fit into even an eternity. The life of someone that truly loved me.
Louis and Louise Tomlinson of Mt. Vernon, Indiana.