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Vivid Memories of Childhood and Beyond

  1. #61
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    Dawgs of the Hill….and More Dawgs



    Seems we all had one breed of dog at that country hillside neighborhood…….Mix.

    Bart had the meanest Weimar mix I’d ever seen.
    He was either growling and snarling, or chasing something or someone.
    No bark, just bared teeth and a low guttural growl.
    Since their place was more a junk yard than yard, well, yeah, his dog was the epitome of a junk yard dog.
    Seems they didn’t ever hafta feed it.
    Not a bad plan, as they didn’t have the rodent, coon, and possum population the rest of us had at times.

    Eddie had this terrier mix.
    It grinned.
    Yeah, the damn dog would grin.
    First time I saw that, I told Eddie; ‘Uh, I think yer dog has rabies.’
    ‘Naw, he’s just grinnin’ atcha.’
    Quite unnerving.
    Damn thing following us all around with that weird ass grin.
    It was like Eddie had taken his model airplane glue and bonded his dog’s lips to his gums.

    The Hansens didn’t have a dog, per se.
    They didn’t really require one, what with their kids keeping the turd population up by takin’ turns poopin’ in the yard an all.

    Which reminds me of Charlie, a distant neighbor we had when my lady and I built our first cabin.
    Back in the ‘70s we had five acres at the end of a loggin’ road, Charlie had ten acres.
    First thing we did was build an outhouse.
    Charlie was ‘getting ready’ to build his.
    A year later, ol’ Charlie and I was discussing outhouse building techniques, and the intellectual deficiencies of our dogs, when we both noticed his mentally challenged collie ‘Flame’ munching away on a fresh mound of turds.
    ‘Look at my damn dog.’
    ‘Disgusting.’
    ‘Hey, wait a minute….that’s mine!’
    Seems one gets used to certain things like hangin yer hind end over a log when the urge calls.

    I don’t recall that Brad or Ike had any dogs.
    Cats, yeah they had cats.
    So, that’s like not having your own pet at all.
    I mean, I don’t remember Brad or Ike bringin’ their cat with ‘em when they came over.
    Now if you had a dog, just try to leave him home when you went somewhere…….

    Andy’s dog was a terrier mix.
    And old.
    He’d lost his hearing a century or so ago, and most of the time just moseyed around looking for a place to plop.
    Andy would call him for a bike ride.
    Tippy!
    Tippy!
    Tippeeeeeee!
    Finally he would walk over, pick Tippy’s mangy ass up and set him in the little cart he’d rigged up on his bike.
    He even went with us when we made our 50 mile bike journey around Sauvie Island….but that’s another story.
    It was a sad day when Tippy met his maker, so to speak.

    He was just moseyin’ across the road…didn’t see or hear Bart’s dad barrelling down the hill.
    Andy screaming ‘TIPPEEEEEE!’
    Then kathump.

    Andy never got another dog, but had plenty of pets.
    He had several cages of different animals.
    White rats, a couple squirrels, some pigeons, a coon, and a hawk.
    They were all quite entertaining.
    Dangling the rats by their tails over the hawk's cage was always good.
    But mostly we just turned ‘em upside down and looked at their genitals.
    If you stretch a pigeon’s wings out, they tend to get all embarrassed…….

    My dog was a Shepherd mix.
    Quite gentle, but would feign defending the place.
    Him and Bart’s Weimar mix got into it a couple times.
    Not sure ever who won, ‘cause there was just alotta GRRRRR, AUGHERRRR, each on their hind legs, heads goin’ after each other’s necks, then they’d just stop.
    Too bad people can’t be more like that.

    Tag went with us on our hikes and camp outs, me, him, Andy and Tippy.
    The word ‘remarkable’ never entered in to conversation about my dog. But he was a love sponge that just cherished any attention you’d give him.
    I was moving toward the devious stage of boyhood, so I’d play a few mind games with him.
    ‘TAG! Shame on you, you stupid idiot!’
    He’d lower his head, eyes lookin’ up at you like, ‘Oh gawd, I’ve done it again. Whatever it was, man, I’m really really sorry. Could you ever forgive me?’
    Then I’d just say, ‘Here boy!’
    And he’d get all happy and giddy. Tail beatin’ me to death, lickin’ my face.
    Then
    ‘TAG! Shame on you’
    It was a fun game.
    But mostly his main duty in life was just to carefully lay his clumps of hind end hair all over the yard.
    The other duty he maintained was taking turns lickin’ himself and my face.

    He was mainly just a happy love sponge.
    You wake up, he’s just so goddamn happy.
    ‘My master is awake!’
    You go to the backyard.
    ‘Hooray! We’re goin’ to the backyard!’
    You chop wood.
    ‘Ohmygod! He’s making sticks! I’ll get to carry some!’
    You stroll down the drive to get the mail.
    Mail!!!! Mail Mail Mail!


    Feed him, any time of day, and he’d greedily huff down a bowl of brown glop. Sometimes he’d get out of sync with breathing and snarfing, so he’d take a little break to cleanse his palate by lapping a gallon of water.
    And he was thoughtful.
    If you hunkered down and put yer face a few inches from his, he’d close his mouth and breathe through his side lips. I knew this because they made a little vibrating noise while exhaling and inhaling.

    I’m a dog lover.
    Beagles, labs, most any breed, even the hybrid wolf my son had in Alaska was a joy….but it’s playful nipping, as pups generally do, would most times leave your hand in shreds…practice I guess.
    What a tiger...loved his spirit.

    But our last one was a dog-like entity from Lucifer…a Tibetan terrier.
    Total block head, smart, really smart, just not put to good use.
    He saved his dumps for my den.
    Take him out and he’d wait you out.
    Keep him out and he’d still save it up.
    Once back in the door, he’d head straight up the stairs to my den.


    One time I stepped out to get the mail and caught him in my peripheral vision headin’ up the stairs ….I stood there…he stood there….I motioned out the door…he took two stairs…then I shamed him and took him with me
    outside….then we both went back in….me to the kitchen…him to the den.
    My only recourse was to feed him just dry dog food…found a brand that created little briquette turds and a bit of dust…….bought two 50 lb bags. A whisk broom and a dust pan were additions to my den….and a new, sweepable rug.

    Oh, when locked out, he developed a penchant for dumpster diving, and regularly brought home the neighbor’s filled pampers…..pealed ‘em back and dined on ‘em like a baked potato…..
    I hoped the neighbor would pick him off, but (as stated) he was smart.
    Notice the referral is in the past tense…
    Not getting a dog for a while…..I’m not fit for it until my PTSD has abated some.



    We may have had a cat too.
    “Live in the sunshine, swim the sea, drink the wild air.” Emerson

  2. #62
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    Something penned six or so years ago.....

    Geriometry

    I woke up the other day and found out I was 63.
    Sixty-effing-three…….
    The obits contain a lot of folks that got to 63.
    And when I peruse the obits, I go, ‘well shit, the ol’ bugger was 63, no wonder he died.
    I mean, it’s really hard to relate…until I hear a 50 year old chatting about the good ol’ days.

    Good ol’ days.

    Was it back in the ‘80s when techno wizards discussed the unlimited possibilities of ‘the information highway’?

    Was it when my 13 year old genius son started creating things on his Vic 20, and phones went cordless?

    Or was it back in the ‘60s?

    Yeah, for me it was the ‘60s.

    'Porn'?

    'Smut'?

    not quite yet

    It was peep shows.

    Sleazy old buildings down on SW 3rd, all lined up.
    Garish signs with suggestive artwork and decrepit blinking lights.
    Once inside, old men, 63 year old men, unshaven, unkempt, stained white shirts, matted hair, would check your ID.
    My ‘ID’ was a crisp Lincoln.
    They’d waive me thru.
    Once past the curtain, you had to stand there for a minute or two to let your pupils catch up with the smarmy darkness,
    and for your nostrils to adjust to the weird aroma of…well I didn’t know, but the floor was sticky.
    The only light was the flittering beams coming from the booths of hastily constructed plywood that housed cheap 8mm film cameras, and a reel of naked ladies.
    Naked ladies.
    Moving naked ladies.
    Humping naked ladies.
    Spreading naked ladies.
    $.25 naked ladies.
    Grainy, grey and white celluloid naked ladies.
    Enough naked ladies to make a 14 year old’s heart pound out of his chest….and that was just during the eye/nose adjustment period.

    One time I was in such a hurry, I didn’t wait for my eyes to adjust, and ran smack into some ol’ man’s back with my face, of which his stank didn’t get outta my nostrils til after gym class.
    That was another thing. Those wooden booths had knot holes in the side panels, and some knot holes had the complementary eye ball…rather unnerving, it was.
    Then there was the occasional breaking and entering into your booth.
    That was more than unnerving….but it didn’t stop me from coming back.

    Yeah, those were the good ol’ days.
    I’m not kidding.
    You had time to let your imagination germinate.
    Now?
    Now, no matter what your infatuation, it’s right at your fingertips.
    Porn?
    I kid about porn.
    It’s a freaking bore, and that’s sad.
    Not sad because porn is so rife it’s boring, but sad because all information of any freaking thing is right there…just right there…not a mile away at some library, but right there.
    It’s like buying a video, because ‘that was the best movie I’ve seen in a long time’….and putting it in your DVD library….and never watching it…. ever again…..because it’s there, right there.

    I suppose, once I become 73, I won't even know where 'there' is....

    especially if some punk 63 yr old is reading my obit
    “Live in the sunshine, swim the sea, drink the wild air.” Emerson

  3. #63
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    The O'bitchuary
    Jim

  4. #64
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    I enjoy your writings Gary O'.
    I have written the first 20 years down of my own life and had it printed that has made a good sum after printing costs taken out for my local Childrens Hospice.
    It takes the reader right back to when I was born in the Great Depression and through WW2 with being bombed out twice during the London Blitz and machine gunned twice.
    I did not write that until I was 74yrs of age.
    I will be 88 yrs old in May so you should be able to carry on.
    Keep up the good work.

  5. #65
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    Quote Originally Posted by Maywalk View Post
    I have written the first 20 years down of my own life and had it printed that has made a good sum after printing costs taken out for my local Childrens Hospice.
    It takes the reader right back to when I was born in the Great Depression and through WW2 with being bombed out twice during the London Blitz and machine gunned twice.
    That, dear Lady, has to be an incredible read.
    Please tell me the title so I can buy it.

    Or

    If you're uncomfortable with posting the title here, due to some kind of site protocol, please send me a PM

    and thank you, very very much
    “Live in the sunshine, swim the sea, drink the wild air.” Emerson

  6. #66
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    It's a gift you have Gary O'......

    If only I could express myself the way you do..I probably would not be so misconstrued....Rave On!!!!
    It takes courage to grow up and become who you really are. e. e. cummings

  7. #67
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    Quote Originally Posted by Seeker View Post
    It's a gift you have Gary O'......

    If only I could express myself the way you do..I probably would not be so misconstrued....Rave On!!!!
    being misconstrued actually helps
    amongst other things beginning with mis....

    in fractured seriousness, if it is a gift, then I've been abusing it for some time now

    thanks, kid
    “Live in the sunshine, swim the sea, drink the wild air.” Emerson

  8. #68
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    Dec 2016
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    Alabama
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    abt 64 01.jpg
    Granny cookin’ hamburgers in an ol‘ iron skillet.
    Cousins singin’ songs with me.. on an old porch swing.
    Most are gone and now there are three.
    Brother, Sister, Cousins and me.
    It takes courage to grow up and become who you really are. e. e. cummings

  9. #69
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    Quote Originally Posted by Seeker View Post
    abt 64 01.jpg
    Granny cookin’ hamburgers in an ol‘ iron skillet.
    Cousins singin’ songs with me.. on an old porch swing.
    Most are gone and now there are three.
    Brother, Sister, Cousins and me.
    and everbody took photos outside, staring into the sun, no flash needed

    gramma looks sweet but toughern wood pecker lips
    “Live in the sunshine, swim the sea, drink the wild air.” Emerson

  10. #70
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    gramma looks sweet but toughern wood pecker lips
    She was ..even smoked a corn cob pipe...Love my granny.
    It takes courage to grow up and become who you really are. e. e. cummings

  11. #71
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    Quote Originally Posted by Seeker View Post
    She was ..even smoked a corn cob pipe...Love my granny.
    they jus' don't make 'em like that anymore

    my gramma, was my favorite, hands down, raised me.... and everbody else's kids in that country neighborhood


    I gotta write
    “Live in the sunshine, swim the sea, drink the wild air.” Emerson

  12. #72
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    I gotta write
    Go get it!!!!
    It takes courage to grow up and become who you really are. e. e. cummings

  13. #73
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    Quote Originally Posted by Seeker View Post
    Go get it!!!!
    I haven't put this totally together, but....

    Gramma

    Kin came from the dust bowl, Okies. The Joad family (The Grapes of Wrath) represented them well.
    Gramma coulda easily played Ma Joad…if she didn’t….

    She raised me.
    Actually, she raised everyone in our country neighborhood.
    Gramma made a home with little, but always clean.
    The aroma from her kitchen was everlasting.
    She could turn corn bread and hominy into a feast.
    Sometimes she’d just take some left over cornbread, and break it up into a bowl and pour milk and sugar on it.
    Called it ‘crumbs’.

    Always a pie or cobbler.
    Always a huge garden.
    Always tending something, or someone.
    She could give you a bath with a teaspoon of water.

    Ever so often, we'd head to 'Monkey' Wards in the old ‘51 Chevy.
    It was her outing.
    Most times we'd be picking up something like a post hole digger, or a part for a pressure cooker that she'd ordered, nothin' fancy.
    After pulling a number, we’d sit in the big room downstairs of the huge multi-storied Wards store, waiting for them to pull our order.
    I remember one time she fished my hand out of a spittoon of which I’d found interest in its contents.
    I don’t remember ever going in with them after that.

    She had a genuine warmth that accepted anyone, and a kindness that made her home yours.
    Nothing gushy, just down home, grapes of wrath folk.
    Plain speaking.
    She had an economy with words.
    Names of things and places were all 'whatchcallit'.
    She called most everyone ‘kid’, except for me. She called me ‘picklepuss’. For a while there I thought my name really was picklepuss.

    She had huge, pillowy gramma arms.
    When she’d raise ‘em to hang laundry, they’d kinda drape down, giving the impression of a giant flying squirrel.
    Or better yet, a caped crusader…X Gramma, queen of the quilting bee.
    When she'd settle you down for a nap they'd envelope you.
    No one got away.
    Where do grammas get those arms, and when?
    She always had ‘em as far back as I can recall.
    They were very nap inducing, coupled with her high pitched nasal country tone singing you to slumber, her super powers were always too much for extended consciousness.



    As sweet as she was, she could be stubborn when necessary.
    We had a collie/shepherd dog named Tag.
    Our family had a long history of keeping a dog outside.
    It rains a lot in Oregon and a wet dog in a small house is not a good combination.
    Tag was gun shy, and whenever we had a thunder storm he’d run under the car or house, or in the house if you’d let him. Thinking back, I think the whole family was gun shy, as we’d oftentimes run furtively out to the car to sit out the storm…something about the tires grounding the car.
    One of these storms hit relatively close one evening, so we decided to get in the car and drive the mile around the corner, up the hill, to Gramma’s house. Tag followed, running right behind the car. Maybe he’d heard about the grounding theory…..sweet dog, but his intellect was a bit skewed. Looked kinda like Lassie, but was more the antichrist of the collie world.
    Arriving at Gramma’s, she greeted us by opening her screen door a few inches.
    It was enough for Tag to forcefully nose his way in.
    Ever try to get a dripping wet panic stricken dog out of your house? Evidently Gramma had.
    In less time than you could say ‘whatchcallit’, Tag was flying back out the door, through the air and off the porch. He did a couple belly rolls and slinked under the car.
    Gramma put her broom back, behind the door, at the ready, like it was her shot gun.

    Work for her was recreation, rewarding, sustaining.

    Our strawberries noticeably yielded more than any field around.
    It may’ve been due to her putting a spade full of fertilizer under each plant.
    She could pick a hundred carriers a day.
    And did.

    She had so many, many friends.
    Friends from way back.
    I think Aunt Becky, her sister of eight, was the closest.
    They’d get together and mostly laugh.
    All it took was a few words and they’d both be chortling.
    Decades later, Dad, himself in his eighties, told me Aunt Becky enjoyed a rather torrid life, and amongst her escapades, laid a known convicted killer…..several times.
    Told me not to tell anyone (I hadn’t the heart to tell him everbody that counted was long gone)
    And here they were, in my mind, veritable church ladies, seemingly innocently snickering, tittering…..about…..

    Gramma had a way with kids, not doting, more like a maintenance thing.
    Yet, she pulled you in, kept you, hands free.
    She’d give me a sly, sideways knowing look, if she caught me up to something.
    All it took.

    I never saw her mad.
    Never heard her even raise her voice.
    Yet, she had a knack.
    A knack in getting you to do things you’d never dreamt doing.

    In church you could hear her high pitched Minnie Mouse voice whining out a hymn, tears in hers eyes.
    She lived to be 97, out living three husbands.
    A year after one of them passed, she'd go to Mode-O-Day, buy a bright flowered dress, get her hair done, put on a bit of rouge, and snag another one.

    She lived with Dad and his wife in her last years.
    We spelled him.
    One time we left her with our preteen kids, when we’d reserved a weekend beach fling, just me and my lady.
    Thinking they’d watch each other.
    They did….for the most part.
    We were eating dinner, nothing great, just some light entre and a tossed salad.
    My lady was dishing out the salad, congratulating the boys on how things went, not noticing the looks they were giving each other.
    So I said, ‘what’s up, guys?’
    Turns out they found a well-used ‘napkin’ on the bathroom counter.
    Grabbed the salad tongs, and, holding it at arm’s length, took it out to the garbage can.
    Putting the tongs back in the utensil drawer.

    She laughed a lot.
    Mostly at herself.


    Of anyone's passing, hers I feel the most.

    As it's been said, a full life, well lived.

    Her last words to me were, "I just want to be where there's life".

    I believe she is.
    Last edited by Gary O'; 04-17-2018 at 03:40 AM.
    “Live in the sunshine, swim the sea, drink the wild air.” Emerson

  14. #74
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    Quote Originally Posted by Gary O' View Post
    That, dear Lady, has to be an incredible read.
    Please tell me the title so I can buy it.

    Or

    If you're uncomfortable with posting the title here, due to some kind of site protocol, please send me a PM

    and thank you, very very much
    You do not have to buy it Gary 0' because I had SO many folks coming to me for it from worldwide after my WW2 website was up I decided to put it on my website after it had made a good sum for the Hospice. It still is from what I gather.
    Unfortunately I had to neglect my website because my lovely hubby started with Dementia and I was nursing him for nearly 7 years before he died in 2016 BUT the website is still being used and the condensed book is on there if anyone wants to read it. It has to be remembered though that another 13/14 years will have to be added to the dates in it to bring it up to present day because it was written specially for that time. If you want me to put the website on here just let me know.

    I also wrote about my life AFTER I had the book printed and the chapters from that seem to fascinate folks with how we managed during postwar years because we were still rationed for many things right up until the 50s.
    Strangely enough we rarely saw obesity.
    If you want the pointer please let me know which section to put it in.
    Last edited by Maywalk; 04-17-2018 at 03:04 AM.

  15. #75
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    Quote Originally Posted by Maywalk View Post
    You do not have to buy it Gary 0' because I had SO many folks coming to me for it from worldwide after my WW2 website was up I decided to put it on my website after it had made a good sum for the Hospice. It still is from what I gather.
    Unfortunately I had to neglect my website because my lovely hubby started with Dementia and I was nursing him for nearly 7 years before he died in 2016 BUT the website is still being used and the condensed book is on there if anyone wants to read it. It has to be remembered though that another 13/14 years will have to be added to the dates in it to bring it up to present day because it was written specially for that time. If you want me to put the website on here just let me know.

    I also wrote about my life AFTER I had the book printed and the chapters from that seem to fascinate folks with how we managed during postwar years because we were still rationed for many things right up until the 50s.
    Strangely enough we rarely saw obesity.
    If you want the pointer please let me know which section to put it in.
    Reading it now
    Quite the format

    I began reading about you, Masie.
    You, at least your writings, do get around.

    I must say, here, the Loughborough Echo left me incredulous as I was just getting into what they were saying about you (an article from 5 years ago) when the page melted into a survey, a must do to continue, survey....

    Anyway, if I get stuck, I’ll send you a PM

    Cheers, fine Lady
    “Live in the sunshine, swim the sea, drink the wild air.” Emerson

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