I also remember at 3 or 4 years old taking a blanket and lying on the forced-air duct in the floor. Waiting...and waiting...for the glorious moment when the heat would come on.
My mother was raised in the Northeast Kingdom of Vermont, and my Grandparents' house had large holes in the ceilings/floors to allow for heat to rise. Still waiting.
I have very similar experiences with both accounts...
...its a book that my Father had and that I read many times as a boy. My Father told me of the winter time, and that old house they lived in. It was a worn out old small-town Victorian built 80 years earlier with one of those porches that wrapped all the way around and an integral kitchen off the back where it would get so cold that the water bucket would freeze if more than 3 feet from the wood burning cook stove.
My pop said his bedroom was on the fireplace wall but that's about it for the heat. He spent a lot of time reading his whole life.
I shiver to think of that level of poverty, being spared of it by a good man.
Still, I guess I grew up with my own version, and in the bed at night under the quilt my grandmother made and with a flashlight and my mom's portable hair dryer for heat, I read that book over and over.
The hair dryer was one of those things in a little suitcase with a hose and a bonnet. It blew nice warm heat and when you restricted air from going in the intake the thing glowed red hot.
Fortunately I never fell asleep with it running...
Been there, done that. I have no idea why.
I also remember at 3 or 4 years old taking a blanket and lying on the forced-air duct in the floor. Waiting...and waiting...for the glorious moment when the heat would come on.
My mother was raised in the Northeast Kingdom of Vermont, and my Grandparents' house had large holes in the ceilings/floors to allow for heat to rise. Still waiting.
...its a book that my Father had and that I read many times as a boy. My Father told me of the winter time, and that old house they lived in. It was a worn out old small-town Victorian built 80 years earlier with one of those porches that wrapped all the way around and an integral kitchen off the back where it would get so cold that the water bucket would freeze if more than 3 feet from the wood burning cook stove.
My pop said his bedroom was on the fireplace wall but that's about it for the heat. He spent a lot of time reading his whole life.
I shiver to think of that level of poverty, being spared of it by a good man.
Still, I guess I grew up with my own version, and in the bed at night under the quilt my grandmother made and with a flashlight and my mom's portable hair dryer for heat, I read that book over and over.
The hair dryer was one of those things in a little suitcase with a hose and a bonnet. It blew nice warm heat and when you restricted air from going in the intake the thing glowed red hot.
Fortunately I never fell asleep with it running...
The point was that reality and truth are personal and have to be lived to believed. That which is illuminated within shines on without. Disconnected from the engine of sorrow and rust of the soul, the remnant gleaming brightly as a product of grief and longing. Absorbed and burned as fuel, fear and pain eventually taper and pinpoint a direction beyond but it is a trail of tears. Of that each one knows for sure. Aside from that we speculate and confound the argument with conscious if unwilling ignorance.
I seem to be getting 'it' by now. Sorry for any "conscious if unwilling" ignorant displeasure caused. Keep in mind, though, you are posting on a public forum here, even if many or few of active posters here are 'family' to you, there might be ones (like me) who keep talking to a 'blank page'.
Thanks.
Wait. Not quite. No discomfort caused whatsoever. That post was an addendum to the deeply and perhaps uncomfortable deleted post before. The flaming taper is mine. The willful ignorance. The trail of tears and the terrifying secrets of a child. All personal. All mine. Perhaps your's but not by design. I'm a conduit. You are as equally family to me here as anyone else. I'm painting a self portrait while looking in a mirror. I'm seeing the beauty and seeing the ugliness in myself and I'm attempting a clever facade from deep down inside for public consumption. Somewhere between faith and performance art. All my reality. All my truth. All my pain.
I'm bubbling to the surface carried by music and often ridiculous notions of wordplay. Over the top is a melody of my life and experiences and love of God's face, perfectly permanent in imperfect and impermanent human beings. Rendered. Forgiven. Survived. All virtual. All slowly sculpting a long goodbye for themselves.
I'm saying many things at once, and one thing many times.
If somehow in my obscure way I have offended anyone here I ask forgiveness. I'm not a judge. I am only a messenger.
The point was that reality and truth are personal and have to be lived to believed. That which is illuminated within shines on without. Disconnected from the engine of sorrow and rust of the soul, the remnant gleaming brightly as a product of grief and longing. Absorbed and burned as fuel, fear and pain eventually taper and pinpoint a direction beyond but it is a trail of tears. Of that each one knows for sure. Aside from that we speculate and confound the argument with conscious if unwilling ignorance.
...Remembering old Wild Bill. No, not that guy. He'll have to tell his own stories. They're likely far more interesting than mine. I'm talking about old Wild Bill from olive drab days gone by. He was from West Virginia and funny as hell (sic) when he got drunk. He stood about 5'4" of clown dumpling and his drawl was way worse than mine. Must have been the hillbilly in him. He was a couple years behind me in time in service and wanted to go home so bad. Said he had a girl back there. Germany was a long way from WVa. and North Carolina.
I was with him one night when he got so drunk that while standing in front of a urinal he fell face first and knocked himself out on the flush valve. It wasn't really funny then but now, the picture of the scene in my mind is kinda. You had to know Wild Bill. That was a name we gave him. Most of us had nicknames over there. Mine was Haney. Actually only my room mate and a couple other guys called me that. He's the one that gave it to me so I guess he was uniquely qualified. I had another nickname but...anyway Make of all that what you will...
I know I've told this before, but I witnessed a KKK hoedown when I was about 10 or 11. Hoods. Torches. Chanting. Parading. Frightening.
It was off a dirt road in a field adjacent to a small community of black families.
It is as surreal a memory as it was when I went to visit my cousin, who lived on that dirt road, and we watched for awhile hidden behind the hedges.
There is far more to acknowledge and be thankful for than there is reason to destroy all the progress and sacrifice evident in every day life. In fact there will never be a reason for that, because evil is already defeated. We are in a lag time where the evidence of things hoped for is the assurance of the evidence of things not seen, and all because we never gave up.
But for the grace of God and the faith and active belief in something way greater and more beautiful did we teach a child the way to go, and it was not the way of the world. It was their still small voice we heard. It was at such a time as this the air became foul with lies so someone might be able to know the difference...
I know I've told this before, but I witnessed a KKK hoedown when I was about 10 or 11. Hoods. Torches. Chanting. Parading. Frightening.
It was off a dirt road in a field adjacent to a small community of black families.
It is as surreal a memory as it was when I went to visit my cousin, who lived on that dirt road, and we watched for awhile hidden behind the hedges.
There is far more to acknowledge and be thankful for than there is reason to destroy all the progress and sacrifice evident in every day life. In fact there will never be a reason for that, because evil is already defeated. We are in a lag time where the evidence of things hoped for is the assurance of the evidence of things not seen, and all because we never gave up.
But for the grace of God and the faith and active belief in something way greater and more beautiful did we teach a child the way to go, and it was not the way of the world. It was their still small voice we heard. It was at such a time as this the air became foul with lies so someone might be able to know the difference...
I know I've told this before, but I witnessed a KKK hoedown when I was about 10 or 11. Hoods. Torches. Chanting. Parading. Frightening.
It was off a dirt road in a field adjacent to a small community of black families.
It is as surreal a memory as it was when I went to visit my cousin, who lived on that dirt road, and we watched for awhile hidden behind the hedges.
There is far more to acknowledge and be thankful for than there is reason to destroy all the progress and sacrifice evident in every day life. In fact there will never be a reason for that, because evil is already defeated. We are in a lag time where the evidence of things hoped for is the assurance of the evidence of things not seen, and all because we never gave up.
But for the grace of God and the faith and active belief in something way greater and more beautiful did we teach a child the way to go, and it was not the way of the world. It was their still small voice we heard. It was at such a time as this the air became foul with lies so someone might be able to know the difference...
...my young Vietnamese neighbor, An, comes over to ask if I have any zip ties he can have. His family has lived across the street for 25 years. I remember when he was a kid loving to work on cars. Still does. His little boys do too from what I've seen. It makes me happy.
He lives a few miles away now so he comes home to his parents to work on his or their car projects because, according to An, otherwise he'll be pestered to death lol. Man I sort of envy him like that. Being pestered by love.
Anyhow he hung around for a few minutes looking and asking about the various tools I was using; specifically the pneumatic nailers. Like when to use which and how to know which nails to buy and so forth. He focused on the big framing nailer I use like it was some sort of weapon. I have to imagine he was a little intimidated by it. I thought a little bit of that intimidation was a good thing. Respect and for good reason. Not enough intimidation as to usher fear though. That would be self defeating and dangerous.
Choir?
The thing is he said he wanted to learn the fundamentals of carpentry etc. I'm such a buzzkill but I couldn't stop myself from saying "well, of course you can find out just about anything on the internet but you can't go back and learn how to do it before there was such a thing as a pneumatic nailer" as I stood there with glint in my eye.
Ok, he didn't get the joke. As a matter of fact I'm not sure I do either...
My son framed for a few years. Coming down a ladder, he shot himself in the leg with one of those big framing nailers; barely missing his femoral artery.
people just don't know how much damage a 3 1/2 inch air driven nail can cause...
...my young Vietnamese neighbor, An, comes over to ask if I have any zip ties he can have. His family has lived across the street for 25 years. I remember when he was a kid loving to work on cars. Still does. His little boys do too from what I've seen. It makes me happy.
He lives a few miles away now so he comes home to his parents to work on his or their car projects because, according to An, otherwise he'll be pestered to death lol. Man I sort of envy him like that. Being pestered by love.
Anyhow he hung around for a few minutes looking and asking about the various tools I was using; specifically the pneumatic nailers. Like when to use which and how to know which nails to buy and so forth. He focused on the big framing nailer I use like it was some sort of weapon. I have to imagine he was a little intimidated by it. I thought a little bit of that intimidation was a good thing. Respect and for good reason. Not enough intimidation as to usher fear though. That would be self defeating and dangerous.
Choir?
The thing is he said he wanted to learn the fundamentals of carpentry etc. I'm such a buzzkill but I couldn't stop myself from saying "well, of course you can find out just about anything on the internet but you can't go back and learn how to do it before there was such a thing as a pneumatic nailer" as I stood there with glint in my eye.
Ok, he didn't get the joke. As a matter of fact I'm not sure I do either...
My son framed for a few years. Coming down a ladder, he shot himself in the leg with one of those big framing nailers; barely missing his femoral artery.
...my young Vietnamese neighbor, An, comes over to ask if I have any zip ties he can have. His family has lived across the street for 25 years. I remember when he was a kid loving to work on cars. Still does. His little boys do too from what I've seen. It makes me happy.
He lives a few miles away now so he comes home to his parents to work on his or their car projects because, according to An, otherwise he'll be pestered to death lol. Man I sort of envy him like that. Being pestered by love.
Anyhow he hung around for a few minutes looking and asking about the various tools I was using; specifically the pneumatic nailers. Like when to use which and how to know which nails to buy and so forth. He focused on the big framing nailer I use like it was some sort of weapon. I have to imagine he was a little intimidated by it. I thought a little bit of that intimidation was a good thing. Respect and for good reason. Not enough intimidation as to usher fear though. That would be self defeating and dangerous.
Choir?
The thing is he said he wanted to learn the fundamentals of carpentry etc. I'm such a buzzkill but I couldn't stop myself from saying "well, of course you can find out just about anything on the internet but you can't go back and learn how to do it before there wasn't such a thing as a pneumatic nailer" as I stood there with glint in my eye.
Ok, he didn't get the joke. As a matter of fact I'm not sure I do either...
