Christmas morning, 6am
I woke up this morning thinking about toys. When I was a kid, my favorite toys were my stick and my rock. You could use these 2 items to simulate all kinds of war, and they were great for use in target practice, becoming spears and bullets and bombs. I grew up on Narragansett Bay, about 1/8 mile from the bay, and there was a park at the end of my street that was loaded with sticks and rocks, Salter Park. I would play down there at the water’s edge for days, throwing skimmers and drillers or kerplunkers as we called them.
My neighborhood was suburban middle class and under construction, and this gave my friends and me our Normandies and Dresdens, our Iraqs and Somalias. Houses in New England have basements, and those are built first. For some reason, lack of funding or permit stupidity or maybe to cure, there were some basements that were left for years with no additional work. Billy, Jeff, and other kids would come over and we’d play all sorts of war, armed with our sticks and our rocks, and have small wars with other street’s kids.
When I was about 8 or 9, I was down at Salter Park, and there were these rock outcroppings that were 25’ tall and that had tunnels and crevices in them. These rocks made for great forts. A band of girls was up in the fort rocks, and they started bombing me with marble-sized rocks from 30 or 40 yards. I grabbed some ammo, and promptly pegged one of my assailants in the forehead. Her forehead started to bleed pretty good, and I high-tailed it out of there.
When I got home, word of my accuracy had already reached my Mom. She had come to an agreement with the girl’s mom that I would apologize. The girl and her mom would be there in a moment. I was furious and mortified that I had to apologize for being a better shot, and I don’t remember how I worded the apology but I gave it. It’s funny that I can clearly see in my memory me throwing the rock and drilling her in the head, but I cannot remember the apology except that it happened and I was red with embarrassment and rage.
Now, at 50 years old, I am coming back to sticks and rocks. I was trying to come up with a gift idea for my doctor’s office that would be therapeutic for the patients. I’ve always liked the look of bonsai, so I worked out this idea of a care chart and sign-up sheet for a bonsai for the doc’s office. I went to the Muranaka Bosai nursery in Nipomo, and Muranaka-san straightened me out. Bonsai are outside mostly, even the ones that are advertised as inside like Ficus do better outside. Mr. Muranaka told me all about bonsai for a good hour. His dad had started the nursery, and they had awesome stuff. He had one 400 year old fores grouping of cypress, only $7000. I picked a Chinese Elm, Ulmus parviflora, that we thought would work if patients took it home for a month at a time. $65.
I took the elm home and stared at it and thought about the plan, and realized it wasn’t much of a gift for the doctor’s office. I went and bought 6 bottles of wine and will give that to the doc and nurses, and I exchanged the bonsai for the makings for a forest grouping, 5 Trident maples, Acer berguerianum, and a special bonsai forest grouping ceramic dish, and some bonsai potting mix. Muranaka-san told me this size dish could hold 11+ trees, always in an odd number of plants until you go past 20.
I have to wait until the trees start to bud in Feb/March to prune the roots and transplant these into the dish, but they will harden to the climate in this yard in the meantime. I will probably stick a small jade boulder in the forest glen. The idea of a forest grouping is that it looks as it does in nature, with different size trees that have created a canopy.
So it occurs to me, I have come full circle. I am back to my sticks and my rocks. It is very primal. Handling sticks and rocks is somehow therapeutic. Not like petting a cat or dog, but at a more cellular level. I have gone back to my roots, crawled back under my rock.
Christmas morning, 10 am
I had to take a break to open all the Christmas presents. No sticks, no rocks, but I am sitting in a nice new leather desk chair. Comfy. Here's hoping you all get the sticks and rocks you were wishing for, however metaphoric that may be. Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!
I woke up this morning thinking about toys. When I was a kid, my favorite toys were my stick and my rock. You could use these 2 items to simulate all kinds of war, and they were great for use in target practice, becoming spears and bullets and bombs. I grew up on Narragansett Bay, about 1/8 mile from the bay, and there was a park at the end of my street that was loaded with sticks and rocks, Salter Park. I would play down there at the water’s edge for days, throwing skimmers and drillers or kerplunkers as we called them.
My neighborhood was suburban middle class and under construction, and this gave my friends and me our Normandies and Dresdens, our Iraqs and Somalias. Houses in New England have basements, and those are built first. For some reason, lack of funding or permit stupidity or maybe to cure, there were some basements that were left for years with no additional work. Billy, Jeff, and other kids would come over and we’d play all sorts of war, armed with our sticks and our rocks, and have small wars with other street’s kids.
When I was about 8 or 9, I was down at Salter Park, and there were these rock outcroppings that were 25’ tall and that had tunnels and crevices in them. These rocks made for great forts. A band of girls was up in the fort rocks, and they started bombing me with marble-sized rocks from 30 or 40 yards. I grabbed some ammo, and promptly pegged one of my assailants in the forehead. Her forehead started to bleed pretty good, and I high-tailed it out of there.
When I got home, word of my accuracy had already reached my Mom. She had come to an agreement with the girl’s mom that I would apologize. The girl and her mom would be there in a moment. I was furious and mortified that I had to apologize for being a better shot, and I don’t remember how I worded the apology but I gave it. It’s funny that I can clearly see in my memory me throwing the rock and drilling her in the head, but I cannot remember the apology except that it happened and I was red with embarrassment and rage.
Now, at 50 years old, I am coming back to sticks and rocks. I was trying to come up with a gift idea for my doctor’s office that would be therapeutic for the patients. I’ve always liked the look of bonsai, so I worked out this idea of a care chart and sign-up sheet for a bonsai for the doc’s office. I went to the Muranaka Bosai nursery in Nipomo, and Muranaka-san straightened me out. Bonsai are outside mostly, even the ones that are advertised as inside like Ficus do better outside. Mr. Muranaka told me all about bonsai for a good hour. His dad had started the nursery, and they had awesome stuff. He had one 400 year old fores grouping of cypress, only $7000. I picked a Chinese Elm, Ulmus parviflora, that we thought would work if patients took it home for a month at a time. $65.
I took the elm home and stared at it and thought about the plan, and realized it wasn’t much of a gift for the doctor’s office. I went and bought 6 bottles of wine and will give that to the doc and nurses, and I exchanged the bonsai for the makings for a forest grouping, 5 Trident maples, Acer berguerianum, and a special bonsai forest grouping ceramic dish, and some bonsai potting mix. Muranaka-san told me this size dish could hold 11+ trees, always in an odd number of plants until you go past 20.
I have to wait until the trees start to bud in Feb/March to prune the roots and transplant these into the dish, but they will harden to the climate in this yard in the meantime. I will probably stick a small jade boulder in the forest glen. The idea of a forest grouping is that it looks as it does in nature, with different size trees that have created a canopy.
So it occurs to me, I have come full circle. I am back to my sticks and my rocks. It is very primal. Handling sticks and rocks is somehow therapeutic. Not like petting a cat or dog, but at a more cellular level. I have gone back to my roots, crawled back under my rock.
Christmas morning, 10 am
I had to take a break to open all the Christmas presents. No sticks, no rocks, but I am sitting in a nice new leather desk chair. Comfy. Here's hoping you all get the sticks and rocks you were wishing for, however metaphoric that may be. Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!
Ah John,
ReplyDeleteThis post makes me remember growing up on Lincoln Street in San Luis Obispo. Lincoln Street was filled with young families and kids a-go-go. I remember games of red light green light and Simon says with 20-30 kids on the front lawn. There were so many kids in our neighborhood that mom finally limited our birthday parties to only girls. My friend Chip was so upset he sat in front of the house and cried and lamented that he wanted to be a girl so he could come to my birthday party. Mom consoled him with birthday cake.
One Christmas I received a red felt skirt and vest with white plastic fringe and spent my time pretending I was Annie Oakley. We had chrome cap pistols and my red schwin bike was my horse. We had a play house in the back yard and that was my little house on the prairie. We also spent hours down in Santa Rosa Creek catching pollywogs and taking them home to raise into frogs. They invariable escaped in the house and we would find them dried out under the bed or some other such place months later.
My best friend growing up was Paula and one day she came over and sat down in my chair at the table. When I asked her to move and she wouldn’t, I mock strangled her. She burst into tears and ran home. Much to my chagrin and embarrassment my mom said I had to go apologize. So I left the house and hid in the bushes and counted to a hundred then returned home and told my mom I had apologized. Paula is still one of my best friends and we still laugh over this episode.
I’m hoping I don’t come quite full circle because I think I would look pretty corny running around dressed up like Annie Oakley and shooting off a couple of cap pistols. However, if anyone wants to get together for a game of red light/green light or Simon Says, I may be able to work this into my New Year’s resolution exercise routine.
Happy New Year to all!
Jack might like to see you in that Annie Oakley outfit, shooting your pistol. Then you could play Annie says and red light/green light! Yowza!
ReplyDeleteJohn and Manitouboo,
ReplyDeleteGreat story about your respective childhood. It brought back good, and not-so-good, memories for me. My dad was a coal miner mom spent her time trying to keep her four boys on the right side of the law. We were very poor. To supplement their income, they took on quasi-governmental tasks - like collecting local taxes, working on the election committee, distributing welfare (we called it Surplus) food, etc. I remember all those boxes of flour, powdered milk and cheese (sort of like Velveta) and various other food items we kept in our basement until people came and picked them up. The old town (Kaska, PA) was perched on the side of a mountain and was built by a mining company. It was an interesting twist of servitude, in that the mining company deducted fees from the miners' pay for housing, supplies at the general store, etc. There was little-to-no money left at the end of day for those poor bastards who slaved in the dark and dreary dungeons of those deep rat holes. Of course, in those days, miners didn't even wear masks. We often played in old, abandoned mine shafts. Spent much of the winter ice skating on ponds that were formed by old mines, always with as tall a stack as possible of old tires and dead trees burning to keep us warm and to do our part to destroy the ozone layer. We all had to do something to earn a little spending money; pick coal, shovel coal, paint fences or houses, cut grass, shovel and pick more coal. It makes me sad sometimes when I can't avoid the memories of not getting anything for Christmas except a piece of fruit or a pair of my older brother's socks he could no longer wear. But I'm not sure why because I don't recall being sad at the time. That's just the way it was. Some kids had parents who were much better off than mine financially. And although I wished my family could have more, I never felt badly about or toward them. They were good people and I knew that.
I'm crying at my desk now so I better sign off and stop this whiney shit.
Happy New Year.
Mac
Mac, your comment had me trying to remember any memorable Christmas presents, and for the life of me I can only remember Tonka trucks, maybe because they lasted forever and will be discovered by some archaeologist in a thousand years, right where I forgot them, in some unfinished basement that was filled in. I know we got Christmas presents, probably socks and models and the like, but little stands out. I have watched my kids ignore the Christmas presents after a couple of days, and then those things get sold at a yard sale 5 years later for a pittance just to make room for more stuff. Clearly the stuff doesn't make the memory, the family does.
ReplyDeleteJohn,
ReplyDeleteI think it's somewhat of a guy thing we're suffering from. The Little Woman can look at something and test my assholedness by asking me when I bought it for her. Of course, I have no clue. But she knows the place, time, date and precisely what we were doing, saying, eating and/or drinking at the time of the memorable gift-giving event. How the hell does she do that, but not have any idea where the hell her keys are? Go figure.
I just cannot believe another year has gone by. I'm sure you're much more aware of this year than most of us. John, I wish you the best life has to offer, especially along the lines of continued good health and happiness.
Mac
John those red trees are beautiful; please show us the dish when it is all filled up...and maybe once it's in place you could make next year easier--christmas comes, just put a stick and stone under it, call it a day.
ReplyDeleteI didn't know they came in red, always learn something new here. The most important thing we learned in 2005 blog was to say 999,999,999 left to go--
we are using that a lot and it is working out better than hey, moron or must've been a deaf moron he didn't answer me--
some days in the holiday traffic we got down to the last 999 but now the plunge is over, our guests have gone home to dry off (or out) and there should be less occasions to count backwards
happy new year
hey everyone, happy new year..........pronouncing it the year of regaining good, no maybe awesome health for all of us.
ReplyDeleteas i saw the weather reports i wonder how morro bay is doing in all the rain and the rivers? we have the ri yucky wet slush for the day or maybe the week.
my neighborhhod in suburban chicago had empty lots when i was a kid and we would call them "prairies" and play all day in the prarie ( a house lot overgrown)and then came the foundations built and sitting there, we all played in those basements too, it was whatever we wanted it to be. i remember i did something bad (don't remember what it was)and ran home and hid under the kitchen table, no one was home and i could hear the kids mother knocking on the door and i just stayed under there. i'm glad i grew up when neighborhoods were full of kids instead of the ghost towns they are now with everyone scheduled.
memorable gift growing up, i remember one, a purple mohair sweater in 4th grade, too cool.
i hope to get dsl in january, then maybe i will visit the internet more often.
pat- good day for the plunge? i saw folks jumping in at narragansett beach from the towers first day dance.
p.s. john- i love those red maples too, cannot imagine them fitting in that dish! i never did master the bonsai someone gave me, it died but was an indoor, maybe i will try again with an outdoor project.
ReplyDelete