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Sunshine to rain
When we moved from Yuma to
Sacramento, dad pulled that 14 foot Terry trailer that he had bought in Yuma,
for our vacation trips to San Diego. We stayed in the trailer for a while,
while the folks looked for a house. I remember one of the places we looked at,
was on Winding Way, at that time was almost countryside, and us kids wanted
that place so bad, but dad chose to live closer to the base, because he flew the
early warning, radar planes, and was on 24 hr. call, it seemed like all my
life. That place turned out to be 3641 Lankershim
Way, North Highlands. I went to Larchmont middle school, and Mr. Rich taught
6th grade. After I finished sixth grade, I had a long summer ahead, and the
Sacramento Bee was looking for paper carriers. I signed up for a route, and I
started with about thirty papers. The time the plane crashed behind the house,
there was a lot of open fields behind our house, where
construction had begun, immediately behind our house, and as they were
finished, and people moved into them, I sold subscriptions to the
"Bee", and added new customers to my route, and some other routes. I
sold so many subscriptions, that I won a belt buckle on several occasions, and
on one occasion, I won a trip to Santa Cruz, with two nights in the hotel, and
two days on the boardwalk, where I had a total blast for two days, My route got
bigger and bigger, until I was carrying two hundred fifty papers, so many, that
on Sunday, when the paper was huge, I would have to make four trips with my
saddlebags full, and my handlebar bag so stuffed, it was hard to steer my bike.
When my bike finally broke in half, one day, instead of getting a new bike, dad
made me give up the route. He bought me a new English Racer, with three speeds,
and a shifter.
The rain took some getting
used to, and before the housing boom started, there was an open field behind
the house, and one place, really close to the house, there was a huge puddle
that formed in a large low area, and when we got enough rain, that puddle
became a lake, to a twelve year old boy. I remember getting an old pallet, and
adding enough wood to it, until it floated. I pushed myself around that puddle,
and instantly I became the "Huck Finn" of North Highlands. This kept
me from boredom, until dad brought home a balsa wood model airplane for me to
assemble. When I finally got it together, dad brought home a .049 Baby Bee,
from Cox engines, and a big battery, and some funky smelling gas, two pieces of
string and a stick, and I was flying my little plane in circles in my back
yard. I quickly became addicted, and with the help of money from my paper
route, I soon had several planes, and several engines, and I began trading
things with my friends.
I don't remember ever not
having something to do. I look at the kids now, and they have everything we
had, in the way of sports, but they have so much more now, with the technology
available, and all I ever hear is how there's nothing to do. We played sports,
had chores, had pet rabbits, and my mom planted a garden in the back yard, and
there was corn, and tomatoes, and I remember these colorful gourds that grew,
and I remember a time my parents wanted to take a trip, and I was to stay with
Lyons, and the first day there, I was rasseling with
Craig, and I never knew when enough was enough, and I made him cry, and I felt
so bad that I walked home, with the thought that I could survive 'till the
folks returned, on vegetables from the garden. I was discovering how crappy raw
corn tasted, when George Lyon showed up to take me back. He was such a
genuinely fine person, he easily made me feel better, and I was glad to go.
We lived in that house the
whole time we were here, and the first summer ended and all of a sudden I am in
junior high school. I have a locker, and a home room teacher, and I have to go
to different classrooms, a whole new experience, and one of my dad's fellow
officers, has a daughter, and we spend time at the officers club swimming pool,
and go to school together, and I am having my first real crush. I can't
remember what Cheryl Mancuso looked like, but I remember that, to my taste, she
was beautiful. Her older sister, Patricia, was our sitter (that's how I met
Cheryl) and dad flew 121s with her dad, Captain Phillip Mancuso.
I remember we hadn't been
here long, and it was nasty and rainy, and we were all in the house, having
bible study. The planes landing at McClellan everyday, flew over the house
often enough that we knew, pretty much what was going on, but on this
particular day, this plane, with one engine smoking, and two more dying as he
flew over the house, so low, we could see faces in the windows of the plane. We
all ran out the back door, and the plane,(a 121),
banked to the left, and as he turned, he disappeared from our sight. A short
time later, there was a flash, and a cloud of smoke, and it took the sound,
forever to get there, but when it did, it rattled the windows in the house. Dad
was at work, and scheduled to fly that day, so we all thought that dad had just
been killed. We waited an agonizingly long time to get the news, (the military
is notorious for that), that everybody got off safely, with only one back
injury that wasn't even caused by the crash.
A little growin' up
High school hits a sheltered
child with a giant fist. I have two lock combinations to remember, 'cause I
have gym class, and I am responsible for shoes, socks, jock, and shorts, and a
clean t shirt to wear every day, and I have to get naked, and shower with a
bunch of rowdy boys. I quickly discover that I am uncoordinated, and
essentially, non athletic. Don Julio Junior High has a football stadium,
complete with a bowl. It was about a quarter of a mile around the
"bowl" and our coach, lacking a lot of imagination, had us run a lot
of laps around the football field, and I am always last and constantly getting
hollered at, my coach called me "Pete" and the nickname stuck, and I
have never shaken it.
A major setback
I am really busy now. I have
chores and pets, and sports and airplanes, and now I have schoolwork, and
girls, and piano lessons,(yes I still take lessons,
and will continue until senior high), and a paper route that is growing every
day. Somehow I survive, and mercifully, summer comes again, and I get a break
from schoolwork, but it doesn't last and I am suddenly an eighth grader. I
can't remember what caused my world to collapse, but I think dad sold the
house, because we moved to base housing,(Iriquois
court, can't remember number), and I am yanked out of junior high, and returned
to elementary school,(8th grade), and I remember having horrible behavioral
problems, and fights at school, and a feeling of complete humiliation. this seems to last forever, but dad gets orders to go to
Newfoundland, so we are swept away again. Just as well 'cause this kid named
Randy McFarland stole Cheryl’s heart, and I was totally crushed. I
couldn't wait to get out of California.
The trip to Newfoundland was
an adventure in itself, as we drove across the United States, in order to pick
up a new car, which dad had picked out, and found that if he picked it up in
Detroit, he could save a ton of money, so the movers came and got our stuff,
and we took off in our old car,(minus trailer, which
was sold) and began a new adventure.
Newfoundland:We jump from
1960 to 1979
This part of the story needs
its own chapter. First read (http://www.petesmemories.com/autonewf.html
) from 1960-1962
then read (http://www.petesmemories.com/autosno.html
)…………….1962-1979
Bought the farm-1979
In 1979, Dad bought six acres
in Sacramento, and he paid cash, $120,000, the
proceeds from selling the 15 acre raspberry farm in Snohomish, Washington. Not
long after they moved there, I was planning a trip to take Pam's niece, Wanda,
back to Washington, after a nice visit. We took hiway
5 north, and dropped Todd and Scott off at the grandparents
new "ammond" farm in Sacramento. What's an ammond? you ask. When they are in
the tree, they are almonds, but you gotta' knock the
"L" out of them to get them out of the tree.
Over the next ten years, we
visited the folks often, and they always had some type of R.V., so they visited
me a lot too. They would pull their trailer into whatever town I happened to be
in, at the time, and stay until we got tired of each other. I moved from Poway,
to Lancaster, and while I was at Lockheed, Pam dropped the bomb. She asked me
for a divorce, which I granted, and the folks came to Lancaster, packed up me
and the kids, and brought us to Sacramento to recover. I was a basket case, and
I resented everyone, and everything. Instead of taking a look at myself, I
blamed all my problems on others. To quell my anger, we asked neighbor, Joe Pujols, if we could borrow his concrete mixer, and I poured
the R.V. slab that sits next to the driveway. I told the folks that I would
like to pour a driveway for them, also. Dad and I went shopping around, and we
found was called a "one sack mixer", which meant that you could dump
in a sack of cement, and add two buckets of sand, and three buckets of gravel.
Two of these would pour a six by six slab, which was what I recommended to
prevent cracking. I sketched a rough plan, and proceeded to pour a driveway,
and a circle (octagon), and dad was so happy, he refused to take another
payment for the Mazda, which he bought for me, when Pam left.
While here, I took a temp. job with Walden Fabrication. It was right after Christmas,
in 1985, and I took the job as a "draftsman/detailer". Shortly after
the New Year, the space shuttle Challenger crashed. I was sitting at my
drafting table, drawing plans for the water pumping station in Walnut grove. We
were listening to the radio, probably "The Eagle, 96.9" when the news
broke over the radio that the Challenger broke apart, on takeoff, and broke up
in the atmosphere, and fell back to earth. We were all stunned, as the shuttle
missions had never suffered any setbacks, and was routine,
business as usual. It took a long time before there was anything else in the
news, besides that.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Space_Shuttle_Challenger
Second Chance
I don't last very long when I
work for screamers, or angry men. The best thing I can do is try to work by
myself. Then I don't have problems getting along. I started taking jobs pouring
and finishing concrete. Just about the time my folks were sorry for asking me
back, Lockheed called me back to work, and I moved back to Palmdale to live in
a roach infested apartment owned by Duane's brother, Jess. (Cousin, uncle, I
really don't remember.)
Back to work. Lockheed fizzles out.
I take several jobs, some
aircraft, some not. (http://www.petesmemories.com/autowork.html
)
Home at Last, Time to Retire!
After all my moving around, I
finally return to
We were living in Dale's
house, and we got a foster dog, Roxie. Dan's Springer immediately impregnates
her, and soon we have puppies. We managed to give them all away, but we got
back the biggest, loudest, different from all the rest
because he was white, and resembled his father. I really didn't want two dogs,
but this was the puppy that really loved me, and he was
always wanting to sit in my lap.
|
My Best Friend |
Scooper
turned out to be the best dog I've ever had, and we had eleven wonderful years
together, as I learned how to truly love a dog.
I have exhausted every possibility to be
gainfully employed. I worked at a couple temp jobs, one with workload, and one
with volt. The workload job I really enjoyed. I was the maintenance man at the
Alternative Baking Company. I made my own hours, and I got to eat some of the
best cookies on the planet. When my 90 days were up, they asked me to become a
regular employee, and I accepted. That's when things went sour. I no longer had
the freedom to make my hours, and I had to drop what I was doing at break time,
and lunch. There is a lot of times that that is very
difficult, and wastes valuable time, setting up, and tearing down. I had major
differences with Tim, the plant manager, and he was becoming concerned that I was
taking too much upon myself. After building a guide to cut the "Hula
Nut" which was a square cookie, and fixing the labeling machine, and
buying machinery to make our own labeling accessories, an enormous savings (one
labeling foot cost about $60. I can make them for $5). The last straw was when
the owner refused to give un-saleable cookies to "Loaves and Fishes",
a homeless shelter, and instead, threw them in the trash. That was it for me.
I, at the time was so poor, that the waste deeply disturbed me. I presented
impossible demands, and made them non-negotiable, with a two week grace for the
demands to be met. Tim took advantage, and asked me to build another "Hula
Nut guide", and 50 basket dollies before I left. I took part of my pay in
swamp cooler, which I am enjoying to this day.
This was the time that my dog
had to be left behind, and he was forever getting out. I really didn't know
what to do. There was a beautiful, black lab, running the streets at the cookie
factory, and every time the girls opened the shipping doors, the dog would run
into the building. I finally lured him to my truck (the blue pickup), and took
him home with me. I was apprehensive, and I waited a long while to see that
they would get along. They hit it off, really well, and I felt better about
leaving "Scooper" behind.
It wasn't long before
"Duke" found a way out of the yard, and he would lay
outside the gate, whining, trying to entice "Scooper" to escape also.
I spent quite a few months driving the streets looking for the dogs. They loved
the pond on Poker Lane, and there were ducks to chase, and cattle to harass.
One day we came home from looking for the dogs, and Scooper was laying by the gate, whining. It was obvious he had been hit
by a car. Duke was nowhere to be seen. We got Scooper in the house, and on the
couch, where he lay and cried. I didn't know how bad he was hurt, and I had no
money for the vet, and Denise and I went and sat in the car with a twelve pack,
and waited for him to die. When we went in the house to see, He has finally
quit crying, and was trying to wag his tail. I took several months before He
was out of the woods, and I could see that he would always have pain from that
injury. We found Duke on the road, across from the water tank. Someone had hit
both dogs, and Scooper got away, but someone pulled Duke's body up on the
sidewalk. I was in really poor health, at the time, and I didn't feel able to
bring him home, and dig an enormous grave, so we called animal control, and
they came and they disposed of the body. I would like to say that Duke was a
really good dog, and we thoroughly enjoyed the times he gave us, short as they
were.
Denise's mom was here, and we
worked together at Workload. They had several little jobs for us, in and around
Hewlett Packard company. When that fizzled out, I took
a temp job with Volt, in a returns plant, first as a fork lift operator, then
as a returns technician. Electronic devices, on warranty, came into the plant,
and we dispositioned each item. Security was a major
pain, and no matter how hard I tried, I would set off the metal detector. I
finally found some metal clips that the shoe strap passed through. I removed
those, and finally enjoyed several days of passing through without removing my
shoes.
We were all drinking heavily,
and Denise and her mom fought, and her mom was asked to leave.
With a collection agency
hounding me about my septic tank, and my brother suing me, I realize the only
way to get any peace was to declare bankruptcy.
I really don't feel like
trying to get a regular job. With my drinking, my health waxes and wanes
(mostly wanes), and I just don't fit in, anywhere. I look up a friend, Bob, and
he, being the wheeler dealer he is, he kept me busy with maintenance work in
the trailer park he lives in.
Denise and I are really
poverty stricken, and it seems like we live day to day, never knowing where our
next five or ten or twenty dollars is coming from. To make matters worse, we
invite a homeless couple to live with us. We got along pretty well for six
months, but we all drank so heavily that we were always fighting. That ended
badly, and it seemed like our streak of poverty would never end.
I was getting medical
attention through the county, having had an ear infection from '93 to '03, I
discovered I was eligible for medical attention, when the eardrum finally
ruptured we turned to other issues, and I got my blood pressure under control,
and I was really trying hard to quit drinking, but I would go on a binge, and
lose all the ground I had just gained. I had gotten Denise on welfare, earlier,
and she was getting food stamps, and a small check, so we weren't completely
without.
After visiting an old
acquaintance,
My health is poor, as I have
been sporting a double hernia, huge on the left(inguinal),
and it is such a relief to have that fixed. I also had a macular pucker, and I
needed eye surgery to get that fixed. The surgery caused early onset cataracts,
and I had a second surgery to correct that.
Buddy
Today is August 11, 2011. I
put Buddy down this morning at
Buddy came to us at a time
when we were having problems, and Denise was staying with her mom in
Bakersfield. She had been staying in touch with Tom Pryor, in Oroville, and had
arranged to take a puppy from Johnette. There were
several puppies born, but met a tragic end beneath Johnette's
cerebral palsy stricken feet. There were two left, and Denise agreed to take
the male.
Tom brought him to the house,
and he was such a tiny thing, he would choke himself on the doggie dish Denise
had chosen for him. He was also sooooo cute, I
couldn't say no.
He soon became attached to my
foot, the same as Scooper did, from the day he was born. The only problem with
being attached to my foot, was, one day he was under
my foot, and I pinched him when I stood up, and he proceeded to mangle both my
hands, snarling and ripping. I didn't think he would stop. We also learned that
he protected food, and he mangled Denise a time or two over food, and a couple
times when she had been drinking, he mangled her.
The last time he bit her on
the foot about a week ago, and I knew he had to go, but I was waiting for the
right opportunity, and it came this morning when he attacked my foot for no
apparent reason. I really feel awful that I had to do that, but I look at it
like this; He needed to be put down. If I took him to the pound, or even a vet,
he would have to be restrained by strangers, and lethally injected. As it was,
he was happy, one second, and gone the next.
It's friday morning, August 12, 7:30 a.m. I didn't sleep
well last night, and I woke up really early this morning, and I got up and made
coffee, opened the chicken house door, and filled the hummingbird feeder. I
usually have a dog bouncing around my feet, but not today. I already miss Buddy
awfully.
|
In loving memory |
He
was so close to me, he mirrored my every move. If I lean forward in my chair,
he would stand, and be on alert, anticipating my every move, and herding me, to
some extent. His favorite thing was to go "bye bye",
and he would jump on Denise until she took him out, and put him in the truck.
When we went someplace, he usually wasn't allowed to get out, but he didn't
seem to mind. He just loved to go for a ride. Most of the time when I would go
outside, he would go with me, one step in front of me, and he would stop, and I
would have to stop too. If I sat outside, he would lay at my feet. If it was
possible, he would actually make contact with my foot. I learned to be really
careful, because I stepped on him on two separate occasions. The first time, he
was less than six months old, and still really tiny, and as usual he was right
at my feet. I had started to doze off, and when I went to get up to go to bed,
I pinched him really good. I still can't believe the fury he attacked with. He
chewed my left hand, ripping the knuckle off my index finger. When I put my
right hand down to stop him, He proceeded to mangle my right hand too. I was
totally unable to use either hand for several days, and I told Denise that he
was dangerous, and would have to be put down. The second time he bit me, he had
a scrap of pizza crust, and he was defending it, and when I walked too close,
he growled, and jumped up, and bit me above the belt, on my right side. As he
was coming down, my reaction was to kick at him, and he bit me on my left
ankle. Both bites broke the skin, but was nothing like
the first attack.
I am not writing for the
purpose of bashing anyone or anything, and I certainly won't bash the Oroville
folks. Suffice to say, Buddy's first four months of life were hell, and it was
imprinted on him that humans were bad. I loved that dog every day. He wasn't always wanting to be petted. Sometimes I would reach
out and touch him, and he would get up and move out of reach. I'm not sure what
that was, but I was always fearful. I stepped on him, another time, when he was
a little older, and he went at me, but as soon as he realized it was me, he
pulled back a little, and only broke the skin, giving me reason to think that
there was hope.
Buddy grew, from 10 pounds,
to 20 pounds, and, still being aggressive, we had him neutered. After that, he
really grew fast, to 30 pounds, and he was a muscular dog with a big, hard
head, almost like a pit bull, and he had a personality of his own.
If the phone would ring,
Buddy knew that Mike was coming, or we were going to have visitors, and he
would get excited, and stand on the alert, waiting. If we said the
"Bye-bye" word, he would jump all over Denise.
We
both grew to love Buddy, and when he did bite, and we knew he had to be
destroyed, we loved him so much, we kept putting it off, and it became harder
to think about, as time passed, but we knew it was inevitable.
My son would come around,
often, and I was always worried that Buddy would hurt one of my grandchildren,
but no matter how rough Logan was with Buddy, he was never too rough with
Logan, and they played so well together, that before long, I wasn't worried
anymore. People would come to the house, and I was always trying to stay
between company, and Buddy. Injun Lauri and Anthony
would come to visit, and they both stepped on Buddy hard enough to make him
yelp, but he never bit anyone except for Denise and me. I thought if we were
careful, he would get over it, and for a time, there was improvement, but every
time Denise got careless with food, or the broom, Buddy would attack with a
vengeance, and didn't want to stop.
Denise had her own problems
with him. She was his keeper, and she fed and watered him. He bit her a couple
times, food related, and a couple times, alcohol related. The way those two
played, this was something you wouldn't expect. One of my greatest joys in life
was to watch Denise play with Buddy, like a little girl. I could see that it
was one of the greatest joys in Denise's life, too. I was so hoping that he
would snap out of it, but, just about a week ago, Denise tried to feed him some
hamburger. He was being difficult, and Denise took a piece out of his dish, and
set it on the floor, close to him. I asked her for the broom, and when she went
to carry it to me, Buddy attacked her foot, and bit her severely, several
times, like he can't stop himself. So since that day, I had known that he had
to go. I wish I could give hime to somebody, but I
would be responsible if he ever hurt someone. I could take him to the pound.
No, I couldn't. I could take him to the vet, but he hates the vet's office. No,
this is something I have to man up, and take care of myself. So for a week, I
agonized about what to do, when, yesterday morning, Buddy was hungry, and
grumpy, and moping around because Denise was gone, and when I walked toward him
to open the sliding glass door, he looked at me real funny, and I hesitated,
and took a half step, and Buddy went for my foot. I stopped, and so did he, and
he looked at me with his ears pulled back, and his
tail drooped, and I knew that I could never trust him again. I'm sorry little
Buddy. I'm really going to miss you. I already do.
I found this when Scooper
passed, and although it's not as obvious in this situation, I feel it applies
here, as well.
A DOG'S PLEA
Treat me kindly, my beloved
friend, for no heart in all the world is more grateful
for kindness than the loving heart of me. Do not break my spirit with a stick,
for although I should lick your hand between blows, your patience and
understanding will quickly teach me the things you would have me learn. Speak
to me often, for your voice is the worlds sweetest
music, as you must know by the fierce wagging of my tail when your footsteps
falls upon my waiting ear. Please take me inside when it is cold and wet, for I
am a domesticated animal, no longer accustomed to bitter elements. I ask no
greater glory than the privilege of sitting at your feet beside the hearth.
Keep my pan filled with fresh water, for I cannot tell you when I suffer
thirst. Feed me clean food that I may stay well, to romp and play and do your
bidding, to walk by your side and stand ready, willing and able to protect you
with my life, should your life be in danger. And, my friend, when I am very
old, and I no longer enjoy good health, hearing and sight, do not make heroic
efforts to keep me going. I am not having any fun. Please see that my trusting
life is taken gently. I shall leave this earth knowing with the last breath I
draw that my fate was always safest in your hands. Author Unknown
I can only hope I did the
right thing!
Sat. Aug 13
For the second morning, I
awake, and kick my feet over the edge of the bed. When I reach down to put on
my socks, Buddy would always hear me, and he would jump on the bed, and lick my
face. I would put my right arm around him, and scratch his throat with my left
hand until he groaned with pleasure. I really missed that, and all the little
things. I sat in my chair and had coffee, and I leaned back carefully, so as
not to pinch Buddy, and opened the sliding glass door, and he wasn't there. I
didn't realize that he was with me every second, and I took it for granted. I
miss my dog so much.........
I have to have another dog!
The new babies
I got online and contacted
the S.P.C.A., and we visited the feed stores, and the pet stores, looking for
flyers for pups. We found several, and we came home and started calling around.
One place we called said they had three puppies left, and we went to see them.
They lived on Rio Vista, not too far from my old stomping grounds on Lankershim Way. They told us that they didn't know which
dog was the father, but we saw the mother, a plain brown mutt, about Buddy's
size, but short legged. They said she was kept in the back yard with their
bigger dog. Denise suspected that was the father, but there was a black female,
and the two we decided to take. They handed me the black female, first, and I
handed her back and said, "Too hard to see in the dark". Then they
handed in the two brindle pups, and we drove away with both of them. They
wanted twenty five dollars each, but we only had eleven in cash, so rather than
lose us, they accepted the eleven dollars, and we became the proud owners of
The date was August 21, so in order to
give them a birth-date, I calculated it to be June
seventeenth, a few days before the anniversary of Scooper's passing, and right
around the time we got Buddy. Now we need to be careful where we step, once
again, and the babies are an absolute joy, and it makes missing Buddy a little
less painful.
We have had our new dogs
awhile, and they are so loving, and gentle. It’s about time!
Denise
The circumstances of our
meeting are covered in another chapter, however, briefly, we met in Rosamond
while I was working at G.E.. Jon and I went looking
for a place to shoot pool, and we started at Sal's Town, where we had a drink,
and asked the barkeep, where was a good place to shoot pool. He asked how rowdy
we wanted to get, and we replied, "Not too rowdy", to which he
replied, "Go to John's Place". Jon said, "He gets points for his
name!" So, we met sisters, and Jon ended up with one, and I ended up with
the other. That was the night I met Jerritt.
We didn't hook up right away,
and I didn't see Denise again until late spring, when my regular housekeeper
didn't show for a while, I went to her mother's place on 60th,
and left my number. Denise got in touch, and she moved in her own room, and
agreed to keep house for me, for fifty a week and room and board. Things
progressed from there, and it wasn't long before I took her to Sacramento to
meet my mom. Every one thought that Denise was out to take me for everything I
had. That makes me smile, because I don't have anything to be taken from me,
and, as I write this, in the late summer of 2011, we are well into our
eighteenth year together. Thanks to Denise sticking by my side in the most
horrible of circumstances, we have built something together, worth more than
anything, anyone ever took from me.
I was suffering from really
severe alcoholism, and, unable to perform my job, properly, I begged mom to let
me live in Dale's house, and she reluctantly agreed. I didn't realize what a
problem I would make for everyone that cared about me. I had a few odd jobs,
one with Pizor Iron, and a robotics company, and I
did poorly, because I was unable to stop drinking.
When mom fell ill, I did a
quickie with "Bob" at R.C.H. Machine Shop, and mom passed away.
Denise wasn't really happy
here and she got homesick a lot, so we were separated a lot at first. When we
got our wreck of a mobile home delivered, we were living in my camper shell,
and a tent, which we had pitched next to the pond, under the trees. Thank God
for trees. It was July of '97 and we had string upon string of one hundred
degree days.
Major
Improvements
This chapter is intended to
illustrate the significance of every tree, and flower, and cactus. Everything
on this property was hard fought for, and there were several times I thought I
would lose it.
Dale had left behind four
sections of hog-wire, sixteen feet long, and while we lived in the house, we
had a fenced in garden, with sunflowers, Denise's trademark. The house sold
before harvest time, and we took the wire sections, but had to leave our
tomatoes behind, and we immediately started a new garden, close to the only
faucet on the property. Water was free for us, so I soaked the earth, and
proceeded to dig the sod out of the square the sections formed. Not knowing for
sure, where to stack the sod, I started a water ring around the only real tree
on the property, the wild plum. I don't know how this tree survived all the
years with no water. It must have roots, all the way to hell, which is how I
would describe the entire property with the exception of the pond area. It was
so dry. We set up sprinklers, and I salvaged a few strands of Bermuda grass,
which I divided, and transplanted elsewhere, until I had a respectable lawn.
At this point, I hadn't
decided what I was going to do with the property, but I thought it would be
nice to have some trees, so we grabbed a shovel, and went on old Poker Lane,
over by the railroad tracks, with my daddy's blue Ford pickup, and we dug up
some wild bamboo, and some trees that I thought were walnuts. I later found out
the name was "Lantis", and it's a good luck
tree for the Chinese. It was good luck for us too, because it grew so fast, and
in spite of being damaged by Rene jr. and Bubba, it
quickly became the biggest shade tree on the property. In early spring, There were some trees, sprouted, just on the other side of
the fence, still on my property, but on John Pibb's
side. I dug them both up, thinking that they were oak trees, because of the
shape of the leaf. They went into a coffee can, where they spent several years,
due to my indecision. I had to be careful where I put them because the wreck of
a trailer would someday be moved, I left a way out,
but put them close enough so that they would provide shade when they got bigger.
After a few years in the ground, it was apparent that they were mulberry trees,
and they grew fast, and really cooled of the south end of the house.
There were other trees too.
We got into S.M.U.D.'s tree program, and this lady named Fran came out and
sprayed a few paint spots on the ground. This was where we were supposed to
plant our trees. Denise had other ideas, and she planted a six foot Burr Oak
just outside the bathroom window. I was not pleased, as I had planned to deck
the whole place, and that tree prevented me from doing that. As it turns out,
it is one of my favorite trees, and it couldn't have gotten a better location.
From this, and other things, I let Denise have her way, as long as there was no
danger. She planted an apple tree on top of the septic tank, and I knew that
one would have to go, and I was keeping an eye on it, but Denise got drunk, and
knocked the tree down, her own self. She went for several days without glasses,
(spectacles), and I found them on the ground next to the broken off tree.
My cousin, Diana, got the two
halves of the trailer together, and I got a wood stove from a neighbor that I
was doing work for, and Denise and I spent a miserable winter together, with
the smokestack piped out through the door on the windward side of the house.
The smoke had to travel through two 90 degree pipes, directly into the wind,
and we smelled of smoke until next February. We lived without power, and we
watched the super-bowl on a battery T.V., and lit the house with old fashioned
kerosene lamps, and candles, and it was freezing cold and we huddled together,
and smoked our roll your owns, and drank our beer, and
ate our beans. We had made a trip to Rosamond, and had brought back an ostrich
egg from Ben's job. I drilled a hole in it, and blew the contents into a dish,
and I remember holding a frying pan on the coals, through the open door of the
wood stove, and we were hungry, and I remember how good scrambled ostrich egg
tasted, and it was huge, and provided breakfast for several days.
We had a carpet cleaning job,
and in order to maintain our hygiene, we drove to the truck stop several times
a week, and showered before we went to work. We still always smelled of smoke
and we were starving, and cold, and I decided to send Denise away until I could
get power to the place.
I remember it was Valentines
day when I drove her to the bus station, and I already missed her, and on the
way home, I stopped and bought four, one and three quarter liter bottles of
whiskey, and Scooper and I went home to drown my sorrows. My faithful dog was
always beside my chair, looking at me and wondering what was the matter with
me.
When I regained
consciousness, several days later, I wished I could die, and I talked to my
neighbor, Dan, the policeman, and he got me started going to A.A. in Roseville.
A Troy Connors said he would help me, and ended up robbing me. There, I also
met Hugh, a tech rep from Saudi, and Debbie Coons, the lady that gave me a pool
cleaning job. The money was pretty good, and I had to take Scooper with me,
after several attempts to restrain him at home, and I met
My neighbor, Hank, who has
every reason to hate me, gave me a fireplace insert, and John and I lifted it
into the house with his tractor. I was working at the cookie factory, and I
made a deal with the owner, Mr. Steve Ruud, to install a fiberglass tub and
shower in one of his rentals, in trade for my triple wall stovepipe. I am so
lonely, I can't wait to call Denise and get her home.
When she comes, her mother
comes with her, and we all live together happily ever after.
Shortly after that, Denise
tries to hold a job. I did a couple little jobs for Bob, the Fiji Indian that
owned Roseville market. She didn't last very long, because Bob is a screamer,
and for the same reason that I did, she quit. She let him deduct twenty dollars
for a purple plum tree in a gallon pot, big around as my thumb, and five feet
tall. It probably wasn't worth that much, but now it's
fifteen feet tall, and gives about fifty pounds of plums every year.
Along side of the purple
plum, which is planted in front of Denise's window, is a "Fran tree",
a Mimosa, which I found next to Jimmy's shop in
Our second or third Christmas
tree grew huge, and gave us pine cones. We discovered how to harvest the seeds
from them, and soon we had fifty baby pine trees. They went into pots, and when
they got big enough, they got planted. Right now the one in the back yard is
the biggest, but some of the ones in the orchard are doing well, too.
I planted one of the baby
pine trees on Scoopers grave. It isn't doing very well, But
I think it will survive. In the little box, also, are some succulents from
Mamie, a dear friend from Bob's trailer park. We got a lot of things from her.
Every time I would do a job for her, she would give us a cutting, or a plant in
a pot, and The prickly pear from her rental is the
most spectacular.
The
aloe vera around the wild plum came from John's yard.
He let us dig up two plants from his field, and Denise transplanted them, and
divided them until they surrounded the tree. In the spring, when the salmon
colored blossoms are plentiful, it is a gorgeous sight to behold. Attracts hummingbirds, too.
In 2005, the property was up
for sale for 440,000 dollars. The buyer provided a twenty five thousand dollar
non-refundable deposit for the year 2005, and twenty five more for 2006, the
final lump due in June of 2007. We had, with Bob's help, purchased a five acre
parcel in Oroville, and all the trees we had been collecting over the years,
and been keeping them alive in buckets, and pots and you name it. Just before
the final lump was due, we heard that the deal fell through, and we got to keep
the property, and the non-refundable deposits, and we started to plant our
trees in Sacramento. Bob was a little disappointed that we couldn't take the
place at Oroville, but satisfied that he had a safe investment.
Knowing that we are staying
gives everything a new look. I have trees in buckets that I have planted from
seeds. I have things that friends have given us, and with a new attitude, we
begin to plant our trees on our property. Our Christmas trees from every year
have been planted in the front yard along the driveway. Some are flooded every
winter, and to add insult to injury, Little Bit, the goat, and her compadres ate the bark off them, so three trees died, and
made a space for my maple trees that I planted from those little helicopter
seeds. I have a nut tree, and a fig tree, and I decide to complete my orange
orchard, all the way down to the house. The first order of business is to fence
it off so that the goats can't get in there.
I start with the only trees I
have. I have a clone off the fig that grew out from under the trailer,
|
My Orchard |
and a walnut I planted from seed
(Nut).
|
Walnut |
Then,
singin' Lori gave me a red solo drinking cup, with
two little
sprouts,
|
My Orchard |
one purple, and one green. I let
them get fairly big, and I planted them the next row up. They quickly grew
fifteen feet tall, and it is two distinct trees, one purple plum, and a green plum, which turns golden when ripe, and are sinfully
sweet. They ripen in late August, as opposed to the purple one, which ripens in
late spring, and early summer.
My
neighbor, Joe Pujols gave two giant redwoods in
buckets. I put them at the foot of both rows, then, little by little, we start
filling in as we can afford. The truth is, we really
can't afford, so we must sacrifice something every time we want a tree. The
first was a nectarine which never does well because of leaf curl. Then, the
next two are cherries. I bought a Bing cherry, and I was told I needed a
pollinator. A black Tartarian was suggested, and I
planted it next to the new field gate.
Once we were careless with
the gate, and Little Bit got in and munched my black Tartarian.
I found a replacement at Costco, and it is doing well, and gave us cherries
this year, but the birds ate them.
Denise and I both got our
cannabis recommendation, and we are also busy with our cannabis crop.
In the early spring of 2010,
Denise gave a tweaker 20 bucks for a duck. Singin' Lori told her about it, and she rescued it, and
brought it home. When I was in high school, my parents had Muscovy ducks, so I
recognized the breed. Denise asked me what kind of a duck it was, and I told
her,"muscovy", and at that moment, she
became "Opie from Muscovy", God rest Merl
Haggard!
In early 2011 Denise's mom
moved here from Bakersfield, and she bought a trailer in the park, right across
from the Wal Mart, and Denise spends a lot of her time
with her mom. Life is good, and we are as happy as clams.
Then, in early August, we
lost buddy, and we moped around the house for several days, and finally, Denise
says, "Let's go buy a couple apple trees. At the time, I wasn't thinking
about Buddy's memory. Denise had made me forget about that for a while, and now
when I look at my two new apple trees, I think of Buddy.
Religion
If there really is a God, I
have a bone to pick.
From the moment of my birth,
someone has always been pointing out to me, the importance of believing and
worshipping. I was instructed that the "Bible" was provided by God so
that we mortals would know what was expected of us, and how we were to act.
My father's parents came from
the "old country", Norway, and I'm not sure about my grandfather, but
my grandmother was a devout Lutheran. My father was also a devout Lutheran, and
I attended church with him, several times. My mother's mother was "in the
truth", at least, that's how they say it. My
mother was rebellious, and when she married my father, she was a smoker and a
drinker. There came a time, in the early fifties, when my mother suddenly
changed, and gave her life to Christ. She made plans to separate from my
father, and when us children begged her, in tears, not
to go, and from that moment on, my mother became a martyr for "the
truth". Near the end of her life, she finally got what she always wanted.
She married Richard Day, a man "in the truth", and he turned out to
be not her cup of tea, and I watched her die in mental misery, caused by her
hero, Richard Day.
My father died, clinging to
his belief, and I always wondered if he really believed, or was he just being
safe. His life was so much happier than my mom's, and everyone loved him, and
said what a nice guy he was. My mother was always sad or angry (a family trait
we are all smitten with), and all the neighbors did not like her. Not a very
Christian characteristic, but I was brainwashed into thinking that "the
truth" really was the only sure path to heaven.
The problem I had with the
bible is that it is written by shepherds and fishermen that thought the earth was flat. They tell stories that are so far fetched, that
they are scientific impossibilities. They talk about a jealous, angry God,
quick to punish in ways we call torture. We were given free will, but not the
freedom to exercise it.
I'll tell you what I think.
Humans are a temporary infestation of the planet earth, and as soon as we
really make a noticable, negative impact, the earth
will, in the words of George Carlin, shake us off like a case of fleas. This
may manifest it's self as, simply, becoming unsupportive of human life,
however, with plagues like A.I.D.S., we may find a way to eliminate ourselves,
without having to resort to a nuclear holocaust.
As far as a soul, it is
arrogant to assume that humans have souls, and other living things don't. How
absurd!!! I have no memory of
before I was born, and when I die, I believe I will cease to exist, except for
the shell I leave behind.
I tell people that I believe
in Karma. In it's simplest form, Karma is the thing
that rewards us for our deeds. Do good deeds, Karma is kind. Do bad deeds, and bad things happen to you. This isn't really in
effect. It couldn’t possibly be. There are too many deeds done that go
unpunished. I tell people if they don't believe in Karma, then they just need
to wait a while, because what comes around, eventually
goes 'round again. My patience has paid off. I won't mention any names, but
most of the people that I feel have done wrong to me, have had a taste of
"Karma". There are still a few, though, and even though they haven't
"ate shit yet", is simply because I haven't waited long enough.
Karma is a two edged sword,
people. Karma has frowned upon me for every bad thing I ever did, and she let
me know that she's not finished yet, so I continue to be careful in everything
I do.
Religion is the biggest
reason human beings don't get along. Everyone wants to think that they are
right, and everyone else should be like them. We fight over these beliefs, and
we kill each other, in the name of God. If there really is a God, would this be
happening? If He can't make His presence and His wants known to everyone, then
He has failed to cause me to believe. I just don’t have that kind of
faith in anything.
Politics
All my Democratic friends
told me to buy everything that my credit would allow, and die in debt. My
republican friends gripe about Social Security, and think that individuals
should set aside their own retirement, and provide for their own medical care.
How funny is that? The few people I know that were able to do that were blessed
with good fortune. They were in the right place at the right time, and they all
think that that is a regular occurrence. They also think that everyone that carrys a "C" average is a lazy slacker. I won't
dignify that stupidity with anything more than a "Bell" curve.
One thing is for sure. This
country would not be in financial difficulties if everyone were to pay taxes. I
was always patriotic enough that I didn't mind paying twenty percent of my
income in taxes. A lot of the people I worked with were busy devising ways to
avoid paying taxes, and the "well to do" folks I know were well off
enough to create tax shelters. The politicians running the country right now
(Tim Geitner) have all been caught cheating on their
taxes, but nobody knows how to solve this money problem.
Early in life, I borrowed
money several times, to have some things I couldn't afford. I struggled
throughout my first marriage, trying to have things I couldn't pay cash for.
Now I have experienced homelessness, and waiting for things has become a way of
life. Come on America. It's not so tough. Why can't my politicians learn a
little patience, and pay for things ahead of time like I had to do?
The problem is that the
people with the skills to make money aren't politicians, and are only
interested in making money for themselves. And, when is enough, enough? We have
folks with so much money, it's sinful, and they are still trampling on their
fellow man to make more.
Stingy...Selfish....Self
centered. It will stop. Not in my lifetime, but it will stop. The people I know
that are struggling like me, are willing to share any little "good
fortune" that comes their way, and the people I know that are "well
to do", never miss an opportunity to make a buck off the "have nots".
The price of beef went up,
because the rancher's wells have dried up, and there is no water for the
cattle. They are 'fracking the earth for natural gas,
and they allow people to go on T.V. and claim that that is a good idea, even
though it is destroying our water supplies. Innovative thinking, one advertiser
called it. But it is the oil companies that want to do this, and even though
alternative energy sources, (renewable), are available, the oil companies are
so powerful that there is no stopping them. I suggested an alternative energy
source in the 70s, and it was a logical thing, which was met by resistance by
big oil, and is, only now, progressing at a snails pace, even though half the
population thinks that combustion byproducts from fossil fuels is causing
global warming. Here's the reason your politicians from all parties don't give
a shit. By the time the shit really hits the fan, we will all be dead.(Big happy face, right here.)
Life in General
I must say that my life has
been very satisfying. I have visited so many countries, and met so many people,
and I have drawn the conclusion that, were it not for religion and politics, we
are all enough alike, that, we would probably all get along pretty well.
I have had some serious bouts
with my health, but have survived them all.
I have learned from my
children. They both taught me that you can raise children without resorting to
violence. I have learned to apply this to other instances, and if the rest of
the world could "get it", we would see
improved relations everywhere.
And
for all the people that have so much advice on how I should be living, They should remember one thing. I am happy with my life, and
most of them are not happy with their own life!
If
you are looking for a lesson in all of this, there was, really, none intended.
I started out with a long term goal, and technology changed that. I guess I
should have had a back-up plan, but all in all, it’s still the good old
days. Enjoy them!
I
will continue to write, but in order to finish this, the first thing in my life
I ever did finish, before my 66th birthday, I will close this on
For my Family
end