I had a conversation with one of my best friends last night. He is in Ohio, and we have known each other for about 18 years. We have had had some off times, but we are now just as tight as we were when we went to the train bridge back in 1988. My dear friend is going through a terrible time right now. His grandfather (also in Ohio) is dying from cancer. He is going through the pains of Hospice, and hearing his grandfather tell him that he's done... ready to go. My empathy for him has resulted in the resurfacing of memories that I had put away.

My Great-Great-Aunt passed away while I was near. Her niece Eleanor, who was not a blood relative, but emotionally extremely close to big-Annie (what I call her now). Eleanor is a wonderful person, and I think it was very appropriate that she and I were with Annie when she passed. We spent the last couple days of Annie's life together. My memory is very strong, but I've pushed a lot of this out until my friend and I talked about what he was going through. The last night, I was sleeping on the couch, and could hear Annie breathing. Around midnight, I heard Eleanor get up and go towards Annie's room for the requisite turning to keep her from having bed sores.

I got up when I heard Eleanor move through the house. We went together to Annie's bed, and started the routine. One of the strongest people I had ever known, one of the most determined, and wonderful people who have walked the earth looked up at me, and begged that I wouldn't turn her. Her eyes told me that she was in terrible pain, and (even worse) she didn't know who I was. She looked up at me with fear and pain and begged that we not turn her again. Eleanor and I looked at each other, and knew at that moment that we could not do it. We knew she was close, and how do you tell the Matriarch of your family that you will not follow her wishes?

Later that night, or early the next morning, I heard Eleanor go check on Annie. I was too scared. I was too cowardly. I heard what Annie was doing. She was taking her last breaths. It was around four in the morning. My recollection is that Eleanor was by Annie's side when it came, but I couldn't do it. I heard it, but I couldn't be there. What kind of person am I? I heard the last breath. I heard the rattle in her throat as she made the transition between life and death. It's not a sound I would suggest that anyone hear. I know now why my dog first thought that he would just go off and pass away in peace without anyone being there. Those that are passing away have the gift of being done with the pain, those left behind remember it. So many years later they can still tear up at the activities that ended the life of someone they cared so much about. People that had such an impact on their lives that they wonder about how they will continue. People who leave and get angry about, because their children will never get the chance to know and learn from, even if they are named after them. People who deserved to be held and talked to when they made their final journey, and one of those close to them was too scared to see it.

Eleanor came out and told me that Annie had passed on. She was so strong, and took just a few minutes to compose herself. Eleanor's deceased husband was one of Annie's favorite nephews. After he had passed away, she began spending even more time with Annie. They went on trips together, and became very close. Annie's passing was as profound to her as it was to any of us, I have no doubt. Perhaps more than some of Annie's "blood". Eleanor is truly a remarkable person.

At that time, I wore glasses, and purposely took them off to speak at Annie's memorial service. I thought it would help me not to look into the eyes of those around. It didn't work. I've stood up in front of hundreds of people and presented what I needed to, but I couldn't do it for those gathered at the service. I couldn't formulate the words without choking up. My friend that I told you about earlier actually gave the eulogy for his father. I've never been able to understand how he could do that. He gave his speech without a breakdown, and only later in the solitude of a bass boat and a calm river did he confide his actual feelings.

I don't know why I'm expressing this right now. I'm still upset that "Big" Annie never got the chance to meet her name's sake. She'll never know the honor given her in my Annie's name. She'll never have the opportunity to have my Annie scuttle around her apartment looking for lost cat toys. She won't know the joy of seeing how Annie plays with and adores the horse figures that she gave me, and have not become my Annie's. All we have are stories, and a wonderful picture that hangs on the wall. That picture was given to me by my sister, who knew how I would feel about it. Big Annie was a teacher. She bacame a principal as she progressed, but was always a teacher at heart. The picture shows a young "Big" Annie (FYI: Big is not a reference to her stature) talking to several young ladies, and the script on the blackboard is "Jobs available to women". How appropriate. Here is a woman who went to school to be a teacher at what was then called a "Normal" school (dedicated to educating teachers) and went off to get her Masters at Columbia. Mind you, this wasn't in the '90s or any time when it was considered the norm for a woman to pursue education. Is there any wonder that my family chose Southwest Missouri as a place to move when I was six? What other amazing person could we have gravitated to?

Well, I'm sure I've not done this justice. However, I hope my friend sees this and can pull something out of it. I've been fortunate enough to spend some time with his grandfather, and see the loss to the family around him. God bless you, Flanders, and Jack.

Emotional Sap...

1) When people find out you've been divorced twice, they automatically figure there must be something wrong with you,
2) When I was going to counseling, my therapist thought I'd never really dealt with my first divorce.

So, as a matter of therapy, I thought I'd write about what happened. This post is not appropriate for all readers. Read at your own risk.

I've said before that I can read people very well, as long as I'm not romantically involved with them. My first marriage was a great example. There were signs throughout our dating, and our marriage that whispered of infidelity. I ignored them. I chalked it up to insecurity, I mean, why should I question the behavior of someone who promised before God, family, and friends to spend the rest of her life with me.

One year before I finished my doctorate, Sun made an employment offer. I was very surprised. Elizabeth and I had just bought a house, and I had planned on doing a Post-Doc. I really liked Sun from my internship, but I was worried about really moving to California. Elizabeth hated California. We talked about it, and I said I was thinking of turning down the offer. She said no. It was an exciting job, and we should take the plunge. We had one year, assuming that I could finish my Ph.D. in that time, and she should easily be able to finish her Masters by then. The money they offered wasn't great, but I felt confident that I could dazzle enough to see it climb quickly. I accepted.

As the year passed, it became evident that Elizabeth was making little progress on her thesis. I finished everything I needed to do early in the Fall, and she said she wasn't spending time on her thesis, because it wasn't going to be finished in time, and she wanted to spend time with me. We were going to have to live apart for a semester. With the help of a good friend, I secured a rental that was large enough for us and our animals. We drove away from our beautiful river home 5:30 am on January 1st, 1998. Elizabeth stayed for a week, and then returned to Missouri to focus on her thesis so she could join me.

After a month, something seemed wrong. I decided I was being paranoid, and she came out around Valentine's Day. She said she was irritated when she arrived, because she had burned her neck with a curling iron. I said I didn't care, I was just so glad to see her, although a voice inside of me said it looked conspicously like a hickey. Her visit was nice, although after such absence, I thought it was odd how distant she seemed.

Easter came in late March that year, and we planned for me to fly out to Missouri. Apparently, she got the days mixed up, because she called me on the cellphone while I was in the airport, and said she messed up the days, and if I got to the house, and she wasn't there, it was because she was at the gym, and she'd be home soon. We hadn't seen each other in a month. It seemed odd, but who was I to question the motives of my wife?

She was there when I got there, and we had a reasonably good evening. Although, I couldn't shake this nagging feeling that there was something wrong. Struggling with the time change, I woke up groggy the next morning to see her clothed and about to head out the door. She said she was going to the gym, and would be back soon. Ok... I finally listened to the voice in my head, and I started looking around the house with a more critical eye. I began opening drawers, and stumbled upon a bunch of pictures that were not meant for my eyes. It was a roll of 36 as I recall, and the first thirty were of a bunch of guys partying in my house, sleeping in my house, and waking up in.my.house. There wasn't another woman in any of the pictures. As I cycled through the pictures, and noted the faces, my critical mind couldn't help but notice that the morning shots included my bedroom door closed, and not all the bodies accounted for.

The last of the pictures were of some guy I didn't know driving in the St. Pat's Parade. This compounded the oddity of the find.

When she returned home, four hours later, I asked her if there was something she needed to tell me. I couldn't bring myself to ask the question clearly, and she looked at me incredulously. I asked the question again. She finally said with a look of pain, "are you asking me if I've been fooling around?" Yes, I said, that's what I'm asking. She looked me straight in the eye, and said, "I would not, could not do that to you!" This is a verbatim statement, as it was burned into my psyche. I showed her the pictures, and her first comment was a question as to what I was doing looking through drawers: a classic misdirection maneuver. I redirected her attention, and she gave a (sorry) bullshit explanation for the pictures. I realize now it was complete crap, and I won't dignify it with repeating it here. In my intense desire to believe her at the time, I did.

That night, she excused herself as the neighbor got home, because he had recently bought a new car, and wanted to show her. I wasn't invited, and she was over there for an hour. This was the guy in the remainder of the picture roll. I still naively refused to believe that she would do something like that to me.

The next day, we went to my folks, after which I'd be driving to Kansas City for a return flight to San Jose. We had a great Easter Sunday with my folks and family, and tearfully said goodbye until the next time. You know? We never discussed her thesis, and how she was progressing...

When I got back to California, there was a message on my machine. It was her. She was crying. She went on and on about how she loved me, and wanted to do the right thing, but kept screwing up. That voice in me that does not deal with emotion knew what she was talking about, but the rest of me didn't. When I called her, she had regained her composure, and said she didn't know what she was talking about on the message.

Another month went by, and our communication got less and less. She finally said that she wasn't sure if she still loved me. I asked if there was someone else, and she said no. We finally agreed to take a trip together, and spend time seeing if we still had what it took. I, of course, was sure, but realized I needed to help her find it again. We decided to meet halfway: Denver. We rented a cabin in the mountains, and spent several great days together. I say great, but she was still very distant. I tried everything. I called the resort and had a dozen rozes in the room with a romantic card before we got there. She took those home, by the way. The whole time we were there, we were never intimate. After the visit, at the airport, she said it was over. She turned her back to me, and got on the plane. By the way, I'd asked her again if there was "someone else", and she said no. The last thing she said, as she walked away, is she would think about it.

I tried for another month, but could seldom get in touch with her. She always claimed to be doing something which put her away from the phone. I finally decided that we couldn't hold it together with the distance. Strangely, I found a job in Rolla that paid well, and I would enjoy. It wasn't exactly what I do, but I could learn it (that's what a Ph.D. really means). I called her, and told her about it. She said, "don't do it." I asked if she had already filed, and she said, "yes." It turns out that that was another lie, but that's how I found out that she wanted a divorce. I again asked about another partner, and she denied it.

My whole world crashed around me. I was a waste of flesh. I tried to go to meetings, and the ones I could attend without tears in my eyes, I just listened without attention. My buddy Joe and I were working on a project together, and he just looked at me, and said, "I can handle this, go home." I called my boss (also divorced), and told him I needed to get out of there for a while. With characteristic support, he told me to go do what I needed to do, and come back when I was ready. Another friend said he'd drive me to the airport, and I flew standby all the way to Kansas City, where my dad picked me up.

At the time, my friend Sergiu was staying with me, as he had just accepted a position with Sun, and was looking for a place to live. His family was still back in Missouri. I got to my folks' house very late, to find a message from Sergiu. His wife had had dinner with Elizabeth, and I was to call him, no matter the time. I did, and he said that his wife felt that there was still something there. His wife felt that there were just some issues that come between married people when one is pursuing a Ph.D. (Sergiu is also a Ph.D., so I figured his wife knew what she was talking about.) That very day, Sergiu's wife asked Elizabeth if there was another man in the picture, and Elizabeth said no. Sergiu astutely pointed out that I had nothing to lose, so I decided to drive to Rolla.

I got up the next day, and drove the 2.5 hours to Rolla. I didn't listen to music. I called upon my tenuous relationship with God the whole way. Just help me find the right words. Help me find the right emotions. Help me find the patience. Help me find the insight. Two and a half hours. I arrived at my house late afternoon. She wasn't home. For some reason, there was a sense of wrongness to the house. I guess that's what made me park down the road instead of the driveway. As I approached the house, I noticed that the grass (what little we had) was extremely tall. There were beer cans and bottles all over the place. The plants that she told me she was planting were still in their containers, and they were all dead.

I walked to the upper door. My mind was screaming so loud, I couldn't hear anything outside. I entered my house, my home, the place I was going to retire to. It was a freakin' sty. The cat box had not been cleaned in ages, and there was cat "residue" and cat litter all over the room. My mind continued to go out of control, and I decided I just needed to go to the bathroom, and wash my face... get back my focus. I entered the bathroom to find a man's overnight bag on the counter. There were condoms in it. I thought I'd throw up, but I kept it together. I walked on stiff legs to the bedroom. My bedroom. It was our bed. There were condom wrappers next to the bed. I don't know what happened over the next few minutes. I was suddenly next to the river, breathing heavily.

I talked to a neighbor briefly, who's first words were "I'm sorry." She told me that Elizabeth's boyfriend (our new next door neighbor) was strange, and violent, and I should keep my distance. I went back to the house, snagged a beer from the frig, and retreated to the deck. I stood there for I don't know how long. It was getting dark when Elizabeth finally got home. She drove to the house behind another car, which pulled up next door. As she approached the house, she honked twice. I guess that was a sign to the neighbor. She entered the house, and began doing what I guess had become her normal routine, not knowing that I was there. The dying light shielded her view of the deck.

I opened the door, and walked in. There was an immediate look of panic in her eyes. She furtively glanced to the bathroom and the bedroom. I informed her that it was too late, I'd already been both places. I knew. She regained her composure, and suggested we step out on the deck. I knew why. She kept glancing next door. Sure enough, Kent started walking over. She was a statue. I politely informed Kent that it would probably be better if he turned around. He stopped. He asked Elizabeth if she were alright. Probably thought I was like him, and would resort to beating the shit out of her for what she had done. She said she was fine, and he went home. Five minutes later, he called her. They talked, and she was savvy enough with her response that I couldn't tell what he was saying. As I tried to talk about the situation, she busied herself putting his laundry in the laundry basket. She denied everything. This just happened. Lie. It hadn't been going on very long. Lie. She wasn't seeing anyone before. Lie. I told her that we could still work this out, and she paused. I told her that she couldn't see him or be friends with him any more, and she said she couldn't do that. She said that she was going to take his clothes to him, and she'd be right back. Lie. She left the house, a car started next door, and I never saw her again until the divorce proceedings.

But wait! There's more! I returned to California, realizing that divorce was inevitable. I wanted to come out and pack my stuff, and prepare for moving it. I asked her to be gone while I did that. My best friend agreed to keep me company while I did the packing. In a series of circumstances that are best left for another post, I abused him by trying one more time to get through to my soon to be ex-wife. He was so angry, he drove off, leaving me at the house. Several minutes later, Elizabeth called. She taunted me with the events of the evening, and I hung up. I calmed down and tried to call her back. I got a local hotel. I asked for her, but there was no record. So, I asked for Kent Christopher. Oh, that listing they had. Kent picked up the phone, and refused to let me talk to Elizabeth. He chided me, ridiculed me, told me how he could have any woman in the county, but he was sleeping with my wife. He told me how he made so much money. I asked him how the recent run-in with the law went where he was accused of hitting his girlfriend. He told me that he gave her $10k, and she dropped it. He didn't deny the incident.

In a fit of irritation, I lied and told him I was recording the phone call. He immediately changed his tone. He now began denigrating my wife. "You want to know about infidelity? Go ask {neighbor} about the time she slept with multiple guys in one night!" Wow. I was not expecting this. I might have been expecting "I'm sorry it happened like this, but I love her, and she loves me." In frustration, I hung up. It was after midnight, but I didn't care. I went to the referenced neighbor, and knocked on the door. Loudly. Someone came to the door, and I asked to speak to the person I needed. He wiped sleep from his eyes, and said "David?" Again, the first words spoken were "I'm sorry." He confirmed the story. He also told me that Elizabeth was evil, and the best thing I could do was get as far from her as possible. He said that he had wanted to call me, but his folks advised against it. His folks were fond of me, and refused to believe that what he was telling them could possibly be true. How many times had I walked down the road with Soren, and heard his dad call out, "David! Come up here and have a beer and talk to me!"
I loved those times.

One time on the phone, I asked Elizabeth about the incident, and she told me that she was mad at Kent, that's why she did it. When she was deposed for the divorce, she said she was sexually assaulted. She also admitted during the deposition to another relationship that she had while we were married. When she said to me that there was not anyone else.

She had looked me right in the eyes, and said with a panged look on her face, "I could never do that to you." One thing about it, my wives should have been actresses. They can lie without flinching.

It shouldn't have surprised me that as the divorce proceeded that even though she said she wanted nothing from me, the "final" proposal asked for $150k. My worthless attorney never even read it. He sent it to me with the instructions, "sign this, and send it back to me."

In the end, I gave her $50k, because I was advised that the judge might make me give her more. She couldn't even look me in the eyes during the final proceedings.

Epilogue? A few years ago, she checked into a halfway house. The man of her dreams that she left me for tried to kill her. Rumors say that he was pissed that she was flirting with a friend of his. I don't know. I don't care.

Maybe sometime I'll be able to tell the story of my second divorce.




Not feeling better yet, but maybe soon...

When I was in school, whatever friends I had at the time and I would find ourselves going stir crazy at times (undergraduate school, mind you). We went to New Orleans (twice), California, Texas, and (for the purposes of this post) Mount Rushmore. The trip began in my room at school, with several of us having the itch to go somewhere. We pulled out a map to find out how far we could go, and still make it back in time not to miss anything "important" at school (it was my senior year - nothing was really important). There were only four of us that piled into my friend Dennis's car, as the others suddenly felt responsible...

The trip was really uneventfull until we reached South Dakota. Probably the result of those of us not driving needing to... er... sober up. Then again, it could be, because that's when it was morning. The first stop was Wall Drug. If you've ever traversed the many roads across the U.S., you may have noticed the many, many signs that say "Only 5,324 miles to Wall Drug!" Or what ever distance you may have been. Before the internet, I can't imagine what it cost to measure the distance and put those signs up... Then again, who is going to double check? Maybe it was too early for Wall Drug to be of interest, but we were not impressed. We drove by the Corn Palace, and renamed it the Palatial Cornstead. We kept on driving.

As we approached our destination, my friend Dennis was getting anxious. We could just make out the tops of three of the carved heads. He exclaimed "all I can see is the foreheads!" Well, being really, really tired, we all laughed hysterically, given that their are only four heads... We pulled up to Mount Rushmore minutes before it was going to close and got an eye full (why do I always show up at national parks right before they close?). We stayed for all of 15 minutes, and then left.

We saw this very interesting landmark, and now our goal was to get back to school. Dennis had driven all the way, so he rested, while I took over the driving. Dennis had a brand new Pontiac Sunbird. The result of signing his life away to the Navy after completing his Electrical Engineering degree. It was a nice car: sunroof, stereo, the works at the time. South Dakota had raised the speed limit by that time, and there was no one on the road. I mean no one. So I was flat flyin'. Over the course of several hours, I'd seen probably three cars. About that time, Dennis woke up. He looked at how fast we were going, and asked if I was watching the oil pressure and other various gauges. Er... yeah, Dennis, I'm on it. He was concerned for his baby, and wanted to drive. We were about an hour from where we would enter Iowa.

Dennis was going over 100 mph. The strange thing was that I was the only one that really had to be back on time (didn't think it would be good to miss my test on Solid-State Electronics). I think he just wanted to see how fast we could make it. Dennis trained me to scout for the Highway Patrol, and my neck was hurting from scanning overpasses, signs, in the sky, underground, wherever... It was dark, now, and I was tired. I saw something in the median. My brain triggered a warning, but I couldn't figure it out. Finally, it registered. It was the reflection of a star. "Cop in the median!" Dennis slammed on the breaks. The radar detector went off like it was having an epileptic fit. The nose of the car almost hit the road. Even then, we must have been going over 90 when we passed the officer. Fortunately, he must not have believed his first reading, because the detector went silent, and then went off again. By that time we were going the speed limit, and the police officer never pulled out...

I'm afraid this boosted Dennis's confidence a little too much. As we headed south, and left "the big city" of Sioux Falls, South Dakota, he put the pedal down, again. I can't recall where we were after this. I'm sorry, but when the land is flat, I loose all perspective. The glaciated area north of the Missouri River is one big flat plane to me. I know we were in Iowa, though. Dennis had gotten a bit reckless. We were speeding through towns, and the radar detector was going nuts. He was blaming grocery store automatic doors, and such. As we exited some town, it went off with a vengence. You know? Why do people buy these things if they won't listen to them? Anyway, I saw the patrol car in the oncoming traffic, and shouted it out. Dennis just said it's too late, and kept on going. Sure enough, the patrol car crossed the median and pulled us over. Dennis is (was) a pretty big guy, and generally projects the image of cool, but he was nervous as heck.

Trying to be helpful, Dennis got out of the car to save the officer a trip. The speaker on the patrol car came on: "get back in the car!" Dennis fell into the car. I promise you, alcohol was completely vacant from our systems, but we looked like idiots. The officer was very cool. He approached the car, and told us that we should get out of the car, because officers might be expecting "a Donny Brook". I still don't know what that means. He wanted all of our licenses, and I think I dropped mine while leaning over to the window. I was 21 years old, and still chanting in my brain "please, don't call my parents".

The officer asked what we were doing and where we had been. We confessed that we were from Missouri, and just wanted to see Mount Rushmore. Unfortunately, when Dennis said it he said, "we went to Rount Rushmore". The officer asked the normal questions about stopping at any bars, and then went back to his car to run the info. It was very cold out, and we were feeling it, on top of the adrenalin. We were quiet for about 30 palpable seconds. Quietly, Dennis asked, "did I just say Rount Rushmore?" We all busted out laughing. I couldn't resist. I said, in my best Scooby-Doo voice, "rat's right, Raggy, you said Rount Rushmore!" We were still laughing when the officer returned to the car. He informed us that he was going off duty, and just wanted to get home. He gave us a warning, laughed, and told us to consider it a postcard from Iowa. We thanked him, and breathed a sigh of relief. All of us, that is, except Dennis. I think he was miffed at being so concerned. He sailed on down the road, and exclaimed, "I bet his car can't do this!" He opened the sunroof, turned the heater on high, and turned every knob and lever that the car had. We all laughed silently, and I tried to remind him that we came out of it unscathed. It didn't help, so we let him burn his energy on the road. I made it back in time to ace my test...

It's about the journey, not the destination.

When I was in school, we had a bad, bad habit of renaming professors as characters in various fantasy stories or cartoons. One of my favorite professors, and the chairman of our department when I was a student, was a rather short person with characteristics of his Polish heritage. He was a brilliant man, and a great teacher. I recall his lectures very fondly. Nonetheless, we called him Frodo Baggins. We were sure that he had hairy feet. It wasn't meant disrespectfully. Maybe we were just trying to bring him to our level...

We had another professor who, again, was one of the professors I revered for ability. Unfortunately, he was tall, gaunt, bald(ing), and full of teeth. We called him Skeletor. Before I tell the bad story, I'll tell the good. Skeletor was very demanding in class. I had a computer assignment, and as usual, waited until the last moment to get it done. I spent almost three hours working on this SPICE model, and couldn't get it to work. I was ticked. I worked twenty minutes into the class, before I gave up.

I went to class to confess my sins, and found out that the problem we were to work had an error, and I had wasted my time. I missed something important, and couldn't do my next set of homework. I went to his office and groveled. He started out chastising me for not knowing what to do. Then, he stopped. He said, "Oh, wait, you missed this in class today." He went through the entire hour's lecture with me in person. It was great.

Now, my buddy Flanders liked him as well, and unlike me, he liked to sit in the front of the classroom. One day, after an unfortunate and ill-advised drinking binge with his best friend... er... me, he went to class at 12:45 pm with the biological dillema that comes from drinking too much the night before. Now, Skeletor was fearless. Everyone would agree to that. However, Flanders was releasing the silent and violent functions that ultimately put Skeletor in the corner of the room, afraid to move out of the corner for fear of being overcome by the Flander Stench that had coalesced and taken on a life of its own. This creature moved and danced, and Skeletor couldn't leave the window area... Poor guy. I think Flanders got a B in that class...

We had another professor of interest that was very arrogant. His crap didn't stink. We called him Jabba the Hut. Well, one time Flanders, our good friend Dennis and I were standing in the hallway, feeling 'onery, and Dennis (loudly) said, "ha, ha, ha, ha, the Wookie Chewbacca." (You have to know Star Wars, and up yours for the ultimate geek comment you want to make...) Dennis's accent was perfect. Low and behold, the professor was out in the hallway, and zoomed his focus on us. We ranged from 5'10" to 6'5", and weighed in from 170-200 pounds. We stumbled and pushed through a small doorway to get the heck out of his eyesight.

Man, that was some funny stuff... Yes, I'm a geek. But I'm gifted. I know things, and I love to share them. My daughter is going to be not only brilliant, but beautiful. I missed half that equation...



Loved college life...

During a talk with my boss today, we had a very brief discussion about a geological/astrophysical subject. I told him that I'd really like to discuss it further, given that I find the subject matter very interesting, and his initial collegiate education was in this field. He sent me an article regarding the phenomenon in question (the reversing of the earth's magnetic field), and I responded in a long-winded rebuttle (me? long winded? no way!). The article had the appearances of being written by someone who had no idea about the subject matter, but was just trying to write an article based on some conversations with people "in the know". Unfortunately, it reminded me of something from my high-school years.

When I was seventeen, I was "seeing" this girl who was a bit older than I. She was great, and a devout Baptist. One night, she was going to a revival, and, being a good boyfriend, I said I'd absolutely love to go with her. Her church was in a very small town called Fair Play. There was one paved road through town. I'm not saying anything bad about the town. I really liked it, and had some good and impressive friends that went to school there. The gathering at the church (about fifty people) was to the last man and woman hard working, and dedicated to being good people... with the possible exception of the minister for the revival. However, there was only one person under that steeple who had ever cracked a science book and understood it. Guess who?

The minister started (and pretty much ended) his hour long sermon on the subject of evolution. Within ten minutes, my knee was bouncing up and down at about 5000 cycles per minute. I should have had one of those bicycles hooked to a generator... I could have made the entire town light up. He was going off on the falacy of evolution, and talked about his "friends" that were scientists. Either he was lying about having friends that were scientists, or he was lying about what they knew/said. My girlfriend grabbed my leg so tight, I was sure I was going to have bruises. We were in the second row, and the minister was becoming aware of my irritation.

I don't think I've ever wanted to leave a room more in my life. When he started in with "and I asked my scientist friends how that could be, and they said 'I don't know'", my girlfriend pushed down on my leg to keep me from standing up. I was ready to tell him exactly how it could be. My concern for embarassing my girlfriend had given way to my disgust for propaganda.

Fortunately, under my girlfriend's physical constraints, I was able to maintain something close to composure. I gulped the sweet air of freedom once outside, glad that she had helped keep me from standing up and speaking my mind to this charlatan, and being publicly damned to hell...

I truly hope that I haven't offended any Baptists. I'm just relaying an incident, and you can comment and go ahead with damning me, since I robbed that particular minister of the opportunity...

Comfortable with my interpretation of Evolution and Creationism

Have I mentioned that I grew up in a small town? I love living in a small town, but if you do something wrong, there are consequences. When I was sixteen, we lived in town. I had a job (Sonic... greatest fast food on earth), and had bought a car. My dad and I had gone to Springfield with the idea that we were buying a car that day. The wonderful people at the local Savings & Loan told my dad that he could write a check for the car, and they'd cover it.

The first place we went had a black '78 Ford LTD II. I'd seen a Dodge hot rod that was for sale for $2000. I really, really, wanted it. Dad said it was too expensive, but he hadn't been car shopping in awhile, and I was on it. I think Dad just didn't want me to have a car with a motor that had over 400 cubic inches of displacement. So, I loved the Ford. We talked briefly, took it for a test drive, and it ran great. Well, we wouldn't settle for the first car, so we moved on. We drove all over town, and even went to "Reliable Chevrolet", and test drove a beautiful Monte. They wanted $3800, and even though we told them our cap was $2000, they asked us to test drive it. The car drove like crap. There were sounds coming out of this car that if they came out of my lawn mower, I'd be concerned. When we returned to the dealer, the salesperson was completely amazed. "I can't believe this, but the owner will let this car go for $2000!" Yeah, we'll get back to you. Ultimately, we went back to the dealer with the Ford. I was bouncing off the proverbial walls. Dad was trying to get me to calm down. I hadn't realized at that stage that it doesn't do well to show your interest to a salesperson. Dad reminded the salesperson that they had given us a price of $1900. He went back to the managers, and came back to say that he had made a mistake. $1900 was what they paid for the car, not what they were offering. However, since he already said that, they would honor it. They might have been playing us, but we drove off with the car. God... I loved that car. 351 Windsor motor... granted, the Cleveland was a better motor, and a four-barrel carb would have had more power, but it was a smooth ride, and flat knew how to accelerate... This car took very good care of me...

Well, at the time, I was a bit of a lead-foot. Some buddies and I had gone to lunch, and took the typical trip through the park before returning to school (we were unsuccessfully trying to be cool). On the way back from the park, we went by the cemetery, the art museum, and the school museum. While these attractions were largely unvisited, the speed limit was 25 mph. On our way back to school, I was going 60. Yes, I was wrong. As we approached the very popular Bolivar Art Museum, I saw a police car in the parking lot. I slammed on the breaks. I don't know how fast I was going, but according to the officer, I was going sixty when I passed him.

I was practically pulling over before his lights came on. While he wrote me the ticket, a number of other people from school went by... all honking a hello, and "sucks to be you." I went to the court house at the appointed time, and admitted my guilt. I was surprised to find that I was expected to have the fee money on me at the time. Fortunately, they agreed to let me pay the fine when I got paid next. Yeah, the alternative was jail... I was so relieved. My dad had served as Major Crimes Investigator for the county while the had the money for the position. He saw the way that local law enforcement played favorites. He told them that if they saw me do something wrong, bust me. Of course, as a kid, I was pissed, but as an adult, I have great respect for that. I actually think that Judge Brown was kind to me, because of my dad. I'd heard all sorts of bad stories about him from other kids.

I paid my fees, and spent my time trying to figure out how to deal with the next thing. You see, in a small town, my legal infraction was going to end up in the newspaper. I watched the paper for the next couple of weeks, hoping that I would see the details of my terrible behavior and... well, hide the paper. It went on for some time, with no report. I gave up. Then... one fine day... my mom got the paper before I could look at it. Some wierd instinct kicked in. I knew it was in there. I was on my way out the door to go to work... early... My hand was on the door knob, when I heard the ultimate call. In many stories, the name of a particular entity (demon or angel) provides the invoker power over the entity. As I tried to escape, I heard the ultimate in control of my life: David. Martin. Hockanson. Oh my gosh, my full name... out loud... echoing through the house... I was caught. I couldn't move. I took the tongue lashing that I deserved. As usual as a kid, the biggest thing was that I hadn't informed my parents of the infraction, and they ultimately (after further tongue lashing) decided that I had paid sufficiently.

The lesson? Never think you will pull one over on your parents. You will get called out, and the punishment will most likely be more than had you just confessed. Strangely, I think that goes for your whole life. At 35, I'd rather just tell my folks if I've screwed up...
Slow, now....

One of my few high-school buddies that communicates with me still (Mary Ann, where are you?) has commented that he found it disconcerting that I haven't said anything about my time in that difficult era. So? Here I go... A fairly mundane post about that era, and some more difficult posts to come....

I never skipped school. Well, never is a strong word. I skipped school once. I was seventeen, and I made the mistake of skipping school on "junior skip day". My buddy Alan and I jumped into my tank of a car on Junior Skip Day, and drove to Kansas City. We had a friend that had moved their a year before, and we missed him. He didn't know we were coming. We showed up at his house, and convinced his resistant mother to let Andy skip school for the day. We spent the day doing whatever inane crap that kids of that age do. My memory is great, but I can't remember what we did of importance. We just basically spent the day screwing around, and maintaining a friendship that was destined to go away.

I was working fast food at the time (Sonic! Gotta love it!), and I had to be back in time for work. I dropped Alan off, and went home. Alan called me in about ten minutes. "My mom knows I skipped school, your mom must know, too..." In a panic, I went to work an hour early. About twenty minutes before I was supposed to start work, my mom called Sonic. With shaky hands I took the phone. "You went to work a bit early today, didn't you?" "Yeah, I wanted to get started." "Coach Potts called me and said you didn't go to school today." Freakin' Coach Potts. Typical small town, the successfull coach became a vice-principal. I paused with nothing to say. I had never skipped school before, and didn't have the training on how to respond. Then came the hammer: "You know, you've never done this before, and if it was important to you, I would have told him you were sick, had you told me about it. " Geez. You can never figure out parents.

I was sentenced to a ton of detention. The good news? It was so close to the end of the year that I only had detention a few days, and the next year I was a foreign exchange student. So, HA! I made this one mistake, and paid minimally.

Rebel without a clue

If you read the previous post about my roadtrip to California, you know that this is not in chronological order.

On the way back from California, we decided to go to the Grand Canyon. Unfortunately, the sun was setting. As I turned off the freeway to head North to the South Rim, we knew we were racing the sun. At that time, the speed limit was still 55. We were hauling butt up the road, going about 90 mph, determined to make it there before the park closed or it got dark.

Did I mention that we had ten dollars cash among all of us?

We made it to the gate to the South Rim as the sun was just getting ready to set. The cost to enter for a few minutes before night? 5$. We quickly approached the South Rim, and got out of the car. We stood at the rim, and looked at this awe-inspiring panorama. There was snow on the ground, and it was caught in various breaks down the canyon. The setting sun sent beautiful red light cascading along the bluffs, bouncing and reflecting along with a gorgeous display of color. I had to force myself to breath. It was absolutely beautiful. My friend Jerry, in this inspirational moment, said "that's it?" Fortunately, I didn't let that impact my perception of the moment. I thoroughly enjoyed the view. We spent about fifteen minutes there, before we returned to our trip.

On the way back down the state highway, we saw countless state patrol vehicles. I was going the speed limit now, so there was no problem.

I really loved the experience, and it is still in my mind. I'll remember it even better when I take my daughter.
The power of geological devlopment is not lost on me

This is great fun. I can write about things that I know my folks will read and shake their heads about... probably grateful that they didn't know about this at the time. Well, read on...

I was a foreign-exchange student my senior year of high school. It was a wonderful, yet challenging time. A time spent finding out about myself as much as about another culture. My second half of the year I spent in northern Germany (the reason is a subject for another post). I developed some wonderful friendships that I wish I still had. My friends were great about taking me to places they knew I might not otherwise see.

One fine spring day, they told me they were going to Holland, and wanted to know if I would like to go. Heck yes! One of the beauties of Europe is that the same time it takes us (in the States) to drive a few counties, you can be in a different country. On the given day, I came home, and prepared for the trip. Yeah, I don't know what that means. Probably that I sat anxiously for my friends to come by. Before the given time for the adventure, one of my friends came by. He was a good guy, but I never would have presumed him to be so astute of human character. I can still see his face as he sat in a chair in my room, and I sat on my bed. He made some small talk, and I could tell there was something else on his mind. Finally, he said, "Du weisst weil wir nach den Niederlande fahren?" Alright, my German is very rusty: "You know why we are going to Holland?" My naive mind spun. Of course, it's another place to go... windmills... flowers... dikes...wooden shoes... Then this subtle shadow crossed my mind. The shadow was evident on my face. "Yeah, I didn't think you knew the real reason." I'm of reasonably strong character, so I wanted to go anyway.

We crossed the border in several vehicles with no problem. It would be obsurd to bring problems to Holland. Problems only leave. We went to a small town just past the border and parked. We walked up the street of bars and the like. My friends were completely hyped on adrenalin. We walked up to a bar. Oh Lord, please let us just be going in for a dutch beer. The door made it clear what I was in for. A massive pot leaf drawn on the glass. I sat at a table with a three-foot bong in the center while my friends went to buy their goods. My mind spun, but I focused on the television seven feet above the floor. It was the Cosby Show... in German... with Dutch sub-titles.

We soon left the venerable establishment and headed back for the cars. My friends were so hyped that two of them ran over a BMW. I mean, ran. That poor car. We headed back to our vehicles. I got into the car with my friend Jan (not the same from previous post). He drove a Citroen Ente. That's the German word, I don't know what it's called in French, but in German it's called the Duck. It is one of the cheapest vehicles known to man. He took his recently purchased booty, put in a latex glove, pulled the glove over the product, placed in another glove.... you get the idea. The whole bundle was stuffed under the dash. It could have been stashed anywhere. The car had no barriers, so everything was a cubby. About now, I'm wondering about the validity of my visa.

We proceeded towards the country line. We were last. The first three cars proceeded slowly across without anyone coming out to even say howdy. Of course, when we approached, someone came out. My heart was pounding. I thought that was the beating I heard, but now I think it was Jan's heart I was hearing. The sentry got within ten feet of the car, and he gunned it. "He gunned it." That's like saying he put his lawnmower in high throttle. Nevertheless, the car pulled away. The sentry took another toke on his cigarette, and went back to his post. We were moving so slow that a turtle could have identified the car, and he wouldn't even have to be able to read. But, we got away.

While I disagree with the point of the event, it was very exciting, and it's good stuff to write about... I loved those guys.

Not in a prison camp

I felt like posting, but the things going through my mind for current events have me a bit irritated, and wanted to post something funny. So...

When I was a freshman in college, a friend of me called me on the floor pay phone... at midnight... He lived in L.A., and was moved by the forces of the cosmos to hitch his away across most of the States. He said that the fact he actually found me (we hadn't communicated in almost two years) was a sign that he should do this. He had a cousin in Chicago, and was going that direction. He called me every day of his trip to give me progress and let me know he was still alive. He decided to go to Chicago first, and see me on the return trip. The friends of his cousin in Chicago took a "collection", and bought him a bus ticket to St. Louis, where I picked him up. He stayed in the resident hall with me for a few days, but was starting to get concerned about the trip home, because he had school starting in less than a week. We were having a floor party that Flanders and I were responsible for putting together, and we really wanted him to stay for it. He couldn't do it if he were going to make it back in time for school. Fine, I said, I'll drive you (I was far more spontaneous then). It was decided. Two friends of mine and I would drive him back to L.A. after the party.

The party went beautifully. Flanders opted not to join us on our adventure west, which is probably best. He would have been in a bad mood the next day. He was in charge of the door for entry to the party (making sure everyone was appropriately under-age for drinking... it was college). Halfway through the party, we had to have someone interpret for him. "Allow me to help... I speak drunk..." God love him. Between midnight and 1:00 am, we began our adventure. This is only Part I, as there is far too much of our adventure to share. This is not in chronological order. It's just what strikes my muse at the moment...


On the return trip, my friend Jan was driving. I was (mostly) asleep in the back seat after driving 14 hours straight. Jerry was in the passenger seat. We were making good time through Oklahoma, and having visions of finally sleeping in a more-or-less real bed. My '78 Ford LTD II was big, but not a sleeping vehicle. The sun had risen, and the car started to get warm. We were passing through some town/city, and Jan asked Jerry to take the wheel so he could take his sweatshirt off. As we are flying down the freeway (or interstate if you don't live in California), Jan has his sweatshirt over his head, and Jerry calmly says "cop just pulled by". I was in and out of sleep, and alreay knew I didn't want to be awake. Sure enough, we got pulled over.

One of the officers came up the driver's side, the other, the passenger's. Now. Let me say that my father was a police officer. One of my uncles was a police officer. My ex-father-in-law, and good friend, is a police officer. My ex-brother-in-law is a police officer. I love and respect the office. But some people shouldn't take this on as a profession.

The officer on the driver side, let's call him Andy (as in Andy Griffith) was sharp. The window went down, and he said very sincerely, "do you know why we pulled you over?" In my mind? Countless reasons. We were speeding. The driver had a shirt over his head. I'm sure there were many other infractions of which we were guilty, but this I hadn't expected. "You've got a tail light out." Jan got out and, sure enough, we had a light that wasn't working. Let me introduce Barney: the officer on the passenger's side of the vehicle. Hands on his hips, he is surveying with the scrutinous eye of a seasoned veteran... wantabe. After Jan returned to the vehicle, he answered the routine questions of where we were coming from, and where we were going. As I cowardly and tiredly remained reclined in the back seat, Andy asked what was wrong with me. Jan replied that I had driven a considerable amount of time and distance and was getting some sleep.

It is now that I should mention that Jan had a medical condition: he was diabetic. Immediately after Jan's response regarding my uncomfortable sprawl across the back seat, Barney picked up a syringe off the front dash and exclaimed with what he was sure was condemning evidence, "are you sure it's not because of this?" Jan stuttered out, "I-I-I'm a diabetic." He produced his medication and even a copy of a prescription. Andy asked if it would be ok to look in the trunk. Of course, we had nothing to hide. We might be of poor judgement in our decision to venture across the states during the school year, but we truly weren't doing anything more wrong than speeding.

Now, I must take you further back in time another few weeks. Our friend Chad's family was going to be out of town. They asked Chad if he wanted to bring some friends down to watch the house. Of course, we all said yes. Not because we wanted to post sentry at his house, but because that meant we could all do laundry. We packed the car within so full of laundry stuff that it would surprise me if shirts and jeans were hanging out the trunk.

We return to the story. The trunk opened, and to everyone's amazement there was a pile of white powder in the trunk. We (the students) knew what it was, but before anyone could respond, Barney stuck his finger in it and put it in his mouth. I'm guessing that Tide is not terribly palatable. With a quick smirk, Andy allowed the trunk to be closed, and sent us on with a warning (I wish that were the only warning from that trip).

You know? I never did anything to that tail light, and it worked from then on.
Used to be adventurous