July 30, 2008
The human need for entertainment is genetic in my opinion. I believe that the whole reason that some cultures developed a spoken language was not for security, which would have been very basic, but rather for the need for entertainment; the need to convey the story of what happened in a way that others could understand and enjoy. That got turned in to written languages, and frankly is the only reason I pay for and write on this website.
I love books and movies, but people have the best stories. I guess that is because the stories are true. It is not about imagination (which is awesome), but the serendipitous things that happen in our lives. Today, I hoofed it down to the Mountain Store to meet the shuttle driver from the Ford dealership to take me to get my truck. It was not completely repaired, but I have to drive it for a while to make the problem happen again. That cost me $50. It could have been worse.
I hoofed it the three miles to the Mountain Store to meet the driver that was to take me to the dealership. Lila Bird and I are sitting on this chair and thinking about the whole experience. People are such a wealth of thought and information (Lila Bird disagrees). With sweat pouring off my brow, I made it to the Mountain Store about two minutes after he got there. I think I would have reached the store first if I would have gone through the trees, but I took the road. He was cool with it, though.
At any rate, we had about a 25 minute drive to go, and we talked. My father taught me well. I can talk to anybody at any time. He actually lived in Boulder Creek, and had for some thirty years. His story was beautiful in its serendipity, and I feel like I have to share it. I hope he will not be displeased.
Some thirty-three years ago, he was an avid golf player. He had a tournament at a little known golf club in a very small community: Boulder Creek. He and his wife got directions (bad directions) and finally made it to the golf course. They drove home that night. The next year, they stayed at a local(?) motel. The next year they did the same, and decided that this was crap. They apparently had developed an affinity for the area, and decided to buy a one-bedroom condo at the golf course. They could rent it out through the Golf Club when they didn't need it. They spent most of the weekends over the next year at the condo.
After the next year, he came home to a conversation with his wife: I am retiring. She suggested that he look into a transfer to Santa Cruz, and he did so. He got a transfer... it was to Salinas. Holy crap. They moved into the condo, and he drove an hour and a half each way for a while, before he got moved to a better location. The one-bedroom became too constrained, and they bought a two-bedroom condo. That was ok for a while, but one day she told him that she had seen a house that was being built, and they should look at it. They did. It was close to being in budget, and he talked to the contractor to suggest that if they were going to buy it, would he be willing to modify the last parts to be what they would want. He got the house for roughly $150K some twenty years ago. They have lived there ever since.
He is probably in his mid sixties, and drives a courtesy van to keep himself busy. He loves Boulder Creek, and would never have found himself here if it hadn't have been for that crazy golf tournament.
The housing situation I find hysterical, but his life with his wife is even more amazing.
Around 45 years ago, he had a modeling agency in the Bay Area. He and his partner hired an advertiser. He frankly found this woman rather uninteresting. In fact, I think she irritated him. Well, as fate would have it, all the players in that work area were invited to a trip to Vegas. He was sitting at some gambling table and happened to be right next to the drummer of the band that was playing. He leaned over to the person sitting next to him and said that he had to go somewhere else. I think it was her. He went over to a 21 table, which he now believes was her game of choice. The next think he knows, this woman is sitting next to him, and they strike up a conversation. I would love to hear her side of the story, but ultimately, 45 years from then, they are still together and he is happily driving a vehicle to pick up people and deliver people for vehicle work. His wife called him during the trip to tell him about a doctor's appointment she had. His references to her were the exact loving things that I would like to say and hear: sweetheart, honey, lovey... He then told me that it was his wife on the phone. My response? It had better have been.
People rock... Granted, I hate them... But I love the stories...
I love books and movies, but people have the best stories. I guess that is because the stories are true. It is not about imagination (which is awesome), but the serendipitous things that happen in our lives. Today, I hoofed it down to the Mountain Store to meet the shuttle driver from the Ford dealership to take me to get my truck. It was not completely repaired, but I have to drive it for a while to make the problem happen again. That cost me $50. It could have been worse.
I hoofed it the three miles to the Mountain Store to meet the driver that was to take me to the dealership. Lila Bird and I are sitting on this chair and thinking about the whole experience. People are such a wealth of thought and information (Lila Bird disagrees). With sweat pouring off my brow, I made it to the Mountain Store about two minutes after he got there. I think I would have reached the store first if I would have gone through the trees, but I took the road. He was cool with it, though.
At any rate, we had about a 25 minute drive to go, and we talked. My father taught me well. I can talk to anybody at any time. He actually lived in Boulder Creek, and had for some thirty years. His story was beautiful in its serendipity, and I feel like I have to share it. I hope he will not be displeased.
Some thirty-three years ago, he was an avid golf player. He had a tournament at a little known golf club in a very small community: Boulder Creek. He and his wife got directions (bad directions) and finally made it to the golf course. They drove home that night. The next year, they stayed at a local(?) motel. The next year they did the same, and decided that this was crap. They apparently had developed an affinity for the area, and decided to buy a one-bedroom condo at the golf course. They could rent it out through the Golf Club when they didn't need it. They spent most of the weekends over the next year at the condo.
After the next year, he came home to a conversation with his wife: I am retiring. She suggested that he look into a transfer to Santa Cruz, and he did so. He got a transfer... it was to Salinas. Holy crap. They moved into the condo, and he drove an hour and a half each way for a while, before he got moved to a better location. The one-bedroom became too constrained, and they bought a two-bedroom condo. That was ok for a while, but one day she told him that she had seen a house that was being built, and they should look at it. They did. It was close to being in budget, and he talked to the contractor to suggest that if they were going to buy it, would he be willing to modify the last parts to be what they would want. He got the house for roughly $150K some twenty years ago. They have lived there ever since.
He is probably in his mid sixties, and drives a courtesy van to keep himself busy. He loves Boulder Creek, and would never have found himself here if it hadn't have been for that crazy golf tournament.
The housing situation I find hysterical, but his life with his wife is even more amazing.
Around 45 years ago, he had a modeling agency in the Bay Area. He and his partner hired an advertiser. He frankly found this woman rather uninteresting. In fact, I think she irritated him. Well, as fate would have it, all the players in that work area were invited to a trip to Vegas. He was sitting at some gambling table and happened to be right next to the drummer of the band that was playing. He leaned over to the person sitting next to him and said that he had to go somewhere else. I think it was her. He went over to a 21 table, which he now believes was her game of choice. The next think he knows, this woman is sitting next to him, and they strike up a conversation. I would love to hear her side of the story, but ultimately, 45 years from then, they are still together and he is happily driving a vehicle to pick up people and deliver people for vehicle work. His wife called him during the trip to tell him about a doctor's appointment she had. His references to her were the exact loving things that I would like to say and hear: sweetheart, honey, lovey... He then told me that it was his wife on the phone. My response? It had better have been.
People rock... Granted, I hate them... But I love the stories...