can't call myself a country boy.. if i don't keep at least a few rolls of duct tape on hand at all times. stuff comes in handy.
in between visits to the shriners hospital, my brother's leg would usually be in sad need of repair. often it was just left in pieces. i can remember ma being mortified to show the prosthetist his leg. there were always holes.. scuffs.. scrapes.. screws missing (one of which i ate when we were toddlers).. dents.. and it was almost always broken beyond repair. inevitably, there was duct tape involved in make-do repairs.
when we were young adults, he no longer had help from the shriners.. and refused to look for other resources. instead, he fashioned a leg out of machine parts and a universal joint off a drive shaft.. thing weighed a ton. and of course, it included.. hillybilly chrome. that leg nearly... or may have... ruined his back. several fused vertebrae later, he was informed by the doctor that he needed to get rid of that leg or he would be confined to a wheelchair for life.. and it would happen sooner, rather than later.
i guess he got rid of it. last i heard he wasn't in a wheelchair.
Tuesday, March 20, 2012
Duct Tape
My son had his duct tape moments. I do not mean I taped his mouth shut or wanted to. My mother did that to me and it was horrible, horrible, horrible.
Oh sure he was noisy and full of questions but I was so delighted in his intellect and imagination I indulged him with my attention and interest, till recently. Now I would like him to moderate his chatter, because he slips into mania and even a loving parent can't help but hide a yawn behind their hands, when his speech is pressured and he jumps from topic to topic rapid fire. He also needs to not interrupt conversations for play by replay of video games and youtube reenactments. I would like to get a word in edgewise around here.
We kept a huge roll of duct tape in the workshop. Hefty and thick. He was about seven, I remember him being quiet and busy in the workshop and in the play room. We made a large bright, well equipped playroom for him. He had taken the duct tape and wound it in and out and over the playroom, roping in chairs, stringing together toys, going across window, and finally had managed to wrap himself up from top to bottom including around his mouth several times. How did he manage to get his hands down to his sides, tightly taped, and his feet cinched in at the knees?.
If another adult would have seen it, they would have called child welfare, it was that thorough of a bondage job, he had done on himself. He had hopped to the foot of the stairs and mmphed, mpph! mmmmhph! till I came to see what that muffled sound was.
It would be a few years later, when he would try a belt around his neck.
Oh sure he was noisy and full of questions but I was so delighted in his intellect and imagination I indulged him with my attention and interest, till recently. Now I would like him to moderate his chatter, because he slips into mania and even a loving parent can't help but hide a yawn behind their hands, when his speech is pressured and he jumps from topic to topic rapid fire. He also needs to not interrupt conversations for play by replay of video games and youtube reenactments. I would like to get a word in edgewise around here.
We kept a huge roll of duct tape in the workshop. Hefty and thick. He was about seven, I remember him being quiet and busy in the workshop and in the play room. We made a large bright, well equipped playroom for him. He had taken the duct tape and wound it in and out and over the playroom, roping in chairs, stringing together toys, going across window, and finally had managed to wrap himself up from top to bottom including around his mouth several times. How did he manage to get his hands down to his sides, tightly taped, and his feet cinched in at the knees?.
If another adult would have seen it, they would have called child welfare, it was that thorough of a bondage job, he had done on himself. He had hopped to the foot of the stairs and mmphed, mpph! mmmmhph! till I came to see what that muffled sound was.
It would be a few years later, when he would try a belt around his neck.
Mrs. B
Commercials commercials commercials…
If you want to know more, log onto http://www.---.com/
I don’t have a computer…how am I suppose to log on???
I have no idea on how to use a computer and probably am too old to learn.
Yet another commercial comes on……..log on to http://www.+++.com/
That’s it! Time to invest in a computer. It can’t be that hard to learn. Ha!!!
My future son-in-law helped me pick one out. We chose Gateway and it was delivered right to the back door in a black and white box that looked like a cow. I kept it in the box for a couple of days until help would arrive and it could be set up.
What does it mean by username? log in name? password?
Time to further my education:
I’m off to college. WooHoo…College for me!!! MATC! Oh wow!!! I feel special…My first and only class is “Beginners Computer Course”… I eventually bought the Computer Book For Dummies! Really sets a persons mind backwards…off to college and buying a book for dummies! To my surprise, the book was very useful.
A tall, broad shouldered, light skinned female with long blonde wavy hair walked through the door and introduced herself as Mrs. B.
The course was a very short course. I received an A and Mrs. B encouraged me to further my education in computers.
Which I did…
My next class was "Introduction to the Internet"...
I am now voicing with people all over the world...and all because of commercials commercials commercials...my computer...Mrs B...and the internet...
art history
first day of class
test
WHAT?
Jungian personality test
he places each student's name, test result, and our career choice on a large index card and hangs them on a string across the top of the chalkboard.
mine reads:
Wen : INFP : Singer
next to Rasmus: INTJ : Cognitive Scientist
and Dennese : ENFJ : Artist
it's my senior year
art history class.. the hardest class to get into.. and i had my coveted spot
*****
i cant tell you why exactly.. but that class changed my life.
it opened my eyes to the world around me.
it gave me eyes to see the culture i had been cultivating slowly all my young life. to see the value in it. to see i hungered for more. and to see that my future was bright.. daunting.. but bright!
in my mind flashes an image..
mr. simpson holding this picture up to the class.. venus of willendorf
i had no idea what a venus was.. wasnt that a planet?
he says.. 'write an essay on what this is.. you got 15 minutes.' (omg.. aha moment!!.. explains later)
i dont remember what i wrote.. that and many other essays just like it.. are long gone.
i do remember thinking the boobs were arms holding baskets of water or something. haha
amazing, there's no way i can look at it now and see it the same way.. fresh, naive, uneducated.
we hand our papers in. and he explains what it is. jaws drop. not one of us had a clue.
defining moment.
beginning a lifelong fascination with art.
*****
graduation
i walk up the hill to return my cap and gown
there stands mr. simpson and his young wife.. my childhood neighbor.
he calls me over.
pats me on the shoulder.
and says quietly.. 'you are ready.'
*****
as a kid, you dont realize the meaning of some of the things adults say.
i was young and dumb.. but those words stuck with me all my life.
just as having to write in under 20 minutes has stuck with me.. all my life.
smiles.
test
WHAT?
Jungian personality test
he places each student's name, test result, and our career choice on a large index card and hangs them on a string across the top of the chalkboard.
mine reads:
Wen : INFP : Singer
next to Rasmus: INTJ : Cognitive Scientist
and Dennese : ENFJ : Artist
it's my senior year
art history class.. the hardest class to get into.. and i had my coveted spot
*****
i cant tell you why exactly.. but that class changed my life.
it opened my eyes to the world around me.
it gave me eyes to see the culture i had been cultivating slowly all my young life. to see the value in it. to see i hungered for more. and to see that my future was bright.. daunting.. but bright!
in my mind flashes an image..
mr. simpson holding this picture up to the class.. venus of willendorf
i had no idea what a venus was.. wasnt that a planet?
he says.. 'write an essay on what this is.. you got 15 minutes.' (omg.. aha moment!!.. explains later)
i dont remember what i wrote.. that and many other essays just like it.. are long gone.
i do remember thinking the boobs were arms holding baskets of water or something. haha
amazing, there's no way i can look at it now and see it the same way.. fresh, naive, uneducated.
we hand our papers in. and he explains what it is. jaws drop. not one of us had a clue.
defining moment.
beginning a lifelong fascination with art.
*****
graduation
i walk up the hill to return my cap and gown
there stands mr. simpson and his young wife.. my childhood neighbor.
he calls me over.
pats me on the shoulder.
and says quietly.. 'you are ready.'
*****
as a kid, you dont realize the meaning of some of the things adults say.
i was young and dumb.. but those words stuck with me all my life.
just as having to write in under 20 minutes has stuck with me.. all my life.
smiles.
Mr. Pelton
Dear Mr. Pelton...I remember him fondly though I had him for only those two weeks when we shared John Brown's Body. The next semester I had him again! Trying to find his niche, he was teaching physics to academically talented sophomores. And I was desperately avoiding home economics into which my counselor was putting all sophomore girls. "You're going to need this for raising a family, young lady"
She never knew I was raising a family already. My mother was teaching and I was the oldest of six! I was cooking, feeding and entertaining my siblings until mom got home from school at night. Dad was working hard and as a man in the late 50's, expectations of him doing housework were nil. The thing I knew I didn't need was a course in cooking and sewing.
So, the open class was Physics (although I always suspected the counselor put me there to fail and teach me a lesson about my place in the world order). I was very poorly suited for physics.. So was Mr. Pelton. The lessons were not engaging in the least. When we finally got to do some labs, I spent time looking for the 'wound' thermometer (like it was hurt) not the 'wound' like winded up. {This needs to be read aloud!} Even my vocabulary was against me, not mechanical at all! Everything having to do with that class was over my (by then) sleeping head!
The semester was nearly over and I'd received a C- and was headed for a D or lower when dear Mr. Pelton took me aside and said that I would need to find a new place to doze if I wanted to escape without an F on my transcript! End goal: college! Yes, I left him then. He had my best interests at heart! I ended up in choir! Not Home Ec!
And there's more! But I'll add it later. What a saga!
She never knew I was raising a family already. My mother was teaching and I was the oldest of six! I was cooking, feeding and entertaining my siblings until mom got home from school at night. Dad was working hard and as a man in the late 50's, expectations of him doing housework were nil. The thing I knew I didn't need was a course in cooking and sewing.
So, the open class was Physics (although I always suspected the counselor put me there to fail and teach me a lesson about my place in the world order). I was very poorly suited for physics.. So was Mr. Pelton. The lessons were not engaging in the least. When we finally got to do some labs, I spent time looking for the 'wound' thermometer (like it was hurt) not the 'wound' like winded up. {This needs to be read aloud!} Even my vocabulary was against me, not mechanical at all! Everything having to do with that class was over my (by then) sleeping head!
The semester was nearly over and I'd received a C- and was headed for a D or lower when dear Mr. Pelton took me aside and said that I would need to find a new place to doze if I wanted to escape without an F on my transcript! End goal: college! Yes, I left him then. He had my best interests at heart! I ended up in choir! Not Home Ec!
And there's more! But I'll add it later. What a saga!
mrs. h
when i was really little i thought i couldnt sing. my ma always turned on the radio as soon as i opened my mouth.. so i just assumed that i was really awful.
i always thought mrs. h wasnt all that crazy about my singing either. i was in the methodist church choir... dragged my dad with me to join when i was 14. i was the only kid in the adult choir. and there were solos.. and i auditioned.. and never once did she even consider me.
(bummed)
so, at the end of my sophomore year in high school.. my best friend literally dragged me down to the choir room to audition for a spot in the choir the following year. i sang a few scales. the choir director said.. 'nice chops, kid' and shooed me out the door. the following day, the upperclassmen from the choir were supposed to tap the kids who made the cut. it was seventh period. all my friends were tapped, but not me.
(deflated)
at the end of eighth period.. the person who was supposed to tap me came bursting through the door. apparently, she had trouble finding me. so.. i was in.
(elation)
summer ends. and class begins. last period of the day.. choir. there is talk of a new teacher.
in walks mrs. h.
(what the hell is she doing here?)
'i am your new choir director' she says.
(great)
we get through the first few weeks of class, and we are informed that she will be holding auditions for a solo. i audition.. knowing full well.. she isnt gonna give it to me. but there's a twist. each choir member is to write on a small sheet of paper, their thoughts about each person auditioning, and who they think should get the solo.
they all chose me. (how the hell did that happen.. i cant sing..)
she suggested i sing in the solo and ensemble competition (why?) ok.
i won a superior rating.
after that.. mrs. h took me aside and said.. 'there are some singers who should perform, and others who should teach.. i suggest you consider college as a performance major.'
later that same year, i was designated to sing in the all county chorus. there was a solo. i auditioned. my ma was in the audience during the rehearsal.. and heard my audition. she whispered in mrs. h's ear.. after hearing me.. 'was that my son?'
the rest is history.
(when i was much older and established as a singer.. i finally got around to asking my ma why she always used to turn on the radio when i started to sing. she said.. 'bay, honey.. you always sang the same thing over and over.. i was just trying to give you new material.')
hahahhahhahahha.. whew.
i always thought mrs. h wasnt all that crazy about my singing either. i was in the methodist church choir... dragged my dad with me to join when i was 14. i was the only kid in the adult choir. and there were solos.. and i auditioned.. and never once did she even consider me.
(bummed)
so, at the end of my sophomore year in high school.. my best friend literally dragged me down to the choir room to audition for a spot in the choir the following year. i sang a few scales. the choir director said.. 'nice chops, kid' and shooed me out the door. the following day, the upperclassmen from the choir were supposed to tap the kids who made the cut. it was seventh period. all my friends were tapped, but not me.
(deflated)
at the end of eighth period.. the person who was supposed to tap me came bursting through the door. apparently, she had trouble finding me. so.. i was in.
(elation)
summer ends. and class begins. last period of the day.. choir. there is talk of a new teacher.
in walks mrs. h.
(what the hell is she doing here?)
'i am your new choir director' she says.
(great)
we get through the first few weeks of class, and we are informed that she will be holding auditions for a solo. i audition.. knowing full well.. she isnt gonna give it to me. but there's a twist. each choir member is to write on a small sheet of paper, their thoughts about each person auditioning, and who they think should get the solo.
they all chose me. (how the hell did that happen.. i cant sing..)
she suggested i sing in the solo and ensemble competition (why?) ok.
i won a superior rating.
after that.. mrs. h took me aside and said.. 'there are some singers who should perform, and others who should teach.. i suggest you consider college as a performance major.'
later that same year, i was designated to sing in the all county chorus. there was a solo. i auditioned. my ma was in the audience during the rehearsal.. and heard my audition. she whispered in mrs. h's ear.. after hearing me.. 'was that my son?'
the rest is history.
(when i was much older and established as a singer.. i finally got around to asking my ma why she always used to turn on the radio when i started to sing. she said.. 'bay, honey.. you always sang the same thing over and over.. i was just trying to give you new material.')
hahahhahhahahha.. whew.
I was good with my hands.
Massage $30.00 the hand lettered sign was discreetly tacked onto the Harvard yard bulletin board, at the grocery store, in the coffeeshop. Phone number and the address was enough to bring the customers in. I was so reckless back then. Imagine doing that now. I had a few close calls back then too.
Knock, knock,
You never know who is going to turn up with a sign like that up in the world. I got all kinds. I mean literally all kinds... of men.
One guy was really kinda cute. He was a repeat customer and my favorite. I wasn't into wearing much clothes back them, just a little something, unless it was cold. then wool socks too.
So when I straddled this guy to start the massage, it would be skin to skin. My thighs would slide up the side and down, as I worked his back. To reach his neck, I would lean over and slide my front along his back. I'm pretty sure full contact massages are not in the Swedish handbook of proper form, but they really were very efficient for ironing out the kinks in a guys back and putting a big smile on his face. This guy was a patient fellow who didn't flip over to get his happy ending right away. He liked the full long luxurious massage that I was quite willing to hand over to him. I was good with my hands.
===================================================================
One fellow came over with a paper bag in his hand. "Do you ever use 'props'" he asked me.
"Props??" what was that codeword for, I was young, I had no idea. I do now. Um... okay. If you provide them, I will use them....?
I want to show you my underwear" he says, very shyly. I was expecting him to undress completely so underwear is no biggie....
He strips down to his bra and panties and garter belt and hose. Whoah! and out of the brown paper bag comes a dress. He looks at me for a reaction.
Something in his manner lead me to snap at him. "That is no way to put on a dress!" "Yes Ma'am!" he says and shivers a little bit. Yes that is what he wants. He wants a firm, firm firm Massage indeed.
I find a yardstick, and look for faults about his demeanor, his posture, his attitude. Ah props!
He leaves very satisfied and I got a nice tip.
Months later I was in down town Boston and saw him again Directing traffic. He was in his full policeman's uniform including white gloves.
====================================================================
i got a phone call from a nervous fellow. He told me his fellow workers had chipped in to get him enough money to visit a hooker. He was the original 30 year old virgin.
Knock, knock,
You never know who is going to turn up with a sign like that up in the world. I got all kinds. I mean literally all kinds... of men.
One guy was really kinda cute. He was a repeat customer and my favorite. I wasn't into wearing much clothes back them, just a little something, unless it was cold. then wool socks too.
So when I straddled this guy to start the massage, it would be skin to skin. My thighs would slide up the side and down, as I worked his back. To reach his neck, I would lean over and slide my front along his back. I'm pretty sure full contact massages are not in the Swedish handbook of proper form, but they really were very efficient for ironing out the kinks in a guys back and putting a big smile on his face. This guy was a patient fellow who didn't flip over to get his happy ending right away. He liked the full long luxurious massage that I was quite willing to hand over to him. I was good with my hands.
===================================================================
One fellow came over with a paper bag in his hand. "Do you ever use 'props'" he asked me.
"Props??" what was that codeword for, I was young, I had no idea. I do now. Um... okay. If you provide them, I will use them....?
I want to show you my underwear" he says, very shyly. I was expecting him to undress completely so underwear is no biggie....
He strips down to his bra and panties and garter belt and hose. Whoah! and out of the brown paper bag comes a dress. He looks at me for a reaction.
Something in his manner lead me to snap at him. "That is no way to put on a dress!" "Yes Ma'am!" he says and shivers a little bit. Yes that is what he wants. He wants a firm, firm firm Massage indeed.
I find a yardstick, and look for faults about his demeanor, his posture, his attitude. Ah props!
He leaves very satisfied and I got a nice tip.
Months later I was in down town Boston and saw him again Directing traffic. He was in his full policeman's uniform including white gloves.
====================================================================
i got a phone call from a nervous fellow. He told me his fellow workers had chipped in to get him enough money to visit a hooker. He was the original 30 year old virgin.
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