As a friend of mine said….Tha Man Made Thriller

Peace and leaf blowers

I am on vacation from work but apparently this does not entitle me to be on vacation from noise. Leaf blowers, tree munchers and general garden killer noise was what woke me up this morning. Allow me to explain the complete illogic behind this particular noise this morning. It rained last night and this morning. What pray tell does this have to do with my slumber? A leaf cannot be blown around when it is wet; this renders the leaf blower entirely useless and the person operating it a complete douche bag. Why oh why would they use them after it has rained? Well, the gardeners in our hood either have completely fried all brain cells from inhaling the gas exhaust that comes out of the leaf blower or they just don’t give a fuck. Could be both…what I do know is that they have not the slightest clue about plants. 

They re-seed grass and then cut it the next week. They “prune” plants by chopping off everything but the base. They weed gardens by pulling every living thing out of them. These fuckers kill all things living. Maybe I am hostile towards them this morning because they woke me and waking me up is akin to waking a bear out of hibernation (let’s just say that last year my neighbors woke me up on the 4th of July at 3am with fireworks and what they received was a verbal assault so severe they are now scared of our household – I am fortunate that I was not arrested). It is not pretty to wake me up and I advise all not to try it. 

You may not know this but California is in a serious drought. Los Angeles County has restricted the days you can water, when you can water, will fine you $300.00 to start if you violate the outside rules and has asked all residents to reduce their water usage by 15%. So, what do the gardeners do??? They start to water. Not something they have ever done before. It’s kinda like a big fuck you to California. 

The irony in all of this is that these hostile plant murders from this morning are not even our gardeners. They are our neighbors gang of sadists for the sleeping. This disruption this morning has solidified two things: I need to live somewhere where I do not hear my neighbors flushing their toilet next door, where there is not a police helicopter flying over million dollar homes at 10pm, where people do not feel fireworks are a rite of passage and where people tend to their own gardens. 

Oh yeah …….one last thing: if you want to check out a very nifty way to sift through blogs – try http://alphainventions.com/   it provides you blogs that have literally just been created.

Part 3 Chapter 1

** Quick note: Some names have been changed. All events are from my memory and conversations had or overheard. 

At my grandmother’s home I felt suffocated. I loved her but was weary of her. She had this air about her that was deliberate. In her life, Grandma Pearl had been married and divorced about five different times. She was an abused woman by men and yet she was fiercely independent; cancer would eventually take her over leaving her helpless and dependent – two things she could never tolerate. Two of her children were of the same father (my dad being one of them and my aunt Harmony the oldest child being the other – both favored their father) and the youngest was from a separate but short marriage that again ended in abuse. Pearl ran her own beauty shop out of her converted garage where she catered to the local women and Canadian women who would cross the border to visit her. The shop was rancid with the smell of permanents curling women’s poor over processed hair. I distrusted Pearl because I did not understand why I was there. My mother had always let me read and explore; my grandmother was not keen on me reading and felt I should stay put while she worked. A 2 year old being asked to sit still? I was more of an ornament  in the shop than a grandchild. In my own personal revolution against my grandmother, I hid constantly from her and would wander away from her house while she was working. Once I hid underneath her car. I stayed under there for hours looking at the rocks beneath her tires; studying the different sizes. She finally called the police. I could hear her making up all sorts of explanations of how I got our of her sight: I was so small! Anyone could lose a child that small! I was a beautiful child and anyone could have duped her into looking the other way while they stole me!  It was probably my mother in a haze come to steal me! I thought this was hysterical listening to my grandmother fib to a policeman. I started to laugh and within a few minutes this large man’s head peered beneath the vehicle asking me to please come out. I did and the consequences to my behind were severe. My hiding would send her into a terror which always ended poorly for my bottom. I don’t imagine she ever wanted to be in a position of explaining to my father or my mother that she had lost her grandchild. 

My dad came to visit two times while I was there. I recall his masked horror during the first visit when he saw that she had cut my long, thick, blonde curly hair into a boys cut. Apparently she did not feel she needed to tend to my hair in conjunction to working 7 days a week and watching me until it was time to drive me to California. Or maybe it was because she kicked her then husband out of their marital room and had me sleep with her. She always complained that my hair got in the way of everything. She never left me in the room alone with anyone and insisted whenever we were in the same house (even into my teen years) that I sleep in the same bed with her so she could protect me from harm. I was an intensely shy child who wanted nothing to do with any stranger which was a likely byproduct of my mother leaving me with unknowns; this was Pearl’s way of protecting me; trying to help me feel safe. Strange yes, but devious no. There my dad was looking at me and commenting “What did she do to your hair child?” Out came my grandmother asking if he liked it. Before he could respond, she let him know that my hair was too thick for a child’s head and this was the one way she could brush it. My dad’s expression surely gave him away; Pearl had turned his little girl into a little boy. She added that no girl this young should be reading and it would do good of him to stop sending me books to read. I was just 2 years old and had been reading to myself for a few months now. My mom and dad had taught me to pick out the alphabet and spell our names off of the cereal boxes at the grocery store when I was a little over 12 months old. Pearl did not approve. She preferred little girls learn how to be little ladies. What man is going to want to marry a girl who acts smarter than him? This coming from a woman whose taste in men needed tending. 

The one time I recall feeling close to Pearl was after she had warned me not to pet the dog next door. Of course the first chance I got I went to the fence to pet the yellow lab who was about three times as big as I was. Placing my small hand through the metal opening of the wire fence I opened the gate, I stepped inside the gate and I was on my back with a 30 pound dog on top of me blood draining from my chin. The dog had gashed my small chin and Pearl beat the dog to within an inch of its life. She took me to the emergency room for stitches and held me on her lap ride back home in between her lap and the steering wheel. She cooed and coddled me; she made me feel safe. The dog, however, would run every time either myself or Pearl stepped outside. I can’t imagine what the vet bill must have been but the dog certainly learned its lesson about attacking small children; or at least just me. 

It was shortly after this that Pearl packed me up with her husband and drove me from the Canadian border to Sleepy Hollow, California. A small neighborhood with all of its streets named after the characters in the famed book in the complicated Marin County. As we got closer to my new home I looked up out of the windows and all I could see were these tall trees; they canopied the street we were on for what seemed like hours. Pearl kept calling it “Buttercup Road,” but I would come to know it as Butterfield; the main road through the 3.5 miles of asphalt that connected my house to the rest of San Anselmo, California. A few turns off “Buttercup,” up and endless hill and I was in the arms of my daddy. There was a stranger present whom my dad kept in close vicinity to. I wrapped my arms tighter around my dad as he attempted to introduce me to the stranger. “Say hi to Oliver. This is our new home and this is Oliver’s house.” I would not answer. I would not perform any pleasantries. I would not look at him. I was scared he was taking me away or worse that my dad was leaving me with him alone. Another person I did not know and I had no confidence when my dad would come back. The tears started and I would not allow my dad to put me down for the rest of the night. Oliver was worried.

To be continued………..

Love and Brooklynn

I am struggling with the religious folk lately. I have attempted to discuss their positions with them. I attempted to show why people feel their rhetoric can be hateful. I have asked them to see a different perspective. The response? Well, I have been told that I am illogical, in denial, faithless, a boy, without reference, unlearned, in need of Jesus and flatly wrong. One poster actually requested that I read their blog and provide feedback. I did and the response was a complete rejection of what I provided. I am still rather perplexed why my feedback was sought since it was not even remotely received, but alas my attempts to understand the super relgious run me in circles.

After Proposition 8 in California I decided to make an effort to explain my position to those that sought to deny Gay couples the civil right to be civilly married. I succeeded with some. I was able to invite them to see a different perspective away from their religious views, because civil rights are not based in faith they are based in rights of the state and goverment. With some, we respectfully opted not to discuss it any longer….these folk included some of my oldest friendships. Religion and state are in theory supposed to remain separate. We know that for the most part they are not. Politicians consistently use their religion as a means to be elected. They try to appeal to a base of people who for all purposes are not supposed to be discussing politics on Saturday’s or Sunday’s at their place of worship listening to the discussion from the pulpit. But, the people I spoke to, I discussed with, I debated with – they were ready and willing to see another person’s point of view. I am willing to listen to them – to see where their passion comes from and they were willing to hear me and see where my passion is rooted. I can say with all honesty that our discussions swayed their positions. Not their faith, but their positions on civil rights.

Yes, I undoubtably have issues with organized religions. I am not against people believing; I actually support their beliefs in a higher power. My disenchantment is with those who refuse to look at anything other than their own religion. Their faith is the best. They know best. And, if you are not with them then you are against them. In their eyes, they are here to save you and if you will not be saved then you are destined for hell. I see this as pompous. This position is what polarizes people. How can you talk to anyone who is unwilling to look at a different point of light? When you study other faiths, other beliefs and other ways of life you are able to make your life richer because you see other people in a way that you could not have had you not opened up. Faith is such a personal topic and in my opinion is not something you spend a lot of time debating. What you can debate is the practice and the teachings because these are ever changing.

So, for now I have taken my lickings and I am opting to step out of this topic for the time being. I do thank those who have visited my website and provided critique on my writing. It is always welcomed and appreciated.

Lighter

Have I mentioned that I love music? I LOVE MUSIC!! And more importantly, I love Maxwell. This man is unbelievably talented AND he has a new album coming out. WHOOHOOO! I saw him in concert a few months ago (on his teaser tour) and lemme tell ya…he puts on a great show!

I highly recommend you check out his new album – I am positive it will be worth listening to. July 7, 2009!!!