It’s a damn good thing that I’m not in Alabama because I’ve decided to abort the last few days of my vacation. I’ll be leaving Sunday as opposed to Thursday now.
I’ve alluded to how things just aren’t working out for me on this trip in earlier posts. I mean, it’s been great seeing some old friends and all but I’m also having to deal with the old baggage I thought I’d left behind me. Instead it seems I’ve just ripped the scab off a still festering wound. Yeah, I know. I’m a fucking pussy. I’ve been berating myself during my long ass walks to no avail. I’m just not happy and really don’t want to prolong the suffering.
A good metaphor for my life here–alone in an empty bar.
Anyway, I’m meeting some friends tonight for dinner. Will take my former team members out for lunch tomorrow and maybe hook up with a few others before I depart Anjeong-ri on Saturday morning. Otherwise there is nothing for me here and it is good to be reminded why I was in such a hurry to get out of Dodge. The better question is why the hell did I come back. No answer for that!
Honestly though, I never gave it a real chance for the year I lived here. I always had one foot in the future (the Philippines) and one foot in the past (my broken life in Seoul). I regret not just embracing the experience and trying to enjoy each day for what it was. But what these past few days, both here and in Seoul, have brought home loud and clear–I no longer have a life in Korea. Time has moved on and it is past time that I did so as well.
In the meantime I continue to retrace old steps. Today I did a four hour walk circumnavigating the perimeter of Camp Humphreys.
I’ll never do that again!
I’m used to breaking up my walks into morning/afternoon sessions. Doing four hours in one stretch kicked my ass pretty good.
The river section of the hike. Nice, flat, and easy! I’m also enjoying the moderate temperatures here.I have no idea why it’s there, but this setup seems to capture for me the essence of life in Anjeong-ri…By the time I was back in the civilized world I’d worked up an appetite. Didn’t want to find out what Sam’s dog tastes like though. Instead I took a rest at the GS25 store and enjoyed a Coke Zero and some Oreo cookies.Facebook tells me that I took a similar hike two years ago. I was being facetious in my recitation of the Green Acres theme song. Yeah, stick a fork in me. I’m done.
Yesterday I took a smooth 50 minute ride on the Korail ITX down to Pyeongtaek Station, then cabbed to my hotel in Anjeong-ri.
I lived here for exactly one year (left on the day my lease expired) and have been gone for just over one year. Still know a few folks here and hope I’ll be able to meet up with some of them between now and Thursday.
Yesterday I had lunch with my former Deputy and a old team member at the new golf course clubhouse on Camp Humphreys. It was nice catching up with her and getting the news about what’s been going on at work since I departed. I don’t miss it much!
I’ve really been amazed at how much things have changed in the little burg of Anjeong-ri in only a year. Tons of new construction–high rise apartments, restaurants, and of course bars.
Speaking of bars I visited a few of my old haunts last night. I was a little surprised and touched that the staff in most of them remembered me and gave me a warm welcome back. Which is good because I didn’t see anyone else I knew out and about. I was astounded at being charged W8,000 (more than $7.00) for a San Miguel Light. I pay around a buck fifty for that same beer back home. At those prices I’m not sure I could afford to retire here! Not that I’d want to.
That’s me at my old darts haunt, IDK. The bartender even remembered my drink, Miller Lite (they never carried SML). When I said beer please, she responded “we don’t have Miller Lite now, we carry Coors Light”. Wow, I was surprised. Coors Light was my beer back when I was a young man but it’s been a long time since I’ve had one. Practically a steal at only $7.00.
And speaking of IDK (I asked what that stood for but everyone says “I don’t know” so I still have no idea) Facebook reminded me this morning it was exactly two years ago that I won my first dart tournament down here.
I wasn’t quite as brown in those days.
Anyway, I got up this morning and had breakfast at a restaurant called “Me and You”. It’s where I had my first breakfast when I moved here. New location, but the food was the same (average). I was the only customer and the ajumma was delighted to have me, so that was nice.
After breakfast I caught a cab to Good Morning hospital in Pyeongtaek city to see about scheduling my physical examination. I had it done there last year and figured they’d have all that history to compare with this year’s result. Except they told me I wouldn’t get the results/consult with the doctor for two weeks! Well, that ain’t gonna work. So I won’t be getting an exam after all. Which was one of the primary reasons for making this trip. What a fiasco. And yes, I should have done my due diligence prior to traveling.
I walked home from the hospital which took close to two hours. This afternoon I did some of my park loops from the good ol’ days (which really weren’t all that good). I’m planning the long ass river walk that circumnavigates the perimeter of the Army base (outside the fence of course) in the morning.
Tonight? Well, I reckon I’ll visit the bars I missed last night. One guy wants to get together for darts so we’ll see about that as well.
And oh yeah, here’s a serious religious question I stumbled upon while perusing the internets today: Did Jesus shit? I report, you decide.
Flew business class on Asiana which as usual was comfortable and well-serviced. Enjoyed a bowl of rice porridge and slept most of the trip. We arrived at Incheon right on schedule at 0700.
Since I was upfront, I was first off the plane and first in line at immigration. Sailed through there and headed down to baggage claim. I knew I’d have a wait, so I found a seat in the lavatory and enjoyed my first Korean bidet experience in over a year. After taking care of business I came out just as my bag was arriving on the carousel. Grabbed it and made my way to the airport railroad (AREX).
The express train didn’t leave until 8:10 arriving at Seoul Station forty minutes later. The “all-stops” train left at 7:40 and got me there sooner so I didn’t wait. Maybe should have as the train got crowded and a little uncomfortable. But I enjoyed the scenery along the way anyway. After being gone a little more than a year I was especially impressed with the infrastructure and just the way things “work” here. Pretty much the opposite of how things are in the Philippines.
Once I arrived at Seoul Station I made my way outside to the taxi stand and then decided to just walk to my hotel in Itaewon. It wasn’t even 9:00 a.m. yet and I doubted I’d be able to check-in so early. Walking wasn’t bad except for the dragging my wheeled suitcase behind me like a homeless person. Arm got tired after awhile but I switched out and carried on. The weather here is pleasantly cool and feels downright chilly compared to the hot sticky mess I had just left behind back home.
As I suspected the folks at the Crown hotel informed me that check-in wasn’t until 3:00 p.m. I asked (pleaded really) if I couldn’t get in earlier. The guy told me I could get the room at 1:00 and he wouldn’t charge me extra. I thanked him and checked my bags. Then I headed out to explore the mean streets of Itaewon.
I’m not sure if it’s the town that’s changed or if it is just me but it looked and felt different somehow. Some of the old familiar places were gone and others had moved to new locations. Lots of new shops and business too. It’s definitely an area in transition. Not real surprising given that almost all of the American military forces have moved south now. Still, plenty of foreigners out and about of course, just a different crowd.
And it wasn’t long before I started wrestling with the demons from the past again. I was a little surprised by how powerful those old memories were and how sad they made me. It was a good reminder that my life here has ended and I really am better off in the Philippines. How bad was I haunted? Almost to the point of contacting Asiana to see if I could change to an earlier departure date. Almost.
Anyway, I walked and walked. My former housekeeper Josie messaged me that she was at McDonlds so I met her there and we had a nice chat. Then I moved back out to the street and walked some more. Around 11:00 I was feeling hungry so I started looking for somewhere to eat. Linus’ BBQ wasn’t open yet and Manimals was closed too (permanently perhaps? The sign was somewhat ambiguous). Anyway, I decided to go for Mexican at On the Border.
The food was good compared to the Mexican I’ve found in Barretto. But I experienced my first bout of sticker shock. That plate and a Coke was about 20,000 Won. I’d have paid less than half that for a similar meal back home.
After lunch I was able to check into my room and took a short nap. Then I did a nice walk along the Han riverside that looked like this:
The old familiar places.
Back to the room for a shower then I headed out for some nighttime activities at my favorite hangout–Shenanigans.
Enjoyed the taste of home with some San Miguel Lights. Chatted with the owner a bit and later my nephew Justin came by.
It was sweet when my favorite flower ajumma came in and saw me. She was so surprised and kind–gave me a big hug and told me how happy she was to see me again. I of course bought a bouquet flowers–just like old times.
I pay about $1.50 a beer in the PI. Here there were over $6.00. Ah well, I’m on vacation, but geez. Justin and I popped into Scrooge Pub which was pretty empty. The owner (a nice Korean woman I’m rather fond of) was not happy with her decision to get into the bar business, especially now that almost all her customer base is in Pyeongtaek. She wants to sell, but good luck finding a buyer. I told her we could open a bar together in Barretto but she didn’t seem interested in that idea at all. Ah well.
I was drunk and it was time to go home. A quick stop for a sundae at Dairy Queen and Justin and I said our goodnights. And so ended my first day back home in the Land of the Morning Calm.
One of my lives within this lifetime is the one I’ve spent as a manwhore. I don’t know what got into me, but I know what I got into. If you get my meaning. Anyway, once a whore always a whore I suppose. But the heydays of that life were from the 1980’s through the early 2000’s.
Now, back in high school I had two girlfriends at the same time. In my defense, the first one moved to San Diego two hours away. So it only seemed natural that I’d have someone local to love, right? That lasted until they both showed up in the same place at the same time. After that I had zero girlfriends.
Not too long afterwards I got the girl I was dating pregnant and married her. I was faithful to her until she wasn’t. Which led me to meeting KaraLynne, the love of my life. I told that story here. Suffice to say she wound up breaking my heart. I guess as much as anything that set me on the road to whoredom, although that was never really my intended destination. Or so I choose to believe.
So, this would have been around 1983 I suppose and I looked like this:
Oh, wait a minute. That’s not me.That’s me. I understand that some people thought Tom Selleck looked like me. Go figure.
Anyway, I was single again and looking for love. Usually in the wrong places. Heh, some things never change. I was a mailman and um, I “dated”, several gals I met on my mail route (but never during working hours! Okay, maybe once during working hours). I had a pretty passionate fling with my barber Peggy. And then I met Linda who was destined to be my soulmate, but not my life mate. Shortly thereafter I packed it in and left Arizona for a new life in Oklahoma and Arkansas (I was right on the border, working in Fort Smith, AR and living in Monroe, OK).
Wow! My first exposure to Southern women. And what can I say about them except they know what they want and they ain’t shy about asking for it. It was a totally new experience being the pursued and not the pursuer. My first weekend there I went to a country bar (I’m not sure there were any other kinds). I’m sitting there watching the action and a young woman walks up and says in a sweet Southern twang “are you just gonna sit there or did you come to dance?” So we danced in the bar and later on we were dancing horizontally.
And that’s pretty much the way it worked all the time. I met and deflowered my last virgin there. Dated a 37 year old and a 23 year old simultaneously (I was now 30) and interspersed them with gals I met on the mail route and in the bars. Wild times for sure. But the method to my madness was the thought that I might have to date a hundred women before I met another KaraLynne. Of course, that was a fools mission and in the end all I got was fucked. Ahem.
Eventually I married again so my kids would have someone to mother them. We moved to South Carolina and my career took off. I started traveling quite a bit and would occasionally dabble with women I’d meet on the road. Hotel bars can be such lonely places don’t you know. But I wasn’t very smart about it and got caught a couple of times which didn’t help the marriage. Once I got busted because I made the mistake of meeting up with a woman at her house. Her ex was a cop and he drove by, saw my car, and ran the plates. Then he called my wife. And my wife called my boss. It was a mess of my own making, that’s for sure.
After I had moved on to Wife #3 I had an affair with a co-worker. She was a big Chicago Bulls fan and since I had a ton of frequent flyer miles I booked a surprise trip to Chicago to see them play. We had a layover in Pittsburgh and our flight was delayed. The woman in the USAirways club helped us re-book so we wouldn’t miss the game. We made it and in appreciation I bought the agent a souvenir from the game which I presented to her on our return trip through Pittsburgh. She was so pleased that she called my wife in Virginia and thanked her for the kindness her and I had shown in getting her the gift (you see, she thought the woman I was with was my wife). I just never had much luck at cheating I suppose.
Maybe I learned my lessons, because I never cheated on Wife #4.
For all the good it did me.
After Jee Yeun destroyed me I’ve pretty much just been floundering. When it comes to relationships, I’ve got the Midas touch in reverse–they all turn to shit. Ironically, I live in a town chock full of whore bars but I have no interest in whoring these days. Maybe it’s old age or maybe I’ve just had enough. I would enjoy being in a stable, loving relationship with my one and only, but I’m not sure I have the balls to risk it. I’ve got a lifetime of bad Karma to pay for.
Now I think I’m going down to the well tonight And I’m going to drink till I get my fill And I hope when I get old I don’t sit around thinking about it But I probably will Yeah, just sitting back trying to recapture A little of the glory of, well time slips away And leaves you with nothing mister but Boring stories of
Glory days well they’ll pass you by Glory days in the wink of a young girl’s eye Glory days, glory days
It started raining yesterday about two hours prior to the start of the Hash. I was worried about how well the powder I had laid on trail would hold up but there was nothing to be done about it and after about 45 minutes the skies cleared.
As the Hare I didn’t actually walk the trail with the Hashers (other than the first kilometer as I made my way home to man the beer check). But I got good feedback that the trail was well-marked and easy to follow. That was one of my main goals. Several others came to me to compliment the trail and to say they enjoyed the hike. The only real complaint I heard was about the long trail portion I added being boring. Yeah, that’s legitimate. All flat and on roads through subdivisions for the most part. The runners wanted distance and I gave it to them. Too bad if it was not challenging enough. Oh, and I did have a couple of people say the trail was harder than they expected it to be. I’m not sure how to take that, maybe they think I’m a wimp?
Bottom line, no one got lost and no one got hurt. I’ll take that any day! One of the Hashers posted photos from the hike on the SBH3 Facebook page. Let me share some of them here:
A nice map of my trail. The green line indicating the Long Trail addition.The Hashers stand in rapt attention and awe of the amazing Hare as he provides last minute guidance on the day’s trail.And we are “on-on”!Making our way through Alta Vista shortly before I left the Hashers to their own devices.“Have a nice hike!”It was a humid afternoon but at least the rain had stopped.Everyone loves a well-marked trail. At least I do.A quick meet and greet with the younguns…That’s Leech My Nuggets, one of the runners who prefers taking it LONG and HARD. The trail I mean. He’s one that didn’t like the boring long addition to my trail, although he said he did enjoy the rest of it.
Speaking of the runners, I was really quite impressed. The Hash started at 3:30. I got back to my place to man the beer check at 4:00. I estimated I might see the first runner come by at 4:45, but I was wrong about that. A female (don’t know her name) came trotting by at 4:30 and didn’t break stride for a cold drink. Her partner was a couple of minutes behind her. So that’s 8K + on terrain that including two climbs and a fairly steep downhill in one hour. Good job!
Hashers doing what Hashers do.Coming back into Alta Vista for the final trek to the beer check and on-home at Treasure Island.Liquid refreshment at the beer check. Actually, the water and Gatorade I provided was just as popular as the beer. Welcoming the stragglers.And finally, the last of the Hashers on trail arrive.And my day as the Hare was complete after the Hash circle.
Tomorrow I make my debut as the sole Hare responsible for setting this week’s trail with the Subic Bay Hash House Harriers (SBH3). It’s a huge responsibility and an even bigger pain in the ass. Here’s how my day of preparation has gone down (so far).
Up even earlier than normal so I could get on with the business of marking the trail while beating the worst of the heat. I arrived at Johansson’s (our starting point) at 0630 and got to work.
The SBH3 has our own storage room deep in the bowels of Johansson’s.Tools of the Hare trade include jugs to hold the powder we use to mark the trail….…and chalk to further point out direction to the Hashers. I personally detest a poorly marked trail so one of my goals was to give clear indications of which way to go.First order of business was I needed to fill those jugs up with powder. Bastards were pretty damn heavy too. I carried one and put the other in my backpack. I tried not to be stingy with my powder use but I was also keenly aware that I had 6+ kilometers of trail to mark. Turns out I needed every drop of powder I brought.
Now, obviously I’m not an experienced Hare but I had a decision to make. Some Hares prefer to mark the trail the day prior to the Hash. Others do it the morning of. The downside to the day before is that the powder can fade or even worse, wash away should there be rain overnight. Doing it the day of the Hash is a risk because it could be raining that morning or something else could go wrong causing a major fuck up. Anyway, I opted for today. Checking the weather forecast I see there is a possibility of isolated thunderstorms tomorrow. Hopefully all my hard work doesn’t go down the drain before we Hash. Nothing to be done about it I suppose. Well, if it rains this afternoon or tonight, I could go out in the morning and re-mark the trail. I’d rather not of course.
With powder and chalk in hand I commenced to walking the trail I had been piecing together these past few weeks.
And leaving appropriate signs along the way. This is in the Alta Vista subdivision. I’m doing the 1,349th SBH3 trail, hence the “49”.Time to get off the street and into the dirt. As Dorothy might have sang “follow the chalk and white powder”…Out in the countryside I’m marking trees instead of telephone poles…The powder is there to ensure a clear indication of where to turn at intersections is provided. Looking at this photo perhaps I should have laid it on thicker. PLEASE don’t rain on my parade!
So, as I may have previously mentioned, my trail has two medium length uphills and the climbs are not very steep. One significant downhill and then a relatively easy meandering path covering much of “My Bitch”. It does require walking through the yards of a couple squatter shanties. I always feel bad about creating a disturbance, dogs barking and the like. And knowing I’d be leading 30+ Hashers through their enclave is going to make a lousy day for them I suspect. Anyway, to assuage my guilt make up for their inconvenience I handed out tins of cookies as I passed through today. That seemed to be appreciated.
The trail continues on back into Alta Vista on our way “on-home” at Treasure Island in Baloy Beach. And since we are passing by my house I’ve incorporated a beer check into the hike. A stop off to refresh yourself and replace vital bodily liquids prior to hiking that last kilometer to T.I.
Maybe the highlight of the trek?Two cases of beer and another ice chest with water and soft drinks for those so inclined.I didn’t get to prepare the meal I was planning when last week’s on-home wasn’t at my home. But by gawd I’ve got some snacks for any hungry Hashers passing by…With thirsts quenched it’s just a short hike from my place out to T.I.I’m not up on all the Hash trail marking symbols, but I do know this one. Anyone care to hazard a guess as to what it means?
So the short trail is marked and ready. I still need to walk and mark the long trail (another 5K). I may go ahead and do that this afternoon so I can deal with any contingencies that may arise in the morning.
Being a Hare is dirty work and I’ve got the shoes to prove it!
And oh yeah, because of my need to get out and get busy early this morning, Buddy and Lucky had to forego their walk.
Come on guys! No need to pout about it. We’ll go walking again tomorrow. I promise!
Follow the yellow brick road Follow the yellow brick road Follow, follow, follow, follow Follow the yellow brick road
Follow the rainbow over the stream Follow the fellow who follows a dream Follow, follow, follow, follow Follow the yellow brick road
Today is the anniversary of my retirement and also my arrival in the Philippines.
I said goodbye to my Eighth Army family……and left my “palace” in Anjeong-ri.
Got on a plane that same day and started my new life here in the PI. Hopefully y’all have been following along with my “adventures” here at LTG.
Like anything else I suppose, you fall into your routines and rituals in retirement life. Finding ways to pass the hours, not necessarily in a meaningful way, but hopefully in a satisfying way. Reading the blog you might have concluded that pretty much all I do is walk and drink beer. Come to think of it, that is pretty much all I do.
I’m not complaining. Life isn’t perfect here but it’s comfortable at least. Probably my biggest disappointment has been not finding love, which I thought would be relatively easy once I made the move. In large part I know that failure is on me. As more than one reader has pointed out, I’ve been looking for love in all the wrong places. I think in a fucked up kind of way I’m purposely setting myself up for failure. I’m honestly not wanting to put myself out there in such a way that I can be hurt again. Maybe that makes me a coward. Or maybe that makes me smart. Either way, for now I’m probably going to continue playing it safe.
I’ve also had a learning curve when it comes to friendships, at least with Filipinas. Eva proved to be a tremendous disappointment, “ghosting” me for reasons I still don’t understand. Gem simply took the money and ran. Who says you can’t put a price tag on friendship? So my track record at being a good judge of character remains pretty close to 0%. Ah well, live and learn. I don’t make friends easily anyway. I’d say I’ve established some friendly acquaintances amongst the expat community here, and maybe that’s enough.
On a more positive note, I do feel I’ve made good progress on my “making a difference” goal. I have my charity work, primarily with the orphanage. And four Filipinos on my payroll. And then there’s these two guys:
They never stand still long enough for a good picture…
So yeah, on balance I’m happy with the move. It’s a long way from my USA home and family but that life just doesn’t work for me anymore. There are certainly frustrating aspects to living in the Philippines, but on the plus side I’m learning to be patient (deep breath, relax, accept the Filipino way). And even on the worst of days, this is the view from my living room window:
I could do worse. Much worse.
Let’s see what year two holds in store, shall we?
This is the day of the expanding man That shape is my shade There where I used to stand It seems like only yesterday I gazed through the glass At ramblers, wild gamblers That’s all in the past
You call me a fool You say it’s a crazy scheme This one’s for real I already bought the dream So useless to ask me why Throw a kiss and say goodbye I’ll make it this time I’m ready to cross that fine line
UPDATE: Well damn, I used the “one year in” title for a post in January 2006. In that case I was talking about completing my first year in Korea. It was kind of interesting (to me) comparing my perspectives from then and now. What a ride it has truly been!
“We’re the only club event in the world where someone was rushed to the hospital because they forgot to take their drugs.”
So, I saw this article about old folks in the UK getting together on a weekly basis to get down and get wild and it gave me a chuckle. Elderly folks need to party too, don’t ya know?
The other day I had been sitting at Cheap Charlies and musing on life as I sipped beers and watched the world pass by below me. At least the portion of the world within my field of vision. Which is of course the world in which I reside. Anyway, it occurred to me that Barrio Barretto is really just a down and dirty retirement community for oldsters who just aren’t ready to settle down to a quiet and staid lifestyle. And man oh man, I see some expats here who are barely ambulatory but are still out there plying the streets with the help of walkers and canes. Got to respect them for that!
Ha! I’m reporting on this phenomenon as an observer, but of course I’m also a participant. Pretty much everyone who lives here full time is a pensioner of one type or another. The exceptions might be a business owner (most of the bars are foreign owned) and some people work via the Internet. And I’ve met a couple of folks who are just outright wealthy and could live anywhere in the world. It’s telling (about them or here I’m not sure) that they’ve chosen this little corner of the third world to call home.
Anyway, I know people as old as their late seventies. A couple of military retirees in the mid-forties is the other extreme. So, I guess that puts me somewhere in the middle. I’m still relatively healthy and active, which is more than I can say for many of my peers. The fact of the matter is that when I look around me I honestly don’t see anyone I’d want to trade places with. I’m not sure if that’s a good or a bad thing, but it is what it is.
So then, why are we all here? I think it’s because, like the Brits in the artilce linked above, none of us are quite ready to settle down. I remember seeing the retirement communities developed for oldsters in places like Sun Valley, Arizona. And even back then I couldn’t fathom the attraction of living such a boring and vanilla lifestyle. Here we have a vibrant nightlife scene, ranging from prostitution bars to more traditional activities like pool and dart leagues. There are also daytime activities like the Hash and golfing clubs. Or long walks on the beach. And perhaps the biggest attraction is having the freedom to come and go and do as we please without being judged or considered “too old”. The girls here have a saying “age is just a number”, and judging by the couples I see out and about they must be sincere. I have one friend who is 66 and his live-in girlfriend is 22.
John and Mango. She adores him and he is devoted to her. Isn’t that what a relationship is supposed to be all about? What’s age got to do with it?Oh, did I mention Mango is a hottie? Don’t get me wrong, I’m not envious. Much.
So yeah, I think the women here are part of the attraction. Guys like me ain’t gonna find any smokin’ hot babes half (or less) our age back in the homeland. And Filipinas are not your standard Western feminazis either, their natural instinct is take care of their man. Geez, I need to get out there and find me one of those! Seriously though, you can find a genuine caregiver for a fraction of what it would cost back home. And sometimes us old folks need that tender loving care. I sure do wish the one I had trained up hadn’t run away.
While far from perfect, life is good here for us old farts. And I do admire these ancient fuckers who are still in the game and not ready to sacrifice an active and engaged lifestyle for the proverbial rocking chair on the front porch. I think most of us who have chosen to live here know that we will likely die here. And we intend to do it with a smile on our face.
Plying my favorite bargirls at Alaska Club with chocolate and ladydrinks. I quaffed a fair amount of SM Zero beer myself. How much does that kind of fun cost me? A little less than $40! Only in the Philippines!
Up earlier than normal this morning so I decided to take advantage of the relatively cooler hours and do an elongated hike.
Just under 14K. Took me 3.5 hours, but I move slow going up and down the mountains.Spent some time on the beach……but mostly I was above the beach…The majority of the trek was along the mountain ridge line. Which I guess technically put me closer to the sun…And the sun was a pretty bitch today. I don’t recall seeing that rainbow effect before.
I didn’t really expect I’d be out so long and didn’t bring enough water. I took my last swallow as I started my descent from the mountaintop and once I reached the bottom I was on Rizal Extension. I popped into one of the ubiquitous sari-sari stores and asked for a bottle of water.
I didn’t take this photo, but this is the typical look for these small markets. As Wikipedia describes them: “A sari-sari store, or neighborhood sundry store, is a convenience store found in the Philippines. The word sari-sari is Tagalog meaning “variety” or “sundry”. Such stores form an important economic and social location in a Filipino community and is ubiquitous in neighborhoods and streets.Wikipedia “
Anyway, this one didn’t have any water available but the owner vaguely pointed across the street and said something in Tagalog. I was pretty thirsty at this point so I walked over and asked an older gentleman sitting there if he had water for sale. There were several empty bottles of Red Horse (a powerful local beer) sitting on the table in front of him so I think he was halfway drunk. But he hopped up and went inside then came back out carrying some chunks of ice in his unwashed hands. He said the water wasn’t cold and I said that’s fine, I don’t mind warm water. He waved me off, then proceeded to smash the ice against the dirty wall until the pieces were small enough to fit into a container sitting on the table. Then he filled the container with water from a dispenser he had sitting on the porch. He smiled and said “just wait, it will chill”.
Hmm. Well, I would have preferred the water direct from the dispenser, but what are you gonna do? He asked me how old I was, I told him 63. He smiled and said that he and his friend (who was sitting at the other end of the porch) were both 55. So, we all shook hands. Then I poured the water from his container into my empty water bottle. I offered him some money for his trouble and he refused it saying “we are neighbors”. So I thanked him again and was on my way.
And there you have a good example of Filipino friendliness. I’ll let you know if I develop a case of diarrhea. Yes, I did quench my thirst with the gifted water. I also bought a bottle of Gatorade at the next sari-sari store I came across.
Anyway, I finished my hike with a jaunt over a portion of My Bitch without further incident. Well, I was accosted by a pack of dogs, but I was prepared for those bastards since they always seem to lay in wait of an ambush at the end of that trail. I had my walking stick and a handful of rocks at the ready and challenged them with a hearty “come and get it motherfuckers!”. The keep barking but back off a respectable distance from the crazy guy. I learned that the best course of action is being aggressive with aggressive dogs from my days as a mailman.
And that was the end of today’s adventure. So far.
It’s not having what you want It’s wanting what you’ve got
I’m gonna soak up the sun I’m gonna tell everyone To lighten up (I’m gonna tell ’em that) I’ve got no one to blame For every time I feel lame I’m looking up I’m gonna soak up the sun
Quite an adventure yesterday climbing the rocks on Easter mountain and once we got back down, the rocks began to roll. But bottom line up front, I made it to the top.
Success was in question before I even got started. As we made our way to the drop off point in the Hashmobile I realized I must have left my walking stick back at Johannson’s. Shit! Well, I wasn’t sure I was going to attempt getting all the way up anyway, discretion being the better part of valor and all. But without my stick I knew I was fucked. I rely on it for balance going up and more importantly, as a brake on the way back down. So upon arrival I get out of the truck and I’m contemplating my next move when a fellow Hasher hands me my stick and says you left this inside. So, it seemed fated that I was going to at least attempt to climb the mountain.
And indeed it was more of a climb than a hike. Getting up required the use of hands as well as feet, which is unusual. I knew from observing the mountain from a distance that the last 1/3 of the trail would be the steepest and toughest and I was not disappointed in that regard. There were a couple of times the voice in my head was saying “fuck this!” but my response was always “too late to turn back now!” And as I mentioned at the outset, in the end I persevered.
Coming back down presented its own challenges, primarily gravity and forward momentum. But with the aid of my trusty walking stick I maintained balance and kept me feet on the ground where they belong.
So, when it was all said and done I’m glad I made the climb and will look forward to doing it again next year. Maybe.
Once back on flat ground we were awaiting the arrival of the stragglers. And then I heard a low, rolling, rumble. And suddenly there was a whole lotta shakin’ going on. Yep, an earthquake was upon us. I grew up in SoCal so it wasn’t new to me, but that feeling of helplessness in the face of Mother Nature doing her thing is something you never get used to. Some reports put the epicenter at just a few kilometers from where I stood. And at 6.1 on the Richter scale, it was quite a ride. Only lasted about 15 seconds which is a good thing given the general lack of quality in construction methods and materials in these parts. That said, news reports say 8 died and several buildings were damaged, including the terminal at Clark airport in Angeles.
Quite the day! Let’s go to the pictures:
The trail. The runners ran back to Barretto and on-home at Hot Zone. The rest of us rode the truck back.The Hashmobile was packed as usual.Let’s roll!Our destination.Last minute instructions from the Hare.And we are off on our quest for the summit.So far so good.Steeper as she goes…Yours truly movin’ on up! Damn, too bad I’m not a mountain goat. You can see a guy at the top if you look closely.Now this actually proved quite tricky. Had I weighed 10 pounds more I would have been screwed. It was a tight squeeze as it was.I finally made it to the top and these Harriettes were chillaxin’ and taking in the view.And what a view! Looking North…East…South…And West.A shrine to the Virgin Mary was up top…And of course the Cross. Would it be “Easter” mountain without one?Filipina Rock Candy. Yum!Some reports say the epicenter was in Castejillos, just a couple of KMs away. I hiked out that way recently. It would have been real freaky if the quake had struck 30 minutes earlier when I was on top of the mountain. I likely would have shit my pants!So, at the end of the day I wasn’t a turkey after all. I came, I saw, I conquered. Why did I climb Easter mountain? Because it was there! You can quote me on that!In addition to the quake, there was an odd phenomenon in the sky. Looks almost like a blue tornado. Without the wind and destruction–just a light show.And finally, here’s a useful tip: Don’t wear new shoes to the Hash. Otherwise you’ll be drinking beer out of them. Just one of our rituals…
It was a day full of challenges and excitement. Just what I needed!
It was in the springtime of my nineteenth year. I had a decent enough job doing vinyl plastic fabrication. I shared a two bedroom apartment in Huntington Beach, CA with my older brother and I was driving an almost new 1974 Datsun pickup truck. My girlfriend was a 17 year old hottie named Bridget, whom I wasn’t in love with, but she loved sex almost as much as I did. And I had just acquired an adorable German Shepherd puppy I named Angie. So life was as good for me as it had ever been.
I recall picking Bridget up from her job as a sales clerk in Westminster Mall. She got in my pickup and immediately announced “I’m pregnant”. I was stunned at this news and blurted out “Damn it! If I knew you were going to get pregnant I wouldn’t have got the dog!”. And so began my reluctant journey into fatherhood.
Bridget and I both agreed we were not ready or equipped to be parents. She was a Catholic though and abortion for her was not an option. So we decided instead to give the baby up for adoption. Bridget’s parents were quite conservative and had never approved of me anyway and they were very unhappy with the news of the pregnancy. So we decided it would be best for all concerned if she moved out of the house and we’d get a place of our own until the baby was born. We made all the arrangements with the County adoption agency and we were provided free prenatal care and monthly food stamps. And so it came to pass that we were living together in a small apartment in Midway City.
So named I suppose because it was stuck midway between Westminster and Huntington Beach.
We were of course unsure when the child had been conceived, but the doctor estimated a due date in October. Now, I was big time into softball in those days and I happened to be playing in a tournament on a Sunday afternoon in early September. Bridget was there with me and around about the third inning she came to me complaining about not feeling well. I told her to go sit down and wait for the game to finish. At the start of the fifth inning my sister-in-law, a registered nurse, told me Bridget wasn’t well and I really needed to take her home. I remember making a big deal about apologizing to my teammates–“sorry guys, I have to leave now because someone has a tummy ache”.
On the drive back home every few minutes Bridget would start moaning loudly in pain. I was 19 and of course knew everything so I told her “it was just false labor, after all, you are not due until next month.” She persisted with her intermittent moans so as we were passing the hospital I pulled off the freeway and told her “Fine. We’ll go in here and they will tell you the same thing I’ve been saying!” And that is where two hours later my daughter Renee was born.
The next day I briefly saw Renee sleeping in one of those baskets in the maternity ward. Then I had to hurry off to work. My employer had moved to Pasadena, CA over an hours drive away. So I get to work and I can’t stop thinking about my helpless baby girl. At lunchtime I told the boss I was leaving and rushed back down the freeway to the hospital. As I entered Bridget’s room the woman from the adoption agency was handing her the papers to sign relinquishing custody of our baby. I shouted “stop! wait! I want to talk to Bridget first.” The adoption woman left and I said to Bridget “let’s get married and keep the baby instead”. Bridget said “okay”.
That was by far the best decision I’ve ever made. Bridget’s parents didn’t think so. Her father was livid and threatened to have me arrested for statutory rape (Bridget was still 17). I told him good luck with that. I had just turned 20 and still had some rebel in me I suppose. Anyway, he didn’t involve the law but he made things more difficult than they needed to be. Wouldn’t allow Bridget to marry so we waited for her 18th birthday in November. And he forbade Bridget’s siblings from attending our wedding ceremony. Petty bullshit. He came around in time and we were cordial but I never forgot how he treated us when we had nothing.
Well, I say we had nothing but that’s not entirely correct. We certainly were not prepared to have a baby in the house. That first night Renee actually slept in a dresser drawer. But we did have friends and the next day they held an impromptu baby shower and they filled our place with all things necessary to get a newborn started out right. I’ll never forget that either.
Life changed. We rented a two bedroom house next door to my parents (a loving grandma makes the best kind of baby sitter). I found a better job in route sales and about a year after Renee was born I started my government career as a letter carrier (mailman) with the United States Postal Service. With that new found financial security (and health insurance!) we felt it was time to plan for an addition to the family. And in March of 1978 Renee had a baby brother named Kevin sharing the house. Kevin actually arrived on his due date and having done the required natural childbirth classes I was present in the delivery room when Kevin entered the world. It was a beautiful thing to witness.
Being a parent makes you see things differently, or at least it did for me. For one thing I didn’t want to raise my kids in Orange County. We vacationed frequently in Arizona and just a few months after Kevin’s birth my transfer request to Prescott was accepted.
Without a doubt, the nicest place I ever did live. Probably around 25,000 residents at the time. Situated a mile high in the Bradshaw mountains. Felt like heaven to me!Meet the parents at our first house in Prescott, AZ. After a year we became homeowners and continued living the American dream.Celebrating Christmas in Arizona with my mom and little brother. I quite enjoyed the life as a family man.
Being a parent truly is “till death do us part”. Not so much for marriages. Bridget was 23, working at Prescott’s upscale restaurant, and running with a fast crowd. Sometimes she would stay out all night. I finally put my foot down and she told me “I don’t want to have to come home after work and be a wife and mother”. We got divorced and she gave me custody of the two kids, now aged 5 and 3. And thus began my journey as a single father.
Lord almighty, but it was tough going those first few months. I was a letter carrier which meant starting work at 0630. So I had to get up early, get the kids to daycare, do my job, pick the kids up, feed and bathe them, get them in bed, and then collapse in sheer exhaustion. And then get up the next morning and do it all over again. I’m not ashamed to admit that when I needed help I cried out for my mama. And she of course was there for me. We decided the best option was to send the kids home with her to the farm in Oklahoma. I would either come get them when I was ready or move there myself when a transfer came through. And that’s how it turned out that my kids were raised on a farm.
And what a life they had! Horses and cows and country living. Surrounded with love from Grandma and Grandpa and great Grandma Pernie. Granted, I was never any great shakes as a father, but damn it, sometimes I did get lucky. I did eventually move to the area, but I left the kids where they wanted and needed to be. I was pretty much a weekend dad in those days, but it all worked out for best.
Hanging with Grandpa Lee.And daddy was there sometimes too…Both of the kids really got into horses…Renee especially had a natural talent for horseback riding……and she has the ribbons and trophies to prove it!
HaHa! I guess that’s enough of the proud papa bullshit. On with the story. Well, it came to pass that I got to know a woman (actually, I got to know LOTS of women in those days, but that’s for another chapter) named Beckie. She was a widow with a one year old daughter. After dating for awhile, I moved into her fine home in Poteau, Oklahoma. She was and is a good woman and great with the kids. And then in 1986 I accepted a big promotion with the Postal Service in Columbia, SC. Now what do I do?
Well, as much as it pained me to yank the kids from my mother’s embrace (and it pained her much more I know) I wasn’t going to leave them behind. Beckie consented to my proposal to marry and so the deal was done. I’d have my kids and someone to help me raise them. How about that?
I’m not a totally selfish bastard. I promised the kids we’d find a place where we could bring the horses, and I did keep that promise. We lived out in the wilds of Lexington, SC and they went to school in nearby Pelion. It was a small high school and both of them excelled in sports and did well academically. Beckie was a Speech Pathologist and found work in a nearby school district. And I was busy kicking ass in my new career field of labor relations. More on that in a future chapter.
Our house in Lexington. Sitting on two acres of land. Built a barn and stable out back.
And so that was our life. When your kids reach high school age they are doing their own thing and parents are confined to keeping an eye out so they don’t go too far astray. I was lucky that my kids focused on athletics (well, and Renee was also into boys) and didn’t make the mistakes I did in high school. I spent a lot of my free time with them in the basketball arena, baseball diamond, and at the track.
Kevin was varsity baseball, basketball, and cross country.
Me escorting Renee at the Homecoming Queen festivities. Renee went off to Francis Marian University in Florence, SC but was home to watch her little brother graduate from high school…
Of course, even when your kids are grown, they are always your kids and an important part of your life. Just not a daily part. When it was all said and done and I had all those newly freed up hours previously spent at sporting events, I thought to myself “now what?” And sadly, I realized that the only thing I had in common with Beckie was our mutual interest in raising the kids. Yeah, I was that kind of motherfucker. So I started an affair with the woman who eventually became wife #3, which of course necessitated divorcing Beckie. I remind myself that whatever bad karma I may have in relationships was probably earned then and there.
I would also be remiss if I don’t talk about my other child, Beckie’s daughter Avery. She was only one when I met her mom and I’m the only father she has ever known. Unfortunately, I was a distant dad to her at best, and once I divorced her mother, I was almost completely absent from her life. Of course, Renee and Kevin considered her a sister and they all stayed close. As did Beckie with my kids. By now I had taken another promotion in Arlington, VA and they all remained in South Carolina. I was odd man out so to speak.
It was only as an adult that I came to terms with Avery and I think for the most part she has forgiven me for the hurt I caused her, however unintentional. Now we hang out when I’m visiting, and she even came here to the Philippines a couple of years ago to join me on vacation.
I got lucky again having a second chance with this sweet young woman.
And life moves on. I disappeared to Korea for almost 12 years and now I hang my hat in the Philippines. The kids have kids of their own and are living their lives just fine without me there. It is great that Beckie is still a mom to them and even their real mother reappeared in their life when she retired and moved to South Carolina.
We always get on and have some fun when I’m around, which ain’t often I admit.Kevin had a long and successful career in journalism and now is doing great work in the insurance biz.Renee has given me two beautiful grandchildren and after a hurtful divorce is finding her way in the world again.
And the wheel in the sky keeps on turning. Childhood ends. The rebellious teen years pass. But this chapter of my life will never end. Indeed, I’ll live on through my children. That’s a legacy I can be proud of!
All together again last October. I’m pretty much a once a year dad these days.
Winter is here again oh Lord, Haven’t been home in a year or more I hope she holds on a little longer Sent a letter on a long summer day Made of silver, not of clay I’ve been runnin’ down this dusty road
Wheel in the sky keeps on turnin’ I don’t know where I’ll be tomorrow Wheel in the sky keeps on turnin’
Well, my pension is lots more than that but I ain’t got no Filipina looking that good either.
In the comments to a recent post, Kevin Kim asks: What’s the problem with Western women? After providing some examples of issues he has experienced with Asian women, Kev poses the question: So who’s more damaged (or kooky, or whatever), in your view? Western ladies or Asian ones? Why do you think so?
Well, if there is one thing I have in this life, it is a long and storied history with women. My relationship failures would make for a great romantic comedy (of errors), if they hadn’t happened to me. It’s hard to laugh in the face of pain. Still, what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, right? So I am going to endeavor to answer the questions posed as honestly as I can. The only caveat being that these are only my experience based opinions. It is not my intent to stereotype all women with particular characteristics, I can only speak to the ones who were crazy enough to be with me.
Alright then, let’s go. It is no secret to long time readers that I’ve had four wives. And I acknowledge and accept the fact that I am the only common denominator in each of those relationships. So yeah, it could be that I’m the problem. Three of my spouses were American, the last was a Korean. And I really don’t have anything bad to say about any of them. And when I said that I’d never be with a Western woman again it was primarily based on two factors–I live in the Philippines where foreign women are scarce; and I find Asian women much more attractive. Yeah, I’m that shallow.
It’s not necessarily all about physical beauty either. I’m attracted to the Asian mentality that a woman should take care of her man. Granted, they are not always sincere when they display that warm and loving nature, but Asian women tend to be more traditional in relationship roles. A Western woman is much more likely to say “make your own damn sandwich!”. So there’s that.
When I first came to Korea I was blown away at being surrounded by so many sexy females. You might say I caught the yellow fever. Don’t say that to a Korean woman though. I made that mistake once and it didn’t go over well at all! I wrote a rather long treatise about Korean females on an internet forum back in 2015. It goes into great detail about some of my personal experiences dating and loving the most beautiful women in Asia. Give it a read if you are so inclined.
So I eventually married a Korean woman. I loved her, she loved me and we built a life together. Was it perfect? Far from it. But I was committed to the choice I had made. Right up until she told me she didn’t have a happy life with me and wanted a divorce. I honestly do not know what happened or why she was so unhappy. She wouldn’t, or couldn’t tell me. And that language and communication barrier probably had a lot to do with it.
So the marriage failed and I was back in the market for love. And then I experienced some of the bad kind of crazy Kevin talks about in his comment. And that led me to conclude that love is just not worth the pain it brings. So I came up with a brand new plan. I wrote about that plan here. Actually, those two links probably answer the questions posed better and more thoroughly than I’m doing here. Suffice to say, the “plan” to just employ a Filipina to do all the things a girlfriend/wife would do without all the “love” bullshit blew up spectacularly in my face. Because I fell in love with her.
And what should have been a happy ending for us both was not to be. She chose instead to betray me and fall in love with another man. Just my luck, huh? Well, actually it was lucky for me. I had totally misjudged her nature and her character. If I had trusted her with my future I would have been in much worse shape than I am today. As I often tell myself, there are worse things than being alone.
But I digress. I have failed with Western women and I have failed with Asian women. I’m living in a country filled with beautiful brown skinned ladies and I haven’t given up hope that someday the right one for me will present herself and I will not be so jaded that I fail to seize the opportunity. In the meantime I’ll just keep on living the life that is not all it could be, but that is certainly good enough.
So here are my answers:
There is nothing wrong with Western women, they just don’t attract me.
In my experience Asian women are more damaged/kooky than Western women. The why of that is probably partly attributable to cultural differences and communication differences. Or maybe that is just the kind of Asian woman who is attracted to Western men.
As any honest woman would tell me “I’d have to be crazy to go out with you!”.
To all the girls I’ve loved before Who traveled in and out my door I’m glad they came along I dedicate this song To all the girls I’ve loved before
To all the girls I once caressed And may I say, I’ve held the best For helping me to grow, I owe a lot, I know To all the girls I’ve loved before
The winds of change are always blowing And every time I tried to stay The winds of change continued blowing And they just carried me a way
To all the girls who shared my life Who now are someone else’s wife I’m glad they came along I dedicate this song To all the girls I’ve loved before
To all the girls who cared for me Who filled my nights with ecstasy They live within my heart I’ll always be a part Of all the girls I’ve loved before
The winds of change are always blowing And every time I tried to stay The winds of change continued blowing And they just carried me way
Turns out I was a fool to think I could take on the responsibility of two dogs. Oh well, lesson learned. I think the most humane thing to do is take Lucky way up in the hills and let him go. He’s a smart dog, I’m sure he’ll learn to fend for himself. I guess you weren’t so Lucky after all. Sorry!
I remember many years ago I was attending some labor relations training in Memphis, Tennessee. One evening in the hotel bar a couple of freelance prostitutes approached me and a buddy and offered their services. We declined and jokingly pointed across the room to where the instructor of our course was sitting and told them, “he’ll be interested!”.
The next day at the conclusion of the course the instructor called students up one by one for their certificate of completion. And then he said “Is there anyone I missed?” Me and my friend raised our hands. He looked at us and said “this is the first time I’ve ever had students fail my course” then tore up two certificates in front of the astounded group before dismissing the class. When everyone had departed except for us he came over and said those prostitutes wouldn’t leave him alone, even followed him into the hotel elevator. He then gave us our certificates, smiled and said “if you can’t take a joke, fuck you!”
That’s a true story. Unlike the first paragraph. Which you would have to be a fool to believe. Today of all days!
I know it is rather cliche to characterize the teenage years as “rebellious”, but when the shoe fits…(ahem). I’m not exactly sure just what triggered me, but it seemed to coincide with my entry into high school.
The scene of some of my “high” crimes and misdemeanors.
As I mentioned in the previous chapter, I was from a working class family in an affluent upper middle class community. This “sin” was exacerbated in my high school which was notorious for its cliques and assignment of status among the students based on social standing. Where did I fit in? Basically nowhere, as I didn’t really meet the demographics of any group (jocks, muscle car racers, scholars, etc). Well, except maybe the stoners, but more on that later. So I was a loner for the most part, although outside of school I would hang with my neighborhood crew.
Most of the kids had fancy new cars courtesy of mommy and daddy. Me? I drove a 1963 Ford pickup during most of those glory days. I even named my vehicle–Redford. Get it? I did have a smokin’ hot girlfriend though!
Ah, Karen Michelle. My first love. Met her in journalism class as a freshman and we had a passionate relationship until she moved away to San Diego just before senior year. Took Karen’s cherry in the back seat of my mom’s 1969 Plymouth Fury when I took her to watch the submarine races at Huntington Beach. I actually continued to see her periodically after she moved, making the two hour drive down I-5 for the weekend when I could get off work and/or had the gas money.
When I wasn’t down south I had a local girlfriend named Gail Weed. It was the best of both worlds, right up until Karen and Gail wound up in the same place at the same time. In the end I lost them both, only then realizing that I was in love with Gail. Sound familiar? Bless her heart, Gail responded to my profession of undying (and exclusive) love going forward with a hearty “fuck off”. That would be the first in a long line of heartbreaks to come over the course of many lifetimes.
At the prom with Karen held aboard the Queen Mary in Long Beach. Thirty years later I saw Karen again at our high school reunion. Took her back to the Queen Mary for dinner and reminiscing. And then we rekindled the old passion for one night. We are still friends on Facebook which is nice.
My rebellion manifested itself in various ways. For one thing, I completely rejected the Protestant faith in which I had been raised. At some point I just became aware of the utter hypocrisy of the Christian church. And once I started questioning the values of the church I found I couldn’t intellectually accept the basic tenets of Christianity. I still do not believe Mary was a virgin or that Christ rose from the grave three days after being crucified. And so ended my budding career as a steel guitarist in my church’s band. Ah well.
I did run cross country my freshman year. I was actually pretty good for a youngster, running the two mile course in under 12 minutes (I think my best time was 11:40 or so). Whatever promise I held as a distance runner was apparently overshadowed by the fact that my hair touched the top of my ears. Coach Hedges (who may have been a drill sergeant at one time) told me to cut my hair or I wouldn’t be allowed to participate in future meets. So I quit the team. And now 50 years later I’m a Harrier once again. Life’s funny, ain’t it?
Academically, I couldn’t be bothered with bullshit like homework or in some cases, attending class on a regular basis. And my grades tended to reflect that.
Well, what can I say? Mere grades don’t reflect the value of a man, right?
I did have success in my Journalism class. In fact, I rose to become editor-in-chief of our high school paper.
The paper had been called “The Scroll” since forever. My fellow staffers and I thought the name old fashioned and we set about changing it. I suggested “Harvest” (mostly because I was a big Neil Young fan) and the staff agreed. And so it was done. Looking back, it is kind of a stupid name, but what hell, right?
Being a writer with the paper gave me another outlet for feeding my desire to “stick it to the man”. I had my own column on the editorial page called “A Few Words On…” Each issue I’d address some controversial topic of interest to me. One I specifically recall because it almost got our adviser fired when he resisted the school principal’s effort to censor it was called “Our Gestapo”. I basically (and probably unfairly) took the security staff to task for their over bearing nature in enforcing the rules.
And I did political stuff as well. Nixon was always a good foil for a know-it-all teenager like me!
I wasn’t always wrong on the issues though. I had editorialized that a California Proposition on the ballot to decriminalize marijuana should be approved.That created a bit of a shitstorm at the time.
Talk about being ahead of your time! California did make pot legal over 40 years later…
Speaking of marijuana…starting at about fifteen years of age I became a bonafide pothead. I smoked dope whenever and wherever I could. And this being Southern Cal in the 1970’s, it was easier to get stoned than to get drunk. Although I did that on occasion as well. Pot was locally grown and relatively cheap at $10 an ounce. I experimented with other drugs as well, like LSD, but really only liked smoking grass. And truth be told, being high a lot of the time sucked whatever motivation I had to work hard in school right out of me. It’s a wonder I managed to graduate.
But I did. It necessitated me taking night classes at the local community college to earn the required number of credits to qualify for this Diploma.Who me? My senior picture. In a final act of defiance I boycotted the graduation ceremony. And now, welcome to the real world!
My criminality wasn’t strictly limited to my use of illegal substances. I was a notorious flaunter of traffic laws, mostly speeding related. And once I stole a car to replace a friend’s car I had drunkenly driven into a brick wall. But I was only arrested once:
On or about July 4, 1973, at 18900 Gothard Street, Huntington Beach, County of Orange, [John McCrarey] did willfully, unlawfully and maliciously disturb the peace and quiet of Mrs. Hal Westley Shirey by offensive conduct, and the use of vulgar, profane, and indecent language, in a loud and boisterous manner, in violation of Section 415 of the Penal Code of California.
My crime was yelling “fuck you pigs” after being ticketed for a bullshit offense. If you are curious about the details, I told the story here.
As a result of that episode I had the final falling out with my father whereupon I moved out of the house and on my own at 17. Good thing I had my own career already.
Graveyard shift at a convenience store making two bucks an hour!
I worked there for several months until the night I was robbed. Pretty scary shit that was. And being the rebel that I was I had failed to make my regular drops into the safe (the rule was never more than $30 in the cash drawer). I probably had close to $100 at the time of the holdup. I guess that raised suspicions at corporate, because they told me to come to the office for a polygraph. As if I was involved with robbing myself! I was a punk, but I wasn’t no Jussie Smollett. Anyway, I told them they could stick the polygraph up their ass and quit.
I then embarked on a hitchhiking trip with a buddy across the Pacific Northwest. We had planned to enter Canada, but the Canadian border guards apparently didn’t like our looks. The pretext they used was we didn’t have enough money with us to be granted entrance. Bullshit! “How much do I need? I’ll wire home and get it.” He looked at me and said “son, you’ll never have enough money to get into Canada”. If you are interested in the details of that sad story, I wrote about it here. Anyway, I’ve never been back to Canada since that attempt, but I always swore then when I go, I’m going to do it at that border crossing.
Seriously Canada? What’s wrong with a fine upstanding young man like me?
Anyway, I came back home and found a better job working day shift in a factory. I also suffered my first bout of major depression and spent weeks planning to commit suicide. Even bought the drugs I planned to use to end my life. When the appointed day arrived I changed my mind for some reason. Best decision of a lifetime! I would not have wanted to miss all the lifetimes that followed that one.
And as fate would have it, near the end of my 19th year an event occurred that was destined to change everything. Stay tuned for Chapter 3.
He’s a rebel and he’ll never ever be any good He’s a rebel ’cause he never ever does what he should But just because he doesn’t do what everybody else does That’s no reason why I can’t give him all my love
Today I acquired/rescued a puppy. I’ve named him Lucky. I mentioned him in this post back in February.
Everyday I would walk by and see him tied up on a short leash, no food or water or shade. And since taking this photo last month his condition has gotten worse and worse. Skinnier and covered in some mange like stuff that is causing him to lose his fur. Heartbreaking.
Marissa asked one of the security guards to find out if the owner (who apparently does maintenance work here in Alta Vista) if he’d be willing to sell the pup for 500 pesos (around $10). The guard later told us the owner said yes, so we paid the money and brought him home this morning.
First thing we did was give him some food. Poor guy was starving! Then Marissa gave him a much needed bath. I’m pretty sure it is the first one he has ever had.
I had previously purchased an enclosure for the back yard and a dog house, thinking I’d use it for Buddy. But Buddy turned out to be mostly an indoor dog.
But for the time being at least it’s where Lucky is going to hang out. I need to get him to the vet on Monday for shots, de-worming, and treatment for that skin condition. Don’t want him infecting Buddy with that shit. Still, compared to a two foot long leash, Lucky is living in luxury. He seems to enjoy his new house! You can see that mange or whatever it is on his head. I hope he is not suffering too much, but I will get it treated as soon as possible.
Buddy is very curious about the new addition to our family, but I’m keeping him away for now. I think they will get along fine though. I can sense that Buddy longs for a canine playmate so this ought to be a good thing for all concerned.
Making a difference, one dog at a time!
Speaking of lucky, I enjoyed looking at photos from the team building trip I took with my staff one year ago. Including this one:
Let’s hope this posed photo is not replicated on one of my daily crossings of the National Highway here in Barretto. Well, I’m getting pretty good at Frogger….
Wow. Two posts in one day! I’m out of control. I better go drink some beer. It’s Saturday night!
You better watch what you say You better watch what you do to me Don’t get carried away Girl, if you can do better than me, go Yeah go, but remember Good love is hard to find Good love is hard to find You got lucky, babe You got lucky, babe, when I found you
You put a hand on my cheek And then you turned your eyes away If you don’t feel complete If I don’t take you all o’ the way, then go Yeah go, but remember Good love is hard to find Good love is hard to find You got lucky, babe You got lucky, babe, when I found you
But anyone can write a poem, even me! Especially a bad one. Well, it’s been a long, long time since I put verses on paper but back in the day I was a poem writing fool. I had cause to be reminded of this fact when I opened “the box of memories” I brought back with me from the last visit to the USA.
An old wine box. But after reading some of the crap inside, it might be more apt to call it a whine box.Photographs, cards and letters, and lots of original words on paper–a journal, some short stories, and some bad poetry. All authored by yours truly back in the early 1970’s. Yep, the contents were still dripping with teenage angst even after all these years.
I was somewhat taken aback at how similar some of those emotions I was expressing back then are to ones I still sometimes experience. And the opposite is true as well, I found my self shaking my head at the sad and petulant young man who fancied himself a writer. Geez, and here I am overcoming that shame by sharing some of those words here with you now. Ha! Finally published after all these years!
Okay, I’m not going to edit or rewrite this crap, but some of it will be excerpted so you’ll get the flavor without having to suffer overmuch. Let’s start with a twofer–a sheet of notebook paper dated December 14, 1972 with these two poems:
The Only Way
Perhaps the best way Is your way Maybe the best belief Is not to believe Maybe the only answer Is no answer And maybe the only time Is this time... And yet, Why can't our love Be the only love?
Alone
Alone in my fantasies Alone with my dreams But when I wake with the dawning One sullen fact remains That I am alone in my love for you--- The sun doesn't shine, it rains.
Well, I warned you. Let’s try this:
I wrote this for my creative writing class in my junior year if I recall correctly. My teacher was a bit of a prick (he called a sonnet I had worked hard on and was proud of “extremely corny”), so this was high praise coming from him. Yeah, I was a full-on anti-war protester back in those days and wrote several Vietnam themed poems. I am not proud of the sentiment expressed in this one. I think it may have been prompted by the My Lai massacre, but it was wrong then and so was I.
Here’s an excerpt from a poem called New Year’s Eve which I assume I wrote on New Year’s Eve. Not sure which New Year’s Eve, but given my history of ill-fated love, it could be just about ANY New Year’s Eve.
You never even took the time To see what you were using And you were shocked when you found out It was you who did the losing
And you really can't help looking back Was it all just another game? You pretend it doesn't matter But you've never felt quite the same
And when it's finally all over Will you look at your life and be sad? Will you remember the people and places And the love you could have had?
I had a typewriter and a hippie mentality back in those days. Geez, this one makes me cringe. And I’m pretty sure the punctuation is all wrong. I’d usually get A’s and B’s on content and D’s on composition. I have no idea why I took to calling myself John Mark McCrarey II. I’m the first and only. I guess I thought it looked cool. Geez.
Alright, I’ve tortured you just about enough I suppose. But before you go, let me share a short essay that just so happens to be the oldest thing in the box, written in my sophomore English class on October 22, 1970. It’s called: Love? Hah!
People are really fools but nobody ever seems to notice this, not even me, until recently. A couple of days ago a friend of mine came up to me and said, “John, I’m in love with Joyce.” I held back from laughing out of friendship, but inside I was thinking “you’re just as dumb as the rest of them.”
Not many people realize there’s no love in the world anymore. Why? Well, for one thing, nobody seems to have time for love in a modern society. Yeah, a lot of people say they’re in love, but they are only fooling themselves. Love is only in the mind. People like to think they are in in love, I guess it makes them happy. I’m not knocking love, how can I? There’s no such thing!
I was only in love once and that’s how I found out about the whole phony thing. It doesn’t make any difference though; people will still foolishly go on searching for something they will never find, something that doesn’t exist, something they call love. Hah!
Hard to believe I was so cynical about love at the tender age of fifteen. Hmm, the more things change, the more they remain the same.
I don’t brag on the kids much here at LTG, but every once in awhile I just can’t help myself. Daughter Renee sent me this video clip of a commercial featuring her younger brother Kevin:
Who says the fruit doesn’t fall far from the tree? It obviously did in this case!
It was a big move for Kevin giving up his broadcasting career for a more stable and family oriented work environment. I’m really pleased he’s doing so well in his new professional life. Of course the success I’m most proud of is the generous nature of his character. Well done, son. Well, done.
Meanwhile, Renee had one of those rare “full circle” events recently. Her daughter Gracyn is big time into volleyball. And she wound up playing a match at the high school Renee and Kevin attended.
Ha Ha! I accidentally uploaded this image of Gracyn as a newborn! She’s only 6 months younger than LTG!“Hey Mom, look what I found!”The fruit DID NOT fall far from the tree in Gracyn’s case!
Anyway, that’s enough bragging for one day. I didn’t have much to do with how great my kids turned out anyway. I just got lucky I suppose.
As I mentioned in a post here awhile back I want to write about the lives I’ve lived within this lifetime. The ultimate vanity project to be sure but I just can’t seem to help myself. So here goes.
I guess the obvious starting point is where it all started. The life I led as a child. As I’ve looked back on those times it seems an overstatement to call childhood the foundation on which the rest of your life is built. Obviously I can only speak for myself in that regard, but I just don’t think anything that happened in those “formative” years has been a hindrance or burden to overcome nor can I see anything in that distant past that led me to become who and what I am today. Sure, it’s all about growing up and learning but I’m not sure I had enough self-awareness to have been shaped or scarred for life by childhood events. Hell, maybe I just got lucky!
Which is not to say that I had a particularly easy time of it back then. I’m still keenly aware of growing up in a working class family in a wealthy upper middle class environment that was Orange County, California in the 1960’s.
Garden Grove, my first hometown as it looked back in the day. I was technically born in Los Angeles, but we lived in Garden Grove and Westminster throughout my childhood.
I want to make the distinction between working class and poor. We always had food to eat and a roof over our heads. It may have been ground beef and chicken and our house was old and not in one of those fancy new subdivisions, but we got by alright I suppose.
And we had love. Tough love, as neither of my parents brooked much bullshit. I recall my dad in particular taking off his belt and saying before a (usually deserved) whipping “this is going to hurt me more than you”. It never really felt that way to me though…
My father managed a fast food restaurant called the “Rite Spot”. Up until McDonald’s opened a franchise right across the street. He then took up work as a route salesman delivering food items to the catering houses that served the booming construction industry. My mom worked as a carhop at a drive-in restaurant and later as an assembler on the night shift at a manufacturing plant. My grandma Pernie was always around to take care of us kids while we were growing up.
Hanging out with the bros. Ignorance can be bliss, and it took awhile before I was made aware that our family was “different” by community standards.
We vacationed every year. Usually on the Kern River a few hours away in San Bernadino county. Camping and fishing of course.
Dad always had money for beer and cigarettes, so we weren’t doing too bad. And damn, if you’ve never gutted and pan fried a rainbow trout right out of the river, well, you don’t know what you missed! And I guess maybe all those camping trips instilled in me a love of the outdoors that I satisfy today with long ass walks in the local mountains.My dad only got one week of vacation a year, but on some weekends he’d load us up in the pack of his Jeep pickup truck and drive us out to the desert. Good times!
Our street, Milton Avenue, was sort of a mishmash of 1940’s era homes surrounded by new housing developments. Well, we were bounded on one side by the newly constructed Interstate (the 405 if I recall correctly). So all my childhood friends were similarly situated, economically speaking. And we always found a way to have fun. Playing sandlot baseball, building hideouts and forts, and riding our bicycles. Me and my buds would often ride the 8 miles or so to the beach and hang out all day. We had a lot of freedom back then, sort of a “be home when the streetlights come on”, until then we were left to our own devices. We pretty much stayed out of trouble, and collected pop bottles for the deposits to give us some spending money. I have fond memories of the community spirit we developed.
When I was 11 or 12, one of the neighbors invited me to his church, a small evangelical house of worship. Well, my grandma was Assembly of God so I had been exposed to all of the craziness (like speaking in tongues) from an early age. Anyway, I wound up getting invited to join the church orchestra and choir. I didn’t play an instrument, but no problem they provided me an old lap style steel guitar. I didn’t read music, but they just numbered the frets on the guitar and put corresponding numbers on the notes of the sheet music. So, I just plucked away and used the slide accordingly. It seemed to work, or at least no one ever complained about my “music”. I’m a notoriously bad singer so they called me a tenor and stuck me in the back row. And later that summer we actually did a tour across the western U.S. states. Random church families would takes us in for the nights we were in town. I was one of the youngest members of the group and I recall not being entirely comfortable with the situation. Everyone was nice to me though, so nothing traumatic to report.
In school I was an average student at best, mostly due to laziness I suppose. I always hated homework. But it was in school that I became acutely aware that I was not like my peers. I didn’t wear the same nice clothes, didn’t live in the nice neighborhood, didn’t hang out with the cool kids. That kind of thing. And yes, kids can be cruel and they were. And so can adults. I’ve actually written a little about this before in a post called “A working class hero is something to be”.
Two incidents stand out. One day the kids were all laughing at my shoes. Which admittedly were ridiculous. A gift from my uncle who was a shoe salesman. Probably a couple of sizes too large. But they were new and so I was compelled to wear them.
They looked something like this.
Anyway, the teacher came out to see what all the commotion was about. Someone said “look at McCrarey’s shoes!”. The teacher looked and burst out laughing too. I think she felt bad about it though.
The other incident that is seared into my memory involves my 7th grade math teacher, Peter Boothroyd. I’m sure he’s dead by now so I won’t begrudge him. Much. I was being my usual smart ass self in class one day and he called me out on it by saying “Keep it up McCrarey and you’ll wind up selling jello out of a truck like your father”. Ouch. Well, as it turns out I did for a time wind up working in route sales (sandwiches, not jello). But I’m proud to say that I went on to bigger and better things, beyond anything a pea brain like Peter Boothroyd could have imagined possible. Hmm, I guess maybe I am still a little bitter.
But seriously, so I grew up poorer than most of the community that surrounded me. And that maybe resulted in me being an outsider. Perhaps it impacted my self-esteem some. Honestly, I’d say that makes me luckier than many people. I certainly had no great tragedy or trauma to overcome. And if anything if provided me more motivation later in life to make sure my kids had the kind of life I did not.
Bottom line, my childhood life seems to have little or no relevance to what I became or who I am now. I would wager that is true for most people. I think the next chapter of my life had a far greater impact on my future. A future I could just as easily have lost. Stay tuned for the next installment!
Pretty much. But I’m going to keep writing anyway.
As soon as you’re born they make you feel small By giving you no time instead of it all Till the pain is so big you feel nothing at all A working class hero is something to be A working class hero is something to be
They hurt you at home and they hit you at school They hate you if you’re clever and they despise a fool Till you’re so fucking crazy you can’t follow their rules A working class hero is something to be A working class hero is something to be
Yesterday’s Hash may have been the best one ever for me. And the reason in large part was we spent a lot of time on perhaps the best beach I’ve ever seen. It was stunningly beautiful.
Puerto Princesa’sNagtabon Beach. A nice drone video of the beach at the link.“Where the sun hits the water and the mountains meet the sand…”“…there’s a beach that I walk along sometimes…” Those buildings at the far end of the beach, Oliver’s Resort, was our on-home location. Only accessible by foot…
So, Nagtabon beach was an hour bus ride from our hotel in Puerto Princesa. That included a 15 minute delay when the lead bus broke down. The drivers did some roadside repairs, got a couple buckets of water from a nearby house, and refilled the radiator. Pretty impressive really. Once we reached our destination we off loaded Hashers and supplies and hoofed it the half kilometer or so down the beach to Oliver’s. The Hare (Wild Wolf) advised there would be three trails with durations of 7, 5, and 3 kilometers. And two beer checks along the way! Beer checks were quite common in my Korea kennel but this is only the second time I’ve experienced them here in the PI.
And then we were “ON-ON”, on the beach as it were.That’s Salty Cum enjoying a cold beverage at the first beer stop.And then it was on up the mountain. The climb was mostly on the road, but it was steep and hot.Looking back from whence I came.That tricky Hare made us climb up an embankment. Once at the top we saw that we could have stayed on the road which curved around just past that house. Oh well.And soon enough we reached the second beer check.Your humble correspondent taking in the view.The unobstructed view of Nagtabon Beach from the top. As is my custom, I opted for the medium length trail…….which meandered its way steadily down the mountain. My Hash shirt makes for good camouflage, don’t you think?The descent was not too steep but did get tricky in places. Salty Cum was taking a photo of me when a woman behind us took a good tumble. Those roots can be treacherous if your foot gets caught while falling. At first the woman thought she had broken or dislocated her ankle. Fortunately that proved not to be the case, just a severe strain. I let her use my walking stick and Salty assisted her the rest of the way back. Almost back down to sea level.This portion of the beach was nothing but rocks. And that made for some tough hiking the last kilometer of the trail.Still pretty though….…and I got to practice my rock climbing skills. Which are pretty much non-existent……but I just leaned into it and made my way back “on-home”.
And so ended my first ever Hash Bash. Lots of fun, lots of interesting people from all over the world and of course, lots of beer!
The Day 1 adventure is now history. As these photos illustrate.
I was anticipating a swingin’ good time.Standing around waiting to get started. Over 100 Hashers in attendance for this event. Let’s get this show on the road! A 30 minute bus ride to the trail head.And we are off!The beginning of the walker’s trail…7K start to finish…And we are ON-ON!Turns out there are mountains in the area. We stayed in the foothills yesterday, but rumor has it will be doing some serious up and down today.It was a nice change of scenery from the Barretto routine…It feels hotter here though than back home.I asked Salty Cum if it was better to walk on flat ground in the sunshine or uphill in the shade? She prefers shade. I tend to agree.One last hill to climb. Actually, the trail was not at all difficult compared to what I’m used to…Heading back down to the sea…The final half klick was on the highway….….which led us “on-home” at Kay’s Hot Spring resort….And yes, there was ice. And yes, I was required to sit on it. My sin was being a pain in the ass for registering late. After the on-home festivities were completed, we bused back to the hotel and prepared for our dinner at Chez Rose, an eatery about 300 yards up the beach. Where we were also entertained with a live band and fire dancers….
No San Mig Zero here so I’ve been getting a little drunker than normal. Need to work on pacing myself better I suppose. Anyway, time to get ready for Day 2. More to come….
