I just learned that George Washington was my cousin.
And Daniel shared this picture of his co-workers having fun at work yesterday.
I have no idea what I'm doing anymore. I'm sure this is how we've all felt at one time, because we're all human.
My self softens into nothing, my friend becomes quiet and peaceful, and here we are.
I wrote the above, last night, of a day that I just discovered, I don't remember. The neighbor had to be Daniel, I'll check when he gets off work.
But I touched base with my smokin buddy today, laughing about speeding down his driveway yesterday and sliding to a stop at his door. He remembered it very well, except it was the day before.
Which officially means I don't remember yesterday at all. My friend mentioned coming by with his brother last night while Daniel was there. I was on the ground out front at some point, Daniel said just leave him alone, he'll pick himself up, according to stories.
Today I remember so far. Bought some meatloaf and veggies at Legends, their first customer at 1030. Hit the Park, ran into a guy named Jerry who I've met before up there. We chated about old campers on old trucks, owned by old guys.
It's so weird to lose a day of your life. Tomorrow is important, I will be hooking up with the beautiful Erica at 1030. She has the most amazing light blue eyes, a true southern sweetheart, and she is going to cut most every hair off my head and face.
I have not cut a single hair off my head (ok, shaved a few off the top) since she did it before Christmas last year, along with the Christmas Nails.
I'm a mess, and I'm hoping she can bring me back to life. She has moved on from the Beauty College and landed at a great beauty shop in the middle of town.
I had to book this appointment last week, she's our new popular hair stylist in town. She asks about me every time Daniel goes in, and she's about to get my wild ass hairy head tomorrow!
I grabbed a snapshot from a video created back in Oakland, CA, when Riley was just a baby. Just wanted to let the world know I've been there from the beginning, I stood outside the delivery room and they placed him in my arms first.
It's been a true honor to be Riley's dad. We've had fun times together, he's grown into a fine man, a great husband, and a wonderful father. I love him.
I think my grand-children got their pretty gene from me. My mom and dad were good looking people, both representing strong lineages, across the mid-west on my moms side, the south on my dad's side, spanning centuries.
Here's my grand-daughter Shannon from one of her model shoots.
I mossied up into town today around 0930. I was hoping that some wonderful persons had set up a, I don't know what you call it, a trailer with people cooking food inside.
I missed one a while back, I was eating a terrible fast food fish sandwich, while watching folks buy lobster meals from the back of the truck next door.
No food trucks so I just kept going and did a shop at Krogers. Back home, Daniel asked me if I would like to drive up to the store with him. Well, of course!
He had just had his ride detailed, looking pretty, full tank of gas, early in the afternoon of a St Patricks Sunday.
So Daniel, a man who was born and raised here, and has lived his entire fifty six years of life here, turns to me and says where would you like to go?
I said somewhere I've never been and for the next hour or so we were cruising Iron City backroads that blew my mind. Places so far off the grid that the only time the police would show up, is when they absolutely have to.
We ended up at a bar called Parker's Place down on the Alabama border. Daniel and I were both wearing cowboy hats and probably looked like a father/son act as we came through the door. We hung out, had a beer and decided the best thing to do was to set the GPS to Home.
Here it is around 1800, door wide open, birds thanking me for the seed. I am alone. Suddenly the phone rings and it's a voice from Tampa, my favorite grand-daughter sending her love my way.
The truth is, I'm really beat up. I've been trying to hide it, but I'm a broken man. I think that's what drives me to write, I need to capture and save whatever I can, just in case somebody cares down the road.
Riley had a childhood friend growing up in Kent, WA named Andrew. He was my friend also, as were his parents, Sheila and Brad. He spent a lot of time at my place and apparently saw me as some sort of technology guru.
He's reached out and we've talked recently. Turns out he got into tech and says I gave him the inspiration to do so. I just got a voice mail from him that said:
Would you be against the idea of me visiting you? I know I'm not family, but still, 30 years later I still see you as my non biological dad.
Wow, I'm honered and of course I said yes, it would be great to see him. Here's a shot I grabbed of him from a video link he sent:
It's a good thing Riley and Jess have a new baby, because this one is taken.
She's watching, she's learning, from her master craftsman father!
Until they merge together, safely and at peace...
This is my mom in Long Beach, CA, the Fall of '46. My dad was a sailor and he had probably split for Texas at this point. One night, she found a sitter and went to a bar, where she met Paul, fell in love, married him, and they stayed together for life.
One night Paul called me, we were all living in Oakland, CA at the time, and he asked me to come over and get my mom stoned. I said sure, we had never done this before, so I grabbed my big bong pipe, some bud, and drove over.
Paul was on a machine for his lungs, shooting vodka into them to get high. He knew his time was near and he had opened up.
I showed my mom how to take a big bong hit and hold it in. We did a couple of those, Paul squirted vodka, their eyes lit up, and they started talking.
I sat there in their kitchen and learned about the meeting in the bar. They both had different memories about some things and laughed about it.
The fact that I'm still here, writing about it, finding old photos that have magically remained in my hands, then enhancing and sharing them, humbles me.
It's 1600 and all I've eaten today is a small bowl of cereal with a banana, early this morning. Not really too hungry, more muncie, so I'm cruising around the local places that have signed up with doordash, and found this.
The total was $19.14, fortunatly Daniel was next door and helped me eat it. It was all good, except the Chimichanga's were advertised as Deep Fried, which implies a thin crisp shell. These were not, they were thick shelled tortillas. I won't order them again, and yes I left a review.
I was the Lead Supervisor for ATC/Vancom, based out of Kent, WA, south of Seattle. We were the largest paratransit outfit on the West Coast and I had several supervisors and many drivers under me.
I worked my way up with them as a driver and won the first Employee of the Year award, becoming supervisor shortly after. Suddenly there was a rift between two factions of management and Rafeh, the big boss, called Jerry, Lance and me into Jerry's trailer and we bonded together to stop the takeover by the other guys.
We won, and went on to build a great company. I was given the lead supervisor spot, and my job was to train new ones. I wrote a great supervisors manual while on vacation in Hawaii with Riley.
I had great adventures at that job, met Steph there, she was the receptionist, and everything was great until the feds swept in, but that's another story.
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