My grandfather said, “Arf!” He’d come around a corner, see you coming the other way and “Arf!” After while, this pre-kindergartener started saying it back – “Arf!” “Arf!” as a mutual greeting.
For decades I thought he was just mimicking a dog, and in fact, that interpretation of what he was doing led to a whole life of making animal sounds, weird sounds, character voices and impressions of celebrities.
But decades after he died I came across an old Popeye comic from the 1930s in which Popeye exclaimed “Arf!” when he was surprised by something. In fact, Popeye said this all the time! I suddenly realized my grandfather had been quoting Popeye from his youth and not greeting me but exclaiming surprise at encountering someone charging around the corner at him.
Imagine, a whole life of making sounds based on a fortuitous but erroneous interpretation! I wonder how many of the foundational ways we feel about life and about people, upon which we build entire life-guiding narratives are actually based on misconceptions and/or misinterpretations, for better or worse?
Bill and I did everything together. We shared the same outlandish sense of humor, were both very creative, and when we got together it was an explosion of humor, satire, and odd & wonderful ideas.
When we wanted to start a business I asked, what kind of business it should be. Bill responded, “Let’s flip a coin – heads we’re a clothing store, tails were a zoo.”
Once when shopping in the now defunct Akron store, he stopped by a display of brass items and proclaimed, “Oh neat! An astrolabe! (pause) What’s an astrolabe?”
And upon first seeing Old Faithful when he joined us for a family road trip vacation on year, “Actually, it’s a whale trapped under three feet of solid rock.”
Bill eventually joined the navy, then took a job as a prison guard out of state. He’s now retired, but just as much the irreverent wit in our conversations on FB.
This picture? It is of Bill in a building he and I literally demolished with our bare hands. It was a workshop on the property of the home my family was renting, but had become infested with termites, which was too bad, since it was actually a lovely little L-shaped building in the corner of the property with a Crepe Myrtle in a planter in the crook of the L in a little patio area. Many house-like windows and much light. Probably a great place to putz around in during its heyday,
My parents had contacted the landlady to tell her about the termites and she agreed it should come down. I put in my bid to do the job for a hundred bucks, and split the money with Bill. It took us a year to take it down and cart off the debris using nothing but non-powered hand tools. We started by poking a hole in the roof with a crowbar, then used hand saws to cut all the way around the supporting beams until the roof came down. It was built so solidly that it took forever, even with our best efforts.
Once, I was working alone, snipping restraining wires that were strung under tension along the inside layer of tar paper that formed a barrier in the walls, and the wire snapped and swung right by my eye, putting a groove in the white, but just missing the cornea and not breaking into the humors. Close call! I was more careful after that.
So, getting back to this picture, after the building came down, there was something a patio left from the foundation, and my parents put our old couch out there, and Bill is sitting there at the end of one of our rapid-fire conversations.
Please note, he isn’t holding a cell phone in the picture, though it looks like it. But those weren’t invented in 1971/72 when this picture was taken. Rather, he’s just holding his hand up against his head, though it sure looks like clear evidence of time travel to me.
On that note, Bill and I because enamored of the notion of time travel and one time we buried a time-capsule at the base of a huge tree – a note stuffed in the shell of a military gun cartridge that was about an inch wide and six inches high.
We said in the note that if time travel had been invented in their age, come on back and see us! Then we put plastic wrap over the open end of the cartridge, held in place with a rubber band, and placed it about one foot down into the ground.
Since nobody showed up, we figured either time travel didn’t exist, or the note didn’t survive or was never found, or there was time travel but they wouldn’t or couldn’t come back to tell us.
Since then, the tree has long been cut down and that part of the yard (which is next to an alley) was paved over to make a parking lot for a small storage building the new owner of the property put on the property when he bought it from our old landlady, shortly before I left to get married.
And that, is today’s glimpse back into the past, and a little slice of our family history.
One of my first attempts at an artistic portrait. My folks gave me my first 35mm camera for my graduation from high school, and it was that very summer that the family gathered at my childhood home (perhaps even a graduation party) when I clicked a few portraits of family and family friends attending.
It’s not an outstanding shot by any means, but I’ve always had a knack of catching something special, something true to the inner self of the person I am photographing.
Aunt Toots was a free thinking woman with a sly sense of humor – always full of energy and loved a good party. I think you can see that in this image, which is why, to me, it transcends a simple snap shot.
For the family – Aunt Toots was my grandmother’s sister.
This is Tippi – not sure of the spelling. Not my dog, but belonging to my Uncle Bernie and Aunt Kay. Aunt Kay was my grandfather’s sister.
Why am I posting a picture of Tippi? Well my Uncle and Aunt had no children, and there’s no one left but me who actually met the friendly critter. There are no family members left to mourn his/her loss from time to time.
But I have this picture, and quite simply, I refuse to be the one who allows that little furry spirit to slip into oblivion when I’m gone.
So, now you keep a little bit of Tippi alive in your memory as well – like a corner cut from a hologram that still contains the full image, but just from one side.
It’s been a tough couple of months, but I’m finally back in the zone. We’ve been pulling all our boxes out of the carport where we keep them in storage and also plan on bringing down all the stuff we still have in storage in Big Bear.
We want to pare it all down ruthlessly – tired of being chained to all that crap (with a little good stuff mixed in). With all my parents and everyone of an older generation gone now, I’m kinda cut free from anyone who remembers my childhood.
It’s like a bubble leaving the wand – nothing else can go in it and it is no longer connected to you in a way you can change anything.
But I have all these photos, several moving boxes full that have never been looked at by me, much less scanned. And albums too. And then all the snapshots and slides I took in my early years, and all the digital photos when that came into vogue. Not to mention home movies on 8mm, Super 8, VHS, 8mm tape, and digital as well.
I honestly don’t think I even have enough time left on this planet to look at them all and give each its due. So, I’m going to try and gather the physical pictures together by person, group, or event in plastic bags – something for the family archives. And I’ll be doing the same for the digital stuff as well.
And when I skim through this material and encounter the odd shot that brings back a special memory or exemplifies someone or particularly contributes to the family history, I’ll post it here, for the kids and grandkids, for the record, and for any other friends or family to whom it might bring a smile or conjure up a recollection of their own.
So here goes….
Cousin Darline (Sklenar) Martin – Three shots I took at the house where I grew up with my mom and step dad when her family visited mine. I know I’ve posted these before, but 1971 is the first year I’ve sorted things into so that’s what you’re going to get over the next few days / weeks.
My step-father has just passed from complications due to Covid.
He had been moved to hospice yesterday. Today, the chaplain arranged for video calls for me and also for my daughter to see him and speak to him one final time. I had not seen him since Covid started.
He had been in the hospital 27 days before hospice. I had spoken with him on the phone three times during the ordeal, and the procedures he endured were very uncomfortable.
But today, he was in a pleasant bedroom with soft light from an off-screen window. He was not connected to any machines or devices, no restraints that he had previously had.
He was comfortably covered in sheet and blanket on a fine bed and looked finally at peace after all his travail. I was able to tell him we were all so proud of the man he was – how he always tried to do what God wanted him to do, no matter the cost to himself.
He often gave his possessions away to those who needed them more, and was the best kind of Christian, who followed the spirit of Christ of love, tolerance, and forgiveness.
He could completely disagree with people, distant or family, even when he though they were going against the Lord, and still offer compassion and fellowship, and pray that they would someday see the light, even while readily admitting is own illumination was imperfect and that there was no end to his own seeking of the truth.
I loved my father so much. He came into my life when I was seven, accepted the responsibilities of fatherhood and gave me his time, his wisdom, and his heart.
He was my scoutmaster, my chauffeur before I could drive, and even was my assistant in my business for a time in later years. In short, he was always there to support me, in painting a picture for my birthday of my favorite photograph he had taken, driving us on family vacations, organizing trips to Disneyland, the beach, or to see family friends, staying up all night to complete a homework assignment for me while I slept.
He was a fine artist, an inspired composer and pianist, and a veteran who served in Japan in the late 1950s. But most of all, he was a wonderful, loving, nurturing father who encouraged me to find my own way, and guided me to discover the path to it.
He had two small strokes about fifteen years ago that ended his piano playing and artistry, but only in his hands, not in his mind.
For the past four years, I have had the good fortune to have returned to his area where he was living, and visited him in the nursing home every week where we would share stories of his childhood and mine, speak of fond memories, go over our family photo albums, and discuss current events, both of our kin and of the world at large.
I would often bring him special meals, some made by me, but most cooked up by Teresa to share with him. Mary always wished him a greeting whenever I went to visit, and he always sent one in return.
But we shared more that just food and entertainment and news and memories. We shared our hearts, unfettered and open – a conduit filled only with love.
I shall miss him greatly, as I miss my natural father, my mother, my grandparents and all those souls who treated me so well, and whom I hold in my heart every day.
But this is my father’s day – the beginning of his great journey to be with the Lord – the moment he had spent his whole life waiting for and anticipating.
I, myself, am a spiritual agnostic, but my dad was a man of faith. And in respect for the goodness that brought out in him, I will simply wish him well in the hereafter with the words that we spoke to each other at the end of every conversation: “I love you, and God Bless”
