Turtle Rock

So, let me preface my answer by saying that I do not like my iPhone even just a little bit. As a product of the 1960s, I can tell you that life was easier to understand before the digital, binary world we live in now even though 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, and 9 were around to complicate everything.

The binary world we now find ourselves in makes no sense to my mechanical mind. Mechanics make perfect sense. All sequences start woth 1, then 2, 3, and so on. The same with A to B, then to C, in a logical sequence. In the digital world there is no logical sequence. You might start at Z, then go to F, and who knows where after that. The nerds undoubtedly developed that system just to get back at the mechanics!

I truly long for the days before cell phone technology! I have an iPhone only because it’s necessary. iPhones do too many things and require too much of me. It really drives me crazy. Often times I have wished I could do what Christopher Walken did in “Around The Bend.” While on a family road trip, he becomes annoyed by a ringing cell phone while the others are all sleeping. He spontaneously grabs the ringing cell phone in a moment of disgust and throws it out the window! Admit it! There have been a few times that you wanted to do just that! At least once. I know I have wanted to – more than once!

My favorite app hasn’t been developed yet. So, here’s something for all you app designers out there.

The one, single app I would like to have is a Self-destruct app. You know, like on Mission Impossible! Don’t laugh! I’m sure I’m not the only one who would love having it!

In all seriousness however, my favorite apps on my phone include

1) Ultimate Guitar because I’m a guitar player.

2) Simple Radio that allows me to listen to one of the two San Francisco radio stations I grew up listening to during the 1960s, Classic 1260, KYA – The Boss of the Bay. I can reminisce to the Golden Gate Greats of my teen years still being spun by Gary Mora and Harlow.

Because I’m a retired cinematographer, I’d be lost without the

3) Camera and

4) Photos apps.

5) The Stock Market app is one app I use every weekday.

My life has been full of rather weird coincidences. Among the most extraordinary incudes the first conversation I had with my older sister shortly after she found me. As many of you already know, I grew up an only child in the San Francisco Bay Area during the 1960s. I never knew that the parents who raised me were not my biological parents until at the age of 55, I received a phone call from a private investigator that she had hired to find me. She had spent most of her life looking for me without even knowing my name. When she was just 12 years old, a school mate had told her that she “had a brother out there.” After confirming that with her Granny, she eventually approached the woman who had arranged for my hand-off on a country road at the base of the mountain on which I was born two weeks prior. Dot couldn’t remember much about that childless couple except that they were friends of her brother and stationed at the navy shipyard in Norfolk, Virginia.

Neatly 55 years after that fateful day, Dot, was going through some old boxes in her attic and discovered a Christmas greeting card that she had received from them on the occasion of their first Christmas as a family of three. The card contained my baby picture inscribed with my name and the date and thanking her for all her help. She subsequently contacted my sister and gave her my name. After running into a number of dead ends, my sister hired the investigator who found me nearly a year later.

It was during our first telephone conversation that she asked me what I did for a living. I told her that I worked in commercial television producing commercials among other things. When I asked her what she did, she told me she was embarrassed to say. I asked her if it was illegal at which point she laughed a bit and said “no, she drove a forklift at a Coors brewing plant.” Nothing wrong with that, right?

It was when she told me that her oldest daughter’s name was Pam that I couldn’t believe my ears. I told her that my wife’s name was Pam also. Her response hit like a ton of bricks when she said that her daughter’s middle name was Denese. My wife was also Pamela Denise. The only differences was an “e” and an “i.”

There’s yet another first and middle name coincidence in this story. I had always been told that I was born in a car in the Albemarle County, Virginia, countryside. My sister assured me that I was actually born in a log cabin in the mountains of Madison, Virginia and that I had an Aunt Paige, who was my biological grandfather’s sister.

Years before learning all that, my first granddaughter was born and named Madison Paige!.

Coincidence or divine intervention? You may draw your own conclusions but I tend to lean towards the latter option.

I started this thought a while back and forgot about it. There has been so much going on around here lately. Maybe some day I’ll be able to reflect on it in a positive way. But for now, I will commit to finishing this and publishing it.

I’m probably not the best one to write on this subject, but it sparked my interest nonetheless and I decided to start writing just to see where it takes me.

I often say that my parents wasted a lot of money so that I would learn to read and write. It helped in the early years but as time passed, it seems we as a society depended more on hiroglifics. Companies today prefer stick-drawings instead of detailed writing. I get so infuriated trying to assemble something I’ve purchased only to end up throwing their artwork away and putting it together on my own, often times finishing with parts unused.

Additionally, no one today knows how to read or write in cursive! But they sure know how to disrupt society and demonstrate foolishly.

A bored student in high school, I preferred being anyplace other than the classroom, memorizing dates and names. At Mom’s insustence, I took typing in junior high school. She said it was a good skill to have. I also took sheet metal shop because Dad always said if you know a trade, you will always have a job.

An only child, I didn’t have many friends and I can’t remember a time that I didn’t wish I had siblings. As a shy kid, I was also a loner, spending much of my time in my bedroom, listening to my stereo, playing records – rock and roll records when I wasn’t watching television. Both my parents were alcoholics and I had no desire to be around it. When I earned a position on the high school football team I thought I might begin to be accepted by my classmates. I guess I was only in search of some respect and acceptance from those classmates who weren’t good to me and found me an easy target.

My attempts back then to learn to play the guitar always failed even though I loved music. My best friend was, however in the high school band and I attribute my vast appreciation of music to him. He and I also enjoyed the outdoors, camping and hiking. Each and every year, he joined us on our family vacations camping in the Sierra Mountains near Truckee.

We were lucky enough to have a teen club on the navy base where we “navy brats” could “let it all hang out” on Friday nights enjoying a game of ping pong, billiards, having a cold drink at the soda fountain (when a volunteer was working it), a tv room, and a dance floor where we could dance to records that played nonstop on the juke box except on occasion, there was a live band. Anyone who was in their teen years and a military dependent could join the Mare Island Teen Club. My best friend and I spent many Friday nights there when it wasn’t football season.

Unfortunately, I didn’t do well academically and barely graduated with no idea of what I wanted to do with my life. I was lucky however that my best friend’s family took me in after moving to Ohio and his dad helped me get a job in a small, local machine shop where he knew practically everyone there, especially the ones who did the hiring. That’s where I began a successful 20-year career as a machinist, a trade I grew to love.

The moral to this story is, no matter how many times you may fail, do not give up! There is something you can excel at and find success in. And I also realized that if you find a career doing something you love, you will never work a day in your life.

As I sit with a fresh cup of hot coffee on my back porch, overlooking the woods beyond our vegetable garden and backyard, my mind wanders back to what was a rather imaginary childhood. Even what I was told was true, ultimately turned out not to be. That, however, is another story. I was a “navy brat” and an only child, a combination that would have spelled trouble in many households I’m sure.

My parents were married nine years before I was born. Mom and Dad found it challenging if not impossible to conceive. In their eyes, I was nothing short of a blessing from above when I came into their lives. Not because I am a special person by any means, I assure you. As hard as I tried to be a good little boy, there were moments when my mischievous nature got me in trouble.

Dad was an enlisted man in Uncle Sam’s navy for 21 years. One of my early memories was Mom getting us ready to take him to report for duty on the shipyard. I remember Dad, along with everyone else, stopping the car on the causeway to get out, stand at attention and salute upon hearing the national anthem being played throughout the shipyard. Upon arriving at their destination, Dad got out of the car and Mom moved over into the driver’s seat. My attention turned to all the civil service employees, apparently at the end of their work shifts, exiting the nearby dry docks. Very young and impressionable, I was fascinated by that image of those men exiting the submarines and marching out of the dry docks. I told Mom that I wanted to do that when I grew up. She thought it was cute and I never gave it another thought.

I spent many weekends of my childhood in the two movie theaters downtown and watching a lot of television. Westerns were my favorite and whenever we drove anywhere, I found myself looking at the countryside and thinking what would make good scenery for a western movie. I guess it was natural that I might fancy a career in one of those two industries as well.

Leaving home when I was 17 years old, I had absolutely no idea what I wanted to do with my life. A career in entertainment didn’t seem a logical choice for me. However, I was fortunate to have a second father figure who used his influence to get me a job as a shipping clerk in a machine shop. It was there that I learned the machinist trade. As fate would have it, in my early 20s, I was later hired and found myself working on that very same shipyard, in those very same dry docks I had observed as a young, fanciful boy. I had been on loan from the inside machine shop to the outside machine shop for one year of my 20-year career there until I became one of the many victims of the shipyard closure.

Returning to school, I earned a degree in television production where I worked for the following 20 years before retiring.

I consider myself very fortunate to have had not one, but two 20-year careers in seperate fields that I truly loved.

For twenty years of my life, I frequently lost myself in the gym as a bodybuilder to the point of addiction. Spending three to four hours at a time, three and four days a week working out, I just couldn’t get enough. I pushed myself so hard that I would achieve what dedicated bodybuilders described as a feeling not unlike a runner’s high upon breaking that barrier. Upon achieving the “pump,” I could feel what I describe as similar to a skin-splitting sensation and as painful as it may sound, I assure you it was quite the opposite. An “all-natural” bodybuilder, I avoided using body enhancement drugs that accelerate a bodybuilder’s progress that was so prevalent then. Thank God I resisted those temptations as I’m sure it’s a good reason I’m as healthy as I am today. I never expected to realize any long term affects. As I explained to those who asked me if I lived that lifestyle rxpecting to live longer. Most seemed surprised when I replied that I did it only to improve my quality of life.

It all came to an abrupt end, however, when I suffered a debilitating, on-the-job, back injury that required two subsequent surgeries in order to simply get back up on my feet again. During my recovery period, I received the emotionally devastating news that I should never again lift or push more than 35 pounds. To put that into perspective, that was only 6% of my bench press maximum 525 pounds. Additionally, I had to find a different career field after having spent 20 years as a machinists, a career that I truly loved. Bodybuilding was the activity that I loved but would no longer be able to participate in. Devastated, I spiraled into a deep depression that lasted for years. Eventually recovering enough to stop taking antidepressants, 30 years later I still greatly miss those very intense and gratifying workouts.

I enjoyed music as a young boy and credit my best friend for my vast music appreciation. A trumpet player in the school band, he seemed to know everything about music and that inspired me to the point that I could easily lose myself in music. Whether it’s listening to the radio, playing some old records and/or CDs, my guitar, or simply going out for an evening of live entertainment, to this day, it remains my panacea.

As a child, I was influenced first by Ricky Nelson. During the month of February, 1964, after seeing the Beatles on the Ed Sullivan Show, I began to develop a deeper interest in music and began listening to other artists as well. My mom and dad bought me a used accoustic guitar when I was in the fifth grade and paid for weekly lessons. I learned how to read music, pick some songs, and play a few chords, but I wasn’t learning what I wanted to play. One year later, discontent with my lack of progress, I stopped taking lessons. Back then, it was rock n roll and nothing else for me. Picking it back up from time to time over the years, I just didn’t have the discipline.

It was in my late 50s that I felt I was ready to commit to learning those chords that had so intimidated me in the past. I had been further inspired upon discovering online the Epiphone limited-edition signature model of the guitar that John Lennon played. My wife surprised me with it on my 60th birthday and I became determined to get beyond that life-long intimidation. Empty nesters by this time, I found that I had the time to apply myself. It wasn’t long before I was able to play chords that scared me to death as a youngster and I began to enjoy playing my guitar more than ever.

The Beatles started out by writing songs based on the pop music they themselves were listening to. Critics were quite vocal over the three-chord structure of their songs quite possibly because of their overwhelming popularity. All that changed following a meeting with Bob Dylan. It’s said that he told them their songs didn’t mean or say anything. They then began writing some of the hardest music to play and I never imagined that I would ever find myself playing it. My determination paid off and surprisingly enough, I soon found myself playing many of their songs. Today, I enjoy getting lost in music more than ever before.