Skips Hideaway

As far as school memories go I can remember back to fourth grade fairly vividly. It was kind of a defining period for me for several reasons. First off, it was when I first began wearing glasses. I remember as a class we were broken into small groups for some special project, and I remember arguing with a kid on the proper word for a partially enclosed large body of water, was it “gulf” or “golf”..I am pretty sure I was wrong and saying “golf”. We weren’t angrily arguing but I think the other kid was frustrated with my ignorance and was making exaggerated arm movements. Anyhow, he was waving his pencil around when the eraser end came into contact with my eye. To make matters worse he had a push on eraser he had gotten as a free item from a bag of Frito’s, it was the old mascot “Frito Bandito” a sombrero wearing Hispanic man about an inch tall. The eraser was pretty new because the sombrero was pretty pointy, and into my eye it went.

This little incident meant I was taken to the school nurse (who in those days was also a heart surgeon and EET specialist…I believe), and she gave me a quick eye exam in her office, this led her to suggest to my mom that I should have a real eye exam done, which eventually led to me showing up one day in class wearing military brand (ie..thick and ugly, also known as BCD’s (birth control glasses, because no one would ever have sex with someone wearing these glasses, which actually came true for me). As I had described before, we were not rich, or really solidly middle class, I was stuck with the free military glasses until I finished high school (just look at my senior photo). When I joined the military shortly after graduation they issued me a new pair of glasses to update my aging eye sight (something we only did as a child when my glasses broke, and that meant a stern lecture on “being careful” “too busy to do this crap”…blah blah blah). In basic training everyone who wore glasses had to get fitted with the military ones, so I wasn’t the only loser wearing them, and this was the first time I had heard the phrase BCD, I of course at that very moment blamed my glasses for my poor dating and sex performance during my teen years (neglecting to reflect on my acute shyness and generally homely looks).

Fourth grade was also the first time I was introduced into the wonderful world of papier-mâché. Our project was to research a fish, draw it as best we could (and color it) then the class would build their fishes out of papier-mâché. My family had this set of encyclopedias in an old black bookcase probably before I was born. In those days of course we didn’t have the internet, all the research had to be done by hand, and digging into those old musty books is what probably began my spark to learn doses of odd information, and my obsession with wandering the rarely visited aisles in public libraries (in Yuma, those were the aisles that smelled like pee and the books had thick covers and generally oversized). But I found my fish, the Tiger Fish, yellow with black lines, it seemed the most interesting to me. I created my drawing, though I can not remember if it was any good or not, but I also know I hadn’t developed my keen artistic fish drawing abilities then, so I figure it was more “stick” fish than fearsome tiger looking.

The day of the papier-mâché portion found us working outdoors (in Yuma) with long tables and bowls of papier-mâché mix, which I am certain used my tried and tested formula of water and flour. But the teacher showed us how to ball up tin foil into a fish shape, then wrap the soaked newspaper around it smoothing the damp pages with our fingers, working out the wrinkles as the excess moisture dribbled between our fingers in little rivers of white liquidly goodness. I also remember in the midst of smoothing my tiger fish glancing up and catching the teacher leaning over and helping another student with their fish. She was wearing a loose blouse, thinking it would be a cooler option knowing she would be outdoors a lot that day, but also presenting me with an exceptional view down this loose top of her beautifully separated breasts. I remember flushing very red when she looked up to check on everyone else and catching me lock staring like a….well fourth grade kid…ahh!! The innocence of youth and the beauty of heterosexuality discovered.

Finally, this same fourth grade class opened another world for me. Until this point I have fleeting memories of doing certain class projects from 1^st through 3^rd, but mostly I remember the kids I played with, the kids I made fun of (yes, even homely kids can find someone homelier

to help them find their nitch in the pecking order…I am shamed even to this day), and I especially remember the holiday fun making projects out of that delicious paste that came in industrial size containers. But this class had something none of the others did, show and tell. I understand now why such a thing existed, do they still have it today? Without even the kids knowing it this was a beginning course in public speaking, for me it was a chance to be semi-popular, and it was the beginning of my declining seriousness of education. I remember kids would bring in favorite and interesting toys, artifacts from some recent family vacation, spinning fun and elaborate monologues. I didn’t have interesting toys (I would have gotten laughed out of the room if I had brought in my favorite dirt clod or stuffed animal, and I can’t think of a vacation my family took during this time, though I am sure we visited family in the nearby metropolis of Casa Grande). Nope, instead I would get up in front of the class and talk about a show I saw on TV the night before. My ranting would garner some laughter from the class, and that just spurred me on even more, becoming more outrageous until finally my finely breasted teacher would bring it all to a stop and send me back to my desk, but it couldn’t have been all terrible, she put up with me doing it time and again every Friday morning, my first stage performances if you will. As the years went on I kept chasing these fleeting moments of acceptance, perhaps at the detriment of my grades, and I became squarely seated on the throne of class clown. I was the one who shamelessly shouted out smart ass remarks from the back of the class, funny enough that even the instructors put up with me, even chuckling on occasion. It still happens to this day, in meeting and t-cons I am the one you can count on to say something silly or off the wall, or just the inflection in my voice to add a bit of humor to the environment.

What is kind of interesting is that I was only in this fourth grade class for half a year. We had just recently moved into our first purchased home (that I remember) over the summer, and this school I attended, Rolle Elementary, was a new school to handle the developing housing market. I don’t know the whole story, but we ended up losing that house and moving to Mary Ave where I lived until leaving Yuma. But in those short months at the school so much happened to shape my life. My last day (leaving mid year) I was brought to the front of the class so I could say something, and the class could wish me well (or something). I remember taking a bow and the teacher lightly smacking me on the back of the head, the class broke out laughing and I presented the best “what did I do” face that I could… she smiled, I smiled…it was perfect!

This whole entry came to mind while I was showering yesterday, funny what runs through my mind while I shower, and how quickly these synapse connections happen and then fade…how detailed they seem in the head in such a short span of time. During this same shower I had another visionary experience, something a bit more complicated than reliving my 4^th grade “fitting in” story. I am not sure if I can convey it well in a blog, it is more of a free flowing conversation to have with a friend over a drink or a light lunch (my best medium for expressing myself). And remember this happened very quickly in “real” life time, so I haven’t completely got a fleshed out scenario here, but it goes something like this.

Now not to dismiss anybodies religious beliefs, or play on common sensibilities, but just for a second lets assume that we are reborn after our deaths, to come back and play out life again. And lets assume from life to life we don’t stray far from our genetically planned existence. For instance, if you are a nurse today, perhaps you were someone who cared for others in the past life, maybe not exactly a nurse or in the medical field, Or perhaps you are an architect, but in your past life you were some one who designed or created things from thin air. So I took a look at my life, what I do, were I am heading, to try and put things into some kind of order I can understand. Lately I feel as if I am drifting, without purpose or plan, like it just doesn’t feel natural, perhaps the constraints of family, bills and obligations have caused me to divert from the normal course of things. So you can see this is a complex topic, and I wanted to try an express (based on everything I have done thus far in my life) perhaps what I may have been like in the past lives…but again, it needs to be fleshed out.

Sanam just got up, she turned on the rap music that waifs through the house, destroying my creative though process. All of the sudden my mind is jelly…what is up with that!

I have been having the desire to write again, a book that is, even going so far as visiting Barnes and Noble and looking at “How to Get Published for Dummies”, of course step one is write something…I ain’t there yet, but I get these urges. What I need is a design or process, I have so many ideas that pop in and out of my head, I need some way to capture this.

Anyhow, you can tell by my ever decreasing paragraph sizes that I am running out of steam (damn you rap music). I was suppose to work on a spreadsheet due tomorrow, but none of the regional managers sent me their information, so I just put out an email to all of them (and their manager) that if they can get me something by tomorrow then I can publish by tomorrow night. It is their manager who needs this data, and I see even on this Sunday she has already read this email, so I expect either she will answer the email to all of them to get me the information, and how important it is for the end of the quarter performance, or she will tell me to back off…she is hard to read sometimes. I know her whole organization is about to change, starting last Friday when many of the managers I have been working with for 3 years were all let go to make room for the integration of another business segment and all their managers…so crazy times, and I am not that surprised I didn’t get any data sent to me, they have more important things going on, but this report isn’t for me, I could care less, this data is used by the regional teams, so they should have a vested enough interest to help me out….what ever, I am whining….

Yesterday was a horrible day for me, nothing has gone right. When Sanam won that money gambling she gave me $200 specifically to buy a new computer chair, something nice for Fathers Day (next Sunday, don’t forget them fathers out there). I had my eye on a chair at the Base Exchange, but as typical with them, they never have in stock what I want, and this particular floor model wasn’t going to be restocked, so my only option was to buy the display, which I hate doing, so I didn’t. Instead I drove to Office Max and looked over their fine chair selection. I eventually settled on a sturdy, plush chair that seemed to fit me nicely, it was $149, plus I bought a three year, wear and tear covered, agreement for $20 more dollars. I got the chair home, put it together (struggling a bit) and finally got it done, it looks nice. I got online and filled out my warranty registration, and all was going smoothly until it asked me for the chair brand name and serial number. I tipped the chair over to see the label, and when I brought the chair back up to its normal orientation one of the casters hit my toe just right and broke the caster…weird. I called the customer service number and they said to just take the chair back for a replacement, but I don’t want to assemble another chair, so I am calling the store I bought it from in about 10 minutes to see if they will just swap out casters for me..I don’t feel like lugging the chair in..

Sanam got home not long after all this happened, to let me know the “check engine” light has come on in the Miata. I am a little skeptical now about the maintenance team at my Mazda dealership. You know in car maintenance trust is a big deal, and now this makes two suspicious issues. When I took the Mazda 3 in for alignment I felt a little silly, the car was driving great, but they said it seems out of alignment during my last oil change because of the tire wear pattern, makes since to me. But when I took it in for an alignment they now said I needed 4 new tires and couldn’t do the alignment, which I couldn’t afford right then. The next day when I drove the car on the freeway I noticed a very pronounce shimmy in the steering wheel that was never there before..hmmm…After I got the alignment (after buying new tires) the shimmy went away…did they do something to my car? I took the Miata in for an oil change a week ago, and now I have a check engine light.. coincident? Let us just say my trust is shaken a bit. So as the day came to a close, I was feeling pretty low, today seems better, hopefully everything is smooth with Office Max, and I can relax the rest of the day. I was going into the office tomorrow but now I have to make a car appointment, and I am hoping it doesn’t end up costing me more than I have….Aarrghh!!

What song is the title of this entry from? My favorite song from this Band by the way..

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A little more about the chair...

I just called Office Max, got a nice young woman on the phone and I explained how I bought the chair yesterday and now I had a broken caster...she said "You are still with in 30 days, just bring the chair back in and we will replace it"..I suggested that it would be smarter if I just brought in the caster for an exchange, she said she would check with the manager...a minute later she is back to confirm that yes I needed to bring in the whole chair..hmmm...I said "could I please speak with the manager, perhaps I could convince him how stupid this sounds"...I really didn't want to rebuild the chair...She came back and said "okay, he said to just bring in the caster"....why do things have to be so hard sometimes?