Earthbound Chronicles

Childhood

2008-02-20T09:08:00.001-08:00

This picture hangs in my hallway. The big guy purchased it for me years ago on one of our trips to San Francisco. The artist is Robert Sexton. You can usually catch an ad of his in the back of Sunset Magazine. His pictures speak to me. I love stippling as an art form. One little dot in the wrong place and you goof it up. That is why I appreciate it so much.

This picture reminds me of my 4 year old self, and my almost five year old brother. The sentiment on the photo reads: "We will always be children in the time of the heart; For trust never ages, and love has no end." It is like Mr. Sexton found a photo of us when we were out riding bikes one day and turned it into a sale-able piece just for us. It is a lithograph of which I own number 416 of 600. I wonder who else owns this picture and what meaning it has for them. Hmmm. That might be an interesting project.

Fourth grade

2008-02-01T08:43:00.001-08:00

When I was in the fourth grade I had been a skater for probably 3 years. Skates were something that came naturally to our family. Mom was a champion skater from way back so when we learned to walk, the skates were next. In those days skates had metal wheels. Yeah, those were fun, hit a rock and it was over. The skates attached to your shoes with leather straps and there was an adjustment knob on the front to tighten the up. Sort of a one size fits all skate.

Well, after you've skated up and down your street 50,000 times or so, you begin to get a little brave and do stuff that most people don't do on skates. Like walk down to Laurel street and dare each other to skate down the hill, remembering of course, that you have to catch the stop sign at the bottom because if you don't it could be goners for you from traffic.Yeah that's how the brother and I had fun. It was a blast, in fact last week I rode down Laurel street and it all came flooding back. Ah sweet memories.

After a 1000 or so trips down Laurel street and no deaths, we were ready to ramp it up a bit and decided to try something new. Mom was going to kill us. We found some old 2x4s and a saw and decided to invent a new way to "skate" we broke the wheels off the skates and nailed them to the 2x4. Yep we did. A 2x4 skateboard. Of course we don't have pictures of the best skateboard ever, because back then who thought to document an invention?

Well, it was the prize of the neighborhood! Suddenly everyone was doing it and boy were we having fun. It was near impossible to steer and would not corner at all, but it was the best. You could use it regular, or sit on it and Laurel street would never be the same. I found out I was a goofy footer and that was okay, it separated me from the boys and I really thought I had better control over it that way. Goofy footer? For the uninitiated, that mean my left foot was the prominent foot used while skate boarding. (and surfboarding too)

Good times. good memories. Then when I saw this video this morning I thought to myself how far skateboarding has come. And for all those guys, making a living skateboarding? You owe all us kids from the early 60s a debt of gratitude!

Go watch it. It is 5 minutes, but take the five minutes and enjoy it!

Picture Day

2007-02-28T10:19:00.000-08:00

Oh man I wish just wish I had the picture that goes with this story. It is great to look at it (I haven't actually seen the pic since I left home). I can see it in my minds eye. A smallish dark haired dark eyed young lad. He was six. He was the man of the house now. He was trying to fit in. Even at such a young age he knew he was different from the other kids. Most of them had moms present at picture day, helping the school photographer, make their child look better than usual. No smudgy faces for them! Smiles all! They even had a universal comb that they would use to straighten you up for fear that you wouldn't look your best.

So in an attempt to individuate a bit, into the new role as "man of the house" my brother pulled a fast one. I didn't see it, until the prints arrived a month later, but I held his secret close to my heart for that whole month. He came speeding up to me after school that day. Breathless, as if he'd run a 5k, he told me he had to tell me what picture would arrive soon.

You see, there was this kid in his class. A tough guy, you know the kind, already 4 and half feet tall in the first grade, no fear in sight, and the coolness of Steve McQueen. He had one flaw, this tall, giant of a boy, also had , what we called back then, bucked teeth. It meant they protruded forward in his mouth and only added to the "cool" factor in my brother's eyes. One thing my brother did receive in life, was picture perfect teeth. Wonderful pearls of white, straight in a row as if they'd been string by the most perfect of pearl stringers, ready to be draped around a stralets neck. It was another of those things that made him different. Perfect teeth, go figure.

Well, he confided his darkest secret. For his picture, because there was no one to supervise his his decisions on this very day, he chose to attempt to look as if he too, had bucked teeth. I died. What????!!? What were you thinking? This was my first day of having pictures taken and I sat there like the little robot I was and smiled on command without thinking I could do anything but smile. Here was my brother, the rebel, stepping out into the darkness of individuality to become someone else. I could only imagine how horrible this picture would be. "Let me see what you did". "Show me". He would pose and I would just stare. Could it be that he would be defiant? How could he be defiant. Mother was all but there at all times. I could feel her long arm and stern voice at every step. How could he not? It was a mystery to me.

In the long month of waiting he would recreate that silly look each day as we walked home. We would giggle and laugh as we knew he had pulled a fast one on everyone present that day. The proof would arrive soon and then the price would have to be paid.

The day finally arrived. He quickly ran to me, quivering with excitement, as we each opened our envelopes to see the results of our pictures. Mine was a little pixie of a girl smiling wide, two front teeth missing. His on the other hand, was this smallish framed young lad, in a red shirt proudly smiling with this goofy grin. No teeth showing at all. It was as if the gods were against him. His mouth was pinched up a bit. Mother complained that they should have waited until he was ready for the picture, he was obviously half ready to smile! We knew then he had pulled it off. Not that anyone would ever think by looking at the photo that he had bucked teeth, only that he had full control of his fate. He could actually do what he wished, he could be in charge of himself, and bear the consequences, no matter what.

Australia 1973 - 1975

2007-02-24T20:49:00.000-08:00

My brother stepped off the plane in March of 1975. He was thin as a rail. He had been in the Queensland Brisbane Mission for two years. Many of the people who invited them for dinner thought they'd share an aussie favorite at the time. Fried rabbit. Unfortunately, for my brother,
he is allergic to rabbit. However, instead of offending the gracious hostess, he would eat and then go home and be sick. He was rail thin. I think a few of you have seen the pics of his return. It was amazing to see him so slight.

The first words he spoke other than the usual greetings were: "I will greet this day with love in my heart. And how will I do this? Henceforth will I look on all things with love and be born again. I will love the sun for it warms my bones; yet I will love the rain for it cleanses my spirit. I will love the light for it shows me the way; yet I will love the darkness for it shows me the stars. I will welcome happiness as it enlarges my heart; yet I will endure sadness for it opens my soul. I will acknowledge rewards for they are my due; yet I will welcome obstacles for they are my challenge."

It was not strange at all to here him speak a memorized text. It was a talent of his. Read it, hear it, memorize and perform it. But this was different, it was as if he had been transformed by the words. He spoke of the man, Og Mandingo, who wrote this passage, with passion. He was filled with light and love and was very glad to be in the present. I am not sure how much he had the angst of an RM. He seemed to acclimate quickly and well. He recited the words often, speaking of zone conferences and the love of Australia. It was a difficult mission. Typically poor, he money rarely present in his account as promised. He struggled each day to keep positive. However, he enjoyed the experience even with all the combined struggles.

I feel bad though, I wrote him I think, all of twice while he was gone. I had moved away from home, was living on my own, and financially struggling as well. But it was a great time in each of our lives. We both grew and when he returned it was wonderful to see him again. You see, I had postponed my own wedding to wait for him to return. I could not, in good conscience, get married without him. He was my second. He had to be there, so we had a long 15 month engagement. aaack.

I loved that quote he brought home with him. I can still here him reciting it. Whenever I here the words, it takes me back to the day of his return. As always, uplifting us with his words. With and ever so slight accent, a g'day mate, and those bright eyes filled with joy, he had returned once again to me. My best friend. It was good to hear him laugh.

Random memories

2007-01-18T07:47:00.000-08:00

I remember learning that my brother was who I could count on. (Except one day in the first grade, where I told my mom, my brother, and my babysitter I was going to a friends after school. After playing, I was walking home, and halfway home I was met by the babysitter who yelled at me and asked where I had been. I tried to remind her that I had said I was going to a friends house, but all I heard was that the police were looking for me, and no one knew where I was. Boy oh boy. Not even the brother would admit I had told anyone.) But that's another story, for another day. While you read these memories, keep in mind he was the only guy in a sea of girls. He lived in a petticoat world and seldom, complained. He yearned for more, I could tell.

Other than that, he could always be counted on. I have a very distant memory where we learned all we had was each other. Very slight memory of my grandfather, my mother and my father outside arguing. Of course they were outside, isn't that where all domestic disputes happen? I remember my dad hitting my granpa, my grandfather collapsing, and an ambulance being called. I am not sure if he had a heart attack or was just stunned. My dad split and my mom began the slow descent into helplessness.

From the time I was about 5 I remember my brother being named "man of the house". What a horrible thing to happen to a 6 year old. He took on the weight of the world and became they guy to go to. The grandparents had decided that my mom had made poor choices and would no longer bail her out from the consequences of her choices. We began the nomadic years. We moved every 6 to 8 months for one reason or another until I was 15 years old.

It was hard on my brother. He took his responsibility very seriously. He would get us up, make sure we had something to eat, make sure we were all dressed, and off to school we'd go. Remember we also had the little girls, my sisters 1 1/2 and 3 years younger than us. They would stay with Sophie, a young girl who had problems of her own, who stayed with us because she had no where else to go. She was 18 and had moved out of her parents home and come to live with us. It wasn't until I was about 10 that Sophie married a marine and went her separate way. We haven't seen her since. I don't even know her last name.

Well back to the brother. He had such a sense of responsibility toward all of us. He had a few friends but made it clear to them that we had to come first. Everywhere we lived. Can you imagine being 6 or 7 and suddenly have to make new friends for yourself and siblings, be the responsible one of all of them, and then keep up in school, explain to adults who we were and why we travelled in a pack, and always be told he was too young to handle such responsibilities. "Well, of course, I am he would say, but that's the way it is. I am in charge and you have to go through me to get any farther."

I think the hardest part was having to put his "station" on the shelf when the random guy my mom would date would come along. They'd pat him on the head and call him big guy making all those sideways chuckling comments. It angered him, as well as me, to be treated like a kid. They would come and go and you could visibly see him inflate and deflate and the sight of the new boyfriends. All this, and he never backed away from the responsibility to keep us safe.

Our mom finally married a guy when I was 12. They got married, he shipped out to Okinawa, and was gone for two years. Again my brother had to assume responsibility for the household. It was at this time we joined the church. It was hard for him. We were the only family that were like us. He struggled to fit in and most of the time he was not accepted and became the joke they all had fun with. It was sad to see him struggle. That's why when he talks about the high school years there is not much talk of church friends. They were mean, and his regular friends didn't make the judgements that came from church members.

All in all he found his way. He was the man of our house. He grew up, took his "job" seriously and made sure that we had our needs met. I admire him and will never ever be able to repay him for the contribution he made to all of us. The sacrifices he made seen and unseen were great. I will always be grateful he was my big brother.

Reading, reading and more reading

2007-01-17T22:06:00.000-08:00

I cannot remember a time that the boy didn't have a book in his hand. I think I already mentioned the medical books we read as children. They were my mothers' from nursing school. He taught himself to read at three and my mom discovered it because he asked her what a fallow-pean (his pronounciation at three) tube was? She asked him where he got that word and he responded in the book. Which book, this one. It was on human anatomy.

That was just the beginning. He read everything. If it wasn't nailed down, he was reading it. I remember going through the Dick and Jane books in a couple of afternoons with him. He read encyclopedias! Comic books. Everything. And then he discovered those awful books. Those ones that boys read. Not those kind! Come on! This is not a full disclosure blog. Sorry. to mislead your imagination. The book/magazine I'm talking about was MAD magazine. He was hooked on them. I swear he could repeat every passage. Spy vs Spy. Those fold-ins! The back cover would be folded over itself to reveal this months message. Then there was the ever challenging Don Martin. I swear Mr. Martin contributed more sound effects to the ever growing vocal library that was my brother. Glork! Gloop, gloop, gloop. etc. He and his friend Steve would race to the Red and White to pick up the latest copy and they would spend the better part of a day laughing and joking about that silly magazine.

It was the beginning of the division between he and I . I had Seventeen and he had MAD. I knew guys were wierd and he confirmed it with reading that magazine. However, there were times, when I would pick up a copy to see what was so intriguing between the pages. Some was funny, other stuff just dumb. Kind of like the Three Stooges. Now don't get me started on them!

Christmas Past

2007-01-03T18:11:00.000-08:00

Christmas was always a fun place as my brother and I grew up. Even in a house filled with chaos, my mother seemed to be able to pull all her resources together and do Christmas correctly. We would pile around the tree on Christmas morning, read the chapters in Luke and discuss the Christmas story. We would then sing happy birthday to Jesus. We did that for several years. Then each of us had to perform, share our talent was the way mom put it. My brother would always sing, or tell a joke or two.

My best memory as a tiny girl was the christmas on C street in San Diego. Mom was working p.m.s meaning she went to work at about 2:30 in the afternoon and then get off at midnight. She insisted the we not arise for the hullabaloo that was Christmas morning until 6 a.m. Her instructions were implicit. Well, brother and I woked up (we really never ever went to sleep) at 4 a.m. We tried to convince her to get up and she said she had made a rule and we would go back to bed until 6!

Silly her. We did not go back to bed. However, as each of us didn't want to spoil surpises, we did not go to the living room. No way, were we going to take that simple pleasure from her. So instead we went into the bathroom, armed with the clock from our room, and waited until 6 a.m. We giggled and chuckled together for two hours. He told me great stories of being a big third grader, how he looked forward to being able to be a crossing guard the next school year. He joked with me about the boy that chased me home every day. I thought it was creepy and he just laughed.

Then all of a sudden whamo bammo! It was six a.m.! We ran and roused the little girls ( my younger sisters were always referred to as the little girls) and then went screaming (literally) into our mother's room. Startled by the screaming she jumped and then reality hit her. It was 6 a.m. She resigned herself to her fate and got up asking that we wait for a minute until she called us in. We all waited in anticipation. It was sheer delight. She called us forth and we marched in like little soldiers to see what Santa had left. It had been a good year. A Vacu-form and a creepy crawler set for the brother. Actually the vacuform was for the family. Then a pile of barbies and clothes there for me. The little girls got items appropriate for them but I have no idea what exactly they received. My mountain of clothers were great.

We wasted no time in breaking out the creepy crawler set. It was amazingly cool. You could make spiders and bigs and worms! The brother was in Heaven.

More high school

2006-12-10T11:52:00.000-08:00

I was surfing the net last night and stumbled upon a name of a friend from high school. I had driven past Oceanside High School several times in the past year and was observing new things happen there. I didn't know exactly what was happening but I knew it was big. In high school, at Oceanside High, the Pirates Green and White was everything.

My brother was not a football sized guy. He eventually got to be really tall but not during the early high school years. Instead he became the team "manager". Over the course of a couple of years he kept stats and water and towels for the guys that loved him for his spirit. He became very good friends with the guy pictured above. We actually went to church with him and got be great friends over the course of the years. Wally Molifua was a football great. But more than that Wally had a heart as big as Samoa. He never had an enemy, unless you could count the team members at Carlsbad High. And that was only during the game. After that Wally was everyone's friend.

My brother and Wally spent hours together on church activities, seminary and luaus. At church dances after all the food had been consumed, the only thing left usually was Jello. Wally got us all saying "there's always room for Jello!" It became a catch phrase in our group of friends.

Back to the construction at Oceanside High. The Pirate logo was brilliant. Then I got a look at the gymnasium the last time I was down there. Wally Molifua Gymnasium. They had named the gym in honor of Wally. Wow! That is super. Everyone knew what a great he was. Wally had graduated the year I was a freshman. He went on to play at MiraCosts college and then on to BYU. At BYU he and his wife lived downstairs from us. They had a HUGE! dog. I couldn't believe my eyes the first time I saw him come up to the apartment. I blinked twice and then realized it was my long lost friend from high school. It was like he never had been away. He was loving and kind and treated as well then as when I was in high school. He asked about my bro and we caught up on stories of family and friends.

So why the gymnasium? Well once Wally finished college he went back to his old high school and began teaching and coaching there. He was the first Samoan to be hired as a teacher by OHS. Wally gave back to his community as a teacher and mentor for so many years. In 2004 he was diagnosed with Cancer of the stomach. He began getting treatemtns and was actually responding well. In April of 2005 however, Wally suffered a massive heart attack that took his life. He was only 53. In May of 2006 Lavell Edwards, BYU Football coach was on hand at the dedication of the gym in Wally's honor. He extolled the story of Wally's life. The service rendered and the friends made. Wally was a keeper.

He was met on the other side by his mom and dad and a sister. I can bet that my brother was there for the "Jello"! It's good to know that he is reunited with good friends and family.

High School Rah, Rah, Rah

2006-11-17T09:38:00.000-08:00

Well, neither of us were cheerleaders, that's for sure!

No. My bro was into theatre. I have so many stories I could tell, but this one first. Senior year he decided he wanted the lead in the biggest play of the year. It was Flowers for Algernon. The stage version of Charlie. (Not that Charly!) He worked very hard on his audition, the day came, and he got the part. He was the best retarded guy around! heh.

His performance won him Actor of the Year that year. His range was well developed and he went from retarded guy to really smart guy, and back again so well, it moved you to tears. Most performances there wasn't a dry eye in the house. It was great seeing him do so well.

In the play there is one line that cracked you in half. Charlie has discovered that Algernon, the mouse in the experiment, can no longer run through his mazes with lightening speed. Something is wrong and Charlie figures out that, he too, will begin to lose all of his abilities that he has gained and will become just the "dishwasher guy" again. It is really sad. One day, as he is experiencing the loss of knowledge he cries, "Please God, don't take it all!" and the audience simultaneously birsts into tears. It was so moving, and heart wrenching to see his rapid decline back to the man he once was.

That is another reason I decided that I had to begin recording these memories. Because like Charlie, I am losing things, memories, clarity and that "seems like yesterday" feeling I have for years. Memories are fading and before they've completely left the building, I need to get them on paper, or bytes or where ever!

His performance, was such a delight. His friends were stoked. He had a simple school boy romance with the lead, and got a taste of the hollywood fickle romances. It came and went and was bittersweet to see it end, yet how they were still such friends. But then again, the brother was not one to make enemies. He had more friends than most and if yo run into one of them today, they all still have fond memories of time with him. He was like a magnet, he drew people in and made them feel apart of him, and the group. It was wonderful.

That's just one high school story, I've got plenty more. Stay tuned.

One of the first memories

2006-11-14T07:27:00.000-08:00

For as long as I could remember we walked to school. When I started kindergarten we would get ourselves up and fed before school started. Once our mom got home from work, she worked nights as an R.N., we'd kiss her goodbye and she'd send us off to school.

There were adventures on the way to school, but this one actually happened just before we got to school. We usually lived a few blocks from school and while we walked we entertained ourselves. Keep in mind that my brother was the experienced one. He had already spent a year in school and he knew the ropes, so in a pattern that would become the pattern of our life, I did what he said to do. He could talk! Even at that age he told me the rules about school. You needed to pay attention, and always follow the rules. Stuff like, make sure you freeze during the freeze bell, never question the teacher, and never, ever be late.

We were engrossed in talk and I was learning well, we had just about reached the schoolyard, when suddenly I noticed I, for some unknown reason, was still wearing my pajama bottoms. There they were underneath the skirt of my dress. I was agahst! What should I do? I could go home and take them off and rush back to school! No, looking at his watch, (yes he could already tell time!) I'd be late getting back, you'll just have to wear them all day. What? How could I do that? He told me to just hike them up and keep them scrunched up over my thighs. Tug at them now and then and no one will notice. Do you think that will work? Well, pull them up, see, you can't see them. You'll be fine! Off I went to class.

I must have been so obvious to my teacher. I kept tugging and pulling and "stressing". I wasn't myself and while it didn't seem any of the other kids had noticed, my teacher knew something was up. About two hours into the day, she came to ask me what was up? I pretended that there was nothing wrong (another pattern I had begun to adopt) and why was she asking? She tehn told me I seemed to be having a problem with my "skirt". Well, in an act of humility, that always happens when I'm embarrassed, I crumbled quicker than a cookie in the hands of a three year old. I told her my predicament. I told her what my brother recommended. She was so sweet. She explained that sometimes boys, even when they're great older brothers, know nothing about fashion. That why did n't I simply take the bottoms off, she'd give me a bag to put them in so no one would ever know, and then I could relax and enjoy the rest of the day like usual.

That was my first lesson in fashion. My brother, the genius, knew nothing about being a girl!

My brother, my best friend, my protector

2006-11-12T10:59:00.000-08:00

My brother was the one person in life that I knew I could count on. He was there for me before anyone else. There is not a time that I do not remember him not being there. He was older than me by 14 months. We were babies together, he got here first and I followed shortly thereafter. We were children of the mid-fifties and our life was certainly not Ozzie and Harriet or Leave it to Beaver. But we were there, together through anything, friends for life.

We were both born in a bitterly cold state. Just weeks prior to his birth a tornado ripped its way through the center of the city my parents lived in. My mother said it was a preamble to his birth. He came out screaming, and never stopped. Finally when I was born, I began to scream too. We screamed in unison. My mother, being exasperated and worn, took us to the doctor and said if he couldn't get us to stop, she would give us back. She could no longer take the screaming. After many tests, it was discovered, that we were allergic to breastmilk, and no matter what, we were going to scream if that's all we were going to be fed. Our diets we adjusted and we stayed with mom. The parents then moved us to the west coast, to get out of the snow, which my brother couldn't handle either, and there we've stayed. Grown and raised Californians. Not natural Californians, so we don't have to like Avacados, I always say.

Come along and I'll tell youa story or two of him. The guy I loved more than anyone else. (Until of course I met my husband.) His life was short, he died at 32, in a horrible accident. It was the day that the life went out of me in a way. I never looked at life the same again. I tear up as I write, and it was so long ago. Still I miss him terribly and while the pain is not new and sheer, it lingers on. How can it not when someone like him leaves so suddenly?

It was 1985, my husband had just graduated from college. We were waiting for a tax refund check to arrive by mail so we could move to California. The husband had been accepted to graduate school and we were returning home, and graduate school. We had been at the pool all morning enjoying the gift of sunshine that rarely shone in the early days of May in Utah. As we were changing out of swim wear the phone rang. My husband was on the line, his words "Oh no. no. Let me let you talk to the chronicler (me), he handed me the phone. It was my mother, puzzled I asked her what was up? She told me my brother had died in an accident on that road. He was with his oldest son, on a day trip to San Diego. They had been in an accident. It took both thier lives. Crushed, in a moment, of few words, my life was crushed.

Three weeks earlier the phone rang at the apartment. I was in the middle of finals and really struggling with one class. If I got out with a "C" I was going to be happy. I answered the phone, it was my brother, keep in mined he's my older brother and I want to be like him. My life, in my mind, can have no flaws, I am tough, he's taught me to be. So when he asks "how are you?" I lie. I don't want him to know I'm possibly failing a class. We resort to small talk and the excitement of moving back to California, being close to him and his family again. We talked for a few minutes and he said "I know there's something wrong, what is it?" Again, I tell him "nothing, I'm just in the middle of studying and it must be wearing on me is all". He's not happy with the answer and responds "Well, you may think you're okay, but I know something's wrong. Just remember, when you need me, I'm always here and always will be. I love you and you can rely on me for anything. Will you remember that?" I told him I would. It was the last time we talked. Ever. It seems like yesterday.

Now my husband and I go places and do things and mention how much he would have enjoyed being there and doing those things with us. There is a loss. But there is also hope. Because I know I will see him again. With a surety. I know we'll be together again, in the eternities. And boy will we have a lot to talk about.

Earthbound Chronicles

2006-11-12T09:06:00.000-08:00

Memories. Memories can be defined as something remembered from the past; a recollection.

We are all sharing the planet together. Earthbound Chronicles will be a beginning of remembering. I will use the space here to collect memories. We have all been touched by people in remarkable ways. We have had simple interactions with strangers that became people to us. Superhero girl mentioned this experience recently. This person had been touched by their interaction at the post office. These people are people. They shape how we see the day, or we help shape theirs.

And then, they're gone. Whether it's a move, time, or death, they leave our lives. Who were they? How did they entrench themselves in the fabric of earth? How did they shape the world while they were here? This will be my attempt to remember a few of those people.

In keeping with that effort, if you have a special person in your life, with whom you'd like to share a memory with us, send it to me by email. I'll post it for you here.