My mother grew up in Georgia, and somehow she convinced my dad to drive us back every
few years to visit her folks for much of the summer. This constituted just about all of
our travel and vacations until I was nearly grown. In school, when kids in my class would
make a map of the states they'd been in, mine usually had the most states in it. We became
masters at crossing 500, 600, 700 miles in a day, from 5am until dark, my dad driving all
the way (my mom never has learned to drive) with stops only to get gas and food and take
in the occasional point of interest.
In this way I saw the Rockies, the Royal Gorge, the Great Plains, the Great Salt Lake,
endless deserts and highways, and, largely, the back of the front seat. To this day, the
smell of oil on the road reminds me of cruising into tiny sun-baked gas stations in the
middle of America, perhaps getting a Coke, listening to the mechanical gas pumps click,
click, clicking out the 20 cent per gallon gasoline. During one 1950s trip through Texas,
during a "gas war," I distinctly remember seeing the gas get cheaper and cheaper as we would
go through a town - 10 cents, 9 cents, finally 7 or 8 cents per gallon.
During one of these trips, when I was 4 years old, we were driving through the southwest
high desert, and, for something to do, my mom gave me a pad of paper and a pencil and suggested
I try drawing. I've never stopped. Here's a drawing from that era.
One eye-opening discovery was how few people there were between Napa and Georgia. We
always thought of Napa as being a sleepy little town -pop 15,000 to 25,000 in the 50s
and 60s. In 1966, the last time we made the trip, I noticed that Napa was, I believe,
the sixth biggest city we passed through. And, three of these cities were in California.
Both my parents were very musical, and I grew up hearing them singing their favorite songs
from the 40s. My musical universe pretty much coincided with that of the Lawrence Welk Show.
I remember before I was in school, helping my mom make the beds on wash day, singing harmony
with her on pop songs of her youth. In my teen years my voice deserted me, not to return for
many, many years.
My uncle was an accordionist, a life member of the Vallejo Musican's Union. Through him my folks got an accordion for my brother to play when he was small. I remember listening to him practice every day, making real points with him by pointing out to him each time he made a mistake. When I got older, I also got an accordion ‹- which I still have and use -- and took lessons for a few years. The understanding of music I got from playing the accordion has served me well and helped me to learn to play many other instruments.
When I was 11 I discovered the magic of Top 40 Radio, (now known as
oldies or '50s and '60s pop music) which marked me for life.
My only competent physical sport: volleyball. It's only taken me 25 years of playing to get
as skilled as your average high school student player. Now I can usually play without embarrassing
myself. Because my school-age sports consisted chiefly of reading
comic books, my arms and legs aren't quite worn out yet.
But, on June 5, 2004, while lunging to pick up a blocked spike, I felt something snap in my right
shoulder. When I tried to raise my arm, it just hung there. A frightening experience! I went home
and iced it up and hoped for the best. The next day, as luck would have it, I had a long keyboard gig.
After the gig I noticed that the shoulder felt almost fine. I tried playing volleyball the following week,
only to feel like I was tempting fate. It was ok, but not quite right. Bumping seemed to put too much
strain on the shoulder. It's now a month and a half and a pile of ibruprofen later, and it still isn't
right. I hope it's not a rotator cuff. An appointment with the doctor has been made.
Ok, now it's two years later. Yes, it was a rotator cuff. Yes, I didn't touch a volleyball for a year and a half. Slowly worked back into it. About a month later took a hard spike off my right arm, snapping the elbow back. Hyperextending it. Ouch! I've not been back to volleyball since. When I get my elbow stronger, I'll try it again.
I'm beginning to get a inkling of what I believe they call "Aging."
update: On February 10, 2008 I started playing again! Months later I'm still playing. Nothing else has broken...
