Sunday, August 30, 2015

pecos 10: from jesse sister's birthday to sylvia motel

jesse at sister's quinceanera. 

henry drive-by.

susan home, donny surprise.

sylvia football field bleachers. 

henry home.

donny susan dinner plans.

sylvia alpine motel.

Saturday, August 29, 2015

3415 W. Flight Ave., Santa Ana, CA.

My uncle Glen, who died of a heart attack last October, lived in this house from the late-60s until he moved with his wife (my aunt) Gloria to Stephens, Arkansas, in the summer of 1974.

The house right of center, with the white van in the driveway.

The large white panel to the left of the van is the garage door. Continuing left past the red brick corner is a gate, hard to see unless you zoom in, but right above the brown recycling bin. Through the gate is the back yard, which isn't  (or wasn't, anyway), it's a pool surrounded by cement.   

I learned to swim in this pool. I remember sliding down the slide into my the arms of Glen, waist-high in the shallow end. There was a diving board at the other end, where the pool was either 10 or 13 feet deep, one or the other. The lamp was a couple or few feet below the lip of the deep end, right under the board.

A bird's eye view shows the pool as no longer.

Panning right, the first telephone pole, near the brown sedan parked on the street, marks where there was a dead-end, beyond which was an immense strawberry field owned by a Japanese family. The fence above the dead-end was the one we hit the ball over for home runs from right about where the sewer cover (pan back right) marked home plate.

We were my brother Dave, who died of a heart attack four years ago; my cousin Charles, who died with his infant daughter in a head-on collision on a Louisiana highway several years ago; my cousin Robbie, who lives in Texarkana; and a few of the neighbor boys, whose names I still remember.

We also played baseball on the field at an elementary school, getting to which involved a walk along a path that separated the back fence of the drive-in and the strawberry field. We'd cross the street at McFadden and there it was, Russell school I think it was called.    

We included, away from baseball, my cousins Tammy and Lillian, who are in Kansas City, Missouri, as is Gloria. That's where Glen was when he had the heart attack. 

Panning left and zooming all the way to the end of the street shows the sudden uphill dead-end to the trailer park as it was. Not so far away, turning right before the uphill, is Harbor Boulevard, on the other side of which were a Zody's and a Thrifty, where we'd get ice cream cones, a nickel a scoop. As I recall it was always either cherry vanilla or rocky road for me.

The building beyond the house, looks like maybe a warehouse, is where the the now-extinct Harbor Boulevard drive-in was; we would get on the roof and watch (if not hear) movies.

The white van in the driveway is parked right about where Glen moored his early-70s Cadillac Eldorado, red, white interior, convertible. 

I spent large chunks of many summers back then in and around this house.

The next few summers after that Dave and I would bus with our grandmother - "Granny" - via Greyhound to Stephens, Arkansas, where my uncle had moved. But my great-grandparents were there first, Granny's parents, and were still there, moved from "the farm" a few miles outside of town - that's where Glen moved to - to government-subsidized housing in Stephens. 

There were maybe seven or eight or so units - nice, brick, air-conditioned - in a kind of cul-de-sac setting just above highway 79, on the other side of which were the train tracks. I remember sitting on the back porch, making sport of swatting the endless supply of flies, and the train rolling through.  

All the units had lawns that grew quick and healthy in the summer rain, and I mowed them - my first job - and saved a couple bucks those summers.

Glen and Gloria didn't last much longer after the move, divorcing. (Might have been a couple times; there's was a somewhat turbulent relationship.) Gloria was beautiful, Italian, jet-black hair and expertly applied makeup she didn't really need. Last time I talked with her was on the phone after Charles, her oldest, died.

There is a wonderful photograph my grandmother took of me and Dave and Charles on the small pier at the small "lake" that was on my aunt Kate's property when we were in Stephens for Christmas 1973. I must find that and frame it.

Kate was my granny's cousin.

She also liked Cadillacs. She let me drive hers from Camden to Stephens one summer afternoon, the first after I'd received my drivers license.

I watched Neil Armstrong walk on the moon on the TV in the living room of this house.

I was in this house when my brother Jay was born in nearby Bellflower.

I last believed in Santa Claus in this house, talking with my cousins while in bed Christmas eve about listening for the sound of reindeer hooves on the roof.

I once rolled right off this roof, landing in push-up position in the driveway, fortunate (I'm about on life three in cat terms) to only slightly sprain my wrist.

I shot Dave with a bb rifle, got him in the ass, in the back yard of this house. On accident, of course. Kind of.

I rode Glen-built go-karts, rudimentary but fun and functional, up and down west Flight Avenue.

I had some of the best times of my childhood on this block. A million years but I can still smell the chlorine in the pool.

I can still see Randi Pace, barely a teen but with a woman's body, stepping naked out of the pool one summer afternoon. She lived next door and had a brother and sister. I peeked through the curtains.

I asked Robbie about her many years ago. She died, heroin overdose, quite some time back.

I don't know where this came from.


pecos 9: donny/sylvia gas station TO jesse sister's b-day

Donny Sylvia gas station day

henry on the road to alpine, dogs along. freddy fender radio

Donny driving. toadies: (I burn?) cold one in lap. crossing pecos river (sign). Donny gives it a look. speedometer tickling 100. cigarette in the hand not on the wheel. sleeveless shirt shows ranger tat. scar on shoulder.

susan grocery store meet henry. a date?

Sylvia Pecos river.

jesse sister's birthday. 

Friday, August 28, 2015

dream: orange 911

just a view of three (I think) new vehicles in a driveway (I think).

the models were different and I don't recall their makes; they were new, though, and the exact same gleaming orange as the 911 that stood out, front and center.

and yes, I would if I could. but, like Hollister ranch, presently just a wee bit out of my price range.

orange = (on) fire? fire = hot? 

I reckon "911" could be something, too, but not so much here. (it is, btw, my dream car. although I would opt for a different color.)

an Abundance of Great Power.