loppers

The cabin in the woods had a candle burning in the window. 

It was late, I'm not really sure of the time. I had been driving for hours and had started seeing the lopers. I've called them that for years. I've done a lot of cross country driving, so I know when I'm tired I start seeing them. 

They are dark shadowy shapes, black in color,  that look almost human, but with elongated features. They lope beside the roadways at night. 

Every once in awhile,  they sort of dart in front of your vehicle, almost as if to say, wake up. This happens when you are becoming transfixed by the passing lines in the road. They are creepy, scary, and real. 

On this particular night, I pulled over when one darted in front of me. I sat there, breathing hard, chills running down every inch of my body. Usually I keep driving, but on this particular night I pulled off to the side of the road. I needed fresh air to wake me up. I still had several hours to go.  

As  I got out of my car, I could see a light through the trees. Not entirely sure why, but I followed it. I came to a cabin and there was a candle burning in the window. I stood there, in the shadows,  silently observing.  Not seeing anything, I crept closer. The window was old glass, with discoloration from years of candles, and weather. It was difficult to see in. As I peered into the window, I could see the outlines of the loppers. I stopped breathing. I had goosebumps  on my arms,  and I felt frozen in place.  

I regained my senses and slowly backed away. Heading back towards my car I could feel them getting closer to me. Feeling like I was moving in slow motion,  I hurried to my car, fumbling to get the doors locked, and the car started. I drove away almost in a panic,  wide awake now. 

These loppers would be on mountain passes and long stretches of winding roads. Always in lonely desolate places, made lonelier at night.  Driving alone, made the nights a place of nightmares, every horror movie watched came alive in my imagination. 

I headed down the pass to a café at the bottom for some early morning coffee. As I sat at the counter, and ordered, a lone trucker looked over at me. He said, "You see them". A statement,  not a question. I knew he was talking about the shadows I called loppers.  He then said,  "they are the souls of the people who die on the roads, and they gather when they know someone is going to die". "They stay in abandoned cabins, and wait for the people who wreck".  I was frozen again. People I had met over the years had talked about the shadows, but none of them had ever given me a feeling of foreboding like this lone man. 

I gave a nervous chuckle and looked away. He stood up then and started to approach me. As he slide past me, he whispered, "don't let them touch you". He walked out, and I sat and finished my coffee. The old trucker was creepy and I wondered how he knew that I saw these things I called the loppers.  

I woke up with a jolt to see I had run off the road. I groggily took inventory,  and found I was in one piece. My car not so much, but drivable. As I pulled onto the road, I glanced back and I could see the glimmer of a candle burning through the trees, and the shadowy figures lopping off into the woods.  

I realized then, the loppers are real. I've talked to people over the years since my encounter in the woods, people who do long distance driving. They've all seen them, at night, usually after midnight, and always on mountain roads,  and long lonely stretches. 

The Past; letting go

Caveat: I have not been married to Antony's father since 1997. We have never been on great terms, but I tried to keep most of that from my son. His father, on the other hand, did not. 

My Son's father passed away almost a month ago now. I actually wrote a blog on him and his friends a little over a month ago. On Friday, my son and I went through his things. Mostly it was his clothing. Mohamed had a clothing and shoe fetish. He loved high-end expensive clothing, and about 3 of the 5 boxes we went through still had tags on them. I don't know how I feel about this since he died penny less and Antony has to come up with the money for funeral expense. (I've started a gofundme for that. https://www.gofundme.com/f/assistance-for-my-son039s-father-passing 

To clarify, A headstone. Which Mohamed's son deserves to have for him. 

Back to his effects. He also had lot's of paperwork, but most from the past. Our divorce papers, our court papers, allegations, statements, filings, etc.... My son just turned 24 on the 9th of August. If you've followed my writing, you've read about him and how much I have tried through the years to protect him. The papers should have long been thrown away or burned. It was history. I don't know if my son will read them, or if he does, what he'll think of them, but I am leaving that up to him. He can decide what to throw and what he keeps.

Mohamed never lived in the now. He was always chasing the money, and never appreciated the actual journey. The lessons he could have learned from it or should have learned from it, he did not. The purpose. 
Everything was status, his clothes, his cars, where he lived. His son.

I look back at all of it, and I'm sad, that he lived that way. Sad for him, sad for my son. There were good memories before Antony was born, and some after. Mostly though, there was strife. Mohamed passed in a country that was not his, with no friends or family. 

We have memories, photos, stories, but Mohamed is no longer with us. I hope in where ever he is, he has finally found peace.

 ارقد في سلام

Humanity is dying

I watched a T.V. Special on King 5, titled Seattle's Dying. Found here https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bpAi70WWBlw

In it, the commentator, asks the question, "What if Seattle is dying and we don't even know it?" Well, we do know it or the special would not have been done. I work in Seattle every day and see this and more. We are too damn liberal.

I hear about it from the people who come into my store. I see drugs and crime on a daily basis. What I don't see is something being done about it. Again, we have discussions, we run specials, we have programs and money set aside to help, yet NOTHING is changing.

Why? I can tell you what I see and hear. Example: A shoplifter walks out of the store with 100.00's of dollars worth of goods. Are the police called? No, because they do nothing. Are not allowed to do anything.  The city council voted to call these crimes, crimes of poverty. We stand and watch. Our policy is to not stop, not confront.  The city policy is to allow it. Too much paperwork for the courts.

Are the city and the corporations afraid of lawsuits? This is what I hear. Lawsuits from the thieves. The druggies. Employees can lose their jobs. When did crime become OK, and not stopping it becomes wrong?

The attitude of the people is anger, disbelief. I see people shake their heads in wonder but I see no one doing anything about it. It reminds me of talking to someone who does not vote. The belief is, why should they. One vote won't make a difference. This way of thinking is inherently wrong. Nothing is ever accomplished through in-action.

You listen to the police in this video, their hands are tied. They don't feel the honor they felt when 1st becoming a police officer. They are given kits to take to the people on the streets. They coddle the junkies, doing drugs that are illegal. Did you know there are still people in jail for marijuana offenses from the '60s and '70s? Yet, you walk by almost any street corner, in downtown Seattle, any park, or underpass, and people are shooting up. It's a liability to the city to put someone in jail while they are high.



There was a second video done, on skid row in California. 53,000 people homeless are living there. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9D9pZEjSxXQ

This is not just happening in Seattle. This is happening all over our country. It should not be. It should not just be being talked about. It should not be just being filmed. Something should be being done about it.

Humanity is dying. People say they care but it is glaringly obvious that they do not. Or this would change.

John

We were talking about you the other day. Jen and I.

Sharon and John in front of the School in Entebbe Uganda
One of my last photos of him before he passed. 

I can't really remember the 1st time you walked into the club. I know you were in between jobs at Evergreen Helicopter. Jen hired you to bar back.

We became instant friends. You had that effect on people. No matter who you met.  You spoke Arabic and started teaching me.  We spent all our time together, and we danced. To any band that played. You tended to have crushes on the female leads, and me, the bass players.  I don't know why, maybe because they were tall and lanky and so was I.

We followed the bands that we liked. One, all the way to California and back. Most of our friends were in the music scene. When you taught me to dance, it was swing. Salsa, Pasa doable, and ballroom dance. Every week we were out. You stayed with my parent's and helped dad with cutting and stacking wood. You would help mom around the house too.

Jen and I were laughing about when you went back to the Middle East. I believe it was in the late '90s when you went back. You called me because you had gotten engaged. You told me about Mahar, the Muslim engagement period and that you needed to come up with cow's, and goats and a house for her. Plus 5000.00 for her household. You told me you didn't think that the marriage was going to happen because you did not have the money for the goats. Thinking about this now, Jen and I laughed and laughed. Goats, of all things. Like there weren't a million of them over there.

In the Early 2000s, you came back to the states and moved to Hammond Louisiana.  My understanding was you bought a house and property down there and were attending Tulane University.  From there, you went to Entebbe Uganda. You also bought property there, while you were helping build a school for girls.

We had phone calls often, but the last one was in April of 2012. I was with mom and dad, right before she passed. You spoke to mom on the phone and she asked if you had stacked the wood. You told her yes, you had and to stay warm, and you would see her soon. I did not know how prophetic that statement was.

You didn't tell me you were sick. I had no idea until your brother called me in June. I knew when I picked up the phone. Before he said a word, I knew you were gone. 7 years ago today, you left us. We all miss you. I'll be seeing Karen on Friday night. Rail is playing.  She's bringing her daughter Samantha, who's as gorgeous as she is. Alex is doing sound for them. You never got to meet them, but they love music as much as you and I did.

I see Jen all the time. She has cancer but does pretty good.  She and Jim are still together after all these years. 43 years now according to Jen.  I can hear you laughing when they fight. I can see your impish smile when she and I are up to our usual antics all these years later.

I wish you were still here. You'd be proud of your brother and sister and niece. I remember you going to see her play with the Philharmonic Symphony. My son plays now too and has a band. You are missing so much, and so many circles that we are still in.  And Antony, my Egyptian child. He's not a child anymore John. He's grown, and he dances, and he works for Microsoft. You'd be so proud of him.

I found some of the letters the other day. The ones from Tehran, and the Ivory Coast. You had quite an adventurous life. You lived it to the fullest. God, I miss you. I live with Cyrene again too. I remember our trip to California and staying at your tiny apartment in Oxnard. I wanted to stay on the sailboat, but Cyrene would not.  She was so funny about things. There was a storm rolling in, but I know we would have been fine. I have pictures from that trip somewhere. I'll have to dig them out and post them here.

Anyway, I'll let you go now. Just know I love and miss you. Wish you were here.

1987

2 of my roommates from the house on 45th, and some of the band members
from Whiskey FIx that lived with me. 

In 1987 I was living in the C.D. in Seattle. Still working at the Riviera in Lynnwood, and also at a little Greek restaurant behind the courthouse on Yesler.

 I was so naive. I Lived on 18th with two Filipino roommates Naomi, David, and my 2-year-old daughter.  I had Cripps at one end of my street, and Bloods on the other. I honestly never paid attention to this, until a friend from college pointed it out to me.

I was walking to work on Yesler one day, and my buddy who I went to college with was driving a cab. He passed by me and turned around to pick me up.  He had no idea I was living down there, and so our conversation went like this.

Him: hey, what are you doing down here, walking around.
Me: I just live over on 18th, I walk to work every day.
Him: You have got to be kidding me
Me: no, why?
Him: you realize this is the C.D.
Me: yea, so?
Him: It's dangerous in this area.
Me: I've never had any problems.

RIght about when I said that, he came to a stop at a light. Two Seattle police officer came running up from behind the cab, yelling stop. I look around, and here's this African American guy, booking it, and slides over the hood of our car and keeps going. The police had guns drawn.

My buddy looks at me and says See? As if to say, I told you we are in a dangerous area. I started thinking about moving from then forward.

I did eventually end up moving. To a house in Sunnyside. A block off 45th. I rented a 5 bedroom home with 3 other girls, and 2 guys. All in bands. We had a soundproof studio in the basement. A few Seattle musicians practiced there, including Mike Starr and Jerry Cantrell, from Alice n Chains prior to being signed.

This was a start to another chapter in my young life.
More later~
peace~

I still think about him

friends....or lovers 

I think about him almost every day. Odd how that is. It's random. I'll be going along good and then he pops into my mind. I will wonder at what part of the day he is in, whether he is working, or out with his girls. I'll wonder how his meetings are going, or if he's just at home on the deck relaxing.

When I'm driving to work, I wonder if we are on the same highway at the same time. When I come in late from my job, I get to my exit and think, he is one more exit up.  I wonder if he's awake, because I know he has been before, we've been on the phone that late. He works days, I work nights.

Who knows how these things work. I've been friends with him for a long time on social media. Even though we never really interacted before this year. He said he was always curious about me too, and wonder if he thinks of me at random times. I've always been curious about him. Attracted to his looks. Now his mind. He's sweet, caring. I can tell in how he talks. He's a good dad, I see that in what he posts.

I think about my life back to 2001. When I had my diagnosis. My feelings about life changed in those moments, and so I try to let people know what they mean to me. Even though I'm not really good at it.  He means something to me.  Maybe I'm not ready to identify my feelings or explore that too deeply yet, but he does mean something. *shrugs* *laughs* Silly me.

I wonder if I'm destined to be on my own from here on out. Was my marriage and subsequent divorce, the end of a meaningful relationship for me?  Has the world changed so much that the elusive "happily ever after" no longer exists?  I'm good on my own. I can do what I want when I want, but there are so many times that I think, it would be nice to share this with someone. What this is is, I've no idea. *ha* but maybe this could be found together.

I know I shouldn't think about him in that way. We are friends, and having friends, long term is always good.
He's with someone, but for some reason, I feel like there is some hope here. I'm not sure why. Maybe because I can see the pattern's that he cannot, or maybe because I know we have a connection.  I know we are friends, but wonder if somewhere down the line if there might be more. Maybe, maybe not. Time will tell. But I think about him.

California or bust

Steve Mumford and myself New Years 1987
Riviera in Lynnwood 

In 1987 I stopped working for Jim and Jen and went to work at the Riviera in Lynnwood. Steve Mumford owned the bar at the time. Not the building, Allen Hemmat owned it and Steve was leasing, with a suicide clause in his contract.

Steven went to school with Dan, Jennifer's brother, and I had met him at Casbah, another club that Allen owned. He had rescued me from my daughter's dad causing a public scene, and we had left and gone up the road to Jimmy Z's.

When I went to work for Steve, I was running the security team at the club, plus doing his books. Steve and I would constantly fight. He would fire me at least once a week, and then call the next day to beg me to come back. When I was doing books before we would open, Rick, the bartender would usually call back to the office to check on us because he could hear us bickering. It was a constant joke for him to ask if I needed the police or an ambulance. Steven was in love with me, but it was not reciprocated. He was a friend, and I had fun with him, but he was an alcoholic. I wanted no part in that.

We roomed together in Mukilteo and were always out in his limo when we were not working. I was driving a 73 gremlin at the time, and Francis, another friend, (who was in love with me, feelings not returned) had just bought an 85 Camaro with T-tops. My gremlin broke down one night, so Francis took it, while I took the Camaro. One night at the house, after work, Steven had a party. We had a full bar downstairs and a hot-tub. He had brought a bunch of chic's over and cranked the music. I was trying to sleep. I got pissed, and we had a huge fight about him and the girls. He threw it in my face again that I would not go out with him because he was fat (he was, but not the reason) and that he would have girls over anytime he wanted. I screamed at him that it was not because he was fat that it was because he was an alcoholic, and proceeded to grab every bottle in the bar and dump it. He was on the phone with Jennifer, crying to her about what I was doing and why would I not date him.

The next day at the bar, he, of course, fired me again. I was running with Cyrene by then, and I ended up moving in with her at Nanny's house. We decided that we were going to California, on 300.00 and a gas card.  Once we got there, we decided we were staying. A story for another time.

In the meantime, I had Steve calling me where we were staying and begging me to come back, and I was writing Jennifer on a weekly basis to tell her of our adventures.

By the end of Summer of 87 we were back, out of money and facing reality again. Back to work.