Post by Jeff on May 27, 2006 16:25:18 GMT -5
I was raised in a big family. I have 2 natural brothers and 1 natural sister, 1 foster brother who chose our blood and rendered it respectable, 1 half-brother and 1 half-sister, two adopted sisters and 1 adopted brother, and 1 long lost foster brother. There’s the host of children that my parents aided, more than I even know, while they were live-in social workers at The United Methodist Boys Ranch and the satellite Graham Boy’s Home. On top of all this, the way the Cultural Center got its name was through my mom’s willingness to provide a Mecca for boys in Pawhuska whom she didn’t think should have to conform to the atheletic/haybailing ideal. Bill Salyers ( www.imdb.com/name/nm0759525/ ) and Don Whetsell may have started our present community but it was my mom who grew it into us. (I don’t mean to down play the great friendships that formed between Justin and David and Tyler, for example. But there is a lot of work to be done to allow something so beautiful to exist, and my mom did more than her fair share.) The community that we created has 32 members today, but at Rick’s 1989 Christmas Party there were more than 50—and I think only half of us came to that. We were ever many.
And my mother’s house was small. I’ve always lived in small places, places that I had to try to place my stuff. I was happiest when it all fit in my car. And several times I had Ryan’s feeling outside the Tulsa World offices: When everything you love is in your car (for Ryan it was freedom most of all) then you can go anywhere, do anything. You may be due to rendezvous, but you could simply change your mind…
Small things in small places and constant movement. I’ve watched the parade (literally) of human emotions. Here is Jon in my mom’s door telling how he was kicked out of Job Corps. Here is my dad in the same spot, making arguments against my mom while looking to me for support. Here is Rick in my bedroom giving me a pair of jeans (he knew I needed) and a copy of Howard Jones’ One-To-One (which he knew I’d love). Here is Peabody becoming Peabody. Here is David spitting when his wristwatch sounds an alarm. Here is a moment of love-making—I won’t say whose. Here is a moment when babies die.
I am a natural born communist. I’ve only been able to stand up because someone else would suffer if I didn’t. I’ve only been able to eat when others are eating with me. I’ve only had friends that had each other. I’ve only seen one movie by myself (Fantasia in 1991). I have not been by myself for more than 9-12 hours in my life. Ever. I’ve never been alone.
And now I am alone for month, 30 days, May 27th-June 26th. It’s probably good for me. But I wonder if anyone understands what a change it is for me. For most of my life I have craved solitude but have been unable to find it. I had to arrange it, measure it out in coffee spoons. 10 minutes to lay down a vocal track today. 15 minutes to collect a thought tomorrow. Etc…
I am driven to creativity by the hurriedness of my life. I must have the board to state something. I must write this song for myself. These were all fights, and someone had to sacrifice a game of monopoly with dad or a meaningful interaction with a husband so that I could have them.
But for the next month, no one needs my help (except for my students). No one will be upset if I get drunk or sleep in or sing at the top of my lungs for three days. And it just feels so strange. It just feels so strange.
Jeff
And my mother’s house was small. I’ve always lived in small places, places that I had to try to place my stuff. I was happiest when it all fit in my car. And several times I had Ryan’s feeling outside the Tulsa World offices: When everything you love is in your car (for Ryan it was freedom most of all) then you can go anywhere, do anything. You may be due to rendezvous, but you could simply change your mind…
Small things in small places and constant movement. I’ve watched the parade (literally) of human emotions. Here is Jon in my mom’s door telling how he was kicked out of Job Corps. Here is my dad in the same spot, making arguments against my mom while looking to me for support. Here is Rick in my bedroom giving me a pair of jeans (he knew I needed) and a copy of Howard Jones’ One-To-One (which he knew I’d love). Here is Peabody becoming Peabody. Here is David spitting when his wristwatch sounds an alarm. Here is a moment of love-making—I won’t say whose. Here is a moment when babies die.
I am a natural born communist. I’ve only been able to stand up because someone else would suffer if I didn’t. I’ve only been able to eat when others are eating with me. I’ve only had friends that had each other. I’ve only seen one movie by myself (Fantasia in 1991). I have not been by myself for more than 9-12 hours in my life. Ever. I’ve never been alone.
And now I am alone for month, 30 days, May 27th-June 26th. It’s probably good for me. But I wonder if anyone understands what a change it is for me. For most of my life I have craved solitude but have been unable to find it. I had to arrange it, measure it out in coffee spoons. 10 minutes to lay down a vocal track today. 15 minutes to collect a thought tomorrow. Etc…
I am driven to creativity by the hurriedness of my life. I must have the board to state something. I must write this song for myself. These were all fights, and someone had to sacrifice a game of monopoly with dad or a meaningful interaction with a husband so that I could have them.
But for the next month, no one needs my help (except for my students). No one will be upset if I get drunk or sleep in or sing at the top of my lungs for three days. And it just feels so strange. It just feels so strange.
Jeff