Reminiscing

My Plate is Full!

Bob Reid — Tue, 03 Apr 2007 06:38:00 GMT

Things seem to be picking up momentum. Tonight, I am videotaping a "Cowboy Church" service for some folks at the Salinas Rodeo Grounds. It should be educational. The fellow I spoke with seemed very nice and appreciative. I just have to show up and set up the camera. I like situations like this because they allow me to be involved in activities in the community that I would not ordinarily have entry to. It also lets me watch from a prime viewpoint and get right inside of what is happening.

It was a powerful weekend! I met on Saturday with about a dozen of the people I went to high school with, many years ago to plan our 40 year Reunion. As we looked through the yearbooks, trying to match the faces before us with the names and faces of those long ago people, it became evident just how long ago that was. Age is such an interesting thing. I once would've said that it was something that the body does while the mind stays the same, that we are still the same person in here that we were when we were cleaning erasers at the chalkboard, but I have seen different. I have seen the stiffness of mind and lack of flexibility that can come with age. Not in my own, though my short term memory takes a beating every day.

I was not prepared for the aging of all of those young people I once "knew", but even more so, I was not prepared for the warmth there was between us . . a dozen people who probably never had more than a passing conversation with one another, if that.

There were three people there whom I went through school from Kindergarten through those high school years. One, was my best friend in those early Kindergarten years, thought it seemed we drifted apart the older we got. Several years ago, a girl approached me after a school performance in Los Gatos and told me that I had gone to school with her father. It was his daughter. I remember when he had his tonsils removed and it changed his voice. I always thought that's what happened when you got your tonsils out. One was a girl I had a crush on in the fourth grade. She was a "nice" girl . . . pretty . . . in an understated way. I doubt she ever knew. It passed, but the fact remains.

Another, was someone I saw a lot of in high school. We hung out together, got drunk, spent the night at each other's houses . . loaded the surfboards on top of the car on Friday night, getting ready for the Early Saturday departure to Bolinas, or Santa Cruz . . having to cross Main Street where the harder, car folk, were Cruising, The sight of a car with surfboards was enough to energize some of the less "sandy" folk to engage us in the hopes of a fight or maybe just the joy of pursuit. He played drums in a band with my younger brother. They performed at the Fillmore and who knows where else. My brother was 14, or 15 at the time. I realize I know little about his musical experiences back then. He stopped playing years ago. Some time I hope to remember to ask him.

Oh yes! The warmth?! There was such a bond and a closeness that I did not anticipate. I was a little anxious about this get together. I wondered if we would be able to find common ground, but common ground seemed to envelope us. I was touched by how much being together meant to everyone and am looking forward to the next encounter.

Thinking . . .

Bob Reid — Sat, 02 Dec 2006 07:52:00 GMT

My trip to Colorado was many things. A welcome break in my erratic routine . . . A look into my past . . . a look into the future? . . . . an opportunity to see that there are other opportunties out there. A chance to meet many interesting, and creative people .. . get out of my California state of mind for a bit.

I did get to visit some old ghosts. It was in Boulder that I felt the emotional whiplash of going from being elated to devasted. I came into Boulder from Austin, Texas, where I had been living there under duress. I had gone there with my friends Eddie Clede and Geno Stevens. We had become a trio in Lake Tahoe and were, supposedly, on our way to Colorado to buy some property, or at least Eddie was going to buy some property in Colorado and we were all going to live there. Eddie had received a disability settlement form the Marine Corp and we were going to cash in.

Eddie bought an old Mercedes, which he had driven out from Texas, I remember him disappearing for a time, while he went to get back to Texas to get his loot.

While in Tahoe, he sold it to get a truck to take us all East. In preparation for the trip, I heard all about the dangers of traveling through Texas, looking as we did. I made up my mind to stay hidden in the back of the truck the whole trip, which I pretty much did, once we entered Texas. I think it was Eddie, Geno, David and myself. All they had to do was to stick their hair up inside their cowboy hats, but I was a little harder to disguise.

We got to Austin and I was introduced to their friends who were very warm and welcomed me into the fold. After several very warm, Autumn weeks in Austin, it seemed that the plans to go to Colorado were being changed. I was getting tired of hearing the room rustling everytime I turned out the lights. It seemed that the whole house was alive and in motion in the dark. I vowed to travel North to Boulder on my own.

I had a couple of singing jobs, one at the Elevator, and one at the coffeehouse at the University of Texas. I had a phone number of someone who lived in Boulder who used to work at the coffeehouse and I was assured that they would put me up. That's about all I had; a phone number, my guitar, and some clothes.

I arrived in Boulder the night of the first snow, which came on Halloween.

The next day, I went ot the Unitarian Church and, as I listened to the service, I thought about whether I had the courage to stand up at the end and ask the group for help. The time finally came and so did the courage. I told them that I had just arrived, knew no one, and needed a job and a place to live. Several people came up to me and offered me places to stay and one very beautiful woman approached me and said that she didn't know how she might help, but she gave me her phone number. I was dumbfounded!

It took me a couple of days to get the courage to call, but I did, and wound up at the beginning of one of the happiest times of my life. She was very cautious about becoming involved with me, or anyone, for that matter. She had a bad experience in her last attempt. She was a student in the Psychology Department at the University Of Colorado. my walk across campus to meet her had me feeling fully alive, though edgy!

The end wasn't far off, however. All in all, the couple of months that she was in my life were exhilarating. She was more than I could have hoped for. I was pretty ill at the time, though I didn't understand what it was, until later. I remember where I was, in a friend's house in Talpa, New Mexico, on my way home to her, after not talking for a couple of weeks, while she was at her parents' home. I had been floating on air during that time. Nothing could be wrong with the world. Her voice on the phone let me know that there was indeed something wrong. When I asked her how she was, she answered with, "I think you know." Like a fool, I, contritely, pretended I did, until the conversation uncovered that she had a venereal disease that she attributed to me. I was devastated! She had not been able to talk to me, I don't remember why we didn't communicate, but there had been a man she had known who was also around for Christmas who was there to console her. Her heart was no longer available to me. Later information turned up that she had received the "gift", not from me, but from her previous boyfriend. Our night together had aggravated a pre-existing condition. By the time this was understood, Paradise was long lost.

I know that I carry a fear of that kind of abandonment happening again. That I may lose someone I love, not because of something I've done, but, because they separate from me without communicating the reasons. I know that I have been guilty of the very kind of abandonment that I fear suffering. I know what it feels like. How can I do it to someone else?

I think the combination of having recently seen the RFK film and my trip to Colorado, which paraded some ghosts through my conciousness, has made me pause and look at my life. I think that I am missing the kind of passion I expected from my life back then. It is still available to me, I simply have ceased expecting it. I want to ask for more. I want to be less careful.

It is time!

Fall

Bob Reid — Wed, 11 Oct 2006 20:10:00 GMT

I used to spend part of each October in New York, sailing the Hudson River on the Clearwater. It was an amazing time. I made many friends and had many adventures.

This photo was taken during one of the environmental programs that we would put on as we sailed the river. We would through a net into the river and then put whatever we caught into the aquariums for the day. I loved taking photos through the glass. These are my friends, Moraya and Tinya.

The boat would start in Albany and take two weeks to make the trip to New York City, surrounded by the incredible fall foliage. The colors were amazing.

. Along the way, we would stop and do the environmental programs for schools who bused their kids to were we were on the river. Some evenings we would do concerts. The musicians and storytellers would come from all parts of the country and volunteer for a week. I would often do my weekly stint and then stick around for the rest of the Pumpkin Sail. It was how I spent several birthdays, though few knew.

It was an exhausting time, catching sleep when and where you could. To make our schedule we would often need to sail in the middle of the night. What a great time it was! I remember being on board in the moonlight, freezing with the crew, as we looked for the buoys that showed the way into the harbors and waterways . . under the bridges. These are memories locked in a special place in my mind.

Remembering

Bob Reid — Thu, 05 Oct 2006 05:59:00 GMT

I have had some amazing experiences in my life . . . and sometimes . . . if there were no photos to remind me, they would be completely lost to me.

Moments like this one.

Pete would flood the driveway in the winter . . . taking care to build up the ice, over days, by spraying the ground with the garden hose . . . just so . . . as only Pete can do . . and then we would collect the skates from back in the barn and slip around each day for hours. Pete would hook up the outside speakers, or put on a walkman with headphones, it was the only time I knew him to deliberately listen to recorded music. Those are Tao and Kitama, his grandsons, behind him, with Hudson, the crazy dog.

The time that I have spent with the Seegers is a gift that I hope to return in kind, to someone, somewhere. They accepted me, included me in their family and it is all a bit of a mystery to me. Toshi's incredible meals, finding my little bed up in the barn, or way up on top in the cupola, from where I remember watching the forest around us burning . . . slowly, not like forest fires I'm used to . . . more like a cigar . . . burning the ground . . the thick carpet of leaves . . . slowly and steadily. . . and then igniting the trees from the bottom. We fought that fire with the paid firefighters, for days, with picks and shovels, dropping into bed at night as if we were dead. At night, the leading edge would glow in the dark and creep forward . . . it was an eerie sensation. I think my picture was in the Beacon paper during that adventure, taken up on the mountain working the fire. It was all such a blur!

I first saw Pete at the Berkeley Folk Festival when the private summer school program my brother and sister and I were attending, Pinel, took us there on a field trip to hear some music. That experience had a huge impact on me. I watched this man up on stage, more like a pallet, actually, playing and singing and telling stories and having a ball. I thought, "I want me some of that!". I guess the ball started rolling that day.

Jim Stein, one of the teachers and founders of the school, was a folky, played guitar and banjo. I knew Jim many years later, as an adult here in Santa Cruz, where he briefly played bass in a little band I put together for my friend Michael, who was learning to play the pedal steel guitar and needed a band to be part of. Jim was mostly playing jazz then, and teaching at a middle school in San Jose. His former wife, Zonweiss, was teaching in the Pajaro Valley schools, though I don't think I ever encountered her there. They had a contest to name a new school and her name was chosen, Alianza. I remember her when I hear, or see that name.

It never occurred to me, until years later, after his death, that Jim was the one responsible for me being in Berkeley that day. I never thanked him for that. I know that on many levels he struggled with being an educator, wanting to have a good influence. If I have been able to be a positive influence in any way for the past 30 years, it is a ripple that Jim Stein set into motion when I was about 12 years old.

Thank you Jim!

Back Then

Bob Reid — Wed, 04 Oct 2006 15:54:00 GMT

This is 1977, at the First Monterey Folk Festival that I created at Monterey Peninsula College. This was a loose concert during the day, while workshop were happening.

I was running around trying to make sure everything was going well and Kate Wolf suggested that I needed to stop and sing something. I know I borrowed her guitar, and that her strap was a little long for me, but I don't remember what I sang. Kate was running the Santa Rosa Folk Festival and had a pretty good idea of how hectic it can get.

The weekend was great, musicians had fun, everyone performed for gas money! It was magical. I wish I had appreciated how special it was while it was happening. I knew it was good and fun, but not how truly unique a time it was. No names on the poster . . . everything was free, except for the evening concert which cost fifty cents. We filled the theater with people and great music!

Wayback!

Bob Reid — Tue, 03 Oct 2006 08:14:00 GMT

It was a long time ago, but, not so very far away. These steps are on Cayuga Street in Santa Cruz, next door to where I lived with Greg Keith and Flora Durham. I slept on the couch in the living room. There was a wall covered with writing and a marker do do it with. I don't know if I ever did, at least, I can't remember writing anything. It is hard to imagine that I didn't. Writing was the life's blood of the house

Flora's 3 kids were running off to school, we had our meals . . . it was an odd family, but a good family. Greg and Flora were both poets and musicians. Greg played guitar and sang and wrote some wonderful songs, his guitar stilled for some several years now by a cancer, a death that he saw coming and wrote about, logged on a website and book. He was one of my teachers. I am grateful to have had him.

Flora played flute in the symphony, and a quartet that practiced at the house. I used them once to record an intro to a song for Ric Masten, "Let It Be A Dance". I was also her student, in art and life. I had a front row seat in the theater of their lives.

Flora was in Portland, where I bought this guitar, last I heard. Somewhere, I have a letter that she wrote me encouraging me to use my wings for what they are meant for. I sometimes forget that they can be more than these burdensome obstacles that are forever getting in my way.