Tag: Ricky

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The Opera House by Ricky

In A People House © by Dr. Seuss and The Tale of Custard The Dragon © by Ogden Nash.
With apologies to Dr. Seuss and Ogden Nash I submit for your reading pleasure (or whatever it turns out to be):

The Opera House

La Scala – Stage View


Come inside, Mr. Bird said the mouse
And I will show you what’s inside an opera house.
An opera house has things like stairs,
Elevators and soft cushy chairs,
But don’t sit too long or ushers will stare.

Around the pillars and down the halls
There is more to see behind these walls.
On the stage, there is much to do
Before the productions are finally through.

There are ropes, ladders, and scaffolding galore,
And canvas and cloth and curtains that reach the floor.
With pits for music and trap-doors for exits
Performers must avoid blows to the solar plexus.

In the dressing rooms beyond the stage
Many a Prima Donna hath raged.
Stagehands are waiting in the wings
For the final time the “Fat Lady” sings.

Come on, come on there’s more to see
Let us make haste I have to pee.

From gilded washrooms to golden arches
Patrons patiently check their bejeweled watches
For the time when the curtain will rise
And they can finally sit down and close their eyes.
Talking and snoring are both frowned upon
But then, so is “shushing” someone looked down upon.

An opera house is seldom austere
Many have a large chandelier
Which refracts the light with a tinkling sound,
But gives no warning before crashing to the ground.

Keep moving right along you see
Before that thing comes down on me.

Opera houses oft feel alive,
Where life and death both do thrive.
Some will house a persistent ghost
But only one is more famous than most.

Composers remembered from times long past
Now drift through the air where they do bask
In the glow of the product of their life’s task.
No more than this do they ever ask,
That we the living appreciate them so
Not one is forgotten though dead long ago.

An opera house cannot become a tomb
When so many of us come to fill the room
And keep alive the majestic tradition
Of all the castrati operatic renditions.
Farinelli, Senesino, and others all knew their position;
Was to sing beautiful arias in their unusual condition.

Do you see? Do you see? The pit fills with musicians
And the gilded boxes house the patricians.
So now, Mr. Bird, said the mouse.
You know what there is in an opera house.
Oh, I forgot to mention that it’s about time you knew,
An opera house presents operas too.

Now we must leave this beautiful place
To buy a ticket lest we lose face.
What! All sold out. Don’t fly into a rage.
Remember poor Custard is crying for a nice safe cage.

La Scala – Audience View
© 30 October 2011



About the Author
Emerald Bay – Lake Tahoe, CA

Ricky was born in June of 1948 in downtown Los Angeles, California. He lived first in Lawndale and then in Redondo Beach both suburbs of LA. Just prior to turning 8 years old, he went to live with his grandparents on their farm in Isanti County, Minnesota for two years while (unknown to him) his parents obtained a divorce.

When united with his mother and new stepfather, he lived at Emerald Bay and then at South Lake Tahoe, California, graduating from South Tahoe High School in 1966. After two tours of duty with the Air Force, he moved to Denver, Colorado where he lived with his wife of 27 years and their four children. His wife passed away from complications of breast cancer four days after 9-11.

He came out as a gay man in the summer of 2010. “I find writing these memories to be very therapeutic.”

Ricky’s story blog is
“TheTahoeBoy.blogspot.com”.
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Ghosts of Holidays Past by Ricky

     I expect that anyone alive today over the age of two will have at least one memory of a holiday. Those of us who are fond of saying that “we were not born yesterday,” will have many ghostly memories of holidays past; some good and perhaps some not so good. So it is with me.

     One of my happiest holidays from “days of yore” is the Christmas of 1954, while my family was living in our new house in Redondo Beach, California. My parents were still married then. (I know it was a happy holiday because I have seen the photographs of that Christmas. Photos often are more accurate than ancient memories or at least can trigger the return of memories with their associated feelings of happiness.) 1954 was the year I received as gifts: a used, but fully functional, Lionel electric train set; a Davy Crockett wristwatch: and a “Jungle Jim” toy rifle.

 

My Favorite Watch of All Time

     In the photographs I can be seen wielding the rifle over my head (one handed) while wearing a big smile and striped pajamas. Another photo shows me wearing the watch, sitting on the floor getting dizzy while watching my train go around in circles on the few available tracks. I was blowing the whistle and occasionally placing smoke pellets into the “smoke stack.”

     The next most memorable Christmas occurred in 1966. I had graduated from high school in June and started college at Sacramento State College. I would drive home every weekend. (This was the year I learned there was a better life without constant snow on the ground in the winter.) I purchased my family’s gifts at Sears in Sacramento. I haven’t remembered what I got my mother but I bought my half-brother and sister (twins) among other things a “Green Ghost” game. (Did you notice how I cleverly worked a real “ghost” into the title and story?) The Green Ghost game has a glow-in-the-dark board resting on legs to raise it above the tabletop and is played in the dark (hence the glow-in-the-dark part).

It was fun to play.

     I do not know if my siblings enjoyed the game being only 8-years old at the time, but the novelty combination of darkness, glowing game board, secret passages, and the word “ghost” certainly attracted me, which is why I thought they would enjoy it. However, the memorable event for this particular Christmas is the saga of the present I bought for my stepfather, Paul.

     In all of my adolescent and teenage years, I could never think of a decent gift to give him. Ties and socks just did not feel right. In 1966, I found what I knew was the perfect gift for Paul to wear while working outside in the winter (he delivered propane to businesses and homes). After much searching and indecision, I bought for him a pair of red, quilted, long underwear bottoms (the very last pair and in just his size with no matching top available). After waiting in line for 30-minutes to access the gift wrap department and submit my gift to the wrappers (not to be confused with “rappers” who had not yet been invented), I waited another 45-minutes to pick up the now wrapped gift. I noticed they wrapped the underwear in what looked like a shoebox, when I thought it would be in a flatter shirt type box. Soooooo, I naively and happily cradled the package and drove home for Christmas vacation.

     Christmas Eve arrived in due course and the presents were distributed slowly to waiting family members. The twins were anxious to open the big box labeled for them and in which they soon discovered the Green Ghost game. Paul was opening my gift to him while I was opening one for me. I remained confident that he was really going to enjoy his gift. Alas, it was not to be as I planned. (Do you remember the Murphy’s Law which states, “If something can go wrong, it will, and at the worst possible time.”) While paying no attention to Paul, I was busily unwrapping my gift, when I heard him say, “Well thank you, Rick?” with a noticeable questioning inflection. I put a smile on my face and turned around to accept his gratitude and expression of love. My smile turned into a puzzled and confused look, which actually mirrored the look on Paul’s face. For there he was holding out for all to see a pair of pink lady’s slippers. We were all slightly amused as I explained what obviously had happened at the Sears gift wrapping department, but then we all broke out in laughter when I said, “What do you suppose somebody’s mother thought when her loving husband or adoring children gave her a pair of bright red men’s long underwear bottoms.”

     Christmas of 1972 was an important holiday. I lived in relative poverty as a deputy sheriff in Tucson (Arizona, just in case there is another Tucson somewhere). My soon to be fiancé, Deborah, surprised me with a Christmas visit. I have a photo of us sitting around the kitchen table in my apartment with a scrawny, pitiful-looking, 9-inch “tree” with crude decorations on it, and Deborah is wearing a Santa hat. The atmosphere or environment of that Christmas was not fancy, but it held much love and togetherness.

     I have learned that many times in life, it is not the bright, shiny, and noisy moments (or memories) which carry the most important messages, but more often than not, it is the plain and precious moments that convey the most love and affection and deserve to be remembered.

© 22 December 2010


About the Author


Emerald Bay, Lake Tahoe, CA

Ricky was born in June of 1948 in downtown Los Angeles, California. He lived first in Lawndale and then in Redondo Beach both suburbs of LA. Just prior to turning 8 years old, he went to live with his grandparents on their farm in Isanti County, Minnesota for two years while (unknown to him) his parents obtained a divorce.

When united with his mother and new stepfather, he lived at Emerald Bay and then at South Lake Tahoe, California, graduating from South Tahoe High School in 1966. After two tours of duty with the Air Force, he moved to Denver, Colorado where he lived with his wife of 27 years and their four children. His wife passed away from complications of breast cancer four days after 9-11.

He came out as a gay man in the summer of 2010. “I find writing these memories to be very therapeutic.”

Ricky’s story blog is TheTahoeBoy.blogspot.com.

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Dreams by Ricky

     The first “dream” I can remember occurred several times between birth and the age of one. I’m asleep (how else could I have a dream???). Suddenly, two things happen at once: I see the color green as if it were an old green-screen computer monitor. The green is everywhere I look, but I am not looking anywhere but ahead. I also feel a funny sensation in the pit of my stomach (of course, I had no idea what a stomach is, but that is where I felt the sensation). The feeling was associated with falling. I think, “Falling, falling, falling” with no language to express it. I feel what I later identify as “fear,” but I do not wake up. It will be some time before I even understand the concepts of “me, I, I am me, not me, not me but you, mommy, not the mommy, and daddy”.

     Thirty-four years ago, I finally understood this dream. One night I was placing my sleeping first born into her crib, when she slipped out of my arms and fell the last four inches. She did not awaken and my green dream popped into my mind and I understood. My father had the habit of tossing me (as an infant) into the air and catching me as I came down. The feeling of negative gravity became associated with falling. I never liked him (or anyone) tossing me up because I hated the falling feeling. To this day, I do not like roller-coaster-like rides because the falling-feeling fills me with fear.

     This next dream is gross but perhaps is an early indication of my sexual orientation. It only occurred between five and ten times when I was between three and four years old; and before I received a traumatic spanking for exploring my penis. First, a little set up. In June of 1951, my mother and a friend took me to visit my grandparents’ farm in central Minnesota to attend their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary. We were there for some time as I have photographs of me with my third birthday cake taken on the ninth of June. Their anniversary was not until the twenty-fifth. There was no indoor plumbing at that time, so I learned how to use the outhouse, which seems to provide the framework for my subconscious imagination to dream about.

     In my dream, I am inside the outhouse, down in the pit looking up at other people’s butts and penises. The pit was clean. In a companion daydream, I would imagine being swallowed by a giant and pissed out his penis.

    I have no explanation for these dreams. At this age, I had not discovered the pleasures in manipulating my penis or the difference between males and females. I did not even understand the significance of the words “boys” and “girls.” I do know that when potty training was in progress at age two, I really gave my mother “fits.” So, perhaps I was still interested in body functions at that stage, but I really don’t know.

    Around twelve years old, I began to have dreams of flying. This is no mystery to me as I had recently rediscovered my childhood large, illustrated, Disney version book of Peter Pan. When Disneyland first opened, my parents took me there; I was probably seven. Of all the rides and sites to see, the Peter Pan and Alice in Wonderland rides were my favorite. So, I rediscovered the book and at the same time, I was telling myself that I never wanted to grow up; I suppose my dreams of flying began there.

     In my flying dream, I could only fly if I held in one hand, a handful of the dreaded #2 pencils. I could escape from anyone trying to catch me. I would also “show off” to my schoolmates. Over the course of several such dreams, (they were serial in nature) I gave in to my friends and schoolmates’ requests to have a pencil so they could fly also. One by one over several dream episodes, I gave away my pencils. Every time I gave a pencil away, it became harder and harder for me to fly, while everyone else could fly perfectly well with only one pencil. When I finally gave away all but one pencil, I was grounded and the dreams stopped. I guess it was no longer enjoyable.

     A similar dream began after I joined the Boy Scouts (at age 13) and could not advance in rank until I could pass my First Class swimming requirement. In this case, I began to dream that I could breathe underwater. This dream also stopped when I finally passed the requirement one-year later.

     I also had at least one scary dream that would repeat somewhat regularly and exactly. In this dream, I was scared because I was being chased by a huge T-Rex. Eventually, I would reach a large three-storied building, which appeared to be around 100 yards long. (It resembled a long corridor of rooms like in a hotel, but that is all it was, just a corridor, no hotel.) I would enter the ground floor at the left end of the building just ahead of the T-Rex. I was afraid he could see and get me, if I stayed on the bottom floor, so I went up the stairs and started running down the corridor towards the other end. Inside, I could see that the corridor is lined with rooms with no doors. As I ran down the corridor I looked to the left out the rooms’ window and the T-Rex’s head would be there and his right eye was watching me as he ran parallel to me on the outside of the building. To gain some distance from him, I decided to go down the stairs located midway between the building’s ends, knowing that the T-Rex would have to go around the building to resume the chase. As I exited the building, I saw my mother and little brother and sister standing there. I made them follow me but they could not run fast enough so I found a “hollowed out” large tree stump and we all crawled in and waited. Shortly, the T-Rex arrived but could not detect us and went away and the dream ended.

    Sometimes, I would wake up early in the dream, breathing hard. At first I would just lie down again and go back to sleep. But, after three episodes where I just went back into the same dream at the same place I left it, I would get up and get a drink, etc. before I went back to sleep to insure that the dream was gone.

     After leaving home for the Air Force in 1967, I began to have home-sick adventure dreams. These dreams revolved around the geographical area of my home at South Lake Tahoe. In these dreams, I was in control of where I went but not all the details of whom, (or what) I would meet or whether or not they were hostile. If I went west, I would end up in a cavern with a secret entrance to an old mansion. If I went east, I would go to the desert area east of Carson City and have a mine adventure. To the south, there was just forest and no real activity so I did not go there too often. Eventually, I got over being homesick and the dreams ended.

     While in high school, I had several dreams with a sexual theme. All were within different school designs, but all the settings were in boys’ locker rooms. In some dreams, a few boys were already engaged in sexual activity. In other dreams, no one was. But in all of those dreams, the object of my desire was available and willing but at the crucial moment just before consummation of desires could begin, my mother would walk in; what a mood killer. That is when the dream abruptly ended. Could I just close my eyes and re-enter the dream as I did with the T-Rex one? Nooooo! I was very frustrated as a teen.

     When I was 63 years old, I finally figured out why my mother was always showing up at the wrong time in that dream. When I was five, I received a spanking (a very traumatic one for me) for examining my penis. My mother was the one who caught me at it and immediately told my father who rushed in and spanked me. Therefore, in the dream my subconscious was stopping me from doing something that I had been punished for doing.

     I did not remember the sexual dreams until forty or more years after they stopped. Clearly, I should have recognized the implications of these dreams, but I was so naïve that it just did not register.

© 1 May
2011




About the Author
Emerald Bay, Lake Tahoe, CA

Ricky was born in June of 1948 in downtown Los Angeles, California. He lived first in Lawndale and then in Redondo Beach both suburbs of LA. Just prior to turning 8 years old, he went to live with his grandparents on their farm in Isanti County, Minnesota for two years while (unknown to him) his parents obtained a divorce.

When united with his mother and new stepfather, he lived at Emerald Bay and then at South Lake Tahoe, California, graduating from South Tahoe High School in 1966. After two tours of duty with the Air Force, he moved to Denver, Colorado where he lived with his wife of 27 years and their four children. His wife passed away from complications of breast cancer four days after 9-11.

He came out as a gay man in the summer of 2010. “I find writing these memories to be very therapeutic.”

Ricky’s story blog is “TheTahoeBoy.blogspot.com”.

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If I Won the Lottery by Ricky

     When I win the lottery, if I ever play, I will do what the majority of people will do; share some with family, pay off the mortgage and other bills, and perhaps buy a newer car. Depending upon the amount won, there may be varying amounts of funds left over after all the foregoing activity. Thus, the following list is what I think I would do if the financial opportunity exists after accomplishing the things in the above list. The list is in no particular order as there is no way to predict the amount of winnings.

     1. Build a private, GLBT, high-rise senior citizen center. Under the ground floor would be a large parking garage part of which is open to the public for a small fee. The resident parking area would have wide diagonal parking spaces for each unit of the high rise. The ground floor would house a super-size grocery/department store.  

     The second floor would house geriatric medical facilities (to include a non-emergency clinic for minor medical issues but staffed by trained emergency room doctors and nurses). These facilities, except the clinic, would be open to the public.

     The third floor will house two swimming pools; one for residents and one for non-residents (for a membership). Both swimming areas will also have typical gym exercise equipment and other related facilities.

     All floors above would consist of living spaces of various designs to accommodate senior GLBT citizens and their partners and dependents (if any).

     Separate stairs and lifts will keep the general public out of the residents and their “guests-only” areas. The top three floors will be dedicated to: senior and diabetic-menu eating facilities; a solarium; recreation rooms and areas.

     2. Build a similar structure for “troubled” GLBT children, adolescents, teens, and their parents (if needed). This structure would not be open to the public, except for the medical facilities and therapists, and the medical facilities will be tailored to meet the needs of pediatricians and therapists. There would also be private school and day care facilities on site. 
     The upper floors would have some apartments designed for the homeless who had children who qualified to live in the facility so that families could stay together. Other apartments would be for single teens who don’t have families or who need shelter. 
     Younger children needing to be temporarily away from their parents or whose parents are in long or short-term custody would live in age appropriate small dorms each with a state-licensed dorm mother and father foster care parents and who are official staff so there is no need for them to work anywhere else – the children being their only concern.
     3. Trusts for my grandchildren.
     4. A trust for a budding artist named Edgar, who is 16, extremely handsome, and (as I write this) working as a busboy at a local Mexican restaurant.
     5. Visit England and Australia.
     6. Visit and perhaps move to Tahiti.
© 10 June 2012
About the Author

Emerald Bay, Lake Tahoe, CA

Ricky was born in June of 1948 in downtown Los Angeles, California. He lived first in Lawndale and then in Redondo Beach both suburbs of LA. Just prior to turning 8 years old, he went to live with his grandparents on their farm in Isanti County, Minnesota for two years while (unknown to him) his parents obtained a divorce.

When united with his mother and new stepfather, he lived at Emerald Bay and then at South Lake Tahoe, California, graduating from South Tahoe High School in 1966. After two tours of duty with the Air Force, he moved to Denver, Colorado where he lived with his wife of 27 years and their four children. His wife passed away from complications of breast cancer four days after 9-11.

He came out as a gay man in the summer of 2010. “I find writing these memories to be very therapeutic.”

Ricky’s story blog is “TheTahoeBoy.blogspot.com”.

Posted on

Neverland by Ricky

           I first went to Neverland in 1953 at the age of 5 when my parents took me to an indoor theater for the first time to see Walt Disney’s animated movie Peter Pan, which begins with the narrator telling the viewing audience that the action about to take place, “has happened before, and will all happen again”, only this time it is happening in Edwardian London, in the neighborhood of Bloomsbury. 
          The movie is an adaptation of Sir James Matthew Barrie’s 1904 play Peter Pan or The Boy Who Wouldn’t Grow Up.  In 1935 Walt wanted Peter Pan to be his second film after Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs but he couldn’t get the rights from the Great Ormond Street Children’s Hospital in London* until four years later and then WWII interrupted production.  Barrie’s 1911 novelization of the play is titled Peter Pan and Wendy. 
Cover of the 1911 Novel
          1953 was the year that my parents bought me the large Disney book of Peter Pan complete with text and lots of pictures of scenes from the film.
          The next time I remember going to Neverland was in 1955 at age 7, when my family watched the NBC television broadcast of the Broadway musical of Peter Pan; starring Mary Martin as Peter and Cyril Ritchard as Captain Hook, which had earned Tony Awards for both stars in 1954.
          Soon after the TV broadcast, I visited Neverland yet again that same year after the opening of Disneyland on July 18th.  My favorite areas of the park are Fantasy Land and Tomorrow Land.  From that visit on, I have probably lived in a fantasy world and the world of the future; jumping into either one of them alternately and refusing to live in the present reality.  My favorite rides have remained the same over the years; the Peter Pan and Alice in Wonderland rides.  Both are fantasy related but to me were the most beautifully crafted and colorful rides.
          The Peter Pan ride begins with one sitting in a small pirate ship flying out the window of the nursery following Peter’s shadow into a nighttime scene flying over the city of London and around Big Ben.  The city below is aglow with lights brought out by overhead “black lights.”  The illusion of flying was most impressive to me.  The ride continues through the night sky until you circle around the Neverland portrayed in the movie.  It then continues through various dioramas from the movie and ends at the opposite end of the starting point.  I loved it.
          The Alice in Wonderland ride is similar but featuring scenes from that movie. In spite of the Queen of Hearts, the ride is beautiful, colorful, and mostly non-threatening except the short part in the scary nighttime forest.  I liked the peacefulness of the ride.
          Another ride in Fantasy Land is the Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs ride.  I wanted to go on that ride but my parents continued their refusal to ride on what they perceived as a “kids” ride (either that or they didn’t have the money to spend).  I have always maintained that kid or adult rides are absolutely no fun to do alone.  As with the previously mentioned rides, this one began benignly with lots of good music and colors in the scenes from the movie.  The part where the ride goes into the Dwarf’s mine was especially nice with all the multicolored gemstones lining the tunnels.  Then there was the exit, which was suddenly blocked by the evil and ugly witch and the vehicle turned down a dark side tunnel.  Another exit appeared only to be blocked and another turn down yet another tunnel; only this one held a nasty surprise.  Dangling in the dark were black threads, which slid across my face and felt like spider webs.  It didn’t help any that at that moment a large glowing spider appeared on the wall just ahead and to the side.  Well, I lost my joy, happiness, and composure right then.  As the song asserts, “I don’t like spiders and snakes and that ain’t what it takes to love me…”  Mr. Disney.  I panicked and was really scared that there were spiders in the vehicle and on me.  By the time the ride ended, I was crying and ran to my waiting parents, probably yelling something about spiders.  I had forgotten that this was a ride and that everything was fake.
          Looking back on that event all I can think of to account for my behavior is one of two things.  Either I was a “scaredy cat” or my parents’ warnings about the Black Widow spiders (found around the outside of our house) being poisonous had really been taken very seriously.  I still hate spiders and I don’t like snakes.
          From 1958 thru 1965 (ages 10 to 17), I went to Neverland whenever I visited my dad for his one-week-at-Christmas visitation rights.  We always went to Disneyland and I rode my two favorite rides among others.  I only rode the Snow White ride once again when my wife and I went there and I told her the story of my panic.  That time there were no black threads.
          Perhaps the trip to Neverland that had the most impact on my life was in 1960 at age 12.  That was the year my toy box from when I was 7 reappeared in my life and I found the large Disney book on Peter Pan.  When I began to read the book I returned to Neverland.  During the reading I mentally wished that I would not grow up and would stay 12 forever (a version of the “Peter Pan Pledge”) and I internalized the wish. 
The Peter Pan Pledge

“I pledge allegiance to Peter Pan and the Land of Never Never, to stay young in mind, [and] in spirit; to grow old and grouchy never!”
          If you don’t count the opinions of my children, most people who know me really well would say that I’ve done a good job in keeping that pledge.
          In 1953, I went to Neverland for the first time.  In all truthfulness, I never left.
Sir James M. Barrie, 1st Baronet
*  “In 1929, J. M. Barrie donated all rights in Peter Pan to Great Ormond Street Children’s Hospital.  In 1987, fifty years after Barrie’s death, copyright expired under UK law. However, the following year a unique act of Parliament restored royalty income from all versions of Peter Pan to the hospital, which means that very sick children will continue to benefit from J. M. Barrie’s generous gift for as long as the hospital exists.”
© 12 March 2012

Illustration from 1911 Edition



 

Illustration from 1911 Edition



“Never say goodbye, …”

 

About the Author

Emerald Bay, Lake Tahoe, CA
Ricky was born in June of 1948 in downtown Los Angeles.  He lived first in Lawndale and then in Redondo Beach both suburbs of LA.  Just prior to turning 8 years old, he was sent to live with his grandparents on their farm in Isanti County, Minnesota for two years while (unknown to him) his parents obtained a divorce.

 
When united with his mother and stepfather in 1958, he lived first at Emerald Bay and then at South Lake Tahoe, California, graduating from South Tahoe High School in 1966.  After two tours of duty with the Air Force, he moved to Denver, Colorado where he lived with his wife and four children until her passing away from complications of breast cancer four days after 9-11.

He came out as a gay man in the summer of 2010.  “I find writing these memories to be theraputic.”

Ricky’s story blog is “TheTahoeBoy.blogspot.com”.
Posted on

Mother Goose and Granny – Revisited by Ricky

            It has been over twenty years since I have given any
thought to Granny or Mother Goose products or nursery rhymes, as that was when
my youngest child stopped wanting me to read to her.  Now I just have to wait until my granddaughter
is around so I can read that stuff again.
          I first encountered Granny Goose in the 1960’s when actor
Philip Carey played a macho James Bond type of character, named Granny Goose,
in potato chip commercials.  My favorite
commercial was the one where Mexican banditos ride up to Granny and one says,
“What’s in the bag, Goose?” 
Phillip Carey (1951-2008)
See Phillip Carey as Granny Goose

          Those commercials usually ended with Granny asking, “Now the only question is, are you grown up enough for Granny Goose.” I can assure you that the old cliché, “Idle minds are the Devil’s playground” is quite true. I was in high school in the ‘60’s and it did not take me long to convert Granny’s closing question into “Now the only question is, are you grown up enough to goose Granny?”

          Naturally, I first learned of Mother Goose when I was very young. My parents did read it to me sometimes, when I would sit still so they could. After I began to read, I would read them myself if it was raining and I was bored. I is rather interesting how many of the rhymes people can remember when they become senior citizens of advanced seniority.

          While on-line researching the term “Mother Goose,” I discovered that there are many books published on the topic containing many of the nursery rhymes. As it turns out, I have a copy of one of them in my library.

My Book’s Cover

          It is not the rarest one but apparently the most popular (if not famous). In perusing the contents, I managed to read many of the rhymes I remembered and discovered that several were longer or worded different.

          One of the oddest I found was one that completely solves the mystery of the cause of sexual orientation.

A Week of Birthdays

Monday’s
child is fair of face,
Tuesday’s
child is full of grace,
Wednesday’s
child is full of woe,
Thursday’s
child has far to go,
Friday’s
child is loving and giving,
Saturday’s
child works hard for its living,
But the
child that’s born on the Sabbath day
Is bonny
and blithe, and good and gay.

           Since there is one Sabbath Day per week and 52-weeks in a year, according to the above rhyme it follows that 14.285% of the population is gay, not the 3 through 10-percent figures often thrown about.  Mystery — SOLVED.  (Note:  These figures do not include the “Sabbath” days of other religions so the actual percentage would be even higher.)

           Many of the nursery rhymes are supposed to be short lessons on proper or unacceptable behaviors or even warnings. For example, consider:
 

Little Miss Muffet

Little
Miss Muffet
Sat on a
tuffet,
Eating
of curds and whey;
There
came a big spider,
And sat
down beside her,
And
frightened Miss Muffet away.
Moral #1: Eating curds and whey attracts big spiders. 
Moral #2: Girls are afraid of spiders. (So am I for that matter but, I don’t run; I attack using deadly force.)

          Also, consider the case of: 


Tom, Tom, the Piper’s Son

Tom,
Tom, the Piper’s son,
Stole a
pig, and away he run,
The pig
was eat,
And Tom
was beat,
And Tom
ran crying down the street.
Moral:  Getting beat is worth a good meal.
         If you recall I titled this essay “Mother Goose and Granny – Revisited.” What comes next is the revisited part. These rhymes come from my K-8 elementary school days.
Little Miss Muffet

Little
Miss Muffet,
Sat on
a tuffet,
Eating
curds and whey,
Along
came a spider,
And sat
down beside her,
And she
beat the hell out of it with her spoon.
Little Miss Muffet

Little
Miss Muffet,
Sat on
a tuffet,
Eating
curds and whey,
Along
came a spider,
And sat
down beside her,
And she
ate that too.
The above nursery rhymes in
the blue font are from the book The Real Mother Goose, the 67th printing in 1977 – Rand
McNally & Company.  © 1944
© 20 May 2012

About the Author

Emerald Bay, Lake Tahoe, CA

Ricky
was born in June of 1948 in downtown Los
Angeles, California.
He lived first in Lawndale
and then in Redondo Beach both suburbs of LA. 
Just prior to turning 8 years old, he went to live with his grandparents
on their farm in Isanti County,
Minnesota for two years while
(unknown to him) his parents obtained a divorce.



When united with his mother and new stepfather, he lived at Emerald Bay
and then at South Lake Tahoe, California,
graduating from South
Tahoe High
School in 1966. 
After three tours of duty with the Air Force, he moved to Denver, Colorado
where he lived with his wife of 27 years and their four children.  His wife passed away from complications of
breast cancer four days after 9-11.

He came out as a gay man in the summer of 2010.  “I find writing these memories to be very therapeutic.”

Ricky’s story blog is TheTahoeBoy.blogspot.com.

Posted on

Hallowe’en by Ricky

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The symbol of “Candy Day”

My earliest memories of Hallowe’en involve two years of costumes and large shopping bags of goodies. I only remember one of my costumes, Superman. (I even had a cape.) Mother made it for me. During both years, I remember  mother and father walked with me and several neighborhood parents with kids around to a lot of houses.

This is NOT me.
In those days homemade and store bought goodies were about equally distributed. My favorite was the chocolate candies as one might expect. Somehow the overstuffed very large shopping bags (we went out again when the first bag was full) I lugged about were mysteriously emptied long before I could have eaten even a tenth of my haul. Don’t you just love parents who “wisely” protect you from all that candy? Of course, these were the days before apples with inserted razor blades created a Hallowe’en panic among parents.

While living with my grandparents on their farm, there was no Hallowe’en trick or treating. The neighbors were too far away. So, I had to be content with the in school Hallowe’en “parties”. In replacement, we did celebrate “May Day” in the farming communities on May first each year. Basically, we would deliver a basket of goodies to a neighbor’s farm house, knock on the door and yell “May Day”, then run and hide in a large scale game of Hide-and-Seek.

Grandparent’s farm house in Minnesota.

Once back with my mother, I went by myself trick or treating until my little brother and sister were old enough to go, and then I took them. One year (the last I ever went) my friend, Jimmy and I did pull a couple of “tricks” on two houses. We used ski wax to write four letter words on two-car’s windows. Ski wax is hard to get off.

On the path to delinquency.

I was not always a nice kid.

It is said that, “A mind is a terrible thing to waste.” (referring to not educating a mind), and that is certainly true. However, when a person has a good, sound, healthy, and well educated mind, but doesn’t use the knowledge stored therein, I submit it is a greater tragedy and even a bigger waste. Unfortunately, I once fell into this category (at least I hope it was only once). 

Back-in-the-day, whatever day that was, I was married and living in Marana, AZ. It was in late October when I arrived home for lunch and discovered that my wife had just finished “cooking down” a pumpkin in preparation to making pumpkin pie. I rushed over to taste it and she warned me that it was hot. So, not being stupid (or so I thought then), I obtained a spoon from the silverware drawer and dipped it into the golden elixir, started to blow upon it to cool it down to enjoyable tasting temperature, then she also warned me that there was no “spice” in it yet. So, not being stupid (or so I thought then), I replied, “So what? It’s pumpkin!”. I then proceeded to put the spoon in my mouth to enjoy the near ambrosia delicacy. I removed the spoon, swirled the contents about my mouth, and promptly spit it out into the sink. This wasn’t pumpkin, it was squash!! I have hated squash ever since I was 4.

I did learn several things from this event:  

1. Pumpkins are squashes; 

2. I hate the flavor of squash not the texture; 


3. What good is knowledge if you don’t use it?; 


4. When someone warns you about something, if there is time, ask “What are you warning me about?”; 

5. Unpleasant things can be made pleasurable, if disguised properly; 

6. I’m not stupid, but I don’t know everything; 

7. I should have put more trust in my wife, because she remembered that I didn’t like squash and warned me; and 

8. My wife made an outstanding pumpkin pie.

This one is MINE! Go get your own.

About the Author



Emerald Bay – Lake Tahoe

Ricky was born in June of 1948 in downtown Los Angeles, California. He lived first in Lawndale and then in Redondo Beach both suburbs of LA.  Just prior to turning 8 years old, he went to live with his grandparents on their farm in Isanti County, Minnesota for two years while (unknown to him) his parents obtained a divorce.

When united with his mother and new stepfather, he lived at Emerald Bay and then at South Lake Tahoe, California, graduating from South Tahoe High School in 1966.  After two tours of duty with the Air Force, he moved to Denver, Colorado where he lived with his wife of 27 years and their four children.  His wife passed away from complications of breast cancer four days after 9-11.

He came out as a gay man in the summer of 2010.  “I find writing these memories to be very therapeutic.”

Ricky’s story blog is TheTahoeBoy.blogspot.com.

Posted on

Drama Queen by Ricky

“The time has come,” the Walrus said,
“To talk of many things:
Of shoes—and ships—and sealing-wax—
Of cabbages—and kings—
And why the sea is boiling hot—
And whether pigs have wings.”

— Lewis Carroll, The Walrus and the Carpenter

Last week I had to ask
our group leader what exactly is a “drama queen”.  His answer was okay but due to the passage of
time I forgot the answer.  Thus, I was on
my own pondering this topic and how it relates to my life experiences.  I thought so hard that I gave myself a
dramatic headache to substitute for smoke pouring out my ears.

My ponderous labors were not in vain however,
as I did give birth to a personal point of reference; and it did not even take
nine months.
I
witnessed my first episode of “dramatical” behavior in 1953.  My mother made me wear sandals to
Kindergarten where other boys began to call me a “sissy” for wearing them.  When I got home that afternoon, I begged my
mother to get me “real” shoes like the other boys, but she said, “No.”  When my father came home, I turned on the
tears, panic, and near tantrum behavior and he took me out to get new footwear;
he truly understood the situation.  To
some that may qualify for juvenile (or infantile) drama queen behavior, but to
me it was self-preservation-behavior.
The
next time I noticed dramatical behavior in others and I, was in the Fall of 1965
and Spring of 1966.  This time it was
group behavior as many of us performed in the two high school plays, Pioneer Go Home and Tom Jones. 
Combined with a few skits in Boy Scouts, these were my only youthful
experiences with drama.  As it turns out
though, I really enjoyed it.

Cast of Tom Jones–I’m Tom

I enjoyed drama.

In
1969, three young adult males and I performed, at a church social, a skit in barbershop
quartet style; not the harmony parts just the dramatical part.  We sang a “moving” rendition of When It’s Hog Calling Time in Nebraska.  It was well received.  At least no one threw tomatoes at us.

Many
years later, while in the Air Force, I was the supervisor of a flight of
30-missile security personnel one of whom, the flight sergeant, was always
getting lost or stuck on unauthorized roads. 
I was joking with one of my staff sergeants about giving the flight
sergeant an award for all his efforts in finding new places to get stuck and
areas in which to play lost and found. 
The next week, the staff sergeant brought me a homemade medal of French
design to award the flight sergeant.
The
award was a little compass (the type with a small suction cup so it could be
attached to a windshield) which was suspended from a red, white, and blue
striped ribbon to fit around the recipient’s neck.  I invited the squadron commander and
operations officer to attend my flight’s guard mount that day to witness the
award ceremony.
After
attending to the normal activities of guard mount, I called the flight sergeant
to come Front and Center.  When he was in
place, I gave an “over the top” flowery spiel about his ability and skill in blazing new trails and
documenting response time to hazardous locations ending with, “Sergeant R., I
present you with the coveted Pathfinder of the Year Award.”  The highlight of the presentation was after I
placed the ribbon around his neck I grasped his shoulders and kissed him French
style on both cheeks.  Everyone “cracked
up laughing,” the sergeant turned bright red, and even the commander enjoyed
the “performance.”  This is not drama
queen behavior; it is morale boosting behavior to lighten the load of being in a
boring and thankless job.
After
all that pondering on the topic, I do recognize stereotypical drama queen
behavior, when I see others engage in it repeatedly.  However, I am not a stereotypical
person.  Like each of you, I am unique in
my personality, traits, speech patterns, sense of humor, and so on.  I believe that we all do things sometimes
that could make others refer to us as drama queens.  For myself, I may actually do these things
quite often but rather subtlety.  No one
has ever said I was effeminate or had effeminate traits or habits and I am not
flamboyant or flaming.  No, my drama
queeniness is very low key.
For
example, I like to tell jokes, mostly puns, at odd intervals to lighten the
mood; or perhaps to turn the attention to me. 
I like to wear bright solid color shirts and t-shirts with logos or
sayings or other messages on them; perhaps again to make people notice me.  While I do not deliberately arrive late to
our Telling Your Story group, it does draw attention to me.  So maybe I really do qualify as a drama
queen; except for one thing.  I am not
female so “queen” does not fit.
“The time has come,” this author said,
“To talk of many things: 
Of shoes–and ships–and sealing-wax– 
Of cabbages–and drama kings– 
And why the sea is boiling hot– 
And whether pigs have wings.”
If
you must, just call me a Drama King.

©
16 April 2012

About the Author

Emerald Bay – Lake Tahoe
Ricky
was born in June of 1948 in downtown Los
Angeles, California.
He lived first in Lawndale
and then in Redondo Beach both suburbs of LA. Just prior to turning 8 years
old, he went to live with his grandparents on their farm in Isanti County, Minnesota
for two years while (unknown to him) his parents obtained a divorce.

When united with his mother and new stepfather, he lived at Emerald Bay
and then at South Lake Tahoe, CA,
graduating from South
Tahoe High
School in 1966. After three tours of duty with the
Air Force, he moved to Denver,
Colorado where he lived with his
wife of 27 years and their four children. His wife passed away from
complications of breast cancer four days after 9-11.

He came out as a gay man in the summer of 2010.  “I find that writing these memories is very therapeutic.”

Ricky’s blog is “TheTahoeBoy.blogspot.com”.