While its early AM, evidenced by the appearance of the trash truck emptying the trash cans at Rocky Point, i am still thinking of the lives lost a few mornings ago when three men from out of the immediate area piloted their 18 foot open craft into a wave as they attempted to cross the Bandon bar. They crossed as a wave broke, directly upon the boat. Three people died because no one was wearing a flotation device, you do not cross the bar under or through a wave, you ride over the wave. Piled high with crabbing gear, the boat went into the wave as many horrified people, tourists and locals alike, witnessed the disappearance of the boat, followed by the ejection of the cargo and that was followed by the three fishermens bodies, already dead. The bar was closed, due to high surf and low water, so why did the three cross? They were crabbibg, something they could have just as easily done in the harbor, and they would have still been alive. When the bar is closed, it is dangerous. That is why it was closed. Now let’s discuss the floatation devices they are required to have with them, which no one had on. Again, they are required to have them with them, so why were they not wearing them? Fortunately I was not a witness, so I was spared that. I am relaying the vision third hand, meaning the one who told me was repeating what he had been told. So, these three took an open 18 foot boat across a closed Bandon Bar, said boat stacked high with crab pots, and they did not wear their life jackets. I have trouble feeling sorry for idiotic behaviour, but I assume there are now three famalies missing the head of the household because they did not notice the flags flying saying turn back bar closed. That’s the end of this obligatory message. On to different thoughts. Ive noticed a lessening of fishermen and their trailers in b Rocky Point. I have also noticed a few river guides traveling out, including the Prowler’s river boat. The Ocean boat has followed the rules and remained tied to the dock. I have too much respect for the Ocean to venture out with my 21 foot Rienel, I am sure I spelled that wrong, which has been parked at a repair shop since I purchased it multiple years ago. The mechanic has had various illnesses and so my boat was stripped, and I have no idea what remains or where, exactly it currently is. I paid $150 for a new steering cable, swapped a few OMC outdrives for putting the outdrive back onto my boat. It has been multiple years, so it may not still be mine. It had a wonderful 289 inboard, cuddy cabin with portable head. It needed canvas for the top and a more powerful drive head, currently a forty horse, and a one fifty is what it needed. The short version of the story concerning the boat was a had an eight month time where I needed the boat, but it was in the shop. Now, of course I have no way to store it. So, perhaps one month when I have the time, money and place I can retreive it. Until then i do not deal with it. I put four new tires on it when I bought it, but the axels were bending under the weight of the boat. Everywhere I turned around the boat needed something else. Lights, batteries, charging systems, bilge pumps. I had eight life vests, 2 hand held air jorns, spare parts, extra tools. I was informed at one particular marine shop I had a boat: break out another thousand. If the damn guicching had a kitchen I could have lived aboard it. It was much smaller than my beached b n tugboat, so I really needed that canvas top. I am not sure where I could keep her but on the Coquille River. I need to finish up my sleep, so until next time.
When I write, what I see and feel comes from what I know and believe. I do not lie, cheat or steal. I do smoke some pot on occassion, but otherwise I am natural. Occasionally I will comment or say (comment is a judgment say is a perception) something that is misunderstood. It happens, not often, but it happens. Today was one of those days. I tried to rouse some help from my friends for other friends, who immediately decided I was criticising them, and these three decided I was rude, etc.. I answered what my intention was, and certainly it was not what they perceived. Then I find them posting on one of the Coos County facebook pages looking for friends who have their backs, yada yada. Now, my statement was on my facebook page, for my readers in the local area. It was requesting some people help them. It was not looking to do anymore than help these folks take a breather. I even told how easy the helping would be for numerous needed jobs, and a stapler. I know people often drop off home made items for lunches or the feedings. I was letting folks know what needed to be done, hoping someone would rise and help. Of course I get accused of trying to take over, etc. Talk about paranoid. I had this same problem over a donation that left a bad taste in a citizens mouth, so to speak. I simply picked up the donation and did the follow up, again thanking the donor. I had been told it was a set up because of the page I got the donation from. Now I am accused of being and committing ]numerous rude, stupid, selfish actions. I am sorry you misread what I wrote, and took it the way you did. Somehow, unless I am missing something, these three women have decided I am evil. Fine. I want nothing to do with paranoid sanctimonious people who apperently cant understand what they read. I want nothing more to do with Debra, Mary, or Frances, “our forgotten ones”, or any of the searchs for missing people. Anything of yours I have let me know and I will return it where ever you ask. Beyond that, please unfriend me, ignore me if we pass on the street. Friendship is a 2 way street. Since you feel I have used you, or whatever the hell you think, lets just close the door. Like I said, let me know if you want back anything I have of yours. Then we will be done. Have a nice life.
The end of the month is always stressful for me. I am always broke, never fully up on food,always owing someone or something. Granted it has been worse for me, but the fact more people have helped me does not lower the stress level because I am not in the forest, which costs me more in money and health because I have not been able to lay down and my feet and ankles are very swollen. I was able to get some white bread, jam and peanut butter to the young homeless fellow I have written about. It does feel good I could share some food with someone. One question I have noticed is the number of homeless people that smoke tobacco. I understand a need to occupy your hands and do something, but smoking costs a lot of money. So does drinking alcohol. I don’t do either, by choice, and before I became homeless. I quit smoking cigarettes when they went to a dollar a pack in the machine, some thirty five years ago. I rarely will drink a craft beer, again before I became homeless. If you drink and smoke while homeless you are basically a bum. I worry about perception, because loss enters into the end perception. I dislike fitting my own image of a bum. Add dirty clothing and I fit what, as a child I was taught was a failed life. Granted being homeless is a sign of a problem, but since I do not drink, smoke or do non medical drugs how am I a failure? It’s society as a whole that has failed me. I will be 70 in 66 days or so, and this life is not what I had planned. I planned on living off East Bay Drive until I died. I miscalculated O. C. Stanwood’s lifeline and his dementia. I see that in others now, and probably exhibit it myself to a degree. I know O.C. did not want his relatives to get the point from him or his estate, however that was the only way to stop the tweakers from stealing the property. I knew he had a will, which was never found. I qualified as co-tenant in common except I lacked a tax receipt, and forgot his bank account was not in his name rather in Oregonians for tax relief. Had I not had the particular lacking I could still be housed. Things could be worse but it does not seem so now. Three day countdown began hours ago. I need candy. I need diesel. I need a motorhome. Its what I call the “ineeda” syndrom. I could use things, of course, but when I find I am at the end of the month then I start seeing the grass on the other side of the fence. I need a change. I received a text message, followed by a phone call fron Verizon. I was informed I was $267 past due in my account and need pony up a total of $420 or my phone was to be shut off within 24 hours. Punching the suggested numbers only sent me to automated collection terminals, and what I needed was a human to tell me how my account was past due when I paid my first bill five weeks ago and have not received a bill. I managed to receive an operator after 5 attempts of redialing 611 and punching O repeatedly until the computer waived the white flag and sent me to a human, and after a lengthy wait I explained the problem and she was very nice. She looked at my account, then asked if I had gone online to see my account. Surprise number 1, i have to use a desk computer to access my account. Surprise number 2, Verizon is paperless billing, so now I have to pay extra to receive a bill. Surprise number 3, i pay in advance, so i will be three months behind soon. We went through my account, I explained why I had so much data, because they kept insisting I was using a gigabyte a day, and charging me $20 per gig over my 8 gigs. I explained my usage, she said they must have been talking about my 2 gigs of free lifetime use. So she lowered my plan from 15 to 12 gigs, lowering my bill $20, and explained my bill costs. I guess my bill is $160 a month for phone and tablet. That is $50 a month insurance and phone payment. So next month is spent before it gets here. Fuck. Live and learn. I explained how AT&T and I parted ways, and she was surprised, until I reminded her the same insurance company was what her Company uses, and I paid half what I do with Verizon. Sigh. With this massive payment I will be 4 months into my 24 month contract. I can hardly wait. I will see you all later.
I need help turning several hundred pounds of fruit into something canned. I have pears and apples. Open to suggestions, and I plan on getting more come thursday. Ideas welcome, but now is the time. I am low on funds, but will do best I can. Monday or Tuesday I will be selling my tie dye and fresh apples and pears over the next couple days. I have 2x and 3x adult shirts, plus small and ex large kids sizes plus small, medium large and extra large adult shirts, some hats and socks all at my storage locker south of Bandon. Look for my sign and bright colors next summery day. So, stop by and see Brutus, grab a shirt or three, and some fruit. I may have some ice cold apple juice left as well. One bucket of apples gives up about half a gallon.
September’s first feed (the homeless) was disappointing at Mingus Park due to too few homeless showed, even less volunteering, consequently beenie weenies and salad and no lunches. My jaded eye tells me there are issues that require organization and more autonomy at the top. Then we went to Devereux Center and lots of people there and new volunteers. These volunteers need special mention, and in fact we are going to dwell on them because once again the least teaches the most. The homeless were not in happy mode, so there were some chafing occurring between the homeless. That’s normal, really, because we already have been put down for the count, and lifting that shoulder is part of american dna (wrestling metaphore) but also in that same dna is where volunteers come from. Picture this, because i want you to feel this vision of America: mom, dad and five children between 4 and (?) 12. Yes, a family of 7. The parents want their kids to be aware of the plight less fortunate folks can find themselves in. David Letterman picks up cans on the roadway with his son, for the same reason. So as the family introduced themselves to us they asked for assignments. Before we let them start, they produced the lunches the kids assembled the night before. Here is where your vision starts. No brown sacks, gallon size clear plastic bags, where the banana stands out from the bag of cheetos, peanut butter crackers, fruit filled bars, mints, applesauce, twix bars and peanut butter and jelly, or perhaps nutella and fruit spread, in its own zip lock bag. These were the best lunches I have seen in quite a while. Now remember, I said five kids, and I would bet each kid put one object into the lunch bag, mom and dad the banana and sandwich, and I am just guessing here, but I envision them creating a family assemby line around a dining room table. Perhaps this was discussed and specifically shopped for, or maybe they hit their pantry up for the items. Regardless, the kids took the lunches, and bottled water around, making sure everybody received a lunch (for later) and water. Then the kids served the beenie weenies and salad, cups of water and you know what, these were the most polite homeless I have seen in quite a spell. A real polite, beyond please and thank you, there were smiles galore from the kids and from those eating. We spoke with the parents as they met many of the homeless, and the kids enthusiasm spread like wildfire, and a once a surly crowd became family, even if for a scant half hour. Deb has said that often she thinks the folks gather less for the food and more over the connecting. I’d call it family. So here these kids were, enjoying helping, but really enjoying sharing bread with new friends, and vice versa. When they were passing out bread loaves, jams and peanut butter the youngest decided she wanted some to take home too. The dad was explaining why she couldn’t, and Mary settled it by giving her peanut butter, jelly and a loaf of bread. The mom was explaining to dad little steps for the youngest to understand, and she was given everything, so that was settled. Sometimes it takes the littlest push for we older to understand the simplistic pleasures of the young. Dad was concerned about taking food out of the poor’s mouth, but we homeless would have given our last food to make her happy. The dad was shown not to worry, there were abundant jars of peanut butter, jelly and loaves of bread. When I left, it was as a happy guy, full and with a lunch to munch on latter. I am sure I was not the only one to savor the lunch that evening. For the Volunteers, thank you for bringing the family to the table, its been a while.
Ahh, the month of September has finally arrived. Believe it or not I always love September. School years it is a new beginning, temperarure wise it has it’s warm days and cool days with the added benefit of my brothers birthday. Months with birthdays always rise up in memories, because they are emotional, packed with happy memories. I am terrible with remembering birthdays, but I always remember my brothers birthdays. I have even forgotten my birthday but absolutely never forget my brothers birthday. September 16, 1944. The end time of the big one, WWII. My brothers were war babies. My birth year put me as The first wave of peace babies (born after the war) also known as baby boomers. It’s odd, forgetting your own birthday, but to remember your siblings birthday is akin to remembering to wake up in the morning, it is part of your dna. My remaining brother will become 72 this year, and come November I will become 70. Frightful to think of those numbers as being indicators of age, but there you have it, I am getting old. The other positive spin on that is my brother is older than I am by 2 entire years plus almost two months. I grew up in an extremely dysfunctional family, filled with horrible memories but September was the bright spot of the year, because of my brother’s birthday. Memories are lots like opinions, everyone has one. I can’t tell you why my brother’s birthdays stick out so much, especially considering I can not remember a single particular birthday of theirs. The dna thing must be the true fact because no other reason even comes close. I just looked at my left wrist, and was startled by the ace bandage wrapped around it. Now I feel the pain as well and will cease writing soon. I had a doctor deaden the wrist so he could drain a cyst. A drain that will probably bring limited relief because the doctor said it will probably return, but his prognosis was arthritus was my root probablem and I would need my wrist fused to lessen the pain. Since I have been on a routine morphine regimen for years now minor pain is already gone, but I can certainly tell there is a problem there. That is one of the costs of growing old. Now that I am thinking of the pain I will really have to stop. Happy birthday brother, I hope it’s your best ever.