TerryWalstrom

Joined

• started 313 topics
• posted 1,550 times   see topics posted on
• send a message

Posts by TerryWalstrom

• 
  11

  Psychedelic Jezebel

  by TerryWalstrom in

  1. jw
  2. friends

  psychedelic jezebel _________.

  she’s psychedelic jezebel.

  it says so on her vw bus, tie-dye blouse, and her handmade jewelry.. there she is now in her garden; child of the 60’s; a cinder from a long ago passed comet.she shoots me the “peace sign”.

  1. 
  2. 
  3. 
• 

  TerryWalstrom

  Heck, thanks.
  
  
  
  
  We all see people every now and then who never left a certain era or year or style long ago defunct. They got stuck in time like Billy Pilgrim.
  I still see Farrah Fawcett hairdo's in Fort Worth, for example.
  My next-door neighbor halfway scares, mystifies, and amuses me.
  I'm sure if you asked her, she'd say the same about me :)
  
• 
  20

  BUSTED by a GYPSY

  by TerryWalstrom in

  1. jw
  2. friends

  busted by a gypsy__________________how do i know they are gypsy?i had some run-ins in l.a. many years back.

  had they worn a banner it wouldn't have been more obvious.the patriarch wore a special hat with a silver spangled band.i've seen the old gypsy with his cane and his scowl.

  he walks like a king or a panther at prowl.

  1. 
  2. 
  3. 
• 

  TerryWalstrom

  I once, many years ago, parked in front of a vacant building near Six Flags Over Texas. The business which had gone bankrupt had moved. The no-parking signs Terry assumed were no longer applicable. I figured, "How is a non-existent business going to be hurt by my parking in front of it?"
  
  Well, you can guess what happened next.
  My car was towed.
  It took several hours to locate the towing location, find cash to pay the $200 fine, get a taxi to drive me there. Wait forever for them to find my car on their vast lot in the dark and drive home with my wife and kids fuming over my stupidity.
  
  So you see, I still think somewhere in my pea-sized brain that I was right.
  Practically speaking, I was disabused of that notion.
  I don't know which was worse, having to pay cash for my own car to be towed from in front of a vacant building--or--thinking I was in the right.
  
  If I were a different sort of person, a NORMAL one, these kinds of things would never happen to me. Worse still, I don't seem to learn my lesson. Ever.
• 
  11

  Psychedelic Jezebel

  by TerryWalstrom in

  1. jw
  2. friends

  psychedelic jezebel _________.

  she’s psychedelic jezebel.

  it says so on her vw bus, tie-dye blouse, and her handmade jewelry.. there she is now in her garden; child of the 60’s; a cinder from a long ago passed comet.she shoots me the “peace sign”.

  1. 
  2. 
  3. 
• 

  TerryWalstrom

  PSYCHEDELIC JEZEBEL
  _________

  She’s Psychedelic Jezebel.
  It says so on her VW bus, tie-dye blouse, and her handmade jewelry.

  There she is now in her garden; child of the 60’s; a cinder from a long ago passed comet.
  She shoots me the “peace sign”. I respond with a “hang ten.”
  
  

  Her multi-colored hair fairly explodes outward from her scalp. The roots are white, baby--but the rest is zealous. The ‘style’ is early electrocution.
  I suss out chemical happiness and the not-so-faint herbal scent of an early morning road trip down Bong-ville road...

  Her smile might blind me sideways. The blue-gray eyes are tuned to a distant galaxy; perhaps Betelgeuse. She’s pruning something in her vast garden. Intensely.
  
  Speaking of intensity...
  I’m pacing in front of the house.
  I stalk the driveway. Nervous energy. I’m scoping out the sky, the weather, the clouds, and the next decision I make will be bicycle friendly. Or not.
  
  

  That unmistakable voice of hers rings out:
  “I saw him in concert once.”
  Her soil-rich finger is pointing directly at my T-shirt. I look down clueless.
  Oh.
  I didn’t buy this shirt for myself. It was a gift.
  “Margaritaville”, I can make out but it’s upside down and the rest is a date and location.
  
  

  She begins a chorus in the middle of the song and points to her tats as she sways.

  “With nothing to show but this brand new tattoo.
  But it's a real beauty,
  A Mexican cutie, how it got here
  I haven't a clue.”
  
  

  I’m getting good at faking a smile. I nod pseudo-approvingly and shrug. I can see
  She is noticing for the first time that her neighbor has no visible tattoos.

  “Where are your Tats?”
  
  The face she’s giving me is a scold and a challenge. She's judging me with disapproval.
  Meanwhile, the bad part of my brain is busy preparing a reply and I’m not anxious to hear what it’s going to be.

  My mouth flies open and I hear myself say,
  “I’ve got the 10 commandments in a spiral around my asshole.”
  
  

  I immediately cringe! What a sick mind you have, Terry!
  I look over at her. She is beaming.

  “Cool beans!” Her head is nodding.
  I think I have won her respect.

  ______
• 
  20

  BUSTED by a GYPSY

  by TerryWalstrom in

  1. jw
  2. friends

  busted by a gypsy__________________how do i know they are gypsy?i had some run-ins in l.a. many years back.

  had they worn a banner it wouldn't have been more obvious.the patriarch wore a special hat with a silver spangled band.i've seen the old gypsy with his cane and his scowl.

  he walks like a king or a panther at prowl.

  1. 
  2. 
  3. 
• 

  TerryWalstrom

  The point (or moral) of my story is that I judged a man and he judged me back. I was the only person in the story provably wrong. I may be the only jerk!
  In writing it down, I grappled with self-justification. I don't want to be wrong or at fault even if I clearly AM!
  A kid says, "Everybody else is doing it."
  That's also what the Nazis said at the Nuremberg trials.

  Only one good thing has come out of the incident. I was shamed into seeing I'm a jerk for EVER sitting in a handicap spot.
  I deserve public calling out and humiliation.
  Getting the story posted guarantees I can't hide the fact I am an ass.
  There is something to be said for the old fashioned public humiliation method of curing scofflaws such as myself by pillory!
  
  
• 
  47

  I am a Living Time Machine

  by TerryWalstrom in

  1. jw
  2. friends

  which world is this?_________________when the doctor pulled my screaming body out of mom all those 7 decades ago, i landed in a post-wwii world.it was--compared to today's world--an alien planet.. the world i live in today has nothing in common with the world in which i grew up.. there were no cell phones back then--there were black telephones with a dial-tone and an operator who placed your call.

  everywhere you found telephone booths!

  a call was a nickle.where did all those telephone booths go?i dunno.where did my whole world go?i dunno.. tv sets were huge boxes with tubes and small screens.

  1. 
  2. 
  3. 
• 

  TerryWalstrom

  Since I am old, I recognize all sorts of things which have zero meaning to those of a tender age.
  While it isn't an advantage per se, it imparts a wee glow of self-satisfaction.
  It's not unlike owning an old trunk with stickers from all over the globe signifying a well-traveled life.
  My brain is cluttered with old stickers.
• 
  20

  BUSTED by a GYPSY

  by TerryWalstrom in

  1. jw
  2. friends

  busted by a gypsy__________________how do i know they are gypsy?i had some run-ins in l.a. many years back.

  had they worn a banner it wouldn't have been more obvious.the patriarch wore a special hat with a silver spangled band.i've seen the old gypsy with his cane and his scowl.

  he walks like a king or a panther at prowl.

  1. 
  2. 
  3. 
• 

  TerryWalstrom

  BUSTED BY A GYPSY
  __________________
  How do I know they are Gypsy?
  I had some run-ins in L.A. many years back. Had they worn a banner it wouldn't have been more obvious.
  
  The patriarch wore a special hat with a silver spangled band.
  I've seen the old gypsy with his cane and his scowl. He walks like a king or a panther at prowl.
  
  They have been portrayed as cunning, mysterious outsiders who tell fortunes and steal before moving on to the next town. I know nothing about that other than old black and white Universal horror films.
  
  He was just outside Starbucks with his daughter and son-in-law as he ignored what they were saying and turned his head away from them and lifted his chin.
  They were headed to the front door of Starbucks when the patriarch balked like a plow horse. He jerked his head and sat down as though staking a claim of some sort.
  I couldn't hear.
  
  The trio was just outside the window.
  The daughter was--it seemed--pleading.
  Papa couldn't be bothered.
  Her husband kept a wary distance, the way a hound does when the family cat has scored his nose with claws a time or two.

  After the abject begging satisfied his pride the craggy old fellow reached into his very deep pocket and extracted a bulk wad of cash like a month's load of tiny laundry.

  He peeled two bills and made his daughter reach for them at a stretch.
  I couldn't take my eyes away from this tableau.
  Minutes later, the couple were inside arguing in a peculiar language which seemed after a bit to change into other dialects!
  My mind flashed: "Is this how every minute of their life is constructed? How can they stand it?"
  
  But then--shamed by my own "white privilege" and stone ignorant conjectures, I withdrew my guesses and forced a blank slate.

  Once back outside, holding the old man's coffee in front of him, the Patriarch ignored her just long enough to make her look foolish before snatching it out of her hand and gesturing contemptuously for his change.

  I didn't actually KNOW what was happening for sure. I didn't like what it LOOKED like: a bully signifying his power and status.

  The young lady continued talking non-stop, pausing only to flash photos of small children in front of her old man's face. He never once turned his gaze toward them...or her.
  
  

  The cold rudeness drove me to put the whole thing out of my concern and I went back to what I was writing.
  ___
  
  That was 2 days ago.
  Today, the Elder Gypsy and his daughter were back. Both outside on the patio. No son-in-law in sight.
  I paid little mind to them as I could manage. Been there, done that!
  
  

  After a bit, the wind died and I abandoned the table inside by the window and exited. My usual table was taken. Only one table remained. I eased into the seat and set up my laptop.
  
  I was facing in the direction of you-know-who. Every once and awhile, I glanced up. I had my earphones in and couldn't hear.
  At one moment my eyes caught his glance and I suppose I glowered. My bad. His eyes were, as Robert Shaw said of the Great White's eyes in JAWS, "Cold and dead...like a doll's eyes."
  
  Eventually, the two of them got up to leave. He fumbled his cane and his daughter quickly fetched it for him. It was much practiced and fluid with grace.
  She headed for their vehicle. The patriarch with his shark eyes and black hat with glimmering silver band changed course and suddenly stood in front of my table.
  He lifted the tip of his cane and tapped it on the edge of my table. His lips moved. I heard not a word as I'd been listening to Mahler's 2nd.
  
  Yes, I was slightly startled and curious and maybe even amused at this unlikely confrontation.
  I pulled one earphone out of my head and squinted at his weathered face inquisitively.
  His daughter stood clear over by the car. I swung my head in her direction just as she spoke.
  "He's just being sarcastic."
  
  I heard him speak the same sentence several times. Each word corresponded with a cane tap on the symbol imprinted on my table's edge.

  He sounded like Bela Lugosi as Dracula.
  "Are you disabled? Are you disabled? Are you---?"
  
  

  I tightened my brain down in analysis mode and the little bell went off.
  I finally "got" what he was on about.
  He was busting me for sitting at a table with a handicapped logo.
  He was challenging me; calling me out.

  Now he had already quitted another table which had not been handicap only. So, it wasn't as though it were something personal to his needs.
  It was a show of force.
  A flexing.
  In my heart, I knew I had indeed sat at a handicap only table without even a moment's hesitation. And yet--it wasn't going to be THIS goober who would get me to move.
  
  

  I didn't say a word to him. I watched him with bemusement like you'd watch a fat kid trying to chin himself in P.E.

  I cocked my head a little and lifted my index finger to the side of my head and drew an airy circle round and round and round.

  He promptly pivoted and departed.
  Weird it was.
  
  My first impulse was to stand and wave him into my chair with a curtsy.
  That would be overt smartassery and an insult.
  Give me a gold star. I didn't.

  
  I can't help but wonder what the old fellow expected me to do?
  A bit of self-analysis tells me my reason for my own reaction was complicated

  by the fact I saw him as trying to take the moral high-ground after I'd seen him
  arguably occupying the low ground in his own family.
  
  I can't be sure.
  I'm not saying I was right, only that I wasn't completely wrong.
  
• 
  47

  I am a Living Time Machine

  by TerryWalstrom in

  1. jw
  2. friends

  which world is this?_________________when the doctor pulled my screaming body out of mom all those 7 decades ago, i landed in a post-wwii world.it was--compared to today's world--an alien planet.. the world i live in today has nothing in common with the world in which i grew up.. there were no cell phones back then--there were black telephones with a dial-tone and an operator who placed your call.

  everywhere you found telephone booths!

  a call was a nickle.where did all those telephone booths go?i dunno.where did my whole world go?i dunno.. tv sets were huge boxes with tubes and small screens.

  1. 
  2. 
  3. 
• 

  TerryWalstrom

  Hardly a day passes wherein I overhear a comment from a stray conversation within earshot in which the speaker is clueless about anything which existed before their date of birth.
  An age of technology and information proliferation has not made younger folks smarter or better informed, in my experience. It has made them smug.
  Their own narrow, short lifetime is the be-all and end-all of significance.
  
  I was spoiled by overlapping generations of great-grandmother, grandmother, mother; each with a grasp of what came before them. Thank goodness they spoke about it and gave me a sense of my place in time and space!
  
  
• 
  4

  (A true story...) NOT THE OTHER STORY

  by TerryWalstrom in

  1. jw
  2. friends

  (a true story...)not the other story.

  little rock, arkansas many years ago.

  we were stranded.

  1. 
  2. 
  3. 
• 

  TerryWalstrom

  Thank you for taking the time to read what I write.
  There are many folks who are angry at me because I go long.
  You should just see how much I edit out to get to the long form :)
• 
  15

  GETTING FIRED VS QUITTING

  by TerryWalstrom in

  1. jw
  2. friends

  getting fired vs quitting_________________________my specialties in life are great and many, but none more fabulous than the talent i've possessed for getting fired and/or quitting a job.how many jobs and careers i blazed through would spin your head!

  suffice it to say, more than you've time or patience to hear.. there is something in my psychology and verbal arsenal too prone toward candid criticism!

  i find myself blurting out what i really think before even i can stop myself.i worked for an art gallery owner once who had everything going for him except good sense.

  1. 
  2. 
  3. 
• 

  TerryWalstrom

  GrreatTeacher: What a wordsmith!
  ______
  
  If only!
  Thank you.
  
  CYRANO: "Oh! I have writ it and rewrit it in my own mind so oft that it lies there ready for pen and ink; and if I lay but my soul by my letter-sheet, 'tis naught to do but to copy from it."

  
  
• 
  7

  MOVIE REVIEW; SILENCE (A story about Faith, Martyrs, Apostates, and Stupidity)

  by TerryWalstrom in

  1. jw
  2. friends

  silence (movie review)_________.

  unless you are a catholic, ex-catholic, an evangelical christian, or a total apostate to your former religion or church--this film is not for you!_____.

  martin scorsese has wrought a filmwhich no 2 eyes will see in the same way.. on the surface, it is about the clash (the push back against christianity and priests by buddhists and officials particularly in nagasaki) resulting from catholic evangelism inside japan.

  1. 
  2. 
  3. 
• 

  TerryWalstrom

  Warning: Yes, this is State Department propaganda about Japan and the Japanese created during WWII in the U.S.
  It is racially insulting, of course. That's how it was done in pre-political correctness times.
  _________
  
  This is a very interesting documentary on the history of Japan in terms of ideology and religion and the part this played on making the peasant Japanese soldier a real force to be reckoned with.
  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bvLT8U0-_lI