War of the Tripods, or how they destroyed Caldwell Elementary

Going back to my first elementary school (reference previous blog), all that was left from 34 years ago was the creek in the far side of the playground area.  The building is demolished and (probably needed) rebuilt to a very nice school.  My building, or aka "fond memories" was just as demolished as Caldwell had been.  When I told my wife some stories (hope she wasn't to bored), I was reminded of a book I read in second grade.  The White Mountains by John Christopher. The ultimate in easy reading for legendary war of the sci-fi kind. The coolest of strange, known only as a Tri-Pod. It's an easy read and I decided to download it to my Kindle (actually my Galaxy Tab w/ the Kindle app) and away I was transported to a school with large pane windows that only opened horizontally with the push of a hand and neatly columned and rowed desks that stationed heavy cardboard school boxes (similar to a cigar box)

that held all your cool things like crayons, those fat round pencils, erasers shaped like blimps, rockets, spaceships and the such alike. The heat came from the radiator that was against the wall and it worked most of the time. Teachers had students take chalk erasers out side to pound away and we had recess at least twice. Year: 1978.

Dairy Queen before they used Dennis the Menace...

Today as I ran a few miles with my iPod Touch pounding some awesome tunes, I began to connect a song from a really awesome band, R3D, titled Feed the Machine.  Somehow I made the book about the Tri-Pods connect with the idea of the song.  In my head as I ran it seemed to be a good fit.  I'm not sure if the author meant for the book to represent the mindlessness of today's society, or to quote Bob Hope describing a Zombie, "oh like Democrats". Anyway, it was a good read. 

Eddie Money take me back with a stolen Delorean!

Not really.  Although having a Delorean with a working Flux Capacitor would be nice.  I was looking for a quote that I heard years ago that basically stated that we should become bored with our past. I couldn't find the particular quote for this blog.  There are many other awesome quotes that could fill a blog page for miles long about our past and the strange addiction that creeps over us in attempt to put it in a bottle and keep forever. 
Eddie Money sang that he wanted to go back and do it all over.  Who wouldn't right? The past remains forever as a distant dream that we cannot bring back or give cause to happen.  If you have ever moved away from some moment of life and have been away for a very long time, we tend to back track or at a least, go and "see" what remains from the fragments of our memories.  To some, this is a house or school, church, or a street.  Perhaps a landmark such as a river or mountain have become the anchor in the rough seas of memories that give us a chance to get our bearings. 
My Father had passed away about 11 years ago and my Mother had remained for the most part, lonely.  This past weekend I was confronted with "giving her away" as the bride to a man she met quite accidentally and unintentionally from a church she attends (btw, she is 60).  When she notified me some time ago that she was to be wed, I was (and still am) OK with that.  After all, who needs to be lonely?  When I went back to my childhood home, I was still fine and happy for her.  It was when I began to move the groom's belongings into the house it cold cocked me in the face.  We had to move his extra stuff into the room that was once mine.  I began to feel weird.  I felt invaded.  Still, I shrugged these silly feelings and continued to help move stuff into what slowly was becoming "my house". 
Can I understand why my pet dog, who just is the most loving and playful creature, will begin to snarl and low growl when I touch her as she is attempting to eat? Yes I can.  It's instinct.  It activates from within us and rises to override our common sense.  And so instinct was welling up from within me.  Noticing these feelings and seeing this "stranger" invade "my" home, I began to reflect about the home itself.  I remember the day my Father drove us to see it.  It was freshly built and the yard was all mud because the grass hadn't even been planted.  It was early in the morning and I can remember running inside the "empty" home discovering all the rooms and trying to pick out which one will become mine.  Then came the furniture and soon the house was filled with our things.  As I began to become captivated on this first memory of the home, I started having my own "Rocky Montage" of memories all centerd on this house.  I was 8 when we moved in and my Father had passed when I was 28. So, without much ado, my particular montage was quite lengthy.



My Mother's Home

 When it was time to head back to my present home, I asked my awesome Wife if she wouldn't mind being adventorous and go off the beaten path and lets see if I can find the home I lived in before we moved to my Mother's home.  So we drove about 250 miles away to explore a town that I had not set foot in over 31 years! The only map that I had beside "google maps" was the fuzzy one of broken connections of images.  I have stories with these mental polaroid snapshots and now I wanted to see the real thing to bring some past back to life.  When we entered the town, I must say that 31 years to be away in this day and age is a major chunk of time, because things CHANGE!  I couldn't recognize anything.  However, I did find the home that we lived in.  I decided to find the elementary school I first attended and was having a time finding it.  I had to wave down some dude walking along a sidewalk to ask if he knew where it was.  Nicely, he pointed me into the right direction and off we went.  Good news: found it.  Bad News: the orginal school was demolished intirely and a newer one was built probably 5 to 10 years ago.  Bummer.  There was one saving grace and that was the small creek that ran behind the playground still existed.  That brought a smile of some worth while I told my wife how we boys got "craw daddy's" out of it and kept them in jars. Anyway we did find other things within the town that brought some memories to light.
So why do we become interested in our past? If you were to ask me when I was a kid if I wanted to watch a TV channel that did nothing more than show history lessons, I'd laugh at you and say you're crazier than the Stooges! I love the History Channel. 



Here I am with my huge muscles! CHiP's debuted that year!



Not sure what bothers me more.. I think its the trees behind the house!