Bigfoot: We Hardly Knew Ye (The Myths And Controversies Blog)...

It was one of my most terrifying nights. We had been to the movie theatre, and had watched a new 'documentary' movie about the great, hairy terror of the Pacific Northwest: Bigfoot! This movie featured the famous Bob Patterson film, which allegedly caught the elusive, large beast walking across a wooded clearing. Of course, it had interviews w/eye witnesses, and scientists, and assorted friends of friends of friends who knew someone who knew someone who saw the Yeti. And at key moments throughout the movie, the stereo speakers of the movie house (yes, only stereo back then) rumbled with a shrill, authentic re-creation of what a Bigfoot would sound like.

It sent secret shivers up my spine.

And that night, every shadow in the quiet bedroom seemed to move. There seemed to be a beastly presence, which I knew was somehow just outside of the bedroom window... watching me. I remember being very afraid, and absolutely certain that the hairy brute had trekked his way from Oregon, to our front yard. And I knew that at any moment, I'd hear the awful, shrill scream from that nasty beast.

Through the yrs, I watched many other television 'documentaries' on Bigfoot, that would come out from time to time. It became all too familiar: the Plaster of Paris molds of incredibly large, apeman feet. The endless line of experts telling me why everything in the casting was anthropologically correct, and therefore true. And of course, the friends of friends of friends...

As it turned out, the night of fear & dread that I experienced after watching that movie, was a waste of adrenalin. In 2004, one of the men associated w/the famous Patterson film, confessed that the Bigfoot who was casually strolling across the wooded clearing, was really a retired Pepsi salesman from Yakima, Washington, dressed-up in a kind-of ape suit.

Sigh.

I swallowed 'whole' the other great urban myths that every kid growing up in the late 60's/early 70's became exposed to: UFOs, Bermuda Triangle, Loch Ness Monster, JFK Conspiracy, etc... It even got to the point where me and the neighbor kid, barely in our early teens, were planning out how we'd somehow save our money (what money?), rent a boat, and sail into the dreaded Bermuda Triangle, & solve the mystery -- once & for all! Nevermind that neither of us even had a Learner's Permit for a car. We hunched over maps and charts of the Caribbean, and spent an entire summer afternoon laying out our route, and what provisions we'd need. We were really gonna do this!

P.T. Barnum must've been laughing at us, somewhere.

Let me get some things off of my chest. Take a seat -- this might take a few minutes:

-- There never was, is, or shall be a large, elusive, hairy Apeman, Bigfoot, Yeti, Abominable Snow Creature, Missing-Link Ancestor, etc... roaming the American Pacific Northwest, the Himalayas, Siberia, or anywhere else. Retired Pepsi salesman, maybe. Bigfoot? Yeh, right.

-- The Bermuda Triangle is a manufactured fantasy. Planes crash. Ships sink. People get drunk & stupid and try to play Commodore Nelson. It's always awful when lives are lost. They are someone's brother, or sister, or son, or daughter, or parent. But don't look for the cause as being some vortex planted by the Lost Inhabitants of Atlantis, or a Time-Rift Beacon for Spaceships from Alpha Centauri, or even Beelzubul himself, rowing in a raft. I don't buy it.

-- JFK was killed, terribly, by Lee Harvey Oswald. Not by the mafia. Or by the Reds. Or Castro. Or the CIA. Or disgruntled Generals. Or anyone else. Nut-cases with rifles can do awful things. But a government conspiracy to kill JFK and cover it up? Gimme a break. A conspiracy afterwards to hide the ineptness at the autopsy, and the general screw-ups that bureaucrats & politicians make when the government really isn't filled with 'the best & the brightest' -- perhaps. But, as hard as it is to think that one man, acting alone, can cause such tragedy -- believe it. Oswald acted alone. The only 'patsy' was the public's ability to ignore the unavoidable facts, and to swallow fables & chase shadows in the Grassy Knoll.

-- There is no Loch Ness Monster. Unless you count the cute, little stuffed animals & pendants & t-shirts which tourists spend big bucks on, after a visit to that part of Scotland. The Loch is an enclosed area, and has been swept by modern sonar, radar, acoustics, and infrared/heat seeking instruments -- inch by inch -- & no sea monster was discovered hiding on the bottom depths, holding it's breath. Nada for Nessie.

And while I'm at it, can we as individuals please stop blaming everyone but ourselves for actions that we, ourselves, take? Life has no guarantees of smooth sailing -- but when things go wrong (and they will), it doesn't make us a 'victim'.

For example, if any of us go into McDonald's (or any such fast food place), and Super Size our Big Mac, Fries, Chicken McNuggets, Strawberry Shake, and (Diet!) Coke, then we shouldn't be too surprised when we start to put on the pounds. And I'm sorry, but it isn't Ronald McDonald's fault. Neither he, nor the Hamburgler, kidnapped us off of the street, with loaded ketchup dispensers in hand, and forced us to go in there, and order what we did. So, please, enough of the 'Ima Victim' lawsuits against the fast food joints for our weight increases, and related medical problems. And btw, we should all have enough sense to know that when we order Hot Coffee or Hot Chocolate, it's gonna be HOT! Well, duh!! Blows me away that some juries actually awarded some McIdiots millions of $$ because they burned themselves drinking/or spilling hot coffee (evidently thinking it was gonna be McGulpable Coffee??). Chaps my hide knowing that some of these people are now set for life, financially, because oooo!, oooo!, the coffee was too hot! Next time, please try ordering from Baby Bear #3, maybe then it will be jussst right! Meanwhile, you & I must work our butts off, and will probably never be as well set up as some of these dufuses are.

So, please! I need to use common sense the next time someone goes on TV or the internet, and spouts off about being held in a cave by a clan of Yeti. Or when someone claims to know where Elvis is 'hiding'.

A little common sense can go a long way. It might not make our life stress free; but I can think of at least one night, long ago, when one scared, little kid would've gotten a peaceful nite's rest. Maybe I can sue the producers of that 'documentary'? Truly, it must've somehow scarred me for life, & caused me mental suffering and damage (as proof, try re-reading some of my earlier blogs). Yes, I can blame it all on bigfoot, or a retired Pepsi salesman.

Let It Rain...

After enduring many months of winter's cold n snow, being awoken by the actual sound of rain on the roof was a welcome change. As the rain came down, I layed there for almost an hour... just listening.

I remembered once, when I was a kid, how I hid out in the perfect 'fort' during one of those sudden, summer rain bursts. Of course, I was riding my fast-as-the-wind green bike, & was quite a distance away from the house when it first started to sprinkle. I hadn't turned back, and headed for home for even a minute, when it started to pour. With no hope of pedalling it home without looking like a drowned rat, I spied a group of lilac bushes snuggled-up against a tall, wooden fence. It's amazing how resourceful a twelve yr old can be, using just a little imagination.
I made my way to the lilacs. Between the very large, full bushes was a natural arch. It was just wide & tall enough for me to be able to sit down quite comfortably under it's fragrant protection, & onto a convenient patch of dry grass. Beneath this refuge from the storm, I listened to the rumbling thunder, the strong wind, the incessant sound of rain pelloting everything around me, & I watched the free display of wicked lightning. I even played the 'what shape does that cloud make?' game (which is just as fun when you are by yourself). But mostly, I remember that I sat there... and just listened.

So, when I was awoken by the sounds of the first, real rainstorm of the yr, I fluffed-up my pillow, & resisted the urge to roll-over in bed, & fire-up the neaby laptop. No -- not even the lure of technology, with it's back-lit, bright blue buttons & it's colorful browsing tabs, was strong enough to draw me away from that cove of royal purple lilacs, & the sights, sounds, and fragrances of that rainy day, so many yrs ago. There are few things as lastingly memorable as the combined scent of moist lilacs, and fresh, summer rain. Even laying there in bed, I swear that I could almost make out the slight aroma of blooming, wet lilacs...

When the last pitter-pats of rain had ceased falling onto the roof, I got up, and opened the drapes. I grabbed my digital camera, and snapped a few pics of the clouds (shown here, in this blog). Had I gotten out of bed earlier, I probably could've taken some really good pictures of the clouds, while it was still raining -- capturing their wispyness, & washed-out, water-color shapes... but I'm glad I didn't. This was only the first, real rainstorm of the entire yr, and there will be other opportunities to capture images of rain-swollen clouds. Maybe then, I will grab my digital camera, and fire-off a few shots...

... but on this day, it was far better to lay there... and just listen.

Cherry Bomb...

As those of you faithful readers will know, I often wake up with a song stuck in my head. (See blog for April 6, 2006: "Life's The Same, And Moving In Stereo"). This morning was another one of those days. But, the song and the artist was kind of a curious one -- I don't own any of this artist's CDs, and haven't heard this particular song in years...

I woke up this morning with John Cougar Mellencamp's song, "Cherry Bomb", blastin' in my brain. And I even vividly remember the part of the dream where that song was playing: I was cutting thru this dirty, dusty vacant lot behind the bowling alley, and on my way to a park -- something I did all the time when I was a kid. I'd cut thru this vacant lot, after riding my trusty green bike right up next to the busy highway, which was as far as I was allowed to ride. I'd stop at the side of the road, sitting on that banana seat, and wonder to myself where all of the Consolidated Freightways semis and cars were going to? I'd watch them for several minutes, before they disappeared over the horizon, passing me by. I've had this particular memory, of cutting thru that dusty lot & getting to that green park, in several dreams throughout the years. It's a warm memory to me. Makes me smile...

"...When I think back about those days, all I can do is sit and smile..."

This past weekend, I was again reminded of certain limitations that I have, and am still working my way thru. I often refer to these shortcomings of mine, as 'The Wall'. Problem is, even tho The Wall is in many ways self-imposed, and completely voluntary, I still haven't figured out if it is a Wall meant to keep me in, or to keep others out? I'm sure it's a little bit of both.

In alot of ways, The Wall is just like that strip of busy highway that I'd ride up to -- it is a boundary for me. A place that I can't go past. A limitation. I absolutely know for certain that The Wall has often been my saviour, keeping me from certain dangers. I know this for a fact. So, I can't say that The Wall has been a bad thing, altogether. But, I also am aware, that sometimes The Wall can be a painful thing for me, when I come up against it. And sometimes, The Wall can cause pain or sadness for others -- often, they are people who I care about. For anyone who has ever been hurt by The Wall, I'm sorry, and apologize for any pain it may have caused...

"...If we've done any wrong, I hope that we're forgiven..."

One of the first things I did this morning, was to go to iTunes, and download "Cherry Bomb", and a few other John Cougar Mellencamp songs. And as I'm writing this blog, I have "Cherry Bomb" on continuous repeat, blasting thru my headphones.

You know, it's a sunny, spring day... pretty windy (of course), but otherwise fairly decent. I have the day off, after absolutely working my butt off for the past 3 wks. Maybe I should take the advice given by a friend who has been so good to me, and get myself out from behind this computer, and get out there. I think I'll hop into my vehicle, connect the iPod to the stereo, and just drive. Doesn't matter to where, really. Or for how long. It'll give me a chance to think, and try to figure out what I'm doing, or what I'm not doing. Maybe shake off a little of the fading winter, & the cabin fever, & the boredom...

"...The winter days, they'd last forever. But the weekends went by so quick. We're ridin' around in this little country town -- we were goin' nuts, girl, out in the sticks..."

A better plan might be to just get on my mtn. bike, and go for my first ride of the year. I do my best thinking when I'm either walking, or riding. Maybe I'll even ride to that same stretch of highway, stop beside it, and again watch the endless traffic go on by. Then maybe I'll do something that will make me smile -- I'll cut thru that same dirty, dusty vacant lot behind the bowling alley. I'll cut across to that park & remember what it was like to be 8 yrs. old again, where the only boundary I had was that strip of road, & all the traffic.

Of course, being my first bike ride in about 8 months, I know I'm going to be sucking eggs after a few blocks, and will be huffin' n puffin' by the time I make it to the bowling alley, especially against this wind. But, at least it will get me out, give me a chance to ponder. And maybe it will help improve myself a little bit, with some good cardio exercise to get my heart really pumpin'... yeh.

"...That's when a sport was a sport, and groovin' was groovin'.
Dancin' meant everything. We were young, and we were improvin'.
Laughin', laughin' with our friends. Holdin' hands meant somethin', baby.
Outside the club, 'Cherry Bomb', our hearts were really pumpin',
Say 'yeh yeh yeh'... say 'yeh yeh yeh'...."

Don't Drink Outta The Milk Carton, Cowlick Divets, & Apollo 11...

If things worked out the way they're supposed to, we should all look back on our childhood with fondness. Whether we were athletic, or not. Or responsible, or not. Or brainy, or not. Whether we liked store bought Ginger Snap cookies, or cookies made from scratch. Somehow, those fond, childhood memories have a way of coming back to us, triggered by certain sounds, or smells, or images that have implanted themselves forever in our brains. And, when they re-surface years later in our adultness, I think it's kinda Creation's way of reminding us that somewhere within our Suit & Tie Shell, that skinny kid in the overly-baggy swim trunks is still inside there, running thru the neighbor's sprinklers. Childhood memories are the Cosmic equivalent of God tapping us on our burdened, adult shoulders, & saying: "Hey, don't sweat the small stuff... I've taken you this far. Don't worry -- I've gotcha covered". Childhood memories are meant to help us relax, laugh at ourselves, and keep moving on.

Some things about being a kid, I think, are Universal. For example, there is the T=N1N2N3 Equation. (The amount of Trouble we were in is equal to how many of our Names were called out when we finally got busted). If we drank the outta the milk carton, or trampled on the freshly planted flowers, or was caught swearing, we could always tell the severity of our offense by how much of our name was yelled out. If it was just our first name... eh, not so bad. We'll be out riding our bike in ten minutes. First and middle names... might need to do some sweet talking to smooth things over. All 3 of our names... better plead some sort of hereditary ailment, taylored to whichever parent is calling for us. If that fails, go to trusty ole Plan B: blame one of your siblings. :-)

It's amazing how even some of childhood's most painful incidents will later make us smile. I must have half a dozen scars and divets on my mid-life body from multiple bike crashes; or from bailing out of swings at their highest point (pretending to be a Fighter Pilot, shot down over Nazi Germany); or from flipping over park benches while running full speed, trying to catch a frisbee. All were plenty painful at the time (some of my bicycle wrecks would've put Evil Knievel to shame). But, when I look at those scars now, I can't help but smile. Those painfully acquired scrapes on my knees have become: "Wow! That bike wipe-out across ten feet of asphalt and little, sharp rocks was soooo kewl! God, I loved that green bike w/the loopy handle-bars!" There's a mysterious divet on the top of my head, where the cowlick should be, that I have no earthly idea where it came from -- tho I haven't ruled out Extra Terrestrial Abduction. And the notch on my right calve, where the teeth from my bike pedal ate out a chunk of flesh.... yeh, a badge of pride.

Even now, several decades later, the aroma of fresh baking bread conjures up memories of me racing up the street on that fast-as-the-wind green bike, to be there when my Mom or Dad would take the fresh loaves out of the oven, and sneak us kids a piece, still nice n hot.

When I smell lilacs after a rain, I am transported back to being The Invincible Bee Catcher & Tormentor. No empty Miracle Whip jar was big enough to hold my day's catch. One of my favorite childhood skills wasn't when I learned how to drive a car; but, rather, when the neighbor kid across the street taught me how to sneak up on bees, and smash them with the palm of my bare hand, while they were busy sucking on clover. (No bee stings -- I truly was Invincible!).

And when I catch a rare rerun today of the cartoon, 'Gigantor', The Space Aged Robot, I can't help but imagine again that I'm flying, and start to sing to myself the Gigantor theme song. You couldn't be a little kid growing up in the late 60's without knowing or loving Gigantor. One of my brothers even immortalized the Space Aged Robot on the inside wall of the garage, using a blue crayon. Gigantor is still flying today, on that same garage wall, almost 40 yrs later.

It's amazing, really. Childhood memories are salve for the ailments of adulthood. Mental Band Aids for our everyday stress. Momentary little time capsules that propel us magically away from the frantic Now of our lives.

Today, I begin to panic when I even think about being in a very confined space, unable to move my arms. Even if I dream about a situation like that, I wake up in a sweat & panic, my heart racing 90 miles per hour. But when I was a kid, I used to slide the lowest, 3rd bunkbed underneath the 2nd bunk. I'd somehow squeeze myself into that impossibly cramped space, with my little transistor radio in-hand, and tiny earplugs. On a clear nite, it could just barely catch the staticky signal from 'Might As Well Be The Moon', far-off Oklahoma City, and radio station KOMA, & I'd pretend I was one of those Apollo Astronauts inside the Command Module. I'd probably give a good chunk of my savings account to find one of those tear-out/fold-out, paper replicas of the Apollo 11 Lunar Lander, that my Dad bought for me at the Union 76 gas station, on the day that Neil Armstrong first stepped foot on the moon.

Yes, if things worked out the way they're supposed to, we should all look back on our childhood with fondness. And as I now look back at my rather mundane life, several thousand lunar orbits later, I'm starting to see that instead of being uneventful, my life really has been an adventure rivalling those first, tenative trips to the moon.

Maybe I really have achieved something notable? Maybe even the most awesomely plain life is an accomplishment & a wonder all to itself, with real value? Maybe I finally get it??

"Houston, Tranquility Base here. The Eagle has landed".