So, I have always enjoyed reading the blogs of friends and thought that maybe, I could do one myself someday, but what would I talk about? I mean, let’s face it, we all know I can talk, but does anyone listen? Well, I have decided to give it a whirl, and start with the basic blog, and who knows, if I enjoy it maybe I will update it and do it more frequently.
So, when to blog, what to blog about… well, there are many things that I enjoy, hanging out with my friends, breaking bread together, going on road trips, finding new and interesting places to explore, oh and music… lots and lots of music. Well, since this is the first, maybe I should start with a little bit about myself.
1. used by a speaker to refer to himself or herself as the object of a verb or preposition when he or she is the subject of the clause. “I hurt myself by accident”
2. I or me personally (used to emphasize the speaker). “I myself am unsure how this problem should be handled”
Well, talking about oneself is often hard, you have to walk the line of letting someone know who you are and not end up sounding like a braggart. I can tell you that I was molded by my surroundings, my mother was a stay at home mom in the beginning, my dad worked during the day and went to school at night to finish a degree. Both my grandparents lived in Albany, blocks away from each other at one point, and could not have been more different from each other. My mother’s parents were simpler folk, never really left New York State, whereas my father’s parents were world travelers, on a budget. Both of my grandfathers served in the army, one a M.P., and the other on reconnaissance (funny stories about that later). My grandmothers couldn’t have been more different as well. Loretta, my maternal grandmother, had a few sisters, and all seemed to have been cut from the same cloth. When I think of them, I think of them as the women who would have gone to work in the factory when their husbands went off to war. Pretty tough dames, that didn’t take lip, or if they were given any, they would give it right back. My fraternal grandmother however was definitely different, she had an older sister and the two of them couldn’t have been further apart, let’s just face it one was two steps (or three kids) from being a nun, and the other was a rebel. Margaret was always an actress, even when not on stage, she was surrounded by a troop of friends that were of similar minds, and often traveled together, some of them even organized a travel agency.
So, where does that leave me in all this? Well, I don’t really remember much of my childhood years, I don’t ever remember my dad living at home, and barely remember when he moved out. Weekends, school recess, vacations, and summer vacations were spent in Albany, at Margaret’s house and when she was working, my grandfather would take care of me. I was a latch key kid early on, babysitters were expensive even back then, so when it came to a point where my mother thought I could be on my own, maybe around the age of 11 or 12, I was. Oh sure, I was never too far from the eyes of a neighbor, Annabelle Chamberlain always had a watchful eye over EVERYONE, and she was a better hollywood reporter then Hedda Hopper. So, I would come home, let myself in, grab some food, and my favorite toys (hotwheels and matchbox cars back then), bring them out to the front porch and play with them, and the neighborhood kids.
Early on, I knew that I was different from the other little boys and girls in my neighborhood, but that is another story.