And you can’t fight the tears that ain’t coming or the moment of truth in your eyes. I like to change the meaning of words to infamous songs to meet my personal circumstances, wants, and desires. I highly recommend this exercise applied to your favorite music. Almost tailormade music sent, written, and inspired by above, for me and my mood.
Music has been infused into my DNA long before me and God willing, long after me. I was born with a minor ear deformity and completely deaf in my left ear. Truly, have never felt impaired or deficient except cosmetically, that’s probably untrue, but for today (by the way, an actual Friday the 13th) this is my general consensus.
I always wear my hair down to stop the stares or questions. I guess I have never liked unwanted attention and my answer as being involved in a gang related fight, was completely unbelievable and didn’t suffice as an acceptable answer; also, obviously untrue. People will believe anything and if there is remotely a hint or a small whiff of something salacious; the more time and attention will be spent, like there’s no tomorrow and there’s unlimited resources available.
On the spectrum of socially acceptable, I am not entirely an introvert, nor anti-social, but somewhere there, I dwell. Had two “close-calls”, where I almost went under Mack the knife. Surgically speaking a world-renowned ear, nose, throat doctor, also better known as otolaryngologist that was actually on Oprah, I consulted with and still could not follow through with the surgery.
The other MD, I just had zero faith in achieving a good result. More likely than not, my decision was based on the appointment day consultation and from the physician’s room window, I observed him depart from his vehicle as disheveled as one could be from a night’s sleep. Basically, in that day and age and sadly it still holds true; there wasn’t a way of knowing about the actual ear drum, until we were “under” anesthesiology and by then too late for me to object to anything.
Therefore, I didn’t care for the odds of being a quadriplegic. Literally, a hair trigger away from the portion of the brain that controls paralysis. The doctor tried to comfort my concerns and told me about a wonderful community that specializes in the care and treatment of quadriplegics. What would you do?
I felt that my inconvenience of maybe having to ask people to speak up, or if I ignored someone because I didn’t hear them was trivial. Compared to a massive impairment that would potentially put myself in far more risk. Thinking of the could haves, was traumatizing enough.
Statistically, the surgery’s received have achieved amazing results, but I too have an internal statistician that has a tendency to be superstitious, or in real terms, extremely cautious. My father was more devastated about my hearing impairment than I, and had difficulty with my decision to, “wait and explore other options”.
I know it had more to do with the ability to sing and play music, the wonderment of sound, and the universe of acoustics. Oddly, my right ear has always compensated for its sister ear; and I really have never felt disadvantaged when it comes to sound. How would I know?
In fact, I have always felt superior to my attention to every little and enormous sound that engulfs my senses or enters my stratosphere. I have a huge library of music dating back to the backwoods of the 30’s mountain music, today’s autotuned, some stiff classical music to the jazzy trumpets of the 1800’s, Beethoven also profoundly deaf, and even some Bach around town, and everything in between, up till this day.
My ear, in my humble opinion, has a super-power, just like in the movie Lord of the Rings, where Gandalf has given a sword that lights up blue when Orc’s are present; and my ear does the same, except it lights up red! Actually, and ironically The Hobbit was the first book, I remember my mother reading to my brother and I, and what a saga.
My brother has an uncanny and remarkable way of making impressions, so spot-on that his rendition was so lifelike that when he crawled into my room, and slowly creeped by the side of my bed, whispering… “Preciousss”, scared what little life I had, right out of me! I trembled under the covers what seemed like the entire night. He’s super funny like that and not arguably the most hilarious in the family.
I come from comedians; really, I’m still researching and trying to locate everyone. I’m ninety-nine percent sure farmers and miners, definitely fisherman, and seafarers. Oh, how I get seasick! Fish and chips though, is still my go to menu item anywhere.
Let me get back on track and be more precise in my “outing” of celestial influencers are categorically not in chronological order; three Gemini’s, one crab, and a Swedish Viking Virgo, but genetically just discovered I’m mostly from England. The old country, and splashes almost everywhere surrounding “Her” majesty and amazingly enough have the r1b1 haplogroup DNA on said father’s side regarding his genealogy.
That is said to go back to roughly 33,000 years ago. So, a good while. Luckily for me, my father actually tried to impart the history of those 33,000 years into, give or take, 28 years of my upbringing. However, entirely raised and birthed in California, only leaving home for quick jaunts across half of these United States.
We stayed close to our California oasis and have travelled so many wonderous awe-inspiring places and so many phenomenal faces of untold journeys and times throughout my stay, thus far, that it would take the rest of this lifetime to tell you, but I sure would enjoy that endeavor.
Just like Rudolph with his nose so bright, my ear always guides me home at night. I love that ear is in the word heart and if you put two ears together it looks like a heart and absorb sonically, the quote, “The ear is the avenue to the heart,” by no other than Voltaire. I always adhere to the ear.
I have countless memories were I either had, “selective” hearing, or just flat out misheard, which can lead to lively discussions or “debates”, at times. I can’t take offense, but believe you me, many have. To be the most honest, hearing is a gift from God that opens a world of neuron manna or candy, sort of speak, for the mind, body, and especially the soul. Thankfully I can laugh about my hearing mishaps and enjoy immensely, the game “heard” around the world; What was that!?
And I don’t want the world to see me, ‘Cause I don’t think that they’d understand and in 1998 they really didn’t. Long gone were the days of no doubt and being a “Barbie Girl”. But what did remain was a jagged little pill logged in my throat. Long gone were the Catholic school days, yet I managed to maintain the attire of all black.
Memories called “bags”; I would have to unpack thirty years later. Religiously and faithfully, go with my Gram, to the Cathedral downtown Sacramento. My younger, “old” stomping grounds and we would light a candle for St. Michael.
Faithfully wore my cross instead of the metal peace medallion and tie dye in the earlier time period of that same “grungy” decade. Gone were the blue hippy shades, sunflower baby-doll dresses, platforms, and mood rings. I did keep the giant hoop earrings and given any chance to wear something dangly, sparkly, and gaudy; the better.
I am still enamored with fashion, but the budget and closet space say otherwise. I entered a turtleneck, bohemian, velvet, doc martins, and pleather phase, that I’m not proud of in a really embarrassing way. Nothing more embarrassing than the 1980’s permed, wind-shield style that gave wind-blown, hair-sprayed poodles a run for their money.
And “Boy, we worked hard for the money”. But that was a “thing”, just like head-to-toe jeans, beehives, mullets, and mop tops. I have, at one time, “sported” against every fiber in my being and usually, forcibly, against my will.
I speak sarcasm but not as fluent as I once was, but if you pick up on the undercurrent of a dry sense of humor than you’re probably “Californian” or from the “South”. I also have the bizarre gene or ability to “pick up” accents, probably to the dismay of the countries whose accent I’m “butchering” while impersonating. Luckily only a select few are ever privy to such impressions. Another gift divinely sent.
It can be corroborated and is documented photographically in yearbooks all over the United States, but I really can only speak for California, and I definitely plan on elaborating more regarding the eighties. Only a select few, will ever be privy to the complete truth; however, that Heavenly symphony should only be orchestrated by God. The maestro!
When everything feels like the movies, but in actuality everyone’s living a lie. Fantasyland wasn’t just a happy place discovered in a magical kingdom in Anaheim that I got to visit, explore, and treasure; but a delusion, a mind-set that spread like “wildfire” many were fostering on the daily and could not or would not differentiate the two.
Like a soulless thief in the night, robbing people of their true reality and slowly draining our joy, direction, beauty, and faith. Yet, I kept striving and trying to find what appeared like a cloudy mirage of happiness always off in the distance just out of arm’s length or what I perceived as happiness.
Let’s face it, I even lacked the ability to define happiness, but like the Taurus, I am, bulled my way through running blindly and with rage at times trying to escape just as the matador strikes another painful and, but for the grace of God, hopefully not a fateful blow. I haven’t mastered anything just yet, but my thirst and curiosity is unquenchable, and unstoppable. Haven’t flown or swung from the chandeliers, as of yet! Day’s still young. Goals are good to have.
I enjoy studying and research, always have. Anytime given to solve or unravel one of God’s wonderous mysteries or just to reflect on magic, which is in this lifetime, is a past-time provided that I will never pass up. I inherited this gene from me dear old pappy and in my heart of hearts, know he would want me to pass the next generation, the same “Olympic” torch.
It was dinner conversation to discuss heavy matters like religion, aliens, justice, society, and allot of politics, all the while eating Chinese food. Just like the forbidden fruit, I was not to partake in soy, dairy, or any foods containing gluten in lieu of the apple or pomegranate (I’ve heard stories). Loved to digest any bit of new knowledge shared like a delicious, doughnutty filled, sinfully whipped cream, and drizzled or drenched in dark chocolate pastry.
The family had a little creamery nestled in Cameron Park for a couple of years and there I dove into the culinary arts like a swan headfirst into water. You can create anything with a little imagination, sprinkled powdered passion, and a heaping cup of chocolate. Presentation is everything and the intention behind the presentation means everything. Recipes are the love notes sent from our ancestors to be enjoyed and shared.
I take pride in keeping a secret and the trust of my character it conveys and there are many that should stay hidden; not as many that deserve the light they desperately seek. Seek and ye shall find. Just like our trees and plants reach and stretch for the sun in the most miraculous of ways, that we overlook and take completely for granted, as if photosynthesis just happens in a New York minute. Studies actually show a flash of light can form stable 3-carbon precursors of glucose in only five seconds. Before, not long, instantaneously will be too long!
Our coffee table donned Chariots of the Gods, every National Geographic ever published, Zecharia Sitchin’s, Twelfth Planet, and everything related and in between; but not the Bible. All conversations, however, did lead us back down the road to scripture. There was much debate in our household, if there was ever water on Mars and if in fact the face was constructed, or just a “trick” of the camera’s all-seeing eye, or a snazzy coincidence like that thing in the brain that sees images, patterns, or formations…pareidolia, like in clouds.
Debates like; are there extraterrestrials and is there such a thing as free-will or are we predetermined and predisposed to our human experiment. Every conspiracy theory and whistleblower who, “Sang, like a canary”, captivated and sharpened the blades.
Anything and everything from the Nazca lines, paranormal activity, Delphi, the giants, the Nephilim and if it’s, “All true”! Ya know, regular conversation that expanded the entire globe and all of time according to my dad and I on a given Tuesday, sunny and golden afternoon. No topics were off limits, and he shared a massive amount of knowledge with me.
Our opinions couldn’t have been more polar opposite, but he was an intensely wise and a heartfelt “teacher”. I infuriated my father at times with my belief in God and all things being possible! Thought I was gullible and naïve and not in that language for a sweet childlike innocence that I held; should have been conveyed.
Instead, dad was diagnosed bipolar disorder and had years of biofeedback along-side years of illnesses, symptoms from maybe an overzealous physician, or the umpteen medications prescribed. Spanning before us, every affliction since I could remember.
One of my very first memories include a hospital and up until five years ago not a year could pass without having to experience a dreadful, sterile, institutional décor, death looming, grief-stricken hospital. Just inundated with each memory of a hospital instead of Christmas or birthdays or just any day.
Holidays being not “off limits”, usually created a “flare” up that went long into the New Year, every year almost like “Groundhog Day”, the movie. Plus, additional minutiae would always hitch a ride along and compiled with “everything” else eventually caused a stroke, leading us all back into the hospital, San Juan Mercy.
The battle raged on, and I took every insufferable moment I could have with my dad, knowing no human could endure this way forever. It has to be duly noted to the highest decree; Dad was also one of my best friends, a true hero to me, and my mentor, a masterful guru. You should honor thy mother and thy father with as much love in your heart as possible, no matter the pain and circumstances.
God’s work will always be worth it in the end. Just a side note and thought in reverence to my dear father. Thanks to his genius, I graduated community college and went reluctantly kicking and screaming to Sacramento State University finally after receiving my associates in arts and sciences from Folsom Lake College.
Folsom’s campus was originally an extension of Cosumnes River College, a much bigger campus than the three trailers Folsom started out with. Nonetheless, my brother and I, were the first class and I’m sure there’s a black/white photo somewhere looking like the early 1800’s gracing an office or storage box somewhere.
Stinger’s up, was the phrase and The Hornets were our game, in that day! I’m sure you can see the correlation and yes, a very aggressive insect is the mascot for said university and if you’ve ever been chased by one or your house envelops with them, prayer is all you have.
I experienced parking wars as epic as they came, stalking students as they elude, they may have parked there earlier. Then the hunt takes off as you must keep your distance from the vehicle bumping a pedestrian a safe distance, all the while staking claim on their perceived and elusive parking spot.
The anxiety this caused, and gas and time wasted took too long and just left me frustrated and late, which completely upped the chances of someone like me from feeling comfortable and secure. Instead, I left squealing my tires all the way home. We won’t talk about my driving record either, but let’s hope no one hears anything to the contrary. I’m a good, safe driver these days.
Stories around that time started circulating through campus about female students walking to their cars late at night and creepers hiding underneath the vehicles ready to jump out and rob you or worse off violate a females sacred space. Women’s rights were not what they should have been and it’s not an open discussion. Condemned for your gender by your gender and guilty until proven innocent in the forum of public opinion; essentially everywhere else that has ears.
So, my cup turned “barrel” of responsibilities had runneth over and my hopes diminished whilst my fears intensified; so, I bowed out of returning the next semester, ungracefully. Although I loved the grounds and traipsing through at “warp” speed, so not to be late after an hour of searching for parking, seemed like the best answer at the time and thusly ended my schooling, among other factors. Thinking this would only be a brief step away; took me down another decade from my pursuit of a bachelor’s degree, and closer to the matters of the heart, home.
It was many a year before I darkened the doors to the “Halls of Justice” once more. I don’t want to leave on an unsavory note, but there’s a difference between higher education and higher learning. No degree or certificate can make a person intelligent. I also would never want to dim the light of the hard working, sacrificing, blood sweat and tears that it takes to achieve these degrees. You would be surprised by the individuals who graced those magnificent grounds and obtained their rights to an unfolding, ever-evolving future of untold glory ahead and hopefully producing “change-makers” for the entire good.
And sooner or later it’s over and the economy ebbed and flowed like the influx of Beanie babies that hit the shelves like a tidal wave. For those unaware, or not yet born; Beanie babies were a trend of small bean filled, colorful, pop-culturally named, dust collectors. Like cabbage patch kids in the eighty’s and Pokemon later, beanie babies made their mark too. Like the Jerry Garcia bear, and the ever so elusive Sammy Sosa bear.
Gone were the days of stamp or sticker collecting. No one was picking up baseball cards. I was just glad the strike was over from 1994, but that strike loomed for years after, along with a string of steroid scandals galore.
Comic books were for the nerds, and you should see those “nerds” salaries today! I so appreciate a good collector and I have been blessed to know individuals who have so much dedication to a material bond. Some interesting and unforgettable collections I can “speak” of and remember, consisted of over a hundred or more Santa’s, cars, conk’s, horror and sports memorabilia, Disney everything, Thomas Kincaid paintings, dancing bunnies in tutu’s, and strangely some echinacea wreaths that smelled of Christmas in July all year round.
Many pretended it was historically the best, of course, we now know, that standard of measurement is apparently perspective and conjecture and in hindsight many, particularly in Folsom felt an ominous presence coming, dubbed Y2K. “They” truly felt “end of times” were among us and that the world would halt, the year 2000.
Town’s folk created underground bunkers (I believe already there), stockpiled essentials, and hunkered down in preparation for the apocalypse (In ancient Greece apocalypse is a disclosure or revelation of great knowledge). Creating a whole new meaning to the “rock you crawled out from under” phrase, so unlovingly lashed out to individuals a person doesn’t like or want to be affiliated with. Folsom still consisted of long reigning families that weren’t too interested in the world of technology coming and so a shift in “newcomers” versus the “old-timers” began.
The wave of computers, cell phones, and fancy labels had finally hit this town like Star Trek visiting another planetary system. Speaking of Sci-fi, now that went over like an androgen wash and the nerds that were birthed are the trolls of today, with no knowledge of this history or respect for the countless, exhausting and perilous journeys of the men and women who worked to advance our civilization and the betterment for a thriving species.
The individuals, sworn to a lifetime of secrecy, who didn’t work for notoriety or rock star money, or clout, but to earn a living to support their families. There were some perks or advantages to the incoming of intel (more ways, than one), like employment; and I had the opportunity to work on some unique projects that really put light on my future and if I had any say in that future.
Bay area homes were selling for highest recorded history in sales and young entrepreneurs were flocking towards either brand new or custom-built homes for three times the size and money. It was upsizing and upselling on steroids; pun intended.
It wasn’t rocket science; however, many were rocket scientists in their perspective fields. Intel was that company and with it brought this new way of “culture” everyone spoke of, yet I never experienced, so I guess it’s safe to assume, I wasn’t invited to that party or any others.
Had to make do and create my own. It came down to if you were a “temp” or “permanent employee” and the two shall never meet as equals. Even at my tender and young age, I was “over” ultimatums, segregation, inequality, and abuse of power. Mind you, I was already “worldly” and travelled; been to So Cal a hundred times, and Texas twice, plus a short stint in Oklahoma to name a few. If I had only known what was to come. One door closed, and a vastly different automated door emerged, with a remote and a keyless entry.
Yeah, you bleed just to know you are alive and the day were there was a pill for every occasion and persuasion was here to stay for everyday and twice on Sunday. I “got” stories that would curl your toes and the remedy that can unfurl those toesies!
The “medicine men” drastically changed form and weren’t pedaling holistic practices much anymore; but laboratory, genetically modified, concoctions that I’m sure were Sumerian inspired bellowed throughout every street, and street corner alike.
Love potion number 99 was “on” the shelves in bulk and on the rise. Ninety-nine thousand percent more potent potables than we’d ever seen. Prozac for your lack of luster, and xanax for too much fuss taken as prescribed by your “Broker” three times a day, or as needed. Amazing how insurance will cover Viagra for the non-erect, but insulin isn’t a given and you should all be aware of how much the actual medication costs.
So, when you happily and ignorantly hand over your copays (the almighty dollar), ask your doctor what is prescribed for the affliction of being perpetually Godsmacked. I had firsthand experience and obtained my pharmaceutical technicians license in 1998; an education of a lifetime, “grandfathered”.
In 1998, the “keyword” around Folsom, was speed, and the need for speed and not just the velocity referenced. Methamphetamines and steroids were on the scene like a sex machine. Kids I knew and hung around were using this nasty potion brew and had no idea what its contents were, or the symptoms incurred in lengthy sentences, not just imprisonment. Lives were being lost and judgement day was on the lips, and under the tongue of everyone. I lost many to its insidious devises and have surmised its pure concentrated sin.
I have always maintained a “liberal” and compassionate standpoint on drugs and medication, but this wave was a tsunami of demons unleashed on the small-town America and we weren’t equipped. We didn’t have any knowledge about Pandora’s box or who was Pandora! If said mythology “occurred” in this time period; would there be anyone who could shut that box tight and right!?
Cynicism kept us from being able to easily decipher the messages divinely sent. Circulating and a percolating, was a black hole of faithlessness, the size of Manhattan ever-growing rampantly. The irony is not lost upon me.
When everything’s made to be broken and there’s no warranty. Folsom experienced a couple of years like that; locus “rained down” for what appeared to be totally apocalyptic, while just trying to grab a Starbuck’s or if feeling “extra” a Jamba Juice, razzmatazz. That was my sustenance and “had” to hold me over till usually late at night French fries and coffee at Denny’s while cramming the last of my neglected homework. I would rush home to catch the late-night talk shows or X-Files. It wasn’t all doom and gloom.
Oh, and you should know or at least “made” aware; I’m obsessed with the weather and everything it entails and one day if I can channel Merlin; will control it! If only, I could even learn to “channel”. My diabolical plan includes a comfortable summer breeze everyone will enjoy.
The climate could range around a cool 68 and never over 90 degrees. However, I digress, the forecast then, was definitely cloudy, but the actual thunder and lightning hadn’t made it’s roll through quite yet, unlike Garth Brooks reigning supreme and uncontested that decade and played in every establishment.
He was at every wedding and funeral with The Dance and blasting from every vehicle in Folsom on a perpetual loop, along with fan favorites such as Brooks & Dunn, The Judds, some Reba, and you gotta have Faith; Faith Hill that is, just to name a couple, few.
Honky-tonk noises escaped a smoky, poker-playing, bowling alley type ambiance. Engulfed every sense a person could evoke especially at what my dad would call a “dive bar”. I “worked” in the snack-bar, bowling cashier, and my favorite job, Karaoke host two nights a week.
I was the karaoke version to the “wedding singer” at the same time as the all-time fav movie came out. I will name said establishment the “Tea-Hee” Bar, because everyone was gossiping and drinking like no tomorrow and tomorrow never felt as good as the night before.
I got friends in low places sure took on another meaning and my dad so loquaciously told me; I needed a better class of losers, stat. Maybe Dad was referring to my domineering, straying, boy-friend who later took on the law and the law won, or my three closest compadres, at the time who resemble the legends of the Graeae. Also named the Grey Sisters and the Phorcides, who were three sisters that shared one eye and one tooth among them.
Their names were Deino, Enyo, and Pemphredo or in this scenario; Debi, soul-sister turned betrayer, or Becka; coworker, turned best-friend, turned saboteur, or Mandy who I tried to be a sempai for turned into a succubus. Now, if we’re discussing in terms of Shakespeare or Holinshed’s Chronicles, then they are referred to as the three weird sisters or wayward sisters who fatefully lead Macbeth to his demise.
Just like the movie Titanic, we all went to experience together, our friendship that I thought was unsinkable; sunk. Thusly, those relationships alas went down in a blaze of no glory, but you should know; good will always prevail, no matter the cost. Let the violins play the hymn ‘Nearer My God To Thee’.
Quite a few momentous events were made upon the Folsom Dam that Folsomites (a nickname my mother coined) used to be able to walk on, fish, and have a little picnic by the lake. All off limits today; can’t drive on or nearby the dam road and so those little excursions away for just a few minutes to the water ceased to be no more.
We would regularly explore the Dam nursery and help to prompt my utter fascination with flowers and plants or anything that you can put in the Earth, and it grows! Anyone else “blown away” by the sheer magnitude of Gods wonders? Stick around, seek and ye shall find.
My dad loved a good dam joke and I have inherited the same trait. Dad would haul us over to the nursery in a blue two-toned dodge van upgraded with seatbelts, with plenty of room in the back for lumber.
Many a project involving decks, drill bits, varnishes’, and millions of nails, screws, nuts, and every bolt imagined. If that didn’t suffice, we then headed on over to the joists and there we can locate a hoist; to lift my enthusiasm off the bark or worse concrete slab landscaping.
You can learn a lot of things from the flowers, specifically linguistics, botany, psychology and more deliciously floriography. Walk a little further past the petunia’s and off the beaten path, you’ll find a glorious and “showy” flower called the Iris. Iris is the Greek goddess for rainbow, and we all know; you can’t have a rainbow without a little rain.
She is depicted as being golden and beautiful with wings for flight and she is responsible for the gateway of messages. She’s the “OG” of UPS. Companion plants for tall, dwarf, or bearded irises are as follows: Columbine, blue salvia, coralbells, pyrethrum, narcissus, lilies, phlox, and chrysanthemums.
Can you receive a message via smell? Smells are managed by the olfactory bulb and it’s just a great name for the place in the brain that sends data to the other areas of the body’s central command system and studies are demonstrating that scent triggers more emotional memories, than images. Imagine that, smell you later!? One single rose can open a flood gate to the memories held by the senses of the mind.
I just want you to know who I am, and I want to introduce to you an “Earth Angel” that changed my life forever. His name was Dennis and he casually walked into my life by bringing a slip of paper with the name of a song, he wanted to sing; crazy little thing called love.
Dennis, looked just like Brad Pitt in the movie a River Runs Through It and he was a self-taught, outdoorsy type, musician, and masterful artist. Dennis and I fell in love overnight and we shared everything together, especially for a couple of years; a haunted apartment, an insane trip to Reno, and some bone-chilling memories.
We saw the movie city of angels together and went to the actual city of angels, together. We were irony at its finest. He was eight years older, and a sign of good luck since my parents were also eight years apart. He was “Earthy” and kind to me, probably the most compassionate person in my life up to date and his mannerisms were completely foreign to me. He wasn’t sexist or in competition with anyone.
We planned to be children’s book authors and had creative characters like “leaflet” and “lemondrop” and their magical, enchanted friends. Included would have all our illustrations, maps too hidden lands, and creative artwork that could jump off the page, he so expertly and lovingly created. Of course, most of our “stories” seemed creations just like the Smurfs who were childhood cartoon programs, that I treasured.
He painted exquisite murals on coffee bars and restaurant walls and was amazingly crafty. He made our kitchen table from scratch one weekend, and then spent time turning that table into a starry night scene. He made my mom two ceramic figurines of our dogs, Daisy and Bunny on Christmas. He was remarkably talented and an ethereal being. Also, extremely sensitive to light and no one understood his dark glasses at night ensemble and was mistaken for Ozzy, which he loved.
His family was Godly and devoted to the Lord, in a quiet, non-threatening or judgmental way. They loved him immensely and it wasn’t till, what felt like a thousand years later; that I saw online a tribute page to honor his beautiful memory.
We discussed all life, God, and our future. We stayed together until Hell drove us apart and the Christmas of 2000 was our last. By New Year’s we separated, mainly due to financial reasons, The Sisters of Mercy, chain-smoking, and binge drinking.
Started off the new millennium on a baritone note by calling off the engagement and moving back to my parents’ home. On April fool’s day, I suffered a miscarriage, and that same day was the last day I laid physical eyes on Dennis.
He actually moved that day to his family’s home in Northern California. Almost five months later and one distant phone call in between; Dennis collapsed at his sister’s house in Red Bluff California and passed away. Dennis had a beautiful, angelic voice and to my forlornness, Iris was the last song, I heard him sing.
***This material, content, and names are all fictional characters. This is a disclaimer for anyone who needs one. All material is copyrighted and for enjoyment purposes only. I will be adding photos, blurbs, and snippets, as I go along. Thank you for your time reading, and please visit again, for more haunted history, secret messages, and time capsule memories. *** God Bless ***