The Writings of Bob: The hearts of Moscow

The Writings of Bob: The hearts of Moscow: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qq7ncjhSqtk&list=RDqq7ncjhSqtk

The hearts of Moscow

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qq7ncjhSqtk&list=RDqq7ncjhSqtk

My Friends in Russia, Ukraine, and Points Beyond.

Though we are far apart, speak different languages, have differing ideologies, yet, we are just alike.  Born in different environments,  we all know crying, despair,  joy, and peace.  I admire the Russian people; they are a strong people.  I wish to try to send a video from Moscow...Traumeri has a special place in the heart of the Russian people...please observe....

MARCHING TO YOUR OWN DRUMMER 8/20/2017

I have digressed a little and am focusing on the tactics I used in transforming twelve year old Bob into the person he needed to be in order to escape alcoholism and apply himself to his studies so he could be more successful.  This would impact his life in such away that he could attract one Blythe Spanos who had her own set of problems which is discussed in previous writings.  These stories are in reverse chronological order because I do not know how to edit them so that they flow from top to bottom.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                             I knew what made Bob tick because I WAS little Bob at one time...back in 1952.  Even though I knew, yet I wanted to lead him out via conversation and let him see for himself.  We had many conversations during the evenings in my back yard.  I asked him if he felt loved by his parents.  He thought" for a long time and finally said "no".   I asked him why not and he replied " I believe they love me, but they don't show it in ways that I understand..they are generous (pause) but that is not love....I do not ever remember hearing them say I love you...they never hug me....they seem critical, comparing me to other kids who made straight A's.......I feel like I am their hobby, a show case kid in order to give them bragging rights,   they want me to march to their drummer and I want to be my own drummer".   I was amazed at how fluent he (I)  was.   I said: "This must cause you pain".   He said  "Yes...the other day when I was walking home from 8th grade, I cried all the way home."   Little by little I was leading him out to the point where he felt so very comfortable in opening himself up and seemed to forget he was talking to a complete stranger. I had poured a scotch and soda and was sipping on it.  "Mr. Tye....do you drink"?   "Yes".   "Why?"    Now this little guy had turned the tables on me,  so I opened up and said  "Bob, I have my own pain and this helps me through the sad moments."   Bob really opened up with both barrels:  "Then, you should have no trouble in understanding why I burn incense, enjoy candle light and kerosene lantern light, maps on the walls of my room, have secret bushes where I can hide  (pause)   I love lanterns with their soft glow..like a little family lives inside and knows I am there."  He then said:  "I need to be getting home.Dad told me to be home by nine...."    I asked: "Are you afraid of your Father?"   "Yes, sometimes, he can get so mad and it scares me"   We arose and Bob ran and threw his arms around me and blurted out:  "Mr Tye...I wished you were my Father."  With that he was gone and left me alone, oh so alone..I stood there and looked down and my tears ran down my cheeks.  In the process of time, Bob began to see that his behaviour was simply his acting out what he thought of himself, sort of a "I don't want to disappoint you".  He pulled himself up and began to make good grades again. He went on to earn a PhD in child psychiatry, he retired early and began a search for...just the right woman. Funny thing, he met Blythe who was looking for....just the right man.  Now, back to Bob and Blythe !

ME, MYSELF, AND I

I feel like the second cousin to a discouraged Fuller Brush salesman whose opener was : "Lady, you don't want to buy any brushes, do you" ?.....My life seems filled with more than its share of supernatural events that defy explanation.  Explanations are weak excuses for the stance that if I can't explain it, it isn't true.  I find encouragement in that if it isn't believed, at least it might be entertaining.  Some might classify me as a liar and others that I am crazy and then some may combine the two and think of me as a crazy liar...you know..the best of both worlds.  I am feeling my way through the story of Bob and Blythe; two real people who existed and do exist in time and place.  Bob was a very successful doctor of the disturbed, Blythe was a successful writer for a major newspaper and the two were brought together by a Divine guiding hand.  Bob was successful because of a mentor who came his way back in 1952.  That mentor was me as I was in current times.  I was introduced to alcohol at an early age and became an alcoholic and whose life was affected in tragic ways because of it.  We now enter the world of time travel  and I was brought back to 1952 in my state of being as I was seventy years later.  My job was to mentor myself to the point of changing the course of little Bob's path in life so that he would not turn out like I did.  Had I not been successful in my mentoring, I would never  have met Blythe.  Arrangements were made so that I became the resident of  a house for sale that was across from where I lived then and five houses up.   Rules were given to me, the breaking of any one of these would cancel the whole operation.  I could not reveal who I really was; I could not demonstrate my knowledge of details regarding the lives of little Bob nor his parents. I could not warn any one of things to beset them of which I knew, but they didn't know yet.  I began by knocking on the door of the Fishback residence and meeting my Father face to face.  I had to over come my desire to hug my Father,  and weep my heart out,  "Mr. Fishback, I just moved into 3534 Rosemary, and I have seen your son delivering papers, would you ask him to start throwing the News Press to my home"?   He was very obliging.....That very day, Bob stopped by to give me a paper and we visited.  I was a cute little guy, small but wiry.  I knew well his likes...somewhat of a mystic, liked an ambiance of flickering candles, and maps of the Western U.S. pinned to his bedroom wall.  He did not know why he liked them, but my perspective allowed me to know exactly why.  Anticipating all this, I made my back yard to his expected liking. There were a few big Oak trees and I made winding paths that circled around bushes (secret bushes) and hung kerosene lanterns from the lower branches of the trees.  During that first meeting, I showed Bob my garden. He was mesmorized and said the oddest thing...."Mr Tye  ( my new name)....you are just like me"!   No pun intended, but I was beside myself at such a comment ...(to be continued)

WE ARE MICROCOSMS, THE EPITOME OF THE UNIVERSE

Anne Blythe Fishback was well past her zenith, but I was further past my zenith than she was. It was as if she was racing to catch up with me.  There are very poetic ways to describe growing old; On our Veranda #2, she suddenly exclaimed:  "Nature is so beautiful in the death of its glory...the green of Spring is now the glory in its death........The warm colors of its leaves, just waiting and...the wind is up !    Yes, we both were well past our Zenith, I was grey headed and she chose golden curls to replace the lovely blonde she once was.  Fun loving impishness was replaced with a reflecting of what we once were.....Blythe was and is a deep thinker, she was fascinated by time, and what it really was.  She continues to be so very fascinated with my life as a teen ager. It was like she saw me as a sort of microcosm of what we all are and were.   One night, on our veranda, and after a few rounds of her favorite wine, she said:    "I think time is a perception, not a mathematical reality.  Time is an awareness of changes and the distances between them".  She hated digital clocks.  "There is no spacial awareness like the moving of hands on a clock face; It's just the moment that counts, no awareness of the future; no awareness of the past...like a rock besides the road which says to me..we just are; we just am."   As I said,she was so curious about my youth, especially the Summer of 1953 when I was fourteen.  I spent that Summer with Grandma Bertha and Aunt Mildred (Mimi_)......We made several car trips to Tulsa so she could  taste my youth, so to speak.  Grandma and Auntie lived at 216 S. Frisco, about three blocks West of downtown.  When we visited, the row of white duplexes were all empty and awaiting a total destruction so that a big air conditioning could be built there. She was aware that all duplexes had same floor plan, that they were long and narrow so that each room was one behind the other, she was aware of a Mrs Jones lived right next door and that her Grand daughter whom I named Carla was also visiting her Grandmother and that her bedroom was right across from mine,  She was aware that only about five feet was between our homes and that in that narrow walk space was a brick walk way.  She was aware that Carla and  I learned allot`from each other.  
Carla went back to her Rushville, Nebraska home, she was brutally murdered by a jealous boyfriend.  Yes, all of us are microcosms of all others who have ever lived...a kaleidoscope of love, hate, joy and sorrow, hope and disappointments.  Some live until the Sunset and others leave way too early....Some live to show the glory of Fall colors, others are called home in the zenith of their youth, ,,,,How to make an intelligent bottom line to all of this..I have not a clue...Just as well...(to be continued)

THE VERANDA 8/17/17

BY WAY OF REVIEW: These stories are drawn from two lives that came together by chance..like marbles rolling around life's roulette wheel and just happened to fall into slots right next to each other. Blythe Anne Fishback used to be named Blythe Anne Spanos....Gus was born in Greece and learned the art of preparing delicious Greecian dishes...better known as cooking. He moved to the United states when he was in his twenties and found himself in Sacramento, California, where he started his own restaurant business.  His restaurant took off and it grew to the point that Gus became a millionaire in five years.   He met his future wife there and Blythe Anne Spanos was the result.  Blythe's story must be paraphrased as it too lengthy for detail.  She had a very happy and trauma free childhood, and became The editor in Chief of the Sacramento Bee.  She was on a sabbatical and decided to learn the art of camping. As fate would have it, she found herself at Chilao campground in the San Gabriel Mountains above Los Angeles.   Another person was also in search ...not only for a camping spot, but a search for himself.  He was a retired Child Psychologist whose practice was in Glendale, Calif. He retired at 78 years of age, never met the right woman to share life with. and wondered what life was all about and what the point of it all was.....Blythe was normal, but never found the man that was worthy of what she had to give.  She wasn't snooty, she was just particular. I think she was looking for a man as wonderful as her Father. She idolized her Father, and it about killed her when he passed away.  She tried to hold onto him and memories of her childhood by never leaving her childhood home, It was way too big for her, a beautiful old Victorian home in well to do section of old Sacto.  The back yard was at least an acre, studded with old Oak Trees,winding pathways, and beautiful bushes of all kinds,  The Veranda on the back of the house over looked this garden of Eden.  So, back to the roulette and the game of chance.  Bob's first sight of Blythe showed a petite fuming lady trying to untangle her tent. He watched in amusement and then offered to help.  This set into play a scene that is described in a story down here somewhere named "Cat and Mouse in the Forest.....but, only if you are interested......(to be continued)

FIFTY YEARS LATER.....2017

Lots of changes..hair turned grey, joints stiff, some memory loss..a few years ago.  Started calling Blythe by her middle name which is Anne.....She seems to have forgotten her middle name as she asks   "Who is Anne" ?  Really strange thing here, I pushed a certain key and my eyesight improved, but the letters lean....Years ago, Anne sold her huge childhood home in Sacramento where she had lived all of her life. She never married, but was content in living where her beloved parents lived, worked, and gardened the very extensive back yard.  She also had found fulfillment in her job as an editorial writer for the Sacramento Bee. Both of us made good money and we are now enjoying our retirement on the outskirts of Prescott, Arizona.  We built a nice and somewhat large log cabin home on a large, Pine studded lot with a great view of the Bradshaw Mountains with its prominent view of Thumb Butte.  It's not that we don't like Prescotians, as they call themselves, it's just we prefer to look down on them rather than straight across.  They are friendly enough, but tend to not care for new comers. Prescott has a lion's share of street people and is a mecca for rehab centers which are simply houses that are inhabited by people in recovery.  Those houses are just about every where except for upper scale parts of town.  Funny thing is one of Prescott's big draws is Whisky Row which is about two blocks of downtown and is lined with old bars and saloons from the early day's of Prescott.  There is a huge percentage of tattoo'd women of all ages here.  Don't know why that is unless they vie for who is the most screwed up.  So, we built out of town where everyone is normal simply because no one lives near us.  Our floor plan is similar to Anne's floor plan in Sacto.....You may recall from previous stories that Anne (Blythe) had what one might call an inordinate affection for her parents...she actually loved them.  Her Sacto back yard was a virtual garden of Eden and her Father spent his retirement years working from dawn to dusk on it.  He also had his beloved 48 Pontiac Silver Streak 8, which he tinkered with often...polishing it every week.  Her Father made a fortune in the restaurant business as he had a four star Greek food restaurant. Anne got her cooking and drinking skills (!) from her Father....Our log home has a veranda where we still enjoy our wine and repeat stories over and over again, but at our age, it its a new world every day.....Well, I had to start somewhere, and so this begins a new chapter on old familiar chapters...Greetings to my readers in Russia, the UK, Poland, and wherever you are..hang around awhile ..LUV YOU ALL......"The B"