1969 in Hong Kong

I've been away from the computer. Never laid eyes on a screen for over a month. Cell phone too. I used a land line to call home and stay connected with family. I'm home now, and grounded, for a while anyway, and this story told me that it needed to be told. I went to Hong Kong twice in the latter part of 1969. Here is a part of what happened there.

Her name was Yau Su Quen. She told me to call her Suzannia. Suzannia Yau. She spoke perfect English as she was a college student in Hong Kong. Her dream was to some day come to America and she knew she needed to speak the language. Besides, Hong Kong in the late 60’s was still a British Colony and most people learned to speak some English.

She worked at a tailor shop. One of many small storefronts where one can get a custom made suit. She greeted customers and assisted the tailor by writing down measurements as he deftly moved the tape from shoulder to shoulder and every part of the body to achieve the perfect fit.

I wandered into this particular shop on the recommendation from a hotel clerk and another GI who had taken the advice and gone there. He came away with two beautiful suits and seemed pleased. My goal was to get some good looking clothes for when I got back to the world. Back to the world was to go home after spending a year in the rice patties and jungles of Vietnam during the American war in Vietnam. I was there for all of 1969. I had spent ten months in the field and finally took a break and went to Hong Kong.

The Armed forces had deals with allies in the region. A soldier taking an R&R could go to Thailand, Hong Kong, Kuala Lampur or even Australia. I went to Hong Kong because it was available without waiting. I had no preconceived notion to go there at all.It was the luck pf the draw.

All the soldiers fighting in the war got an R&R, or Rest and Recuperation. This was a six day vacation to unwind and not get shot at after having to be on guard in a war zone. Talk about culture shock! One day behind a 50 caliber machine gun, the next in a bar surrounded by beautiful girls. Most guys I knew spent the time drinking and subsequently drunk and buying prostitutional services. This was the big money makers for the hosting countries, booze and women. I will admit, I partook some, but I did not make that the main focus of my trip. I mean I did go into the tailor shop to get a suit made, right?

Another vacation that was available to me was a seven day leave. As an NCO, or non commissioned officer, a sergeant, I was allowed one seven day leave for every year I spent in a combat zone. Since I had achieved the rank of sergeant and was a leader of men, I was allowed this leave and took it. So, I went to Hong Kong a second time because when I was ready to go, a flight was available without delay and I wanted to get out of Vietnam.

The first trip was so pleasant and I was familiar with the surroundings and protocol it seemed natural to return. Besides, I had a friend in Hong Kong now. Suzannia.

When I walked into the shop, I didn’t know what to expect. When she greeted me and spoke English I was surprised. Now here I am, twelve thousand miles from Chicago, my home town in those days, and twenty years old, standing in front of a very young and beautiful women who seemed about the same age as me, who smiled at me, and was able to communicate in very agreeable fashion. I talked about the tailoring and a suit, but talked and talked with Suzannia and quickly made her acquaintance.

We ended up taking a walk later that day. We walked and talked for hours. She showed me around the hustle and bustle of the Kowloon Peninsula. So many people. So crowded with people. Open air markets all over the streets. It was like being in a foreign country. Oh, that’s right, I was in a foreign country. But not in a war with a rifle and on alert fearing for my life. Rather, just visiting and I had a guide to tell me what people were saying, reading signs and taking me to places to see things off the beaten track.

Suzannia wasn’t poor, but she didn’t have much spending money. She lived with her family in a small apartment high above the city. Chickens in cages in the hallway were butchered at the kitchen sink. Herb boxes growing on windowsills. Every bit of space and every resource used to its fullest. The city buses were all double deckers, and they ran in bunches, more than one bus at atime, all going to the same place.

There is a ferry that crosses the harbor and goes to Victoria Island. They had classes of travel. Ten cents bought passage in steerage class, which was below deck and under the waterline. For a quarter you could travel above the waterline on deck. Suzannia had never spent the quarter and used the upper class drayage. Her first trip across the harbor on deck was with me when I paid the fare, fifty cents for "Two, please"

One day while walking, I smelled delicious smells and figured out the sweet frying fat and sugary coatings and fillings of a bakery. I saw a large neon sign. It was a busy sign. A lot of writing, all in Chinese character. I asked Suzannia to translate the writing and tell me what it said. She said very simply, “ABC Bakery” We went in and I gawked at all the sweetness to devour. The clerk behind the counter spoke a dialect that one customer didn’t understand. Suzannia, also versed in the many and diverse dialects of the Chinese, stepped in and translated. It was my turn, and I pointed to what I wanted. Suzannia asked me how many I wanted and then told the clerk.

I was so young and already shocked from the Vietnam experience. I didn’t pay as much attention as I think I should have. At least I don’t remember all I wish I could now forty years later. But I can still see her. She was pretty. Small and slight. Her clothes draped over her and flowed.She always wore a dress that was slender, close to her body. I also don’t remember making a distinction between Southeast Asian, or Vietnamese, people and Chinese based on looks and features. As a dumb American, I saw them as Asian. This time spent in Hong Kong was probably the first time in my life I paid attention to anything that remotely resembled observation, and then it was an insignificant amount I carried away with me in my own mind. But Asian or whatever, if my minds eye told me she was beautiful, I went with my minds eye and I was so pleased to have this beautiful young friend show me around and spend time with me while taking a break from a war.

Seems so crazy to say that, but imagine the force of such a statement. Taking a break from fighting in a war. No wonder most guys sought out the liquor and the promiscuity. Get drunk legally and have the company of a sex partner, all night, every night, while you are young, with raging hormones, and a lifetime of memories and future nightmares to start to try to forget.

As we walked, we talked. I do remember her asking me about my family and my childhood. We compared fathers and their treatment of their respective children. Her brothers and sisters, my brother and sister. Where we were in relation to age, how we celebrated birthdays and occasions. I’m sure I told her I was a Catholic. I don’t remember what or if she practiced any religion, but I’m sure she did.

I was there over Christmas. I went shopping and bought her a gift. I bought a set of hair clips and combs made of Mother of Pearl. She had such beautiful hair. Long and fine, but it shined so. Silky to the touch, wispy when she walked and as she explained things to me and turned her head, I saw her hair bounce and shimmer like waves with no direction but all in one motion, then gathering itself and looking like it had never moved at all.

I can’t quite remember the details, but I know we were walking deep into the heart of Kowloon. I told her I bought her a Christmas gift and she told me she had bought something for me as well. We would bring them the next evening when we saw each other again. We did, and we walked and stopped at a park and were seated on a bench.

Her dark eyes sparkled like shimmering diamonds in the reflection of the night’s lights. Two more stars were her eyes, her face was like a flower. I gave her the wrapped gift and she gave me one of similar shape and size. I said Merry Christmas and it was understood that these gifts were given to celebrate Christmas.

She held hers and I started to open my gift. I was still a child. Not one year before I had spent the Christmas holiday with my family and opened gifts like any child would have, with excitement and enthusiasm, and I was given a gift and wanted to see it, hold it, feel it and grab a hold of a sensation or feeling like I was home, back in the world, with friends and family.

I looked at her and she was still holding her gift. I asked her if she was going to open it and she told me that her custom was to never open a gift in front of the person who gave it. I was devastated and thought that to be foolish. Judgmental of her custom and selfish in my own glory I wanted to see her face and wanted to see if she liked the gift I had given her, and if she was pleased. I look back on that and think about how uncaring and thoughtless I was to argue with her custom. It is one of those little things that I remember doing that haunts me still. I’ll always wish I could do it over, take a mulligan on that one.

She relented without as much as a whimper and opened her gift. To her, I had spent a fortune. She told me she had dreams of such finery and that to receive these items of beauty was such an honor. I felt I had done good. I saw her smile and her big white gleaming teeth added to her beauty. If the world had stopped that day, I was fulfilled seeing her smile and being with her at such a delicate moment in my own development.

It was time for me to open my gift. I tore off the wrapping and inside was a box about six by ten inches. I opened the box and there was a plastic box inside of that with a lid. I opened the lid and saw a book. The book had a strap over the page side and a snap as a closure. It was a diary. Suzannia told me that I had an interesting life and that I should write about it. She suggested I write in this diary every day and tell the story of my life as I lived it.

I remember writing in that diary. On the first page I jotted, in my best handwriting, where and when I got the diary and from who. That is the only page I ever made an entry, the first page. I saw Suzannia the next day and maybe one more brief visit after that and I left Hong Kong and went back to Vietnam to finish my tour of duty. I went home a month or so later and started another chapter of life, life after war.

I did get the diary home. I had it around for years. I met Barb, my wonderful faithful loving wife and still held the diary with the thought that someday I’ll write in it, making those entries every day to "Dear Diary", telling all my secrets and making note of the highs and lows.

Sometime many years later, amidst all the moves, the diary was damaged after a stint in a storage room and it had turned to mildew. The pages were tattered and the entry I wrote, that one page, was still there, but torn and illegible. My finest handwriting was not very good at all. I forgot about the diary after that and lost track of it. It is gone from my life except the memory of it. I have on very few occasions told the story about Suzannia and the diary, but not often. It has been a memory until now.

My memory was jogged as I waited for the train in January. I was leaving for the trip I just returned from, to Cleveland, and took Amtrak. Barb was there to see me off and a couple of friends showed up to tell me they loved me and they supported my actions. One friend gave me a journal, a diary, and told me what it was and what it could be used for.

I haven’t written in it yet. That was over a month ago. But it spurred the thought in me of Yau Su Quen. The fantasy of meeting her again by chance, a fairy tale. A story from whence movies are made perhaps.

I spent my time in Cleveland attending a program at the VA hospital there. I made some headway into survival and I returned home the same man that left, only a little wiser and better for the experience, recalling memories of Hong Kong in December of 1969.

Going Away Once Again

"....nobody has a perfect life, just only days of beauty once in awhile."

This was one line of a letter I received from a friend. It struck me like a hammer. It is so true. We all struggle at times, and sometimes, even right in the middle of the hardest struggle, we smile and see some light, and the beauty. I am so thankful that I do indeed see some beauty once in a while.

My friends, I am leaving for a period of time. I will be away from my home and family. This journey will have me learning, and more importantly healing, even more so than I have already. I will take a big step in my life. During this time, I will not have a cell phone or be at a computer for at least a month. I'll communicate with my family through the written word using a pen and paper and the occasional phone call using a calling card or calling the toll free number where Barb works. I won't be incarcerated, but I will be in a safe secure place. I will look for the beauty of life every day and hope I will find it and see it, and hope it recognizes me.

I am not sure of anything else except that I will be gone.

I've deleted much of my blog. Oh, I have the writings saved on a hard drive, but felt the need to relieve some of the clutter. I have chosen some posts to leave here. Feel free to run through and read anything you might find interesting. As I looked back at the posts, I see where there was a time when things I have said may have touched a heart or two, including my own.

I hope the New Year is grand for all of you, every day of it, and that you prosper in your life with the richness of peace in your hearts.

Visit to Clarks Hill, 2008

These are the Veterans of the Clarks Hill area, assembled before the Veterans Program in front of the Hosanna Baptist Church. That's the 92 year old Mrs. Scott in the beautiful red dress at the far left.

This is going to be a hard story to write. Not because it is sad or anything like that, but because it is so hard to define the feelings from being where I was and doing what I was doing. I just got home yesterday afternoon and I am still buzzing and trying to pin down the emotions from the experience.

Last year at this time, Barb and I went to Clarks Hill, SC and attended a Veterans program at the Bethany Baptist Church. Bethany is the boyhood parish of my friend, Frazier Dixon. Frazier and I served together in Vietnam and I was with him when he was killed in action on December 3, 1969. I returned to Clarks Hill last year and met the friends and family and it was a very very hearty healing experience for all involved.


It's on the map!

This year, I was invited down there again. I wanted to return. I brought them an Eagle feather in a display case and a flag that was flown in memorium for my friend. There were some people that I didn’t get to meet last year. They found out about my visit too late and didn’t make it. This year, I stayed four days and three nights and got to meet some key relatives that I desperately wanted to meet.

Anthony Morgan, Frazier’s best friend from high school, paid for three nights lodging for us at the Marriott. That was a very nice thing to do. We were going to stay at a local LaQuinta motel. To ease the burden of having to pay for lodging allowed us to stay longer. The fine folks and other Veterans that attended the program also pitched in and gave us an envelope with some cash for gas and expenses. What unbelievable thoughtfulness. All of this generosity was a beautiful gesture on their part.

They made me feel like a hero. Like I was doing something special. Maybe I did expend effort to drive down there, but it was them that provided me with healing by their friendship and acceptance of me and my family as their own.

We drove down in three segments. Wednesday evening for a few hours just to get some miles under our belts, then a long day Thursday covering about 700 miles. We had a short day friday as we rolled in to Augusta, GA about 3:00 p.m. We checked in on a day when the rain and fog had covered the city like a blanket.

Friday night, we were suppose to go to Mrs. Scott’s North Augusta, GA home and see her gardens. She is proud of her gardening skills, and at 92 years of age still feeds herself and friends with the vegetables she grows. She is an inspiration. She is responsible for putting on the Veterans program for the Veterans in the community at her own expense. It was so foggy, that we did not go driving around but instead, just met Shirley Luke, our friend and contact, and had a nice casual dinner at the S&S Cafeteria.

Shirley stayed at her mother’s place in Clarks Hill, we returned to the Marriott where the kids swam in the indoor pool. Barb and I relaxed in the hot tub to soothe the tightness of our muscles from the long drive.

Saturday, I paid a visit to the grave site of my friend. Last year, I saw the site needed some repair as the concrete top was crumbling. I mentioned sending money down to help with the cost of repairs, but nothing was said about my offer. Low and behold, when I get down there, the whole thing was redone. New landscaping and a much needed brightening of the headstone. Mrs. Scott had been responsible for the expense of having the site upgraded and it looked great.


The dam on the Savannah River. Once called the Clarks Hill Dam, the official name is now the J. Strom Thurmond Dam. This is about 15 miles North of Augusta, Georgia

After the cemetery visit, we went to the Clarks Hill lake and dam and walked around a bit. We had some time to kill before the program started at 3:00 p.m. They renamed the Clarks Hill dam. It is called the J. Strom Thurmond lake and dam now, but the locals will forever know it as the Clarks Hill dam. I am in that camp. Thurmond doesn’t deserve the moniker in my opinion.

The Veterans program played to a full house at the Hosanna Baptist Church. The Bethany Church was undergoing roof replacement. Hosanna offered the site for this years event. I met with several Veterans from the previous year. I remembered most of them and they remembered me. I also got to meet Frazier’s sister. When the family was young, the Mom divorced and remarried. Her new husband moved the family to Philadelphia. Frazier wanted to stay in Clarks Hill, so he stayed with his Grandfather and two cousins, Dan and Lois. The sister, Shirley, and other siblings went north. Frazier was raised largely by his Grandfather and aunt.

Shirley was there and we met for the first time. Like many of the people from the area, she didn’t know what to believe as far as what the Army told them. The casket was sealed, so they never saw a body. Many believed Frazier could possible be alive as a prisoner of war or just missing in action. Amazing was the distrust in believing what the Army officials told them about his death.

It wasn’t until I came along last year that they learned the entire truth of what happened that fateful night in December on a battlefield in Vietnam. I was there with Frazier the night he was killed. I saw him alive, then saw him dead. It was this first hand account that meant so much for the family and friends to hear. They were in disbelief for all these years. I believed it, but never made sense of it as I never know anything of his existence other than as a soldier in the American war in Vietnam.

I also met Dan, the cousin he grew up with, and Lois, Dan’s sister. I had met other cousins and neighbors of this small tight knit community a year earlier. Dan and I talked a lot. Dan needed the closure and asked me some pretty pressing questions, but I swallowed my own pain and relived some of that night to soothe his mind and give him answers to questions he had struggled with for almost 40 years.

At the program, I was asked to speak a little. I kept it brief, but I did have this Eagle feather to give to the community. A spiritual Elder I know from Wisconsin gave me this feather to give to them. He told me that the feather was symbolic of the Warrior Spirit of my friend, and by giving them this feather, I was returning his spirit back to them as I was with him when he died and holding it with me for many years.

I put the feather in a case and presented it to them along with a flag, also in a wooden case, folded in the traditional triangle style. The flag was flown at a Native American Pow Wow in Northern Minnesota at an honoring ceremony in August. After last year, I was able to fly Frazier’s flag. Before that, I guess I just wasn’t ready to fly it and see his spirit wave goodbye. I felt I needed to hold on to his spirit. I didn’t know why, but found out that I was holding on to it because I had to return it to Clarks Hill. After last year, I was able to complete the mission and say goodbye to my friend.

Now, for the really good part, we ate a magnificent banquet in the church dining hall. Fried chicken, peach cobbler, baked mac n’ cheese, green beans, stuffing with gravy, along with red velvet cake with a cream cheese pecan frosting that was to die for! The dinner was very nice and we sat around for a couple of hours talking and growing friendships.

We returned to the Marriott and spent the rest of the evening in a haze after the days activities. Sunday had us up and walking around the old downtown of Augusta, Georgia. It was a cool morning, but a bright sunny day. After a brief swim in the hotel pool, we went back to Clarks Hill lake and dam and walked around there a little and went to the visitor center.


The lovely Mrs. Spadoman at lakeside.

At 1:30 p.m , we met Shirley Luke at Sam Marshall’s little grocerette/bait and tackle, and anything you might need store on the highway. I met Sam at the program and he was glad to see us on his turf as he invited us to stop in at the store the day before. Shirley came and we followed her to Dew Drop Inn Road. We turned into the woods on Dew Drop Inn, and went just a short 1/4 mile or so and came into view of a bunch of houses. They were scattered around, not in order like a suburban development, and faced this way and that. The dirt road was wide and narrow. Kids were outside playing, people standing around here and there. Smoke coming from chimneys as the day experienced a cold front as winter reminded us all that is was near.


The Grandkids, DJ and Anna, at Clarks Hill Lake.

This year, we took the two oldest Grandkids with us. It was a joy to have them with.We went to Debra’s house first. Debra is Frazier’s first cousin and lived in the house next to where Frazier grew up. Debra has eleven bothers and sisters. Five of the sisters still live on Dew Drop Inn. We went from house to house. Some had food and we ate. Some just were at home. As we went from house to house, a few joined our troop and we walked to the spring where the water was retrieved in an earlier time. We went ot the washing hole where laundry was done. It came alive and I could see it all.

And the food! Greens, greens with okra, pork hocks, fried chicken, barbequed chicken, sweet potatoes, baked mac and cheese, corn bread, sweet tea. Man, I ate and ate. We talked about each others lives as we explained the differences between the cultures and the North and South. I told them that I cooked Italian food in those large quantities at one time in my life. I fed the family too. We agreed that next time I come down there, I’d get a kitchen to cook and I would make a real authentic spaghetti and meatball dinner for all of dew Drop Inn.

That’s when I got invited to the Family Reunion which is due to take place next July Fourth weekend in 2009. I wondered if they were kidding, but they meant it. We are invited if we want to be there. I can’t quite explain the feeling of being there, in this enclave, of family and distant relatives, all living and sharing their food and their lives with us and each other. This was no special dinner, this was everyday life. That's what made it so great. We were treated just like family with no pretending. One sister will cook one day, another will cook the next. people from the houses were coming and going. Some would eat a plateful right there, others would wrap up some food and take it home. This is real community and not at all unlike the Native communities in Northern Wisconsin and Minnesota, or my own family in an earlier time.

I came away determined to start a tradition and cook my Mother’s recipe of Italian “gravy”. The red sauce, with spaghetti and meatballs. Sausage, lamb shanks and neck bones along with good bread and salad. I’ll do it once a month an I’ll be starting this weekend on Sunday.

To be there and share this repast. To be there and be accepted like kin is an experience that is indescribable to me. As it happened, I sat there and soaked it all in. There were so many hugs from so many people and so many “Drop in any time” invitations. Bob will take me fishing, Les will fix my car. Debra and her sisters will be cooking so there is no way a person would starve.

All in all, another year has passed. Another fabulous trip to the boyhood home of a man that I met in Vietnam on the battlefield. What a journey this life has to offer if we are willing to make it.

Many years ago, I embarked on a healing path and didn’t know what to expect or if anything at all was to be expected. The healing has come and it continues. It is out there for all of us. We need patience and faith in something. I am a lucky man for all of this to happen to me in a few short days. And they tell me they are the lucky ones to have met me. What an honor, what an experience. It can never be duplicated, but I can relive it, moment by moment each and every day.


Yours truly with Anna at Clarks Hill Lake.

Thanks for listening to my story. May peace and love touch you all in some way.

Time to Travel

The time has come to take a trip. As I did last year, I'll travel to Clarks Hill, SC. The return visit will be as special as the first time I went there, which was Last Year. It will be special for a number of reasons.

My two oldest Grand children will join me along with the spousal unit, Mrs. Spadoman. We traveled with the kids last Summer and they proved they can be good. Good for an eight year old and a ten year old. I guess it's me and the missus that they might worry about. We have embarrassed them in the past. But they'll get over it.

The fine folks down in Clarks Hill, friends and family of my Veteran Brother Frazier Dixon, have invited us to stay at the Marriot in Augusta, GA. That will be some nice plush accommodations. It was very nice and super generous of them to give us the lodging.

I have a special gift to bring down there for the community to share this year. I was given an Eagle feather by a Spiritual Elder that I know and trust. He tells me he saw it in a dream, me giving them this feather, and that it would represent the Warrior Spirit that I have returned to the community. I framed it and I will present it to them during the Veterans Program.

I also flew a flag at a Pow Wow last August. The flag was symbolic of the deceased
Veteran and was flown in a memorial Veterans song that was sung, honoring all Veterans who gave of themselves. I bought a case for that flag and I will present that to them as well.


This is at the Flag Raising ceremony last August. My friend Mike, also a Veteran, helped me fly this memorial flag.

We'll be leaving here on Wednesday and arriving in Augusta on Friday. We'll spend three nights there and start back on Monday. We'll pass through Chicago on the way home and visit my Mother for one overnight. She will love to see the kids.

The route I'll take down there might be a little squared off. I want to drive through as many states as I can. The kids want them for their resume. After last years trip to Washington DC, they added quite a few states, that they have been to, to their accomplishments. This trip will add a few more. I am thinking of getting them one of those US maps that people put on the side of their RV and then fill the spaces with stickers or magnets of the states. They could mount it in their room and as we travel to different places, they can fill the spaces with the magnets.


Wouldn't this look nice and colorful for a kids room?
I want one!!

As they get older and we have these travel experiences, I am likely to want to take them to more places and show them the wonders I have had the luxury to have seen in my travels throughout my life. Last Summer to the East coast, maybe this Summer to the West. I better watch out. I want to take an epic motorcycle journey through Canada to Alaska on the bike. It could happen that I would return from that and load up the van and take the kids to Grand Canyon, LA, San Francisco, the Redwoods and the Ocean and without blinking an eye log in 15,000 miles of highway time.

I sure could think of worse ways to spend retirement. Like in a lazYboy watching infomercials. Did you see the new power scrubber? I mean two of em' for $19.95 (plus S&H), and you get ten free exchangable cleaning heads.


A Tennessee hillside last November on our way to South Carolina.

So, I hope you'll miss me. I'll be gone for about two weeks altogether. I'm sure I'll enjoy the warmer weather as I am going to the South, and the trees might have some color on them. Here, the blustery winds and rain of the past few days has pretty much left the streets and lawns with a mat of yellow, waiting for a good opportunity to get the rake out there and pile them up in bags for removal. Fall is over. Winter is here. We had snow twice now, both times it 'stuck' and showed up on the car windows, then melted away by late afternoon. One of these days it will become three feet deep. White Christmas anyone?

Peace to all of you.

"My Life Is Not My Own"

Since I returned from Washington DC in July, I have been going non stop. It seems every time I get a break, I get a call or there is some other function that I have an opportunity to attend. I know I can say, “No”, and I have done so, but most of these things I want to do.

I remember a couple of years ago when I was cooking at the Sundance. I loved to do it, but it consumed me in many ways. Yet I look back and still try to recreate in my everyday life those quiet mornings, right at sunrise, when the dew was moist and the haze of the morning was just lifting. The sandhill cranes would fly around and speak to me. It always seemed like I was the only one alive.

Usually, the leader of the ceremony would wander over to the cook tent with his coffee mug in one hand and a cigarette in the other. I’d see him coming and I’d wipe the wetness off a chair for him and look around for the pot holder so I could pour him a cup of the rich strong coffee from the big pot, the one on the fire.

This one day, he sat down and took a drag on the smoke, nodded a “Thank you” when I poured his coffee and started to speak.

“My life is not my own.” He said.

He went on and spoke about the hardships of having a life of your own when the people asked you and expected you to be there for them. People as in family members, community members and friends. Chris is a Medicine Man. A Spiritual Elder and leader of the Dakota people. He lives on the Prairie Island reservation near Red Wing, Minnesota.

He sometimes wants to go fishing, or just have a day to himself. Some time to just relax, take a nap or watch mindless TV. He would like to not have to take the next trip to South Dakota or Japan or where ever to perform what ever ritual, healing or ceremony. He doesn’t have that option and he accepts his path, totally.

That doesn’t mean he doesn’t wish it would have been otherwise and this one summer morning he mentioned it to me over a cup of joe and a butt. I listened. For some reason, the words stuck in my brain and recall him often. I have been so busy since last October that I recall him a lot and wonder if the same is true for me and my life, that it is not my own.

It never really was my own. I thought it was. I thought I had control. I thought that of all the free spirits, I was freer than most. I traveled a lot and have had many experiences that some folks just think or dream about. Yet we really never control anything, least of all, our path in life.

Last year, I agreed to house sit for a friend who went to Nicaragua for three months. That started October 27th. I moved out of my own home and moved in to a strangers place. I had my bag that disguised as a suitcase and a dopp kit. Does anyone know what a dopp kit is? Anyway, I have one and I have been living out of it since October 27 of 2007.

At the end of the three months, January 27th, the home owner was due to return and she did. But instead of moving back home and unpacking my dopp kit, I moved into my 1991 Ford E-150 conversion van and headed in a generally Westerly direction. I traveled to Arizona and visited family, then to Northern California and visited friends that are more like family than the family is. After that, I went to San Francisco and joined the Longest Walk.

I was on The Walk for almost two full months. I got sick and tried to recuperate but just had beaten myself into the ground as I worked to accomplish the goal. I know no other way of living life. No other way than to immerse myself fully into what I am doing and in this case, it was being a Go-To guy with the Longest Walk.

I realized that I am disabled. I haven’t had a job for wages in quite some time. What made me think I could go on the Longest Walk and work like I did and just because I wasn’t earning any money, that I would be capable of doing it? Work is work, paid or not, and I just about killed myself trying to do what I couldn’t really do. It was a friend I talked to on the phone who reminded me that I am not the person I used to be. I wasn’t trying to prove anything. I just didn’t think about it for one minute.

I returned home after two months and stayed around the house. I was tired and slept a lot. I was very sick and needed to get stronger and return to being healthy and that took about a month. I went back to The Walk for a week when they were in Oklahoma. At that time, I let the leader, Dennis Banks, talk me into returning and I did so when The Walk was in Baton Rouge, LA.

I drove down to Louisiana and stayed with them for another month. When we reached Northern Alabama, I headed North for home once again. I lied to them and told them I’d be back in two weeks when I knew I wasn’t planning on going back to The Walk until they were in Washington DC on July 11th.

While at home, I participated in The Crow Creek Motorcycle Ride. I was a prime force with planning and implementation of that event as well as a motorcycle rider. After the Crow Creek ride, my friend and I continued on our bikes for another 1200 or so miles of joy riding, enjoying fine weather and scenery on uncrowded North and South Dakota roads.

I left to rejoin The Walk early in July. I planned a stop with the family near Chicago to visit my Mother. I had four of the Grandkids with me when I traveled and with the visit to Chicago, returning to The Longest Walk for the last few days in Washington and the other vacation activities we did while on the road with the kids, well, I didn’t get home again for two weeks.

When I did get home, it was right back on the road for the 300 mile trip to the Sundance. I didn’t make the full 11 days this year and didn’t cook, but I was there for four days and helped the cook on the last day when a feast needed to be prepared. I returned home on July 19th.

On the 20th, I get a call from one of the Longest Walkers. She was in Minneapolis and needed a place to stay. She, along with her friend, a guy she seemed to be in love with at the time, stayed at my place. Using the floor in the spare bedroom. Along with them, there were other visitors from The Walk. The Japanese interpreter and her boyfriend. They stayed at my place for a few days, but when she got sick with a kidney infection, my friend Steve let them have a regular furnished bedroom at his place.

While she recovered, I saw them daily. After a while, she left to return to Japan and her friend went back to Lexington, KY to start work. The others left and joined the small town moving carnival show somewhere in rural Minnesota.

I was glad. It looked like I finally would have some peace and quiet and nothing on the schedule. I was wrong. I got another call from yet another friend i made on The Walk. She would be in town and her and her boyfriend didn’t stay at my house, but we went out to dinner and visited for a time.

Between all these things, I had to travel to Ashland, WI for ceremonies and to visit friends I have neglected for the past few months as I was on the road. At last, peace and quiet, until my sister and Mother came to visit. My sister asked if I could keep my Mom here with me while she and her husband took a short vacation. I agreed and my Mother came for a two week visit. I bought a proper bed and installed it in the spare room instead of putting her on the floor or sofa. Just the respect shown to an Elder. I think the other guests that stayed at my place were okay on the floor and the sofa.

Then, I get another call from yet another friend from The Walk. They are in town and I will met them for breakfast. One of them returned home and the other, finding himself with a need for a place to stay, asked if I could help him out. Of course I let him stay at my house. He’d do the same for me.

Then, the Veterans For Peace National Convention was in town and I had agreed to be a volunteer and help with the hosting chores on behalf of our Local 27 Chapter. During that time, I met a fellow blogger from the API blog who is a Veteran and traveled here for the VFP convention with her husband and other friends. Immediately on the heels of that was the four day RNC extravaganza and the massive war protest activities that took place right in my own back yard.

My friend stayed through the RNC and got arrested. I couldn’t help him out as I was in Ashland helping another friend with his wedding over the weekend. It was a traditional Native ceremony and I was honored to have been asked to be a helper.

Now, I just completed a four day drive to Northern California and will be visiting friends here. They had a death in the family, their daughter, and I have been wanting to come here and tell them I love them since it happened.

To say I’ve been busy is a gross understatement. But I wanted to explain where I’ve been and what I’ve been doing. I went to read some blogs last week and I posted a comment on one of them. They were surprised to see me. They thought I left the blogosphere for good!
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I tell you, I can’t wait for those short daylight days of winter and the cold and just crawling around the house in my Homer Simpson pajama bottoms. I’ll do some writing then and actually say something meaningful. I can tell you about the visits and the meals and the ceremonies and the functions.

Until then, “My life is not my own”.

I guess that old man knew what he was telling me. I never get over the idea of how he knew I needed to learn that lesson.

In the meantime, be well and stay safe in all you do. Practice peace.

Happy New Year, From 2008

A visitor from the Deer Nation to the Cabinette.

It is just another day to me, really. There is no significant reason to celebrate it in my mind. I am so glad that I am much more in tune to Nature and the Universe than I am to the calendar and clock. Yesterday evening, while driving to an event, I watched the sun setting in the Southwest. Up here, way up North in Wisconsin, the sun rises and sets South of the Equator and that means a sunrise and set way down in the Southern sky, hence the longer periods of darkness.

I'll watch, and soon Ole Sol will make its way back and be North and stay out shining and lighting our way until close to 10 p.m. All the daylight savings time discussion means nothing either for that matter. The clock will say 10 p.m., but it will have been light for over 18 hours. Now, we barely get eight hours of sunlight.

I can see the reasons and harbor no malice towards New Year. I just go on living. Many enterprises go into reflection. I'm seeing this on some blogs , on the news, in the paper. "The Year In Review" is the story byline. Review what already happened. Look back and have a reminder of sadness in the world? That's the news.


Gracie and her Papa, having a good time.

A new family member that was born into our family, Gracie Jayne, happened in calendar year 2007. I want to see her walking in 2008. I want to be alive to see it, witness it. I don't need to remember she was born last year even though it was a very happy and miraculous event. I see her, a human being. I know she is here.


Gracie Jayne, soon to be one year, visiting with Onawah at the kitchen window.

Don't get me wrong. This isn't a gloom and doom piece here. This is just my take on it. All the dot org's are doing their level best to get me to shell out some moola before the end of the calendar year. I'm fucking broke. The fucking holidays and the fucking pickup truck repairs took all my fucking money. What makes True Majority, Move On and Amnesty International think I need a fucking tax deduction? Don't they know their base is poor people. Why would the rich want any change in the policies of king bush? They are getting richer off of it as the peons suffer and pay higher everything. Gas, food, utilities, the basics, but give them money to combat these things. What a dichotomy.

I had the pleasure and honor of attending a Sweat Lodge last night. It was in honor of the soon to be January Moon. The Moon of Popping Trees. It's so cold the trees seem to "PoP". They do make noises. Ever hear the ice on a lake freeze? It is a sound like no other. No, it is like the cry of a whale, sort of. It is natural. The lake is talking to you like the whale is speaking as well.

The leader told us that the Elders used the Winter and the long nights to tell stories. he said in the Ojibwe culture, their history is oral. The stories were passed down and told, sometimes over and over, and then repeated as the ones who heard the first version grew into eldership. Last night, I was recognized as an Elder and a Warrior and I told my story to the younger people there. I told them about being a Warrior and my journey to South Carolina to return the Spirit of my Brother in Arms to his people. I told them how I truly believed that I was guided on this path to have this happen. I told of the signs, the eagles, the way things dropped into place, the healing that happened, the closure. I was proud to tell this story and was proud to tell it to people who sat and listened, or at least were polite about it all and didn't interrupt me.

This ceremony was held in the woods behind a place called Mishomis House. Mishomis means Grand Father in the Anishanabe language, the voice of the Ojibwe, or Chippewa people. It is a program house for people with alcohol and drug addictions. New years was a usual time to drink maybe a little more than they usually drank. We try to hold a Lodge ceremony around New Years Eve as a motivator and inspiration for those that suffer from these addictions. We hold the ceremony, then go on living. I had my New Years "party" at that Lodge, so to speak.


The Great Lake Superior. A view through the woods at the cabinette.


I’ll fool around here at home today and tomorrow with my new Cassette Tape Archiver. A really neat device that will allow me to make all my old cassettes into CD’s and MP3 files for the iPod. Cool, heh? All that great music has been sitting in a milk crate. Now it will be resurrected and listened to instead of just recalled in conversations.

“I have this great cassette of the Who doing “Tommy” at Radio City Music Hall from 1972” I would say.

“Oh man, that would be awesome to hear that” my friend would respond.

“You got a tape deck?” I’d ask.

“No, mine broke years ago and I never bought another one. Everything went to CD’s” He’d say.

“Damn, too bad” says I.

Maybe I’ll watch Pirates of the Caribbean III again. I like that fantasy stuff if it has pirates in it. Maybe I’ll watch the whole trilogy. Or Monty Python and the Holy Grail. I love that movie too.

What ever you do, do it well. If this is a step for a new beginning for you, this New Year, then do that well too. It's a leap year, so, you'll have an extra day on your calendar in case you make a mistake. A Mulligan on life, cool concept. But there are always thirteen moons in a year.

We’ll be moving back into the Cabinette in a few weeks. I can’t wait. We’re getting ready for that. It will be a change from living in this cozy house in town. But it’s not a resolution or anything like that. It’s just our home, and I’ll be glad to return to it, cold and snow or not. I did get to lay up a lot of fire wood, so I’m ready. I can see myself now, a warm fire. My tape deck belting out the old stuff as I edit and catalogue my “new” CD collection and add it to the rest. I’ll need to buy another case and one of those stacks of CD/RW’s for all the recording. A good vision of how to spend Winter at the Cabinette.

In the meantime. Have a good New Year. This year, every year, every day of every year, for you and all you hold dear.

And Peace to All in the Universe.


Mr. and Mrs. Spadoman.

A Greeting to All, From 2007

However you celebrate, or if you don't celebrate at all, we wish you peace in your hearts for you and all you hold dear. We send constant positive energy out to the world and will stand in honor of all of you who wish for peace today at the Ashland Peace Vigil. I ask the Creator to let us understand each other and accept all mankind as their Brothers and Sisters.

Thank you for your support. Merry Christmas, Happy New Year, May peace prevail on the Sacred Earth Mother for all.