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Blog: Hot Spots

What you don't see is what you dont get...Hot spots...what and where.

I am borrowing from a high tech term that refers to areas where computers can pick up signals without being plugged into the net.  Actually, there are more hot spots than you can imagine, and not all of them are of modern technology.  Some of them date back thousands of years.  This needs some explanation. 

I must consider poor Nicole who has to make calls every day on what to publish and what to reject.  She is not where she is for no reason and I just know that as long as the posting stays with what the site is all about, there is a chance.  This site is about Montrose and the CV loosely speaking. 

Signal Hill used to be a hot spot for the Tongva Indians.  They set signal fires there to guide their people at sea.  It became a real hot spot when oil was discovered there.  But, I wish to speak of yet another type of hot spot.  The hot spots I speak of are where memorable events occurred that, in a small way, changed a life forever.  It becomes a question of which came first, the hot spot that caused the event, or the event that caused the hot spot.  Probably both.  I was 12 when my parents moved from downtown area Glendale to Sparr Heights. 

They bought 3509 Rosemary for about $12,500 from a Richard Dorr.  Try that sometime!   It was there that I had a sort of awakening.  Something different about "up here."  There was an ambiance...very much like the lyrics  "There was something in the air that night, the stars were shining bright, Fernando"   The morning light was much brighter..it did more than just shed light on the trees, grassy lawns, the breaks and the bushes, the hills and mountains, it stung them with color and with beckoning hand, called into play the symphony of perfumes from the Rose family, the Camelia family, the Damp Earth Family.  The Night Blooming Jasmine, having done its night's work, closed its eyes in sleep while a lonely snail stuck its pronged feelers out from under a rock, and then began its daylight ramble, enjoying the Sun in its little shell. The people also, they woke up, showered, shaved, dressed, ate, and went to their work.  They missed a lot, but they survived.  It was the children who saw more, much more.  They felt more; the magic undisturbed by explanations and reasons.  The zenith of the sun....high noon...the transition...the people rose, did their jobs, grew tired, followed the Sun to its Zenith, and began the trip to the end of another day.  The Sun rested for a moment on a crest of the Verdugo Hills, and began its journey to the other side of the World. 

A grand good bye. 

The shadows sprung and grew steadily up the heights of the San Raphaels, the tops gave forth an Orange glow good night. and faded as the Blessed night drew its canopy of deep blue to black across the sky.  The lonely snail, which no one saw nor thought about began his amble back to his rock.  To him, he was important!   And...he was content.  The kids did their home work, out down their pencils, did the last things of the day, and went to bed.  One by one, lights went out in the houses...their time to rest.  The jasmine opened its petals and went to work, perfuming the night air for the next generation.  So, life really is a symphony of many things...most of which we never think about.....In case you are wondering, childhood is the best hot spot of all.....Valley girls cuter, valley boys tougher, the Sun is brighter, the stars more in profusion, and the ambiance defies description...

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ROBERT E. FISHBACK November 20, 2012 at 08:06 PM
Shhh...This is Bob again,,,found away to pull an end run around da' Boss. Most will disagree with me on this, but some will say "yes". In many ways, Childhood is the apex of life's experiences. Our slates are still blank, just waiting to be written upon with first impressions that still have their voice in our adult hood. Trouble is, that so much has been scribbled on our slates by then, the whispers from the past just cannot compete with all the noise. This insanely fast moving world takes us from the slow moving world of ago and a child's pace, to a rapid fire, end to end blitz of non sequitar series of .events. In a child's world...way back then...time was in slow motion....Montrose in the forties and early fifties, for example. Yes, there were stores of many kinds and people did go there, but the pace was soo slow. Dear old Mrs. Brown ambled along in her old black Ford and she was looking for a parking place. No hurry....She putted along down Honolulu and she saw a car backing out. Pretty soon, Mrs. Brown pulled into the space once occupied by Helen Porter, 67 years old. This is not important to you, the reader, it was important to Mrs. Brown and Mrs. Porter. Bobby Peabock was also shopping ....for a girl.....He was twelve and entering puberty...He noticed one Bonnie Williams,,,and and I will have to tell you the rest later...shhhh
ROBERT E. FISHBACK November 20, 2012 at 08:22 PM
Believe me, Nicole is the Orkin of verbosity.....but I do have to tell you the rest of this because it happens to be true..I know..Bobby was me back in 1952. I did meet Bonnie Williams at Clark...i had never seen such a cute girl...she was rather quiet...and mysterious...I was obsessed wit her. I found out where she lived, and one Moonish night, I went to her house via bicycle, found the little entrance door to the space underneith her house, and crawled beneath and over many pipes and cob webs to the space under her bedroom. There, I nestled in the dirt and listened. I heard the footsteps above....the Father's heavy clumps, the click of the wife..and the barefoot sounds of Bonnie. Decades later, I found where Bonnie was living..Youngstown, Ohio...and I wrote to her...She responded...Dear Bobby.....Of course we have pleasant memories of our child hood, however, I prefer to leave mine there and not renew old acquaintances,,,,,Sincerely, Bonnie Simmons. So, now you know why I spent the night under her home..listening to the sounds of her feet and savoring this chapter in a book that would soon come to an end...
ROBERT E. FISHBACK November 20, 2012 at 10:19 PM
If I had a space for a title, I would call this THE FASTEST MOVE I EVER SAW A MAN MAKE. Again, all of this is true with no enhancements. I was born in Tulsa Ok and moved to Glendale in 1944..I was five years old. Every summer, my Dad got two weeks vacation, and every Summer we journied back to Oklahoma over the the old Mother Road, U.S. 66. No chain motels...all Mom and Pop....In the Summer of 1953, my parents wanted to go vacation at Mammoth Lakes and they wanted me with Grandma Bertha and Aunt Mimmi who lived in Tulsa. My dad found that one of his colleagues was going East and hired him to drop me off in Tulsa. People camped out beside the road...as we did. Mr Kinnard was the adult and drove his brand new Chevy, Bob Kinnard, his son, was in his teens, We camped out every night, and one of those nights was just outside of Clinton, Oklahoma. It was hot. We pulled off on a clear space The Mosquitoes soon found us and an old Morton's Salt sign squeeked in the breeze. We had just gotten to sleep when a car full of boys drove by and threw a burning sack filled with fire crackers at us. There was a barage of loud pops and Ray Kinnard was out of his sleeping bag in half a second. Up until then, I had never seen a man move so fast. A year later when, one night my Dad decided to pee of the front porch, I snuck out back door and down the drive way. Simulating the neighbor lady's voice, I said..."Carl, what are you doing?" His tuck in time beat Ray Kinnard.
ROBERT E. FISHBACK November 20, 2012 at 10:53 PM
How to settle an argument. My best Pal on Norton ave was a Dean Hurd. He was abit older than I was, but we really hit it off. Television was just coming to town and the Hurds had already bought a Magnavox;;;;;My folks were bent towards DuMont. We got into an argument as to which was best...a DuMont or a Magnavox. It really got serious until I hit upon an idea: I would say Magnavox was best if he would say Du Mont was best. We exchanged vows and our friendship was healed. This was about the time when Kathy Fiscus fell down an old abandoned well in San Marino. There was a live 24 hr coverage of the attempts to save her. This was a first in live coverage. They did retreive her body. Strangely enough, her Father was on a trip to campaign the plugging of old abandoned wells. This was about 1948.....
ROBERT E. FISHBACK November 21, 2012 at 12:42 AM
It seems every base is covered on this site. The kind hints to the blowhard are there, The more they write, the slimmer the box they have to write in. This is a favor in disguise....say more in less. Tehachipi quake...1952.... I am 13 and it is about 5 A.M. My bed rolls on castors from wall to wall...Alarms going off from broken windows in Montrose. A record arm playing a song over L.A. radio is knocked off the record. The song was "Strange Sensation" Up near Tehachipi, a whole railroad tunnel through rock is picked up just long enough to move the tracks over abit, and then dropped. The tracks were left heading right into the side of the tunnel. The after shocks were strong and endless....Those who were nearing the edge, finished the trip. I will never forget that event. Do you notice a comment opportunity below; does it occur to you that your memories are enjoyable to the readers? Duhhh....This site is an opportunity for you to share.....No one like you in the whole World......Do remember that quake? b
ROBERT E. FISHBACK November 21, 2012 at 05:25 PM
Ebmeyer's Swiss French Bakery...Montrose. The Ebmeyers live right next door to us to the North. Every morning about 5 am, they backed out if their drive to start the ovens going and baking bread and rolls. They kind of kept to themselves, Any way, I thought it would be ok to nail a long board to the side of their garage so I could run my radio aerial to it. My dad found it and pretty well worked me over, Then, he made me got and apologize to the Ebmeyers. When I was out there in 1975, I walked into our old back yard and over the the Ebmeyer's garage. The rwo nail holes in the beam of wood were still there. Do you realize that the very moment you were born, some one some where in the world was nailing something to somethng...and more than likely the nails are still in place in some house some where. This is what I mean by the secret romance of life....something somewhere long forgotten and completely hidden...marks a special moment in your life.
ROBERT E. FISHBACK November 23, 2012 at 12:22 AM
Lonliness: Your Friend beyond the Door..knocking. I know of no other emotion that is so prevelant and so mysterious as to why. Hunger and thirst are the physical nature's way of saying: "I need' Lonliness is the immaterial part of you saying "I also need." All discomfort and dis-satisfaction must be covered over with pills and distractions, we think. We rush off on a vacation and come back be-draggled. We shop, we get something new, only to find they only increase our oain of want. Like a little boy in a store with his arms filled with toys and he is crying for more. Jesus met a lonely woman at a well and they got into a discussion: Jesus told her that she had had five husbands, and the man she was with was not a husband. This got her attention. Jesus then asked her for a drink of water and she was again amazed. This opened the door to the most important thing she ever heard. "Who ever drinks of this water shall thirst again, but whoever drinks of the water I can give shall never thirst again, for the water I shall give shall be in him or her a well of water spinging up into everlasting life. He was speaking of her spirit. Now, the rules for this site are no religion and no demeaning words. Seeings I have been called a son of a bitch with no repercussions, I trust I can speak of the one who is knocking at your door and wishes for you to answer....b
ROBERT E. FISHBACK November 25, 2012 at 07:16 PM
. When I lived on Rosemary, I found a secret place. There was a shed built onto the back of the garage and I found an old single bed and put it in the shed. I liked to sleep there on rainy nights. One night when I was sleeping in the shed, I heard a noise just outside the door to the outside. This door had a pane of glass and I could look out on the yard. . I saw a figure pass in front of the door and it just stood there. A kerosene lamp hung from a hook outside the door.I heard a squeek of the globe and support being raised up, Then, it struck a match and the match approached the open chamber of the lantern. The glow of the match fell upon her face..it was the old woman living behind us. Fear gripped me and it was hard to breathe. She had a look of concern as she lighted my lantern. She closed the chamber and just disappeared from view. I went through the other door to the garage and beat it to the house. I could not sleep..soo afraid. I kept looking out my back bedroom window and saw the red glow of my lantern. The next morning, I told my parents about it and they tended to make light of it, until my Father came in holding a ladies house slipper. "I found this in the flower bed right outside your bedroom window" he said. "It looks like a peeping Tom thing....I will go visit them and give them the slipper back"....which he did. As to the results of that meeting....you don't want to know...you can't know, he would not even tell his own Son....pedophile
ROBERT E. FISHBACK November 25, 2012 at 07:53 PM
After many "other" events, the authorities realized that this "old woman" was not fit to live alone and was institutionalized. In her home, they found sketches of young boys in the nude. Back then, forensics were ancient compared to now. This sickness of hers was in a different category than pedophiles now...her motive was different...She longed to shed her old frail body and go back to the days of her youth. She had a great deal of money, and seduced the very best...i
ROBERT E. FISHBACK December 03, 2012 at 08:18 PM
The parting storm: I loved it when it rained. It magnified a feeling of security in me to look out at the grey and cold ...water dripping off the roof...especially at night..when no one knew..my secret places...the screened in back porch...Mother little glass wind chime tinkling in the stormy breeze....tapping water in the down spout..all asleep. so very dark and damp...the sky was dimly lit by city lights, the Deodar Tree etched in black...the drippings slowly going away..the storm going to other lands....soon..all quiet...just darkness and a great rest and thanks giving from all living things.
ROBERT E. FISHBACK March 20, 2013 at 08:52 PM
Carla and I. Life seems like sticking a mix master down into a bowl of dough....Carla was a fourteen year old girl that I met via a combination of circumstances. I spent the Summer of 1953 with my Grandma and Aunt in Tulsa, where I was born. Carla was visiting her Grandma and she lived right next door. Our bedroom windows were only about five feet apart..separated by a mossy brick walk. If there is anything about that summer I recall, it was the heat, and a time of learning about another life. Both of us were bumbling around in a World of our adolescence, turmoils...not being understood by our parents, teachers, counsellors. How could they understand when we didn't either. We came to trust each other and shared our inner most fears and fascinations without any intruding scolding from our programmed rights and wrongs. We came to realiaze that there are cut in stone rights and wrongs, but also self imposed ones that hindered understanding life and its brutal realities. Our spirits entertwined and we moved according some conducter of whim. We found out some of our most basic and earthly curiosities by simply teaching each other. Girls are different than boys...they look different down there, they pee differently ...we looked and felt and went to a non shame school...Now, we knew. We moved on to other interests...like people and places....we talked allot on our porch swing...went on nightly missions. This has to be finshed in another chapter to follow.....
ROBERT E. FISHBACK March 20, 2013 at 09:36 PM
This is a biography of sorts, and not Valley news. It's home is my Blog Hot Spots, and does offer a reprieve from inane factual to honest time travel. to the way we were. Carla and I talked allot about our lives, and much of this blog is a recounting of conversations we had. Both of us had much to share and much to ask. I found out she was adopted and both of us had questions about that It was a typical hot night in Tulsa...on South Frisco St. swaying to the gentle moves of a porch swing... "Carla, you said you were adopted...how do you feel about that?" "I wonder what my real parents were like and why they gave me away....I love my adoptive parents..sorta..but its hard...They are good to me, but very strict. We go to Church together...and I sorta like Church...The Preacher says things that make me wonder...scares me, sorta.....talks about hell and sin...so many dangers out there...I feel afraid to talk honestly to anybody...I have so many questions..do you have anythings that scare you? " I replied..."I used to, I was afraid when my Dad got angry with Mom. He never struck her and was not profane,,he just yelled and I could feel his anger fill the room. One night, I went to our back yard and threw up. I was afraid of him...never felt accepted..he wanted his little boy back who was an A student and took piano lessons...I want to be me, and still be loved." Carla was silent for some time, and said..."Yeah, I understand..." to be continued..
ROBERT E. FISHBACK March 20, 2013 at 10:12 PM
I continued on....."Sometimes, I was angry with Mom, she just covered up when Dad was abusive...I wanted her to stand up for herself....I do not feel I know her...like she holds all of these secrets..Never once do I recall them telling me "I love you" I found my secret places....I think you will not make fun of me...I have secret places..like shrines..where I talk with...something..and they talk back in silent language...I have a tree in our back yard where I hide when I am afraid..The outer branches sweep the ground, but underneath, there is open ground where i meditate. I have a kerosene lantern that I stole from a construction site,,,It is MINE. I light this lantern when I am under my tree....a little family inside the globe..so happy and warm..and they look at me on the outside. I burn incense in my room and light my candles...Carla asked; "Do you hate your Father?" "Sometimes, I do....When I was little, he took me to a Saturday Movie at the Atwater Theatre I had some change in my pocket and I wanted to surprise him by buying his ticket. He asked me where I got the money and I could not remember. He said I stole it and it was the first time I can remember feeling..dirty....I am glad to be me..only me knows me and what is really inside...no one else will ever know me....to be continued.
ROBERT E. FISHBACK March 21, 2013 at 08:33 PM
Hot Spots....sure does not belong on a news patch....But it is built around Montrose, even though I am relating this from another land. Now, Carla is long gone, but not from my memory. Just another person filled with her own perceptions ..like myself..long ago..like two ships passing in the night. We shared everything that bothered us.....Hot spots are places where a very strong emitional experience happened to you, or someone else, whose feelings were so etched in the surroundings, they cried out to someone..any one....The places where your heart was broken,,,,where you cried in secret...where you were first told that you were loved..that first kiss...the hot stab of hurt when someone said something to you. There are many hot spots in Tulsa where Carla and I had memorable moments....the surroundings all changed now...the shade under a tree where she laughed....now under tons of new buildings and parking lots...SO WHAT..POINTLESS.....The thought that grinds underfoot the minute particles of what life is made of. The fog haloed street lamps of old Glendale...Glendale asleep...Dewy lawns. a stray cat...the cry of a bird that thinks it is morning. Then..silence....All asleep. Please awaken some day and tell us about yourselves...

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