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 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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