June 11, 2011 - Posted by A & R - 0 Comments
For the upcoming Father’s Day, I want to do something special…after all, the definition of special is a “good father”. I should know; I am one, with a liberal interpretation on the word “good”. And the definitive need for a father is to have good children, with the definition of good children in the 21st century being they 1/ they do not do drugs, 2/ they are not drunk, 3/ they are not in jail, and 4/ they are not dead, yet.
In THAT regard, I must be a good father, a special father – with special children.
In other regards, I am mindful that as a father, I get older each year, miss my kids and grandkids, and that the time a father has on earth is finite. So in the finite time I have left, let me pay tribute to my children this Father’s Day, instead of the other way around.
Oldest son – never thought you’d live to see thirty. Your reckless abandon for life has left more than a few gray hairs on your papa’s head. I miss your infectious smile, hearty laugh and as an adult, the tender way you scream “MOMMY” in a packed store, then run down the aisle and pick me her up, slinging her over your shoulder and parading around the store. Living and working overseas, I miss your comedic acting, funny writing and your lust for life that has become somewhat, less reckless. But mostly I miss you.
Middle son – never thought you’d live to see thirty. You had a boundless love of sports with your tireless energy that unfortunately came with a bum heart, causing mine to stop on more than one occasion. So when you became a computer geek and entered the corporate world, literally working your way up from the ground up, and put yourself back through school, I was so proud. And when I saw your pictures last year of you up on stage doing stand up comedy; what a rush. I was there with you! But mostly I miss you.
Youngest son – never thought you’d live to see thirty. Your goal in life – to strike out for Los Angeles and live on the streets performing music pulled at my heart strings of fear. Mom doesn’t know how close I was to selling the house and following you west if you tried… but you didn’t. You found the woman of your dreams and now, ten years later you are trying to finally live yours. When you open next month at the Rogers Theatre performing with your group THE FAT SPARROWS, your haughty lyrics and soulful guitar will ring in my memories of the many times you entertained us. The echoes in my mind miss that sound. But mostly I miss you.
I love you all – All three special and all three mine.
How special is that for a Father’s Day present?
February 4, 2011 - Posted by A & R - 0 Comments
We are excited to announce the month of February, Spirit Unbroken – The Two Sides of Love will be airing on Comcast channels in the Fort Wayne, Indiana area. It was originally recorded in Portland, Oregon on a local series promoting authors and their books called Author’s Forum. Dr. Veronica Esaqui gives a delightful inside peek into the mystical, private people of Japan and asks some very insightful questions about overcoming tragedies and relishing happiness.
Times and channels are as follows:
9:30 PM February 8 on Access 2
6:30 PM February 11 on Access 2
11:00 AM February 17 on Access 2
9:00 AM March 1 on Access 2
Access 2 is Comcast 57 and Frontier 27
November 27, 2010 - Posted by A & R - 0 Comments
Over the river and through the burbs to my great uncle’s daughter who is the granddaughter of the sister of the father of my mother’s house we go… the car’s horses don’t have a clue of the way, as we cautiously sleigh, thru the dark and polluted snow…
Honest.
And that is where we spent our Thanksgiving; on my maternal side, at the house of my cousin, cousin, cousin which is my mother’s father’s sister’s granddaughter.
Honest.
Oh by the way – of the twelve other guests there, only six were related, but don’t tell them that. The other six were adopted, foster children and girlfriend of a foster child, and one of the most contented and closely knit families it’s been my pleasure to know. So when I say we are distant relatives, I only mean on a piece of paper called the family tree. In spirit we are more closely kindred.
We indirectly found each other 2500 miles from home. We were attending my mom’s hospital bedside a few weeks ago when our aunt slipped us the address thinking we should get together. 2500 miles from home we found out that we only lived 15 minutes from cousin З. Go figure. Small world. Blessed miracle.
So we took auntie’s advice and gave Sherry a call. No response. Then an email from Alice, again ignored and finally, an email from me, which Sherry finally answered. Of course it was easy to tell that being blood related, Sherry obviously ignored Alice and liked me best.
Honest.
– Or maybe not, because Alice called Sherry the day before Thanksgiving and Sherry responded…and responded…and responded. In fact, she left such a long message on our voice mail I told Alice to hit pause half way through so I could, after 17 years of abstinence, take up smoking again… She had so much to say in wanting to get to know us, and we hadn’t even knocked on their door yet, which we gladly did the next day.
The conversation was free flowing, the food delicious and the warmth of the home even apparent to the squirrels outside. We discussed as much as our memories could recall of common home ground back in the Midwest and played connect the dots of the missing relatives between us.
It was a glorious day, a warm evening and a picture perfect occasion. Except for the daughter who shall remain nameless, that had the nerve to turn off the football game with one minute to go in a three point game, with the losing team having the ball to drive down and win one at the buzzer. But she is young and has never been exposed to the Garlock sports obsession, so there is still hope for her…
But what we enjoyed the most was the openness of the family’s arms to a lifetime of fostering and adopting children, who otherwise would probably never have been rescued from a sometimes unyielding system. Every child (and some now adult size) was respectful to their elders, including Alice and yours truly; a testimony to the love and guidance from a family who has dedicated themselves to a lifetime of giving…
After all, isn’t that the lesson that the holiday season strives to teach us each year? A lesson learned long ago down grandma’s sister’s family tree, a lesson we were grateful to be reminded of this year, and hopefully a lesson we won’t soon forget.
Our Happy Thanksgiving got us an early start on the Christmas spirit and equipped us with enough good cheer to spill over when our children and grandchildren visit at the end of the year. We can hardly wait.
Thanks Sherry and John and Wendell and Artis. You home is a port to some, points of light to many, and a shining example to the children under your wings. And unlike so many families less fortunate, the children know how lucky they are.
It was a very blessed day indeed…
October 10, 2010 - Posted by A & R - 1 Comment
~Announcing the airing of our TV Interview on the Authors Forum in the Great Northwest~
For our long distance fans, friends and family, you may see the interview posted on YouTube from our website at www.rickandalicegarlock.com.
OCTOBER, NOVEMBER, DECEMBER, 2010
Vancouver, WA – Channel 11
Mondays at 11 pm
Wednesdays at 10 pm
OCTOBER, 2010
Portland, OR – Channel 11
Wednesdays at 10 am
West Linn, OR – Channel 23
Tuesdays at 10:30am
Wednesdays at 10 am & 9:30pm
Thursdays at 10:30am
Fridays at 2am
Oregon City, OR – Channel 23
Mondays at 6am
Tuesdays at 11:30am & 4:30pm
Wednesdays at 4 am & 10:30am
Fridays at 3pm
Saturdays at 4:30am
Sundays at 2:30am
October 9, 2010 - Posted by A & R - 0 Comments
“Mr. President, I’ve got a talk to you!”
“All right, Thomas. What is it?
“I had a dream last night. George…a dream of the future.”
“And what, praytell, does the future hold for us, Thomas?”
“I saw machines, all kinds. People talked to machines, and machines talked back.”
“Oh, really now, Thomas.”
“It’s true – and there’s more. People rode I machines to travel, and George, they even flew in machines!”
“Look Tom. I’ve never doubted you. You’ve always been a source of comfort and strength, right after Alexander Hamilton, to me. But you keep this up and you’ll make me believe you’ve gone completely looney!”
“Do you know what else I saw?”
“Go ahead, Tom, I’ll humor you.”
“I saw people on the moon. People just like us, only without the wigs. And then I saw terrible weapons, floating in the heavens, George. Enough to destroy the whole world. It was frightful!”
“And where did these weapons come from?”
“From two powerful countries. Both scared of their power, and neither wanting to admit it.”
“Sounds like England and France again.”
“No, George, one of them was us!”
“No way! And the other country?”
“A great power in the east. That’s all I saw. I couldn’t make it out for all the snow.”
“Do you know what happened?”
“Well, they were all sitting around a big table, the leaders, I mean, all asking the other to pass the SALT. And lies…they could tell some whoppers. The tension was so thick you couldn’t have broken it with a hammer and sickle. Then there was a lot of shouting and accusations over the Middle East. It looked a lot like our Constitutional Convention.”
“That bad.”
“Maybe worse.”
“What happened next?”
“Well, the talks ended at a fever pitch, and the next thing I knew, Washington was blown up.”
“What?!”
“Not you, George. They named the new capitol after you.”
“They did, huh? Now you’re making some sense, Tom!”
“Well, anyway, Washington pushed their button back, and the next thing you knew, the world was destroyed.”
“That’s all it took to destroy the world, pushing one button?”
“No, there was a lot of button pushing going on, if I knew what a button was besides holding my shirt closed and my pants up, but in the end, it just sort of got out of control.”
“You know, that story is about as believable as the Cubs winning the World Series!”
“What on earth are you talking about, George?”
“Why, Thomas – you’re not the only one to have dreams.”
September 19, 2010 - Posted by A & R - 0 Comments
This is not for the youth.
This is for the over 40 and fat, over 50 and nostalgic, over 60 and wanting 40 and fat back, and over 70, finally comfortable with their lives when all efforts to recapture their youth have failed.
No, this is for the mature and about one magical night – although you could not have proved the magic by looking at me. I am 20 pounds over weight, closer to 60 than 50, and I am 10 years ahead of the pace in being comfortable with my life – translation: I sometimes act like 70. Especially since my wife is more than willing to serve as a pack mule and carry my backpack and lounge chair half a mile, up a hill, in the dark… let me explain.
Although I sometimes act like 70, my wife who is close to my age, acts like 40 and looks like 30, curse her. She is only 109 lbs and its all heart, with a jigger of vinegar thrown in once in a while to keep me honest. Soooo, when she saw that Bob Dylan was coming to town for a concert she wanted to go, which means I HAD to go. Don’t get me wrong, I love Bob Dylan, my kids love Bob Dylan, and we are working on the grandkids (one named Dylan) to love Bob – I HAD to go, because I HAD to keep up with her perky attitude and cursed good looks.
Now before you think that I am both the luckiest man on the earth for having her for a wife, and the scourge of humanity for abusing her, allow me to explain. I recently had major neck surgery and it still is a painful experience to lift more than a coffee cup. So Alice, being the understanding and sympathetic wife she is, allows me my sympathy pains and carries any extra load that may land me back in the hospital. She knows full well that I may be wimping out now, but she does not want to relive me after surgery. If you think I whine now, you haven’t seen the sympathy pains I demand when drugged and hurting. So just to be clear, she carried my crap so she doesn’t have to listen to any more of my crap.
The youthful attitude of attending a Bob Dylan concert gave way to my more normal frumpy disposition as we parked in a grassy field a half mile away and then trudged up the dirt road on a steadily rising hill just to get to the never ending line of ticket holders. It was sticky hot but I somehow was able to maintain my composure as Alice sweat and puffed her way up. I might also add that we went with our good friend Pam, who served as a second pack mule but never complained. Bless them both.
I also need to interject that we had an extra ticket, which Alice graciously gave away to a middle aged man with a boyish, teenage attitude about NEEDING to see Bob. It turns out that he has traveled the country by hook or crook and most likely railcar, attending 35 Dylan concerts to date – and he had the proof. In exchange for the ticket, he gushed his gratitude by shoving four CD’s of Bob Dylan Live in Alice’s sweaty palm.
Once inside the outdoor concert, sounds silly but you had to be there, I finally took in the site of our fellow attendees. Once I did, my neck immediately felt better for I was surrounded by half a crowd representing the youth I had lost, and the other half representing the aging crowd I had not yet joined. It was the best of both worlds and a microcosm of life, with the best fact being that I fit comfortably in between.
Until Bob sang.
My first thought was he is too old to be doing this. My second thought was that studios do a great job editing vocals and my third thought was, “does he have throat cancer or something serious?” We listened, we strained, we swayed to the music which was first rate, and we watched Bob in his Panama hat and throwback suit pound the keyboard and make the guitar sing. The stage performance was equally great. But the vocal was more “whoa” than “wow!” Or so I thought.
Still, we recaptured in our youth, reliving past memories, privileged to witness a legend that ranks with Elvis, Jackson and Lennon as solo artists. And so we went home maybe a tad disappointed, but happy.
And then a funny thing happened. After Alice and Pam trudged with all our crap back down the hill, we lumbered into the car and as we made our way home, popped in one of the Dylan Live CD’s we were given. We listened a little more enthralled than we thought we’d be, puzzled by our mixed feelings of loving Bob and yet hearing a completely different sound than what 50 years on the radio had tuned our ears for…
So the next day I Skyped my eldest son who is a huge Dylan fan and at times more worldly than his old man, and he immediately said, “I’m surprised you went. Everyone (apparently everyone but us) knows that Dylan live is an acquired taste; like a fine wine.” This was a revelation for I like fine wine, so we gave Bob’s CD’s a second chance, and a third, and a fourth… and lo and behold he was right. It has been eight days since the concert and I can’t stop listening to them. I put two in each car and it’s the only thing I’ve listened to all week.
I always knew Bob’s lyrics and unusual style made him an icon. But I never imagined I would love his distinctly live music so much.
It goes to show that the great ones never die; they just continue to evolve and break new barriers and set new standards. And now I know the answer to a question I’ve had ever since the concert, “how could that guy have gone to 35 live concerts?”
But now I know the rest of his the story….
August 28, 2010 - Posted by A & R - 0 Comments
America is a water rich country (if you don’t live in Death Valley). It is surrounded on the east, west and half the south by water, and if you were to extend the shoreline of the Great Lakes you’d probably cover the north border as well. And that is just the continental United States, not counting the Alaskan shores or the state of Hawaii and territories of the U.S. Virgin Islands and Puerto Rico.
And, to throw water in the face of the rest of the world, we boast the richest river and lake systems in the world; thus carrying the obvious question, “why am I water inept?”
Case in point – ‘oh what to do, what to do on a long holiday weekend?’ Living along the west coast and in a fit of temporary insanity, a visit to the largest marina north of San Diego seemed like a good idea. But when it comes to the water, my good ideas turn fresh into salt, clear to murky and fun to bordering on depression. But alas, the prospect of fun and a wife who would be Mrs. Lippett if given the chance, once again we embarked to the deep blue sea.
I say once again because I’ve been down this road before. After all, I was raised on a farm complete with a river in the north 40 and a creek in the south 40. Being an exceptional kid with a keen grasp of safety guidelines and born with sound judgment, I always “swam” in the creek – if you can call on my hands and knees in my whitey-tighties swimming because standing would have only cooled my ankles. Still, if I splashed a lot, I could fool myself into believing it was swimming – country style. I also found out that splashing water into froth was something that Mr. Water Moccasin did not like. Nothing like creating two phobias in one (water and snakes). Black Death swimming at mach one toward an invisible target between your eyes is well, an eye-opener. For the record, my whitey-tighties were not white for long.
But I really don’t think my water phobia started there. After all, I’ve matured into a responsible adult, and sometimes parent.
Flashback to 1982 and the day I gave up fishing. My two ‘smarter than me’ boys and yours truly made our annual pilgrimage to a random lake, pitched a tent on a primitive campsite and exposed the kids to call of the wild. I thought it would do them good – shape their lives and make men out of them someday. And to this day I can honestly say, “It didn’t kill them,” but MY ego is still in recovery.
As usual, after two days I had not caught a fish (although I’m not sure what I would have done if I had), and today I can look you in the eye and tell you in all humility, I have never caught a fish. Ego, oh ego, why has thou forsaken me? My ego went running to hide forever when, still thinking some day “I’d land the big one,” my eight year old hooked a fish while casting his line, literally – in the right eye! I figured then I could never be quicker or more accurate than that and hung up my rod forever. I still have it hanging in my garage, rustic and rusty, paying homage to my son and haunting me.
So how did our holiday weekend to the marina go?
Great. We saw a deserted naval base from the safe haven of the shoreline, read the faded names on several aging boats. But I still label it ‘great’ because all it took was to reflect on the missing my kids this less than stellar holiday while walking the boardwalk and smelling like a fish, with a small thanks to an old barnacle clad boat that caught my eye while bobbing and weaving in a wreath of greenish sea foam.
It was called the Nellie Belle causing me to flashback to Roy Rogers and a jeep of the same name, that made me think of his dog Bullet, who always ran by his horse Trigger, who I liked second best to the Lone Ranger’s horse Silver, whose name reminds me of a place called Silver Lake, which reminded me of my fishing mentor days with my two boys, who were usually smarter than me; that is until I threw the fish back in the last along with my oldest son for catching it by the eyeball with his first cast. At least now I can look back with satisfaction and say, “I may be a lot of things, but at least I wasn’t all wet…”
August 24, 2010 - Posted by A & R - 0 Comments
Our book “Spirit Unbroken; the two sides of love” is now available electronically for all you Kindle users out there. And if you’re not a Kindle user, well, there is always Christmas – it makes a great stocking stuffer! And may I suggest the first book to download…
August 1, 2010 - Posted by A & R - 0 Comments
I was raised on a farm. My roots are buried in a farm. Buried in some of the deepest, blackest, richest soil in middle America. And I bet half of you thought this was going to be a knock on wives dying hair or some such nonsense.
Reared in a family called the “Baker’s Half Dozen”, (that’s six plus one), I recall one day as a small child refusing, with my best “Opie Taylor” stomp, to wear shorts. My mother insisted, and I insisted not. Why? Because my farmer dad would never be seen in shorts and neither would I. Sent to my room until my father came home, I waited all day – looking out the window toward the ‘south forty’ for his dust cloud from the dirt road and the tell tale sound of his tractor putt. He thought it was cute when mom regaled the story, but at the end of the day I won the hard fought victory. No shorts. And I continued to never wear them; right up until I thought it was time the opposite sex should notice my budding supple legs.
Like I said – roots that run deep. Roots I thought were long dead with my transient life style of working hard to stay ahead of the global evolution in business, economies (and unemployment line) the past 40 years. Until recently that is…
My memory was jogged innocently enough – what did I want for Father’s Day, Birthday and Christmas posed by my children? I raised the Garlock boys way too practical to ask the question three separate times when one would do. I thought of a Father’s Ring, but I don’t believe one has been invented yet, the I thought of nothing – the answer any good dad would give on his birthday, then I thought of games; something that would fit any good sensible Christmas gift.
Then I lost my senses.
My final response was money – so far, so good. Practical, no fuss, no muss and it’s accepted at most places, even if it doesn’t buy what it used to… The losing of senses came in when I walked into an electronics store to buy some video games. Come on now; surely you didn’t think it would be an updated version of Chinese Checkers from my childhood did you? Even so, video games still fits my sanity considering I have three computers at home.
Now comes the confession. Or should I say, ‘confessions?’
1/ I went shopping before I received the money. I rationalized it was a dad’s paragotive to spend money that my kids would surely send – sometime.
Then it happened:
2/ There was something about kids and shorts and my roots that came twisting from the ground up faster than an Oklahoma tornado when I spied a FARMING computer game. How cool is that?
I now plow, plant, cultivate fertilize and harvest a variety of crops and sell them at a variety of markets – making good us of my lifetime of business experience watching weather and the prices fluctuate daily, picking the best times in the field and when to go to market. I love it.
And I do it all in long pants. No shorts for this farmer. Like I said, black roots run deep.
PS: If my kids are reading this – Father’s Day has passed, but the money can still arrive in time for my birthday! After all, in my computer farmer fantasy world I live by that old farmer saying, “I hope I break even this year…I could sure use the money.”
July 24, 2010 - Posted by A & R - 0 Comments
Please feel free to come and see us at the NW Book Festival being held in Portland, OR August 7, from 11 AM – 7 PM. We will meet, greet and sign books as well as throw paper wads and squirt water bottles at other author’s booths when time permits…
For those of you who are inclined to fly in from other parts of the country, FYI - we are not re-imbursing air fare this year! But if you are silly enough to actually WANT to fly in and see us, please do… you are definitely a person we WANT to meet!
Hope to see you there!
