Sixteen Again

At 16 years old I was developing an increasingly need for music in my life. I found that it was a nesassary form of escapism, allowing me to drown out the noise of my life's challenges. My mind worked best when the space around me was tranquil and seriene. I found that music invoked feelings in me which I had scarcly felt in my life before. They were feelings that I connected with and, it felt good to connect to them. An album that defined those times for me was an unlikely album that was given to me for my birthday from a relative; It was called Pieces of You from Jewel. To me, the album drew me in and connected with me on many different levels. It was poetic and nieve. It offered heartbreak and hope. I loved and listened and listened and listened some more.

I have since followed this artist throughout her career, staying true to the artist who's album helped change my life and helped me to feel. Recently, I was able to go to a Fan appreciation concert at a small venue in Hollywood. I won the tickets on-line along with 300 others. I felt a little strange, embarrassed maybe, because I, a full grown male adult was excited to go to a concert from a female folk singer. I didn't care too much though, people do not know what impact that album had on me or how much it molded my thinking to how I see the world.

As silly as it may sound, I did go and it was in simple words, truly amazing. It was an intimate setting and all were attentive. Her voice has noticably matured throughout the years and rang crystal clear that night. Such emotion in the way the songs were sung too! I was glad to be transported back to when I was a teenager, feeling so many things, when I was trying to figure out who I was in the world. At the end of the night I felt content. I was moved by a concert and by a voice who's beauty was only matched by the lyrics which it sang. And as I walked to the car, I felt pride for myself and for who I turned out to be.

Beach Therapy

My favorite thing about California has got to be the ocean. Growing up, our family would go camping every summer at Carpenteria State Beach. We’d drive the ol’ motor home down to the beach, park it into the camping spot and set up camp for the week. Those were good times. Some of my favorite childhood memories come those times. There were what seemed unlimitless fun things to do there as a child: putting pennies on the railroad tracks for the train to squash, waking up early in the morning to wade about in the tide pools to inspect all the little creatures, me and my brothers and cousins riding our bikes into town to go blow all of our money at the candy shop…so fun! I visited Carpenteria last weekend to get away and reflect. I stayed at my dad’s condo and enjoyed every second. It was very nostalgic. I would walk around and different childhood memories kept flashing in my mind.
What a beautiful beach too. I really did spend most of my time admiring the how good looking and beautiful it is there. It’s the wind, the sound of the waves, the sweet smell in the air, the sand granules that get everywhere, the deep blues and all the little things that make it such an experience. One evening, I grabbed my guitar and went out to the ocean. I sat on this old abandoned lifeguard station, strumming my guitar as Iwatched the sun perform its colorful finale (and I took a picture of it, look above.) Amazing! If you have not seen a California Pacific Ocean sunset, I suggest you do in your lifetime.
This weekend was my downtime weekend, time to get away and relax and repair. I truly believe there is no better therapy than beach therapy!

One down, many more to go!

Last weekend I finally took a trip to the Getty Center. It has been one of those things that has been on my “to do list”, but has always seemed to get pushed back to the bottom of the list and ignored. I am taking an Art History class in school and our teacher assigned us a museum assignment, which is to go to a museum, pick a work from an artist we’ve been studying and sit in front of it, in person, and write about it. Leave it to a school assignment to force me to fulfill some of my life aspirations… how embarrassing. Anyway, the trip to the museum was a blast. I thought it would be fun to take someone with me so I asked my step-mother Katherine. She is amazing. She’s a very intelligent person and is someone who finds enjoyment and beauty in the world around her; I knew she would like and appreciate the arts there. Upon asking her one Sunday evening at my parent’s house, my dad’s ears perked up overhearing our conversation. “I want to go too”, he said with a little pique in his voice. One of my eyebrows shot up, “really?” I honestly didn’t know that my rock and roll listening, car loving, beer drinking father would be into standing around in an art gallery contemplating the brushstrokes of a Rembrandt, but apparently, I was wrong. So we all went. I was glad to have my dad there though; he contributed some different and interesting views to art I had never thought of myself and I was glad to have his comic relief in the somewhat stiff atmosphere. We walked around for a while staring in awe at the all of the Renaissance and Baroque period art works. However, only one thing was on my mind; I was on my search to find… The One. That one painting that would blindside me with its exquisite beauty and complexity and yell out to me, “WRITE!” I eventually stumbled across such a painting shortly into the first building. It is called The Entombment by Peter Paul Rubens. It is a pretty graphic painting of Christ being put to rest in a tomb by his loved ones. If I were to have come into this museum before my life as an Art History 1B student, I probably would have given this work a quick glance and thought…meh. However, with my keen and educated eye, I now possess the ability to appreciate the work the artist put in to his…um…work (too many “work”s). I honestly did have a really great time. Later, we ate dinner at Clancy’s were my brother works and …Dum…Dum…Dum, I ordered fish, a food I’ve vowed to boycott after being forced to eat fish sticks all throughout my childhood. I’m not going to lie, it was tasty. All in all, it was a pretty good day spent with people I love. Next on the list for me to do, sky diving. I’ll have to do this one all on my own though….they don’t offer any classes at school, I've already checked.

Extreme Makeover: Mini Bus Edition

Four years ago, I was out doing some sevice for an old man from my church. Being at such an advanced age, the old man couldn't perform some of the work that required a young, strong back to do. I was told he needed help with some heavy chores around his house and some light yard work. When I arrived at his house, he took me around back to show me what to do for the day. As I turned the corner and caught sight of the back yard and the work that awaited me, the only thing there was to do was gawk in awe. The old man's back yard seemed to be a rare North American rainforest. Vegetation had taken over. Not only was his yard covered in a sea of overgrowth, it seemed to double as the owners personal landfill place. Trash was everywhere. Piles and piles of... stuff, covered every inch of his backyard jungle. Needless to say, I had my work cut out for me. As I leaned against an old discarded refrigerator to recover from my shock, something caught my eye. I saw a large vehicle nestled in a patch of ivy near the back end of the yard beyond a mound used tires and leaves. I slowly and carefully made my way back to where it sat. As it came into view, I noticed that it was an old VW mini bus. I turned to ask Hud (yes, the old man's name was Hud) how long it has been sitting in his back yard. 15 years he said. I have to explain to you that I have this older brother who has always had a facination with old VWs. I grew up loving them because, well, he loved them (you know...the whole liking what your big brother liked thing.) To make a long story a little shorter, I bought the bus from him for $500. It was a good thing I was a motivated person because, as it turns out, the bus proved to be much more work than I originally thought. After a few rats' nest suprises , hours of water blasting, and having to put out engine fires (don't ask, just don't ask), Steven (my older brother) helped me get it off the old man's property. Here are some before pictures *Click on the thumb nail to see the larger picture*:

I worked on the bus all that summer. I put a lot of hours into making the interior looking nice. Come end of the summer, it was time for me to move to Utah and go to school. So, sadly, I left the bus and sold it to friends. Since I've been back in California, I've had the opprotunity to help work on it again. My friends put some money into getting it running, but all the interior was done from hard work and elbow grease. I came up with the color scheme and put in the hard wood floors. All the panels were hand made. Steven designed and welded the back bench seat himself. I'm kind proud of how it turned out. Take a look!

I really had a lot fun with this project. I wish to own my own bus some day. For now I'll just be content with visiting my old orange friend that I saved from the jungle. -Daniel

New Story, Part 1

I have been sick with the flu the last few days. I've decided to work on some writings that I've always wanted to do. I have this goal to write a book in my life time, I guess that will only happen if I actually start writing. So, I hope this goes well...

Story 1 Part 1

Our father pulled his car into the strange, gravel driveway and put it in park. My older brother Steven and I sat in back staring out of the windows wondering where we had traveled to. We were equally confused why our dad had gotten us out of bed so early this morning…

Breathing in the air with his nose pointed up as if he wanted to inhale all the heavens, dad barged in our bedroom unannounced and let out a big satisfied sigh. “Rise and shine!” he exclaimed ripping open the curtains allowing sunshine to flood into our room. Gesturing out the window our dad looked over at us.“Hey guys, look out this window. What a beautiful day, uh?” Steven and I looked at each other and rolled our eyes. It was an early Saturday morning. The only thing we wanted to do on our much deserved day off of school was to sleep in a while longer…and maybe watch cartoons and WWF wrestling all morning with large bowls of cereal. At the doorway our dad turned around and snapped loudly to regain our attentionton. “Get dressed, we’re leaving soon!” He skipped out of out room mumbling to himself. No sooner had we stumbled out of the warmth and comfort of our beds, we found ourselves in the family station wagon speeding out of the driveway still trying to rub the sleep from our eyes.

After a while on the road, dad started to whistle . It reminded me of a song out of one of those bubbly Disney movies; the ones where the birds and forest animals danced around. From behind, we could see our dads head bob up and down to the tune of his whistling as would a Jack-in-box after escaping from its boxy prison. Steven was the first to break the silence between us that morning in the car. He leaned in close to me so only I could hear his words, “We are in trouble. He only whistles like that when he thinks he’s come up with something he thinks is brilliant.” He paused. “I wonder what it is this time.” Steven turned back around to stare out the window like he was deep in a thought. “Remember last time he started whistling? Oh man, I do not like this. We better stay alert.”

I always listened to what Steven had to say. He was smart and focused. I looked up to him because of the way he faced things. He was never afraid; he had learned courage at an early age. Our mother went in to labor early with Steven. The doctors at the hospital were not confident the new born would make it through the delivery process. They were wrong. Steven was born very prematurely, but he was alive. Dad said he only weighed as much as a can of pop and he was about the same size too. Doctors were still unsure of Steven’s chances of surviving. They said he was just too undersized and fragile. But my dad said that Steven was a fighter, sort of like a real life Hulk Hogan. Steven, though very weak, fought and fought and he survived the odds. He continues to be a fighter today and doesn’t back down from anything. He is the spunkiest person I know. He must have been born a pop can full of caffeine soda because he always has energy and never stops moving. I was relieved to have him in the car with me. Suddenly, I remembered what Steven was talking about. “Oh no, is that when he bought the video camera and started filming everything. Yes, do I remember. You know, one time he dropped me off at school and got out of the car to film me walking to my class. Talk about embarrassing…he came into my actual classroom and...

“Shhh! Steven signaled for me to be quiet. “I think we are here.”

To Be Continued....

New Year, no regret!

So begins a new chapter of my life… I have come to realize that life is worth living. Life is a gift, one that is given for us to use and not to waste. (I’m hoping people will look past the fact that it’s taken me 29 years to get to this simple realization, but the point is that it came to it…right?) I admit to creating a mediocre existence for myself. I recognize my lack of spontaneity and audacity when it comes to exploring new surroundings and getting myself out there for unique and different experiences. This day, I am done with the old me, the one who never takes chances or who rarely ventures to live outside his ordinary box. I now renounce my mediocre lifestyle and embrace this New Year with a renewed outlook for my life. From this point forward I am a risk taker and a leader, blazing new paths to new beginnings. I’m not sure what the future will hold, but, at least now I will not live with any regret. C’est Une Belle Journee!!