On being frenetic...

I have found myself on a bit of a tear since the Reunion. Flitting around at high emotional speed; writing long blogs about various sometimes interesting, but never particularly important things.

So now I believe - I feel - it’s time to slow down and just let things move as they might without trying so hard to push the river….

And this brings me around to the Reunion itself - the 45th Reunion of Huntington High School. Back long before the consolidation that closed the rivalry between Huntington East High and Huntington High and created one High School calling itself Huntington High, but using the team nickname from East High.

And this looping back made me - allowed me - to encounter people I hadn’t seen in decades, but also to crash right into emotions carefully packed away for most of those decades.

And my reflex - rational, but ill advised - was to flee those feelings as fast as I could!

And I did it on automatic - without knowing - at least not until after a few weeks of consideration and sage commentary from friends.

The closer an emotion - any emotion, pick your poison… - came to the surface, the more I became frenetic (or ‘frenic’ as I seem to want to say the word - and thus verbally representing the condition by dropping a couple of syllables!).

Now keep in mind that we humans perceive the world in any number of ways. Some of us are visual learners, some auditory or even kinesthetic.

But what I’m talking about goes deeper; toward how we engage the world.

One way is through thinking - through facts and sequences of logical processing.

Another way is to feel what is going on - to relate to the world not by asking, does it make sense, but does it feel right…?

Think Mr. Spock and Dr. McCoy - thinking versus feeling.

— But is this actually true?

— Possibly… but it’s only necessary to accept it as a working hypothesis to make sense of what follows….

When confronted with a stressful situation we will fall back into the patterns of behavior that have worked in the past in the hope that if it worked once, by golly, it will work again!

And it does, but at a price.

My friend Ed (a feeling type I suspect…) observed it in me as hyperactivity so extreme that I truncated words and became mildly (I hope) incoherent and (probably) dyslexic.

There I was at the reunion speaking rapidly, dropping syllables, probably omitted entire words - likely even reversing word order so that a simple message of “it sure is hot,” might become “issue snot…” or some such nonsense.

When my brain couldn’t keep the gut reactions at bay, I became physically hyperactive rarely stopping my movement round and round the room. During the 4 hours of the Reunion I ate only a few carrots and had nothing to drink - even my appetite gave way to my quest to crush the ‘dangerous’ feelings that were trying to make my acquaintance…

Let me give you an example.

I was jabbering at someone and even managed to shut up for a few seconds to pretend to listen - er, rather, I did listen, but by that time I was sizzling too loud and could only hear my internal circuits frying….

And it seemed this person couldn’t comprehend me. I kept getting odd looks and blank expressions….

What was wrong with this person…?

Nothing, of course.

But the way my perceptions spun, I was barely present! I certainly wasn’t communicating. And, worse, I managed to project all my own faults onto the person I was talking to!

How nutty is that!

So, anyway, that’s why I have decided to slow down on the blogs. I will go to one per week or less, unless something really significant comes along - as in that series of really important blogs on Vampires….

… Or I become so frenetic I can’t stop….

First draft written 13 September 2010, completed 30 September….

After the renuion

I returned to my home town a couple of weeks ago for my High School reunion. I’ve written about how I might quell my anxiety - and I suppose it worked since I enjoyed the evening I spent with this group of strangers I had (more or less) known all those years ago.

The next day I spent in Huntington's old downtown. I parked on 9th Street between 5th & 6th Avenues, now a row of empty store fronts. There was a bar that might have been open, but I could not be sure given the blacked out windows.

As I dropped a quarter into the parking meter I could see the old Pritchard hotel looming against the partly clouded sky. The day was becoming hot and the morning clouds began to dissipate. As I positioned myself for a picture, I noticed way up to the 9th floor where a cluster of boarded up windows - one still with an air conditioner in the window - gave the place a desolate look.

— I must admit that at that moment I remembered the movie, Let the Right One In, and gave myself a shiver wondering who or what lived behind those darkened windows….

I spent the next hour or so wandering a few city blocks comparing the pictures in my head (from the late 1960s) to the present reality before ending up at the Court House. After taking a couple of pictures (real ones with a camera and film), I went up to the door where a little sign declared the place closed on the weekends. I peered inside and to my surprise a face loomed before me waving me to enter.

So I went in and through the security screening. I managed to make the buzzer buzz, but the guard just said, “It just your shoes. Been happening all day. Go on and vote.”

Vote? On Saturday?

It seems 'they' (The Powers That Be) had opened the Court House for early voting (as part of the process to determine who would replace the late Senator Robert Byrd).

The security guys turned out to be Marshals of the Court, not Rent-A-Cops nor even City Police. I'm sure these differences are important....

One of them turned out to have graduated from HS the same year as had I - only from Huntington East High, rather than Huntington High - nice guy despite that….

So, over the course of the next half hour or so we swapped stories - or rather they told me stories. There was one about the Huntington tradition of running disreputables out of town… but, no, I’m probably going to use it for NaNoWriMo this year (and I’m still considering that boarded window in the Pritchard hotel…), so you will have to wait.

I left after they ran the strange fellow out of the rose garden (he was picking - or perhaps just trimming? - the roses)…

“Oh, him,” one of the Marshals said, distaste grumbling his voice. “That guy's a weird duck. We see him all the time. A child molester….”

… just as the pizza arrived…

... and I spent the afternoon in the library.

In my red journal I have pages of addresses (and phone numbers…) that I gathered from the 1968 Telephone Book (which came out new each November…). Anderson-Newcomb, Nick’s News (& Card Shop), Star Book Store, Tradewell Super Markets (5 throughout the city), Bailey’s Cafeteria (410-9th Street), Long’s Parkette (across from Marshall U on 5th Avenue), the Bazaar, WT Grant, New China Restaurant, UpTowner Inn (with the Hawaiian Luau each weekend), White Panty (beside Nick’s, across from the old Public Library), the Milner Hotel (with not exactly a good rep…), Cinema Theater (previously the Orpheum), the Keith-Albee, the Palace, the Princess Shop (popular, I believe, with the Marshall co-ed), Vapo Baths & Massages (hmm…), Ward’s Doughnuts, George H. Wright (whose namesake died crashing his Corvette on Rt. 60E), VW of Huntington (on 4th Avenue - hard to believe how many car dealers were in-town back then…), Hez Ward Buick, Egnor’s Barbershop (owned by brothers of Dagmar…), Davidson’s Record Shop….

The list goes on.

Most of these places have long since disappeared. George H. Wright’s men’s shop still exists, as do all three movie theaters, although the Keith-Albee seems to only host special concerts and events (it’s now an historic site, I believe), but the rest… all memories - well, OK, I have no memory of the Vapo Baths…, but Ward’s Doughnuts…? You betcha….

I also spent a good time while in the Library peering at maps from before the last decade (or so) of urban renewal (or whatever they call it now…) trying to visualize the layering of the city from some 40 years ago.

16th Street/ Hal Greer Boulevard is unrecognizable - I will have more to say about THAT later - except for that row of low income housing TPTB somehow allowed to survive. As I drove up and down that main drive (my motel was down that-away) I realized I couldn’t visualize how I used to loop around the area on my bicycle….

No, that’s not quite right. I could visualize it, but I couldn’t find it.

Back in the day (c 1969 or so), 16th Street/ Hal Greer butted up against Rte 10. The minute I passed the boundaries of the city, the road would narrow and, amid the rural greenery, become the wandering way to Logan, WV. And just before its southern terminus 16th Street branched left and east into a series of twisting residential streets which led, incidentally, up to the small, almost European, plaza (or should I say, piazza) with a tiny movie theatre that (back then) was the city’s only hope to see an art film…. I also remember the 5 or 6 cornered intersection with a European pharmacy that, in my memory, had a clean European feel.

As a kid, I loved the odd times we would drive past that area. I have no idea why…. Later, I might bike up there, still a kid, but now more or less post pubescent, usually just poking around and more or less by mistake I would surprise myself. Then I would stop and walk around the place. I’m sure something will happen in that area in my next book…. Probably nothing mysterious, maybe just a couple walking arm in arm along the street - when suddenly a piece of space debris crashes into the steeple of the corner church… or a vampire [one of those guys from that room in the Pritchard hotel!] comes gliding from the darkness to the shadowy pavement.

Or maybe not….

Jim FitzPatrick, 2010 08-28

On Surviving a High School Reunion...

Possibly a person exists who can go to an HS reunion and not feel overwhelmed, but that person is not me.

I am just now recovering from the 35th reunion from a decade ago!

And only now, a mere couple of weeks away from the next (the 45th!), am I able to (fearfully) decide to attend.

Part of my decision to join in has to do with a revelation I had this morning.

I realized that I had spent my HS years as a ‘shadow person.’

What do I mean by that?

Simply that I slipped along in the background for all those years. I never attended a football game, missed all the basketball games, I never even made a track meet (and I ran with the team — can’t quite claim to have been a team member although I worked out with the track team every day…). I did go to the Senior Prom, but that had more to do with my date wanting to attend and not wanting to work too hard at it. My only claim to fame: perfect attendance…. and they misspelled my name on the little certificate….

But enough….

So, now that I have decided to attend, how do I manage even one evening without disappearing into a complex (cf, Carl Jung…) or otherwise traumatizing myself into a coma?

I believe the ‘plastic arts’ might help.

Maybe…. Worth a try anyway….

For the past decade or so I have written questionable poetry and become a player of slightly out of tune music. And these have done me good (since they were never designed for the world — I’m not an artist, but a psycho-dabbler: I do my art to (help) improve/ stabilize my psyche — that’s the idea anyway…).

But neither of these have the kinesthetic, visceral benefits that I believe I/ we need to combat the dreaded ‘High School Reunion’ — the Curse of the High School Reunion…. the tendency we (well, me, anyway…) have to drop back into that traumatized state I/ we ‘enjoyed’ as a 17 year old! Ugh!

I’m told by those wiser than myself that this is universal. It happens to me. It happens to you or so ‘they’ say. And if that’s true it means not just the rest of the shadow people, but also all you bright people — all you bright, cheery, happy, active… whatever… kids. You too drop into the pit with the rest of us. Or so I’m told.

I heard something somewhere about how the brightest light make the deepest/ darkest shadows.
And, I wonder, if bright, happy, etcetera people have black shadows, does that mean all of us shadow people have bright/ white shadows?

Well, no matter… back to the ‘plastic arts.’

I’ve found that squeezing clay (preferably plasticine — less messy) seems to help concretize (and release) stress and tension (and… well… fear).

I’m not talking art here. I’ll leave that to the pros (yea, I’m talking about you, Joan and you Eddie) or the competent amateurs (including my ex-neighbor, Nancy — and many others!). I’m talking about rolling out clay snakes and punching ugly UFO faces — the kind of things that makes us smile when we do it and that the rest of the world thinks is just clay snakes and ugly faces… well no matter, this isn’t for them. It’s for each of us to enjoy.

So I’ll be bringing 10 pounds of plasticine with me to the reunion. I’ll have it in a bag probably.
And if they (The Powers That Be) let me in the door, I’ll find a table, put up a sign that will say ‘TRAUMA CENTER’ or something akin to that and will have balls of clay available for any and all comers — at least until I run out.

And for all you light, bright, happy folks — well, you can just grab a ball and take it to your own table if you don’t want to be seen in the vicinity of me or any other ‘shadow person’ who might be nearby…. It’s just clay and it’s just there to help.

Oh, I might have a few colored pencils and papers if anyone would feel more comfortable scribbling out their High School Reunion Trauma (HSRT) rather than squeezing it into malleable bits….

Your choice.

Donations accepted….