G. Michael Vasey's Blog: The Wacky World of Dr. Vasey, page 67

A Dog’s Life

I know this is going to sound pretty strange but have you ever wondered how a dog sees the world? I was walking Rocky just now and plainly, his world is a smell-based environment. His reality is different to mine just because he has a better sense of smell and better hearing across a broader set of frequencies. I will go ahead and assume he doesn’t see as well as me but who knows? It could be that he sees a different spectrum too. That might explain how dogs sometimes bark at things we do not see.

When Rocky looks down our street, he sees something very different to me. I imagine he has perhaps black and white vision superimposed with a smell-map and colored by sound. Who knows what his perception is like but it is very different to mine.

This idea reinforces the concept that we see very little of reality. We see what a picture of reality that is constrained in multiple ways. First, it is constrained by our ability to sense light, heat, sound, odor and more. Secondly, it is conditioned by what we have been taught is there. That vibration is purple, that one brown and so on. Thirdly, we are conditioned by what we expect to see. If there was an alien being in the street would I even see it? I wouldn’t expect it so I am not looking for it – it is not in my frame of attention. Additionally, I may not recognize it as an alien even if I do see it. My mind, may make it a tree or a rabbit. (The mind is a part of this because it interprets for us what we are sensing – if what it sees doesn’t compute but is similar to something familiar then that is what we actually think we see).

It’s a fascinating topic because logically, if you follow this all through it says that we ‘create’ the reality around us – our view anyway is colored by who we are and how we were taught and so much more. But if you take it even further and decide that in fact, everything outside is actually inside our mind (and it probably is), then the reality we perceive is also a reflection of who we are, what we think, what we believe and yes, what we want. We create our own reality.

So as Rocky and I walk along together, we are side-by-side in alternate realities. He is in his and me in mine. Or, is he just a creation of mine in my head? Or, am I just a creation of his in his head? – am I simply part of a dog’s life?

Allie the Dragon and the Golden Shoes

I have been reading some of my own stories to my daughter recently and she really likes them. Last night she asked if I could write a story about Lions and Tigers. I will give that a go in the coming weeks. However, one of her favorite characters is one that I made up over 20-years ago now. The character is now known to all of my children and her name is Allie the Dragon.

Allie is a big friendly dragon that can talk and visits small children at bedtime. She knocks on the bedroom window and then will take the child on a trip on her back. Over the years, Allie had flown my children everywhere – even to the Moon. My daughter seems to really like the Allie the Dragon stories and enjoys helping me make them up as we go.

When my eldest son was just a small boy, I made up Allie the Dragon because he simply would not sleep. I would end up driving around Basingstoke at 11:30pm at night trying to get him to sleep in the back of the car and then carry him up the stairs and to bed when he did fall asleep. So, as you might imagine, I spent many hours reading and making up stories when it was my turn.

In the USA, a popular thing to do is to have your child’s first shoes preserved in metal and then gold-plated and mounted on a wooden base. We did this with my eldest sons first shoes. By the time we returned to England (we lived for 3-years in England before returning to the USA), he was old enough to know that these were his shoes and that they were gold (I don’t think it was real gold!). These shoes were the inspiration behind Allie the Dragon.

Allie the Dragon was flying over Basingstoke one evening when she saw a little boy with the brightest red hair. She was intrigued by the color of his hair that shone like flame so she decided to wait until his parents put him to bed and then she would go and introduce herself. Sure enough, after she saw the light in his room go out, she flew over to his window. The little boy, lying in his bed could hear a strange sound outside of his window. It was a strange beating sound. It was very rhythmic and listening to it, he began to drift off to sleep.

He was awakened though by a tapping at his window. He sat up and pulling the curtain back, he peered out into the darkness. A large face peered back. He jumped in shock at the site of that face for it had wide flaring nostrils, small beady red eyes and teeth. Lots and lots of teeth.

“Hello there,” said the face in a cheerful voice. “I’m Allie the Dragon and I want to say that I do love your hair”

The little boy thought for a moment. “A Dragon – wow!”

“It’s OK,” said Allie. “I won’t hurt you.”

The little boy overcame his fear and opened the window. The boy and the dragon got introduced and started to talk about all kinds of fascinating and wonderful things like why salt tasted salty and why bees buzz. Eventually, Allie asked him if he might like a ride on her back?

“Oh yes please,”said the boy.

“Allie instructed him to go and put on some clothes and shoes waiting all the while for him at the window. The boy returned dressed and climbed on thew dragon’s scaly back.

“Hold on tight now,” Allie shouted as she flapped those wings harder and they began to move ever higher and higher.

“Ever been to the Moon,” she asked.

“No,” shouted the boy.

“Would you like to?”

“Oh, yes please,”

So off they went. All the way up to the Moon that was shining brightly in the sky. There, they landed and the little boy ran around making great dust clouds all about.

“My, isn’t it dusty here,” he said as he played.

Allie beamed as the little boy played running in circles and all about. Eventually though, she told him it was time to go home and so reluctantly, he climbed onto her back and off the went, the thumping sound of her wings again making him sleepy.

When they arrived at his house, he climbed off her back yawning and was ready to fall asleep instantly he was so tired fully dressed.

“You should undress,” Allie told him. “You should never sleep in your clothes no matter how tired you are.”

He nodded and started to pull off his shoes. But, he noticed that his once white shoes were now covered in a gold color.

“Ah,” explained Allie. “That’ll be the moon dust – it’s turned your shoes into gold.”

And that is how the little boy came to have a pair of golden shoes that were on display as his parents were amazed at the golden shoes and of course, didn’t believe the story of the dragon and the Moon.

“Goodnight,” said Allie. “I will come back and see you soon my new friend.”

And that is how Allie the Dragon became a character that I made up and whose stories have entertained all four of my children.

Flight School

After working as a rig geologist in the North Sea, I developed a real fear of flying. I really didn’t enjoy the helicopter rides and even fixed-wing aircraft rides scared me. If I knew I had to fly then I would worry for days before the flight. It was OK when I was working in the UK as flying wasn’t something that I did too frequently but when I moved to the USA, flying suddenly took on a whole new level of importance. Flying was viewed like taking a bus there.

I knew something had to be done but what? As it turned out, there was an annual air show at Addison airport in Dallas. We decided it might be fun to go and we took our son. It was there that I saw the flight school and signed up for a free introductory flight.

That first flight took place in a Cassna 152 and actually, I enjoyed it. I decided that I should take lessons but in the larger Cessna 172 for comfort. There were two major milestones for me in learning to fly. The first was tight turns. This is where you actually turn very tightly and so you look out of the window at the ground as you bank steeply. I simply couldn’t do it. It took me several lessons before I finally summed up the courage to do it. When I finally did, I enjoyed it!

A Cessna 172.

The next challenge was flying solo. I clearly recall practicing landings at an airfield nearby Dallas. You touched the wheels down and then accelerated and took off again flying the pattern over and over again. The moment when my instructor said “OK – pull up over there and then got out and said do a few on your own,” was one of total fear. I knew I had to go through with it and so I gulped and off I went. That first landing I made was the best I ever did. I was flying solo!

I sat my FAA exam and passed it easily. It was a lot of fun learning about aerodynamics, navigation and so on. I now understood the noises I would hear on commercial jets too. I flew my solo flights and, when my Dad visited, I took him on a trip too. I had learned to fly and I enjoyed it immensely. I was a private pilot with a license and a log book.

A familiar view of Addison Airport in Dallas.

Unfortunately, when we moved back to the UK, I found that an hour in a small airplane was simply too expensive and that I would have to fly some hours and take a check ride for CAA qualification. I simply couldn’t afford it and by the time we moved back to the US, I had lost the bug anyway.

However, I can fly a plane. Now thats something isn’t it?

Will You Help?

I know I that perhaps I bore the hell out of many of you going on about my books all the time but  – if you could give me some small help I sure would appreciate it.

Here is how;

1. You could buy my book – My Haunted Life on Kindle – its just 99cents. Basically, less than the price of a beer that should we meet, you might buy for me without thinking.

Or,

2. You could write a short review on Amazon or Goodreads of one of my books that you may have read.

Or,

3. You could share one of my books around your friends on Facebook or other social media with a positive reference. Recommendations are very important.

I would really appreciate the support. It really is hard to market a book these days. I am always willing to return the favor.

Thanks so much….

Unlike

Canyons and Cowboys

In 1988, I got a dream posting with my then employer, Price Waterhouse. Houston, Texas for 12-months. It was a no-brainer and we were packed and gone in a matter of weeks. We moved to a nice suburban town northeast of Houston called Kingwood into a rented house. It was so big, it felt like a palace to us, and it even had an outdoor Jacuzzi!

A Kingwood House similar to the one we rented.

Kingwood has grown since then, but even in the late 80′s it was quite large. To me all the streets looked the same at first, and all had similar names. That’s how, the first day at work in downtown Houston, it took me more than 2-hours to find the house! I was driving around and around and could not find the house at all. I could not even find the street. Of course, back then there were no cell phones either and our phone hadn’t arrived anyway, so I couldn’t call. There was no GPS. I simply had to keep driving and looking.

We were thrilled to be in the USA. Everything seemed new, big, cheap and exciting to us. After a few months, I wanted to get my parents to come over and share it with us. My Dad wasn’t keen at all. The USA didn’t appeal to him. However, they eventually agreed to come out. Especially, for their trip, I decided to plan something special – a trip to the Grand Canyon in a RV. For those of you that don’t know, an RV is a recreational vehicle or a mobile home on wheels. I was able to rent one for a week at a reasonable price. It was huge! At the back was a bedroom with en suite, then the bathroom and a kitchen/lounge and the two seats at the front for driver and passenger. Luxury on wheels.

An RV like the one we went to the Grand Canyon in.

I met my parents at the airport and drove them in my big American car back to our big American house. It was fun showing them around. Dad was excited about going to the Grand Canyon too. The time came and I went to pick up the RV. We packed and set off. I had a week off work for the trip.

Did I tell you how BIG the USA is?

No, because I didn’t really know. I thought naively that maybe a day or so of driving would get us there……..

Actually, the drive was fun. It was three and half days of 14 hour drives across Texas, New Mexico and Arizona, and we watched as the scenery slowly, and I mean slowly, changed from lush Texas plains to desert mountains. Each night, we stopped in an RV park, hooked up and went for a swim in the pool. It really was fun. We passed through Tucson and Phoenix and El Paso, and other such places, we looked across the river into Mexico, and saw the utter poverty just a stone throw away from lush mansions and big cars. We stopped in a variety of idyllic locations and packed a lot into the trip there.

Finally, we approached the Grand Canyon. It was sensational and we followed it along a windy road for several miles. And then, in front of us opened up the most amazing multi-colored yawning chasm I had ever set eyes on. Yes, this WAS the Grand Canyon! We had been following a sub-canyon apparently! We stopped and took the photos, marveled at the colors, the depth, everything really. It was incredible. Standing on the top, you feel like it is sucking you into its depths. Half a day we spent there and enjoyed every minute but now we knew now that the trip back was long and we had no time to stay…..

We opted for a different way back and stopped off to see the also incredible Monument valley with its huge standing red turrets of rock, and the scene of so many movies (and of a chapter in my new novel The Lord of the Elements). We went through northern New Mexico and it was simply beautiful, eventually arriving in Dallas and then down the road to Houston.

Monument Valley

Along the way, we visited Tombstone. My Mother loved it there. Gun fights broke out and people were dressed in period costume. We spent one night on an Indian reservation and were mightily disappointed at the dour and unfriendliness of the Indians (although, they have many reasons to be dour). My mother saw a snake – several actually! It was a trip to remember.

The last night, we camped on an RV park in Texas somewhere, and a huge storm came rolling through. Dad and I loved storms so we stood watching the lightening in the distance and keeping a wary eye out for tornados that same to have an affinity for RV parks! We went in as the storm arrived and sat eating dinner. We watched in amazement as a man braving the storm for the toilet block was struck by lightening not 20 feet from the RV. We went flying out and found him scorched, but OK, laying on the floor. The lightening had actually struck the building just above him. He told us it was the third time in a week that lightening had struck close to him. We gave him a wide berth after that.

It was the trip of a lifetime. Unfortunately, I no longer have any photos nor video, as it was all a casualty of my divorce and probably now lies rotting in storage somewhere in Houston. It’s strange but we returned to Texas and I lived there for another 18-years but never again visited the Grand Canyon. I do still have my memories though and I have promised myself another trip there before long….

Sand Castles and Pea Shooters

It is funny how some things remain with you through life as strong and vivid memories. They were those events that had an impact in some way I suppose, and this is why we remember them while forgetting much of the rest of our lives. Memory is a very strange thing. My mother often tells me that she can remember with clarity things from 50-years ago but what she did an hour ago is a mystery! For me, its names. I remember people and places and context but I am clueless as to their names – old school friends and the like now nameless faces.

Of course, memories can be reinforced. If we talk about some event in the past often or if like us, you have old cine film of family vacations and so on that has been watched many times, then the memory is strengthened. I am sure that there are other ways that memory can be enhanced but repetition has always been one technique that worked for me. Anthony Peake, whose work I admire a lot, has said that the brain actually records all of life – it’s all there locked away in memory. So have I lost the filing system then that I can only access certain memories?

Growing up, we had great holidays. Cornwall, South Wales, Scotland and later, France. They were beach holidays. We all loved the beach and the sea. Often, we would go with one or more families and so there would be my cousins or parent’s friends kids to play with too. Dad used to enjoy helping us build sand castles and I have many happy memories of spending hours piling sand up into a giant mountain before the tide came in and then defending it against the incoming ocean. The sea always won but we had a lot of fun anyway. I often had a sunburned back from that particular activity.

One of my best memories though is of the time we were in Tenby and Jack, my Dad’s friend, bought a whole bunch of pea shooters and peas. Right there on the front we had the battle of a lifetime with little hard peas shooting everywhere. They stung like hell if they hit you too! What has kept this memory in place is the sheer fun and how much I enjoyed the 30 minutes or so that it lasted.

The interesting thing to me is that despite all the plastic toys, video games, technology and so on available to kids now, the most fun has always been found in the simpler things. The wrapping the presents came in, the cardboard box or the penny pea shooter and a bag of peas.

The Halloween Witch

My Dad was a practical joker. There was nothing more he enjoyed than playing a prank on someone. My brothers and I grew up keeping an eye out for his more familiar attempts at a prank. These would often include large knots of fishing line supplemented with eyes and appendages to look like a giant spider. As you entered a room, the ‘spider’ would rise or fall from the ceiling attached to the door handle with yet more fishing line. He scared a few people with that one! Another favorite was to fill your bed with metal toy cars under the mattress cover!

My Dad was also quite the inventor. He would disappear into his shed where he had grinders, saws, lathes, and goodness knows what, and a few hours later, emerge with something fantastical and amazing.

One year, he worked several nights late into the night, and the three of us could hear the saws, the hammering and smell the paint. What emerged from the shed was a Dalek from Dr. Who. It was made from a kid’s tricycle so you got in it and could peddle and steer sitting on a seat. It had usable weapons and the masterstroke was the arrangement of mirrors in a periscope set up so that you could see where you were going. We were the envy of the entire neighborhood let me tell you.

Years later, when our kids were growing up, he did the same sort of things. He made my son Paul, a ghost detector that fully functioned just like the one in Ghostbusters. It used a light meter as its base along with switches and flashing bulbs! He made a small working car for my brother’s son complete with headlights, horn and so on. He was a genius my Dad.

Dad and I load my daughter into the car he made.

Anyway, back to the story! Of course, it involved my Dad. This particular Halloween, he insisted on reading us a story at bedtime. Now my Dad was a lot of things, and a very good father, but he never read to us. It wasn’t his thing. So it was with some surprise that we sat in bed as Dad read to us the story of the wicked witch who would steal children away in the dead of night taking them through the windows on her broomstick. We should have known shouldn’t we, that it was simply a set up for his prank.

Having read the story, he wished us goodnight and left. We sat for a while, a little scared by the story, but eventually put out the light and attempted to sleep. A few minutes later, we heard a tapping on the window. Our blood froze in fear. Again, there was tapping at the window. One of us put on the light and then we discussed who would open the curtain to check what it was. I do not recall who finally did, but the tapping continued and so, eventually, one of us pulled back the curtain. There, outside of our window was a horrid old hag staring back at us. We both screamed of course, and then there it was, my Dad’s laughter. A second look at the old hag established that, in fact, it was simply a hat sat on top of a turnip attached to the clothes prop ( a long wooden stick used to prop up a line full of wet washing).

We did see the funny side and to be honest, we were not as scared as it might sound, because we had sort of twigged it when he unusually read that story. But that was my Dad. A real prankster.

Conversing With Santa

As a little lad, we lived in west Hull. It was a typical terrace house in a street called Westlands Road. No. 8 to be precise. My Dad added extensions to it here and there so a new kitchen extension and a front porch. The front porch was where the telephone was. Back then, telephones were black and had a handset that sat on a body with a rotary dialer. They made a nice sound when you turned that dialer!

A house in Westlands Rd, similar to ours.

Like most little kids I suppose, I was obsessed with the phone. Every chance I got, I was there, in the porch, playing with the phone. One day, I guess I must have dialed just the right number of times a number that truly existed. I recall being a bit amazed and enthralled by the fact that someone said “Hello.” It was a man’s voice and he repeated the “Hello” a couple of times. I think that I must have said something and I suppose he guessed I was a small child playing with the telephone.

“Who is it?” I asked.

“Santa Claus,” said the man. “Have you been a good boy this year?”

I was a bit perturbed by that question. I mean – that was the 6 million dollar one wasn’t it?

I suppose I told him that I was a good boy and he asked me what I wanted for Christmas. I gave him a few ideas (back then, I don’t recall wanting everything like kids seem to now).

“Well, perhaps I can talk to your Mother now and see what she thinks?” asked Santa.

I complied and went off to fetch my Mum who reluctantly and disbelievingly followed me to the phone. I recall she talked to Santa for a few minutes. She had a smile on her face and was laughing so it seemed all good news to me.

Of course, I was gently admonished for touching the phone but she told me Santa was impressed and would do his best to bring the gifts I had asked for.

I don’t recall if he did but I do recall talking with Santa.

I wonder who he was? I do know though that it stuck in my mind and when I finally was confronted with the truth that it was all a charade, I couldn’t quite believe it. After all, I had spoken to him!

Plainly, the 1960’s were a much more innocent age.

Lazarus

G. M. Vasey:

Sitting here listening to the beautiful Lazarus by Porcupine Tree this morning. For me, this will always be a special song. It was the song that I sang down the phone to a lady 6000 miles away one night. The rest, is now history. Perhaps, given this introduction, the poem has more meaning?

This poem is included in my recent collection – Best Laid Plans – Available from Amazon.

Originally posted on The Wacky World of G. Michael Vasey:

Memories fade as the years gently pass

The urgency of attraction has gone too

Wished fond goodbye as the years flew

But Lazarus sings still from time to time

Our bond slowly strengthens bit by bit

Shared experiences and the pass of time

Takes care of that my dear partner in crime

As our Lazarus makes his soulful reappearance

Who would have ever have given us a chance at all

The unlikely impossibleness of such a meeting

Our differences should have made our time fleeting

But beautiful Lazarus was our siren song

Kept us together all along.

View original

Medium

There was a time growing up that I became interested in spiritualism. This was an interest my Mother was willing to share and we ended up taking a couple of trips to a spiritualist church in Hull. My Dad stayed home muttering something about ‘encouraging activity’, but was always interested in what had happened. He was, I believe, right. It both encouraged the activity in our house as well as made me more open to it.

Attending a spiritualist church as a teenage boy was interesting. The first thing I noticed was that the vast majority of my fellow visitors where female and well over the age of 50. However, the mediums were often younger people I noticed. One evening, it was quite full as the medium was highly thought of and he attracted a more diverse audience. He was about 2 to 3 readings in when his eyes met mine.

“Young man,” he said.

I gulped and likely flushed, as all eyes suddenly stared at me.

“I have a man here who would like to warn you about that motor bike that you have. He is showing me that you will have an accident, so be careful. He is young this man, and he is wearing motorcycle gear. He passed some time ago though,” said the medium.

To be honest, I could barely speak. I just nodded and the medium duly moved on to his next ‘victim’.

Of course, I was consumed with thoughts for the rest of the meeting. The young man could have been my Dad’s brother who had died long before I was born in a motorcycle accident we thought and yes, I had just bought a Honda C70 motorbike.

At the end of the meeting, the medium and the organizer approached me and my Mother. The organizer knew us and lived not far away from us. It transpired that the medium wanted to spend some time with me. He had some things he wanted to tell me and so could I come by the next day around 2pm for some tea?

We went home and told my Dad what had occurred and he was understandably a little upset, but he agreed I should go for the tea.

The next day was very disappointing really. I had this idea that somehow, the medium would tell me something really important and deep. In fact, we sat in the back yard drinking tea and eating cakes, and just chit chatted for about an hour. After that, the organizer suggested I should leave so as not to tire the medium who would be giving another session later that day. As I was about to leave however, the medium looked at me and said,

“Do you write at all Gary?”

“Not much why?”

“Well, I just wanted to say that you will, one day, write a lot.”

“OK, thank you,” I replied.

“One more thing Gary,”

“Yes,”

“Be open.”

“I’m sorry?” I asked puzzled.

“Be open to spirit. They will write through you. Don’t be afraid. It will feel quite natural. It may not happen for many years yet, but it will and I think that you might just sit from time to time with a pen in hand and paper and see if it happens.”

“Thank you,” I said again, feeling a bitter sense of disappointment. Was that all?

Apparently, the medium put on a poor show that evening. He was tired from meeting me he claimed. I never understood why that should be so, nor why he wanted to meet me and then told me nothing very much at all.

About 6-months later, I had visited the University of Hull. They had an open day for prospective students and I was 17. Driving back, as I accelerated, I saw a blur suddenly jump out in front of me. I braked as hard as I could, but hit whatever it was. I heard the yelp of agony as I did so and was then sliding along the street at about 30mph, until the handlebar hit a pothole and threw me away, gashing a hole in my knee as I went. The bike was messed up, I was OK, but bruised and the dog was dead. I felt bad. I felt guilty for killing the dog. I felt lucky that the light had turned red behind me and so I wasn’t run over by a car.

I recalled the medium and understood it was a sign.

Now I do write and the spirits do come.