"Moving The Trailer in 1969"

by Van Blakeman



Apparently, I later guessed at the day of the month — that‘s why the ? is squeezed in there.


This was written to Christy Bechtel (not sure of the spelling). We soon fell in love, though I think I was already — madly; head over heals. However, we broke up within a year or so — I never really found out why. She had a baby girl at the time, by a previous relationship, and perhaps she just needed to find somebody more established and financially secure. She was a nurse and there could have been a doctor in the wings. I don‘t know. It broke my heart, so it was probably soon after that, that I scribbled her name out.


It was shortly after the breakup that I left California, returned to my home of origin in NJ, got a respectable job in a respectable company, married the group secretary — and life went on.



My dog, Hobbit III, had just given birth to 13 puppies.























This is sardonic humor...

















Being famous for turtle races seemed about the silliest thing I had ever heard. They were ultimately banned due to the Endangered Species Act.






















This was a tiny generator that I had picked up at a garage sale — about the size and decibel of a small deranged kitchen blender with a metal jar full of broken glass.











The idea was, and still is, to get a drive up into the hill above the trailer to the first of 4 or 5 arroyos (small plateaus or valleys) so I can put my trailer up there, and/or a small house.


The "Sir" thing was a hold-over from my Marine Corps days where nearly everybody senior to me was referred to as "Sir".

















Shortly after they got the lake done, an earthquake swallowed it.













A weekly group therapy session I had been attending for a few years. That‘s where I met Christy.