It should be Nice Guys Finish Last.

Now Where Was I?

A Geezer Rambles

Sometimes a Mediocre Notion

Nice Guys Finish – Dealing With Premature Ejaculation

Healing With Dreams

The Life of Steven (With a V)

 The Memoir of an Unknown and an Hilarious AI Free Journey Through the Depths of Depression, Disillusion, Degradation, and Despair Wit a Happy Ending (Not That Kind) Including Foreshadowing, Digressions, Interludes, and an Epilogue, the Exception That Proves the Rule That You Can’t Judge a Book By Its Cover and An Attempt to Create the Longest Book Title or Subtitle, Actually in History, etc.

Steve Hiatt (With an I)

The Life of Steven (With a V)

 The Memoir of an Unknown and Hilarious Journey Through the Depths of Depression, Disillusion, Degradation, and Despair Wit a Happy Ending (Not That Kind) and Quest for the Longest Book Title in History, etc.

Steve Hiatt (With an I)

In the Beginning

I came to Earth in November a couple of years after the War. I was the third of a set of Irish triplets. If you’re familiar with the term Irish twins, you know that is designates two kids born roughly a year apart. So, I use Irish triplets to designate three kids born eighteen months apart.

Mom was a devout Catholic, and Dad came from a Mormon family, but he had strongly rejected the Mormon faith. By the way I have a ton of first cousins.

Dad swore to let Mom practice her faith and raise us as Catholics. They complied with the Vatican’s ban on birth control. Hence, me.

 When we were older, we kids got together and counted back from birthdays to figure out our origins. The twins, Terry and Teresa, could count a respectable 349 days after the wedding. Terry and Teresa’s names would become a problem later when Teresa’s friends started calling her Teri. I started to feel like a character in a Bob Newhart sitcom.

 I could go back, roughly, to Valentine’s Day, maybe the first babysitter and night out since the twins were born. My younger brother, Dan, could look back to a wedding anniversary, but my little sister, Jeanne, was a puzzle until Mom opened up to one of the girls later in life and blamed the Robertsons’ neighborhood weenie roast they put on to celebrate returning from a trip overseas. It turns out that dinner dates and parties don’t work well with the rhythm method.

I don’t remember much about my early days, but I assume that with the tasks of taking care of two kids in diapers, keeping house, and cooking, Mom didn’t have a lot of time for the usual mommy things like flirting with and cuddling her baby. I feel sorry for what she had to endure, and I have no hard feelings about it. It even makes me love and appreciate her more. I have read articles about the result of insufficient cuddling in babies, and I’m pretty sure that some of my troubles later in life might be a result of my early upbringing.

In her old age, Mom admitted to me that she was glad I was a quiet baby. I was glad to hear that I wasn’t too much trouble. My quietness could have been genetic. Dad’s army buddies called him “Quiet Hiatt, the Riot”. It could also have been because I probably could hear babies crying while I was in utero. That probably caused some tension for Mom that I could sense in some way. It might have put me off the habit of crying.

My parents doted on the twins. There are hundreds of photos of the twins taken with a lot of different types of black and white cameras. Most were the regular Brownie or similar camera, but some were about half the size of a regular picture, which meant that they were taken with a smaller camera that probably used cheaper film.

I think that there is a picture of me as a baby. I looked through piles of pictures, and I couldn’t find more than one. There are pictures of me with the twins after I got old enough to pose with them. Still more disappointed than angry. I would have liked to have more.

In some of the pictures of my early childhood, I had an angry scowl. I don’t remember feeling angry, so I think it was a combination of me squinting in the sun and the fact that my facial expression, when relaxed, may appear angry, with my eyebrows pointed down. It might be why kids in grade school sometimes teased me, calling me “Hostile Hiatt”. Also, why the leader of a music group I played with for a while accused me of “moping around”. It made him think I was serious when I, as a bass player, teased the group about using capos.  I still become aware of my “scowling” when I am concentrating on something.

I must have shown signs of failure to thrive because at one time a nursing student came to stay with us. I think she was getting room and board as payment for her watching me. I know about this because I once found an issue of the Boise Junior College (Now Boise State University) student newspaper with a story, including pictures, of her and us. I realized after looking for the paper on a visit home that it had disappeared. It might have been around the time I dropped out and began a counterculture lifestyle. I think she didn’t want to have any evidence that she had been a poor mother, which might have been the cause of my hippiness. I also couldn’t find any of the old “angry Stevie” photos.

I don’t know if I was able to bond with the nurse, but she had to leave when I was two years old or so. Our parents had been staying in an upstairs bedroom, but when my sister, Jeanne, was born they wanted to move downstairs to make room for both a boys and girls bedroom upstairs. I don’t remember any trauma from being separated. I do remember that when Mom brought Jeanne home from the hospital, I was disappointed. I thought she was ugly with her red, wrinkled skin, etc. I thought babies were supposed to be cute.

I don’t have a lot of memories from my early childhood, but some have lasted. One is Jeanne coming home when I was about two and a half years old. Another thing that happened around that age was having a tonsillectomy. Terry and I both went in at the same time. Maybe they were having BOGO free sale. I remember lying down looking up at a bright light when someone put what I thought was a washrag over my face. I know now it was probably ether. That was the last memory I had until I woke up. I remember Mom coming into the room afterwards, and she went straight to Terry’s bed without looking at me. I began screaming, and then she brought a plush lamb toy to give me.

Another scrap of memory was probably about this time, just after Jeanne was born. Mom was taking a bath, and she brought me in with her. It might have been her trying to kill two birds with one stone while the other kids were napping. All I remember is seeing the veins on her breasts, which were probably a result of breastfeeding. I might have got an erection and scared her, because that is the only time I remember that happening.

As the junior member of the trio, I idolized Terry, and I followed him around and tried to copy everything he did. When he spoke, I would say , “yeah”, but not much more. As a result, I didn’t develop a gift of gab. For example, during my alumnus interview for Columbia University, Gideon Oppenheimer, the alumnus, more about him later, told me, “Take debate” about a hundred times. He said that even though debate was a full year course, he would talk to the teacher and arrange to have me take the second semester. It didn’t work, but since the debate teacher was also the drama coach, I got a speaking part in the student production of “Father of the Bride”. During the setup for the reception, I would carry a potted plant onstage, and the father would ask me who I was. I had to say, “I’m Tim’s man, Tims Flower Shop.”  I nailed it! I think I should get an award for the most successful and error free theater career in history. So there, Danny Boy!

I am writing this because I recently came to the realization that I have lead a pretty interesting life up to now. Some funny stories and some not so. Think of me as a geezer trying to explain his life to someone he just met. You’ll find that I am prone to going off on tangents from time to time, but I will get back on track eventually. Hopefully. (Used in the wrong context, but who cares? Suck it, grammar nazis!)

The inaugural St. Nigel’s Day party, held at Winter’s house on 11/11/2013, was a success because it drew a visit from the Eugene police responding to a noise complaint.
Oddly enough, the cops showed up just as the one who brought the small amp was leaving the party. He had just gone outside when they showed up. Of course, we had ritually painted an 11 on the volume knob.

Those of you who have clicked on my recent blog links, might have seen that my blog is the official site of the Church of Universal Soul. Here is a little history of the church.

During the 2012 election I was upset by the number of ministers violating the non-profit status of their churches by campaigning from the pulpit. I was, and still am, in disagreement with the policy to allow churches to be non profit institutions, especially given the fact that some churches are money making machines. I decided to start a church and try to use it’s non profit status for good.

My first blog, Prophecy, details my thinking behind the church. The term “Universal Soul” comes from the theory that the universe is made up of spirit (or soul) in three manifestations: matter, energy, and spirit. I hypothesized that just as there is an equation that describes the connection of matter to energy, there should be an equation to describe the connection of energy to spirit.

Another aspect of the religion was that the spirit was inspired by the movie “This is Spinal Tap” to issue an eleventh commandment. The commandment was “Thou shalt not proselytize.”
At the height of enrollment, we had two members, me and Winterlight Bray, who was born on the solstice and named by hippie parents, and who was a music buddy of mine. Our outreach program was hampered by the 11th commandment.

One of the church programs was the Tufnel Instrument Co-Op, named for Nigel Tufnel who had the bright idea of building and amp that went to 11, instead of 10, which is described in my post labeled Priming the Pump. It had some instruments, both donated and bought by the church, to lend to people experiencing homelessness. You can read about in my post labeled Priming the Pump. Because of my social anxiety, I was not good at promoting the library and it went unused, except for one party at Opportunity Village.

The post also mentions the Tufnel Land Co-Op (TLC), which never really took off. When I was in a group trying to work for the unhoused, an anonymous donor offered a sizeable contribution for the purpose of creating a low barrier homeless shelter. I offered the church as a non profit that could receive and take care of the donation, but my offer wasn’t accepted and another non profit was created. I asked one of the facilitators of the group if my offer had actually been presented to the potential donor, and she said, “I don’t remember”, which I think was a weaselly way of saying no.

A coupe of years later, Winter and his wife Sofie were severely beaten by the Eugene police, and used that experience as incentive to move to Idaho. After that, our church meetings were pretty boring, with just me there.

A couple of years ago I realized that the church had run it’s course, so when the bill for the $50 non profit registration came due, I decided to put an end to the church. I donated the instruments from the co-op to a guy named Banjo, who was interesting in starting a non-profit instrument library. I don’t know how successful that project was.

In order to be able to have a lucid dream, you have to be able to remember the dreams you have. If you have trouble remembering dreams, there are ways to improve that skill. Imagine “setting the DVR to record” as you go to sleep. As soon as you wake up, try to remember at least one detail from your dream. From there, you might be able to bring back more of your dream. Sometimes, writing something down in a notebook right away will help you to retain the memory.

If you can remember most of your dreams, you might start to notice some common themes that show up a lot. If you can recognize these themes during a dream, it will give you a clue that you are dreaming. Sometimes these themes are uncomfortable or unsettling, and the tendency is to wake up to relieve the distress, but learning to play along and realize that the dreams will not hurt you might help you to work on the problem that might be the source of those dreams. Accepting the situation and playing along with your subconscious can help a lot.

Some years ago, I had to go to some 12 step meetings. One thing I remember from them is the Serenity Prayer, which asks God to grant serenity, courage, and wisdom.

I don’t believe in God or prayer, but serenity, courage, and wisdom are worthy goals. The thing is that accepting the things you can’t change is a path to serenity, not a result of it. I think that our “higher power” comes from within, and the subconscious mind is at least part of that higher power. There might be other otherwise unused parts of the brain that also contribute.

Our dreams are a gate to these higher powers.

My friend Mr. Random encouraged me to start posting on my blog again.
Before getting to the subject if lucid dreams, I’ll fill in a little of the history.

The title “morningredrainbow” stems from an experience I had in the late 1970’s. I was driving to class in the early morning at sunrise. The sun was bright red because of an oncoming storm, and cast a rainbow that was bright red in color. From the saying “Red sky in the morning, sailor take warning” I took this to be a warning sign. I didn’t know at the time but it foreshadowed a drastic turn for the worse for our country.

Shortly after this, Ronald Reagan was elected POTUS and set the country on a disastrous course of regressive taxation, which is responsible for the current crises of poverty and homelessness. The lies and half-truths used to win favor for this and the consequent drop in the standard of living for the lower and middle classes set the stage for Donald Trump to become the threat that he is to our democratic republic.

As for lucid dreams, I have been experiencing them lately, and I think that they can be a useful tool for mental and spiritual (if that exists) growth.

When I first realized in a dream that I was dreaming, I tried to test the waters by trying to fly and other tricks, but I soon learned that trying to control the dreams with my conscious mind was detrimental to the process, and it was much better to play along with what my subconscious mind was providing.

If you are interested in the subject, please leave me a comment, either on this blog or Facebook, and I will continue with the post.

If I don’t get any responses, I will go back on hiatus.

Last Sunday, the local paper printed a guest viewpoint by Gil Gaudia concerning the negative view that religious people have of non believers. He refers to them as “nones” because they check the box labeled “none” when they fill out forms asking their religion. They include atheists, agnostics, secular humanists and other free thinking types.

He mentioned that non believers can be perceived as negatively as homosexuals are, and for that reason a lot of them fail to speak out to express their views. I think it is important for non believers to come out in order to slow the trend toward theocratic rule that seems to be happening in the world today.

The gay rights movement profited greatly when more gays started to come out. People with preconceived notions about homosexuals started to see them in a different light when they saw their family members, friends, and acquaintances admitting to being gay. In the same way, the anti-theocratic movement can be aided if people realize that people they know are non believers.

It will come as no surprise to people that know me, but I am now officially coming out as a non believer. I do prefer to be thought of as a non believer, and not as an atheist, though. To me, atheism implies a belief that “God” doesn’t exist, and as a non believer I have to accept the possibility (however remote) that it does.

It would be interesting to see a study comparing the brains of believers and non believers. A lot of people started viewing gays more positively when they saw reports of studies that showed physical differences in the brains of straights and gays. Those studies confirmed that a person’s sexual orientation is not a choice. I wonder if the same sort of study could show that believing is not a choice.

I do not think that belief is a choice. I am not able to believe in “God”, but I know people who claim that they do. I wonder if they really think their beliefs are real or if they are just suspending their disbelief because of their religious training. Or is there something in their brains that makes it impossible for them to not believe?

Whether or not there are physical differences, it will be beneficial for non believers to come out and band together in order to work towards the goal of having truly secular governments. The mess in the Middle East is just the worst example of what happens under theocratic rule,  but we could all benefit from less religious interference in our government.