Garish Seats

Rumor has it there was a small town brothel located somewhere in the Oregon Territory with a need. Business was growing and they wanted a place for visitors to sit while they waited in the parlor. Some kind of deal was made and a few sections of chairs from the church were relocated. As times and hypocrisies changed these easily recognizable seats became a bit of gossip around town. Apparently the folding furniture was the same as that used by the funeral parlor and often shared back and forth to accommodate larger crowds, rendering it unclear exactly where to place the blame.

 

When the town died all of the seats were acquired by a man on the board of directors for an insane asylum and a prison. The seats typically sat in an auditorium where doctors and scientists smoked and discussed the abnormal and treatments for those afflicted – on the occasion of executions, sections were loaned to the prison for the witness room spectators.

 

As times changed again the asylum closed and these seats made their way to Seattle to be used in a theatre.

 

All of these institutions and the characters involved are long gone; no one can confirm any of this story.

 

Is any of it true?

How did this section of garish seats end up in an eclectic household?

Does anyone even care?

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My Obit

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Born December 8, 1965 in Jamestown, North Dakota the only child of Esther and Stan Goffe.  Raised in Enumclaw, Washington by schoolteacher parents gave a solid start – blending mid-west values with small town growth.

 

Being a bit of a traveller and seeker it was often easier to question than accept.

Surviving a taste for adrenaline and gravitational pull from the wilder side, eventually settling down in the Seattle area.

Learning about the gifts of life from daughter Heather and her journey.

Sharing eclectic experiences with several great friends, many special acquaintances and a few wild characters.

Enjoying the path with a special dog proved to be life changing.

Life was rich.

 

I liked the idea of becoming a kind of Renaissance Man.

Hopefully I achieved this on some level, before I left.

 

Happy Trails…

 

How do you help a writer who has been damaged by hearing someone that they shouldn’t have?

Why would someone in the position of Teacher or Advisor give an over-the-top harsh critique of a gifted writer – seeking to improve upon their obvious gift?

Is it believed that crushing someone (who is likely more talented than the critic) is somehow helpful, making them fight back and try harder?

Or is it just a display of jealousy.

This happened to an amazing writer that I proudly consider a friend.

She seems to be hurting from the opinion of one person who does not deserve the power to yield that affect on her.

I never sought to write (it could be argued that I don’t) nor expect it to go anywhere, so a critical attack on me or something that I’ve written might roll off my back with a grin and a middle finger – making me of little value in helping her.

How do you help a writer who has been damaged by hearing someone that they shouldn’t have?

Garage Asylum

bgoffe2013's avatarCan Bryan Write?

Being a “car guy” makes my eyes always shoot toward an open garage door.  With a tinge of voyeurism I look to catch a glimpse of a beauty sleeping under cover, curvaceous antique, sleek vintage hot rod, stripped down racer, badass muscle car, smooth exotic sports car, dangerous motorcycle of any kind, sparkle of chrome or “gearhead” project in the works…  But alas, usually I only get an eyeful of something you don’t want to see, Junk (but I look anyway).  There are occasionally a few buried treasures infinitely waiting under the dust and boxes of life’s souvenirs, but most garages sadly are simply full of stuff, piled high with things that people lazily save.  Although a few garages are actually used for a daily driver, the household workhorse vehicle, many have become storage units.  Some garages are methodically organized dens dedicated to other passions like woodworking, music, gaming, or…

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