Welcome to my blog

I have only recently seriously taken to writing. Though I wrote and managed to have a couple of books published during my life, something clicked a few years ago and now, for better or worse, I sit at my table researching and writing about things that interest me.
My wife, Annie takes care of me. She keeps me eating too well and laughing often in our old farmhouse halfway up the Blue Ridge Mountains.
And this is my blog. Please explore, comment and enjoy.

GRANDMOTHER My paternal grandmother’s checkered past left her widowed, the owner of a large house in a lovely Atlanta neighborhood close to downtown and a millionaire.  This was in 1952 when a million dollars was a big money.  Completely in character, Aunt Stanny, as she liked her grandchildren to call her since she never intended to grow old enough to  [ Read More ]

I am the erstwhile American Painter Rabo Karabekian, a one-eyed man.  I was born of immigrant parents in San Ignacio, California, in 1916.  I begin this autobiography seventy-one years later.  To those unfamiliar with the ancient mysteries of arithmetic, that makes the year 1987.   From: Bluebeard by Kurt Vonnegut Do you want to share one?  I’d love to hear  [ Read More ]

Sep 06

The Funeral

The Funeral One of the scariest things in my life happened when I was ten years old.  We drove our family car, a well-kept, nine year old Chevrolet sold to my dad by his father-in-law, to the funeral of one of my father’s cousins who died at the age of thirty-three. It was my first funeral.  It was deep in  [ Read More ]

I was born in 1947, the year of the Roswell UFO crash.  One of my father’s military duties as base intelligence officer was to act as a district or regional investigator for the Air Force’s Project Bluebook.  By the time I was ten years old my eyes had been widened by Saturday morning movie matinee double features about alien invasions,  [ Read More ]

My grandmother read aloud about the closing of the cathouse in Longview.  From behind the Saturday morning paper she gleefully announced, “Finally, some progress coming to this backwater town.  I can’t imagine why you choose to live here, Jonathan.”  Ever since grandmother met refined people on her trip around the world she tried to sound sophisticated. “It’s the interstate,” Dad  [ Read More ]