(And can we read more of these stories of your childhood some time? Outstanding! The boy quite clearly makes the man as they say…)

John Gillespies last blog post..Howard Jones: Best-selling Buddhist Pop Star

1. My first school was next to a graveyard in Malaya. Nothing the teacher had could match the passing funeral corteges.

2. My first teenage school was a Catholic College in Belize. My RE teacher was the Head of the College. He had me down to burn in hell for not being a Catholic, as I was allowed to skip Mass. Later he ran off with the school secretary and a large chunk of school funds. Interpol caught up with them living the high life in Hawaii.

3. The Catholic College was next to a small busy airport. Ask me anything about Cessnas or Pipers or Dakotas - the best plane that ever flew. Bar none. Nothing the College had could match that!

4. My next school was a Methodist School in Belize. I got beaten for getting into an argument with a teacher as I said Australia was not the same thing as Australasia, she said there was no difference, I disagreed.

5. I got thrown off my bike by a skull on the way home from school. Riding high speed across the mud-flats I hit a bump - the top of the skull embedded in the hard mud - and went flying. I dug it up and took it home; t’was a miraculous thing, I contemplated it for so long, put flowers and a candle by it, and gave it a name. I planned a burial with some wise words by Geronimo from my Niehardt book of Great Indian Chiefs, but my dad found the skull and it was taken for forensics. I never saw it again. I guess that first school in Malaya got me thinking early about stuff.

6. Even Dakotas have their limits. One crashed into a river bank five minutes after take off, overloaded with a massive cargo of cucumbers. The pilot vanished. They thought he had survived and run off, as some suspicious plant substances were also found in the wreckage. A few months later a farmer killed a big alligator up-river. The pilot’s watch was found inside the alligator.

I was a cheerful fellow, for all that. Still am.

hahahaha….

A truly enjoyable image you weave!

On the topic of Librans, all I can say is we are fully entitled to see both sides of an issue, as inconsistent as that often may seem.

Continuing the topic of first albums, I remember acquiring several Canadian artists during my stay there whom I am sure would now be eminently cringe-worthy. There’s no accounting for the taste of the young…

Yes, if my birth is anything to go by, it seems I have a little spirit, or the pedigree for such. It is said that as I languished in an incubator for those initial, touch and go weeks, the nurses would keep on turning me over, as they were unnerved by a pair of small, keen eyes, following their every move.

As I start this comment I am laughing inside, ridiculous as that seems because there is no reason not laugh out loud, but anyway… I want to tell you that a libran I know once told me he didn’t like other librans because they were too weird. I said ‘but you’re a libra?’ and he said ‘yes, I know’. He left it at that. I’m still perplexed but perhaps he found himself too hard to understand.

I enjoyed the Cindi Lauper and Bob Marley story The first album I ever bought was by a band called Styx. I discovered upon listening to it that I really didn’t like it. I’ve been forever embarrassed by the fact that they were my first choice.

It truly is a miracle that you survived being born so premature. I think it must be testament to your spirit. Take heart in that.

I likely will share some funny childhood facts at some point. Currently I’m busy brooding about my purpose again, so I can’t say when I’ll surface smiling and lighthearted again. But I suspect it will be soon. You see, I’m an Aries, the polar opposite of Libra. And if that doesn’t tell you enough, then I’ll summarize; we don’t remember to brood for very long, vengeance is an alien, spontaneity is a sterling friend, and as Scarlett O’Hara once said “Tomorrow is another day” and she was/is the epitome of an Aries.

I was a miracle apparently—early seventies back-water New Zealand was not an ideal place or time to be born small enough to fit in the palm of your mother’s hand!

My premature birth is also the origin of my unusual—for this part of the world—full name: John-Paul; two names in one really, and together can be interpreted as ”gracious gift of God”—not to mention cause for endless Pope jokes, a not always gentle childhood ribbing made worse by a somewhat romantic teacher who decided to spell and pronounce my name“Jean-Paul.”

Many years ago I knew a person who was very wolf-like—physical resemblance and demeanour. They adored dogs, and had a philosophy of dividing the world into“cat” and“dog” personalities, myself in the former—cause for yet more ribbing. Funnily enough, aside from kittens I really am not into cats now.

Yes, strange is good, if it is different from plain ordinary. Of course being a Libran, I get joy appreciating the hidden strengths of the common as well.

Your #1 was a shocker. You are a miracle!

Dreaming you were a kitten? I can understand that. I have dreams I am a wolf. My husband tells me I am just strange. I like strange. If I were rich I guess I would be called eccentric.

I am humbled by your praise of my simple Thursday 13 post. It is a nice change to meet a kindred spirit along the way.