Chris Sehmel Summer 2007
This is me. "I used to be a little boy..." I always liked that line from Smashing Pumpkins "Disarm". Wow. It's true. What happened? I DID used to be a little boy. I still remember Mrs. Foster's pre-school. I was a little boy then.
Preparing to shell Husky Stadium with Chris and Greg Williamson back in '68
Me with my "first girlfriend", Mary Margaret Meyer in 1966
I remember running in the green fields of my parents farm. I remember climbing trees. I remember that mean girl with the red jacket at Kindergarten. I remember punching Kurt Schirra in the nose in first grade. I remember neat toys, and tree houses, birthday parties, and games. Bike riding from Purdy, to Fox Island every other day, because that's where my friends lived. I remember building model tanks, ships, and planes, drawing pictures, and whittling sticks. I remember wonderful Aunts, Uncles, dogs and cats long gone. I remember camping, exploring, and playing endlessly.
Chris Sehmel At the "Homestead", 1969
Then something happened, and I turned into a 40-something father. Another lyric that comes to mind is "What a long strange trip it's been" by the Grateful Dead. I've never been a big Dead fan, but that lyric rings true.
Home from Marine Corps boot camp, Oct. '82
With my first dirt bikes, the stalwart Honda '78 XL-125, and the amazing '76 YZ-125X, spring '79
Collecting "samples" at Ft. Worden, circa 1992
Sporting a beard, and squashing my nephew, Billy Sehmel ...around 1991?
Chris Sehmel
Looking pretty stupid, around 2002
I was (and am, no doubt) a very difficult man to live with, and it took just the right woman to put up with me. She found me. I am the luckiest man alive.
Getting married, 2001
What will the future hold? The last four or five years have seen us become pretty reclusive, as we spent all of our time nurturing Luke and John through their early years. I am hoping to return to the days of high adventure, not alone, but as part of Team Sehmel. It should prove even more fun than before. Though I still miss all that beer...
Chris Sehmel , Andrea Sehmel , Me, and my family, Mt. Rainier, 2006 Luke Sehmel , John Sehmel
NEXT:
Next time I feel like soul searching you get to hear about my ridiculous sentimentality (I cry over TV commercials, and acts of heroism), my spirit of roguish fool heartedness (I still think myself a pirate!), and maybe some political, musical or literary prattling (Oh, lucky you!).
Chris Sehmel, August 2008
"Life's been good to me so far..."
*I have gone by the nick-name of Zamo since at least Junior High, as nobody could ever spell or pronounce my last name correctly, which is pronounced "Zay-Mole"...hence: "Zamo"
Somewhere in between I went to Gig Harbor High School, got a B.A. in History from Central Washington University (and drank A LOT of beer!), did a tour in the United States Marine Corps (Ooh-rah!), survived bone cancer and chemo therapy, floundered into computer networking and spent all my money on toys, motorcycles, guns, beer, steaks, scuba diving, sports cars, jeeps, beer, trucks, you know…bachelor stuff.On a "Peacekeeping" mission at the Columbia River Gorge
Then, suddenly, one day I seem to have descended out of that fog, and found the woman who put meaning back into my bachelor be-fogged brain. It's funny, because I really can't remember too much of my 20's and 30's. Not to say I was always drunk, and thus forgetful, but twenty years of my life were composed of working hard all week as a network geek, and then playing harder all weekend. I can't begin to enumerate how many BBQ's and parties I attended in that time, always with GIANT cuts of beef, and HUGE quantities of beer. It was a blast, and I wouldn't trade it for anything. I was happy, content, a hero in my own mind. It was great, I couldn't ask for more.
"Fighting" in the hills above Cle Elum, @1997
I just wish I could remember it more clearly. An endless parade of more or less similar weekends tends to coalesce with time into a generic fog. I remember shooting little Estes rockets off of Kohler's deck under the Narrows bridge. I remember going dirt-biking in Cle Elum. I remember doing Punk Rock gigs in Olympia and Seattle as the singer for the pathetic and yet much fun early '80's band "Zamo". I remember the horrible flaming mess that occurred while frying a turkey in oil with too low a flash point. I remember my car breaking down on top of a mountain near Sultan. I remember my car breaking down in Port Townsend. I remember Feldgrau, and Rufus. I remember the cool 4th of July celebrations on the bridge at Olalla. I remember working onboard the Scotsman...the memories are there, but the details are starting to fade.I remember countless expeditions to Eastern Washington to hunt, camp, or watch rock concerts at the Gorge (and camping down by the river before “they” shut that all down). I remember my nephew Billy and My niece Lindsey...when they were both about four...Now they are 6 foot 57, and a mother respectively. I remember the women. I remember trees and stars, deserts and mountains. I remember close friends, and laughter. I remember fantastic times. And I remember the music."Good times, bad times, you know I've had my share..."
There were camping trips, hunting trips, diving trips, "Bongo Hunts", Jeeping trips and a vast assortment of beer be-slimed evenings with friends mixed in there in a more or less random fashion, but as I was saying, they seem to swirl together in a mental porridge of random, timeless, vastly fun, but entirely MEANINGLESS weekends.
At the legendary Prospect St. house, Circa 1999
Diving Hood Canal with Curt Carter and Kevin Kohler, @ 2000
Seated in the fuselage of an Me-262 jet fighter being built in Everett, WA in the year 2000
Then Andrea found me. I'm sure a lot of my old friends label this the "Death of Zamo"*, and, in many ways they are correct. But another viewpoint, which not surprisingly, is mine, is that she saved me. Not that I felt I was in any great peril, but I now have a wife who loves me, a beautiful home, and two amazing little boys who are EVERYTHING to her and I.
We are very much the merging of a Yin and a Yang (A Canadi-Yin, and a Yang-kee?) whose reagent has produced these wondrous little men. It's pretty cool. And I thank her almost daily for giving me this chance before it was too late. We were 37 when we met. If we had met a few years later, we might not have been able to produce these tykes. A miracle.
