Memories are not unchanging physical traces in the brain. Instead, they are malleable constructs that may be rebuilt every time they are recalled. I think I must be slowly dying as old memories randomly flow across my consciousness in increasing regularity and are reshaped and rewritten every time I recall an event.
But there are some constants, and one of them is named Skoge. I first met Sherry Skogen at the Mafia operated grain company in San Leandro, CA known as Golden Grain Macaroni, in the early seventies.
I was the fresh out of college, IBM System 3 trained computer guy, who had been brought in to build them a computer system. I did that, and in the process met Skoge, a single mom raising her son Eric. She was in the billing department and we hit it off quickly as kindred spirits, minus the romance part.
Skoge watched me move through life and relationships while I watched her navigate the rock and roll scene in the Bay Area. At one point we lived together at Michael Cottens (keyboardist: The Tubes) place in the City. We also shared a great old house out on the Sacramento River.
Over the years we have continued to stay in touch. When Riley and I made our summer vacation trips down south, we stopped and saw Skoge. The Steph and Riley vacation, we saw Skoge. My trip through San Fransisco last summer, I stayed with Skoge, and Grant.
Ah, who’s Grant you ask? Well, he’s a famous rock and roll photographer who took shots of Joplin, Morrison and Jefferson Airplane long before Bill Graham got his hands on them. Grant and Skoge have been roommates for years now.
As this current summer approaches, California pushes against me as a destination, but the chance to see my old friends may override that. Stay tuned!
I have known Skoge for more than forty years now…
What a great story. Friends stay with you forever if they are true friends. It sounds like your friend Skoge is one of those. Hope which ever way your summer takes you have a great time. I’ll wait for another chapter.
Thank you for the memories. I remember I always called Golden Grain “Golden Groin.” Anytime I smell Chocolate I think of that place as it was also Ghiradelli Chocolates. Do you remember “Scuffles,” the nearly dead Norwegian Rat at Mike Cotten’s? You let this big old rat into the place. After setting out poison Scuffles was nearly dead when I scooped it up in a box and set it outside the door for the garbage and in the middle of the night one of the winos in the neighborhood thought the box contained something valuable and walked off with it. He must have stuck his hand in the box because I remember hearing him yelling out, “Oh, Sh#$!!!” And finding Scuffles’ body the next day, about half block away and in the middle of the street.
Oh I remember that rat really well. I was standing in the metal sliding doorway smoking (back when I smoked :-) and I saw that thing slinking along the wall to my right and it dove into the place right by my feet. As proof of my malleable constructs theory I didn’t remember the damned rat’s name or the wino encounter. Very good Skoge!
She was a Beauty!