Listen to the song; #8 on THE SOFTER SIDE OF ME
1980 - At this point in my life, I could feel the winds of change beginning to blow. This was cause for excitement as well as inner turmoil and fear of the unknown. It was definitely a major crossroad and I think this song reflects everything I was feeling pretty well. God was beginning to call me out of my worldly lifestyle. Little did I know His voice was about to go from a “still small voice” to a mind crushing shout; literally! When I returned to Southern California from Maine, my leg was healed (I had removed my cast with a pair of fingernail cutters while in Texas) and I went back to work at Stauffer Chemical. The economy was in a major recession as the up side of Reaganomics had not kicked in and the down side was taking its toll. So the plant where I worked was scheduled to shut down. The plant manager, Ernie James liked my work ethic and offered to relocate me to another plant fifteen miles or so to the south. Meanwhile, my friend Mike Lessard (the brother of Paul Lessard mentioned earlier) had moved from Maine to San Diego, and I began to drive the two and a half hours down to play music and party with him and his buddies. In San Diego, there were three bachelors living together. They had a house on Boundary Street in North Park, which came to be known as the Boundary Mansion. There was a smallhouse at the back of the lot where Brett Noe, (a lobster fisherman of all things), lived with his girlfriend Kristina Krauss. As fate would have it, Kristina just happened to be hiring for a new venture her company had assigned to her. The company was M.Rosenblatt & Son, an engineering firm, and the project was for the US Navy, updating and creating technical repair manuals for the Navy fleet. She was looking for illustrators. She and Brett joined us while we were having a Saturday night jam session and was impressed with my talent as a musician. I told her I had taken drafting and was interested in being an Architect and she asked me if I had ever considered being an Illustrator. Long story short, she gave me an aptitude test which I thought I failed miserably, but she was satisfied I could learn illustration and she hired me on the spot and I was to start work a month later. Back in LA, I had taken up surfing with a co-worker from Stauffer. We would go out every Sunday morning on our ten foot logs and surf the river at Seal Beach, a slow long swell perfect for beginners. The only snag was the 20 foot hammerhead shark that was occasionally spotted cruising the area. The weekend of my planned move, I rented a U-Haul trailer and loaded all my stuff which I would haul down to San Diego with my 1975 Plymouth Duster Sunday evening, and start my new job that Monday morning.
That Sunday morning, my friend called me and said “We gotta go down to Huntington Beach! The waves are twelve to fourteen feet!” Now those of you who don’t surf, I gotta tell you that waves are measured at the back, so a twelve foot wave is somewhere around twenty four feet on the face. We got to Huntington cliffs around 7 AM and the waves were beautiful; perfectly formed and monstrous. There were some expert surfers out there getting the rides of their lives and making it look easy, so I decided I just had to get out there. I tried to get out past the break with my log for nearly an hour with no luck at all. Huntington cliffs is notorious as the most powerful surf in Southern California; the closest thing to Hawaii on the West Coast. It is because the water is so deep- as soon as you step in off the beach, you immediately plunge down to neck deep waters. Unable to get out beyond the break with my log, I decided to try out my six-foot gun and I finally succeeded. Beyond the break I remember was this mystical surreal feeling of awe. After being pounded by the breakers trying to get out there, it was now quiet and peaceful as I rested on my board, catching my breath. The waves were breaking at least a hundred yards from shore. Soon I saw a huge wall of water racing at me and watched this surfer shoot down it’s face like a rocket. “That doesn’t look too hard” I foolishly told myself. The next wall came and it was all mine! I shot down and unable to bottom turn, I pearled, getting caught up in the washing machine I was held under for a couple minutes.“Holy crap! Okay I’ll try one more!” I got back out and stood up on another monster. This time I felt like I was shooting straight down from a two story building. There was no way I would be able to bottom turn, so I dove off my board, hoping to avoid getting caught underwater again. Man was that a mistake! My leash slungshot my board straight back at me and the skeg hit me square on the top of my head, nearly knocking me unconscious. Underwater for another two minutes, I finally emerged gasping for air and dazed with a splitting pain in my head. I felt my scalp and blood was pouring out. I looked back and another wall was about to finish me off! That’s when I started to pray. My life flashed before my eyes, and all the events had seemed to conspire to bring me to this very moment. “Oh God help me! If you get me out of this, I promise I’ll turn my life aroundand serve You!” If you’ve ever been in monster surf like this, you know there’s no paddling away from one of those waves once it has you in its grip. Well that was the miracle I lived through that day. Somehow, I got ahead of that wave and the soup carried me all the way to shore. I crawled out of the water and up onto the sand and I heard a girl scream, “Oh my God, you’re bleeding!” She gave me her towel and told me to hold it on my head, and the next thing I remember I was in an ambulance heading to Huntington Beach hospital. The doctor said that I got hit so hard, he was shocked my skull didn’t crack (proof that I am as hard-headed as you think I am), and he gave me ten stitches to close up the 8-inch gash on my scalp. I got home that afternoon, rested for a few hours and jumped in my Duster and drove to San Diego. The next day I started my new job with a huge bandage around my head and chin- nice first impression!
SHIFTING GRAINS OF SAND
Words and music by Reggie Michaud © 1980
I remember my high-school days and wonder how feeling seemed so real
I knew myself complete and filled my brain with ego painted smiles
Who am I now?
And I’m wondering where do I stand
Because my feelings are like shifting grains of sand
Day after day I rise, go to work and run the spinning wheel
Drive on the crowded freeways, pay the rent and hope to buy a meal
How should I feel?
And I’m wondering how much can I stand
Because my feelings are like shifting grains of sand
Building up to mountains, leveled by a gentle breeze
Prisoner of the elements, void of roots from healthy plants and trees
Feeling like a dune of sand, growing only to be blown away
Hopes and dreams here lately seems will only last until another day
Maybe I’m impatient now but I can feel the winds begin to blow
Are the seasons changing me or can I find a road on which to go
I just wanna know
And I’m wondering, where will I stand
Because my feelings are like shifting grains of sand
Building up to mountains, leveled by a gentle breeze
Prisoner of the elements, void of roots from healthy plants and trees
Blinded by a desert storm, will I ever learn to see the light?
Will this wounded heart of mine see the end of this eternal night?
And I’m wondering where do I stand
Because my feelings are like shifting grains of sand
1980 - At this point in my life, I could feel the winds of change beginning to blow. This was cause for excitement as well as inner turmoil and fear of the unknown. It was definitely a major crossroad and I think this song reflects everything I was feeling pretty well. God was beginning to call me out of my worldly lifestyle. Little did I know His voice was about to go from a “still small voice” to a mind crushing shout; literally! When I returned to Southern California from Maine, my leg was healed (I had removed my cast with a pair of fingernail cutters while in Texas) and I went back to work at Stauffer Chemical. The economy was in a major recession as the up side of Reaganomics had not kicked in and the down side was taking its toll. So the plant where I worked was scheduled to shut down. The plant manager, Ernie James liked my work ethic and offered to relocate me to another plant fifteen miles or so to the south. Meanwhile, my friend Mike Lessard (the brother of Paul Lessard mentioned earlier) had moved from Maine to San Diego, and I began to drive the two and a half hours down to play music and party with him and his buddies. In San Diego, there were three bachelors living together. They had a house on Boundary Street in North Park, which came to be known as the Boundary Mansion. There was a smallhouse at the back of the lot where Brett Noe, (a lobster fisherman of all things), lived with his girlfriend Kristina Krauss. As fate would have it, Kristina just happened to be hiring for a new venture her company had assigned to her. The company was M.Rosenblatt & Son, an engineering firm, and the project was for the US Navy, updating and creating technical repair manuals for the Navy fleet. She was looking for illustrators. She and Brett joined us while we were having a Saturday night jam session and was impressed with my talent as a musician. I told her I had taken drafting and was interested in being an Architect and she asked me if I had ever considered being an Illustrator. Long story short, she gave me an aptitude test which I thought I failed miserably, but she was satisfied I could learn illustration and she hired me on the spot and I was to start work a month later. Back in LA, I had taken up surfing with a co-worker from Stauffer. We would go out every Sunday morning on our ten foot logs and surf the river at Seal Beach, a slow long swell perfect for beginners. The only snag was the 20 foot hammerhead shark that was occasionally spotted cruising the area. The weekend of my planned move, I rented a U-Haul trailer and loaded all my stuff which I would haul down to San Diego with my 1975 Plymouth Duster Sunday evening, and start my new job that Monday morning.
That Sunday morning, my friend called me and said “We gotta go down to Huntington Beach! The waves are twelve to fourteen feet!” Now those of you who don’t surf, I gotta tell you that waves are measured at the back, so a twelve foot wave is somewhere around twenty four feet on the face. We got to Huntington cliffs around 7 AM and the waves were beautiful; perfectly formed and monstrous. There were some expert surfers out there getting the rides of their lives and making it look easy, so I decided I just had to get out there. I tried to get out past the break with my log for nearly an hour with no luck at all. Huntington cliffs is notorious as the most powerful surf in Southern California; the closest thing to Hawaii on the West Coast. It is because the water is so deep- as soon as you step in off the beach, you immediately plunge down to neck deep waters. Unable to get out beyond the break with my log, I decided to try out my six-foot gun and I finally succeeded. Beyond the break I remember was this mystical surreal feeling of awe. After being pounded by the breakers trying to get out there, it was now quiet and peaceful as I rested on my board, catching my breath. The waves were breaking at least a hundred yards from shore. Soon I saw a huge wall of water racing at me and watched this surfer shoot down it’s face like a rocket. “That doesn’t look too hard” I foolishly told myself. The next wall came and it was all mine! I shot down and unable to bottom turn, I pearled, getting caught up in the washing machine I was held under for a couple minutes.“Holy crap! Okay I’ll try one more!” I got back out and stood up on another monster. This time I felt like I was shooting straight down from a two story building. There was no way I would be able to bottom turn, so I dove off my board, hoping to avoid getting caught underwater again. Man was that a mistake! My leash slungshot my board straight back at me and the skeg hit me square on the top of my head, nearly knocking me unconscious. Underwater for another two minutes, I finally emerged gasping for air and dazed with a splitting pain in my head. I felt my scalp and blood was pouring out. I looked back and another wall was about to finish me off! That’s when I started to pray. My life flashed before my eyes, and all the events had seemed to conspire to bring me to this very moment. “Oh God help me! If you get me out of this, I promise I’ll turn my life aroundand serve You!” If you’ve ever been in monster surf like this, you know there’s no paddling away from one of those waves once it has you in its grip. Well that was the miracle I lived through that day. Somehow, I got ahead of that wave and the soup carried me all the way to shore. I crawled out of the water and up onto the sand and I heard a girl scream, “Oh my God, you’re bleeding!” She gave me her towel and told me to hold it on my head, and the next thing I remember I was in an ambulance heading to Huntington Beach hospital. The doctor said that I got hit so hard, he was shocked my skull didn’t crack (proof that I am as hard-headed as you think I am), and he gave me ten stitches to close up the 8-inch gash on my scalp. I got home that afternoon, rested for a few hours and jumped in my Duster and drove to San Diego. The next day I started my new job with a huge bandage around my head and chin- nice first impression!
SHIFTING GRAINS OF SAND
Words and music by Reggie Michaud © 1980
I remember my high-school days and wonder how feeling seemed so real
I knew myself complete and filled my brain with ego painted smiles
Who am I now?
And I’m wondering where do I stand
Because my feelings are like shifting grains of sand
Day after day I rise, go to work and run the spinning wheel
Drive on the crowded freeways, pay the rent and hope to buy a meal
How should I feel?
And I’m wondering how much can I stand
Because my feelings are like shifting grains of sand
Building up to mountains, leveled by a gentle breeze
Prisoner of the elements, void of roots from healthy plants and trees
Feeling like a dune of sand, growing only to be blown away
Hopes and dreams here lately seems will only last until another day
Maybe I’m impatient now but I can feel the winds begin to blow
Are the seasons changing me or can I find a road on which to go
I just wanna know
And I’m wondering, where will I stand
Because my feelings are like shifting grains of sand
Building up to mountains, leveled by a gentle breeze
Prisoner of the elements, void of roots from healthy plants and trees
Blinded by a desert storm, will I ever learn to see the light?
Will this wounded heart of mine see the end of this eternal night?
And I’m wondering where do I stand
Because my feelings are like shifting grains of sand
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