SNOW ANGEL
there are women who carry the seeds of who we should all be - we who are women... they are not often that observable: Sandy was: she was large, first off. short and very broad by birth. carried all with muscle. large hands - large heart as well. she was born brow presentation: meaning her face was pushing up into the light. instead of the top of her tiny head. made for a hard labor - but was considered a fortunate sign anyway. like she would be a leader. or a princess. something important in life. which meant special. very special... there were too many kids in her family to keep that one going for long tho. only on her Birthday every year: her mom would say: born brow first. had to use forceps: made her crazy! then everyone would laugh - even Sandy - joking was something she did very well all the time. on account of being large...
she was darkish too. like a gypsy: so when her adults were mad at her: they'd all say: you were put on the doorstep by the gypsies anyhow! they were all lighter in skin. tho not a blue eye among 'em. still it was like in many a family: the lighter ones seemed to have it easier. the darker ones got yelled at: human nature being what it is. also: being large is sometimes OK: means the family has enough food and all. sometimes not OK: not being American enough to be thinner. needing to be cuter. needing to fit-in and all... besides that: she read. reading is OK - but not too much reading: too much reading means 'dork' and 'nerd' and stuff. means you think you are more smart than everyone else. which you are. but it's bad manners to show-off: reading is showin'-off. everybody knows that. her mom was proud of it: we don't got a book in the house. just collect dust. don't have money for crap like that. that's what libraries are for. geesh: get your head out of that book and set the table! why you wastin' your time on them books- stuff like that...
hey. I'm not sayin' here that Sandy was abused or anything. just: her mom and dad didn't want to have to read. they had made it just fine not reading or even writing stuff. they didn't was to be told to do nothin' - not by anyone! They made jokes about bein' dumb and all: course, they really didn't think of themselves as dumb. they had the superiority complex thing: it was complex all right! it was all about how not being educated led to being the 'real Americans' and comments like that. they all thought of Sandy as a 'damn liberal': on account of her being a teacher and all. that's what she went to school for: to be a teacher: "waste of money" as all her dad said. whenever anyone praised him for puttin' Sandy through college... her mom would say: well at least she's got a job. she's not goin' to get a husband no how. so she might as well get a pension by teachin' in them public schools... which she did. Sandy: was good at teaching. the kids loved her...really did!
she had one guy once. he was nice. but kinda' a mama's boy. he lived at home and took care of his mom and his gramma besides. he worked in a hardware store and made good money as the night manager. running the stock-boys crazy by being all precise and clean and stuff. there was something un-manly about him. He had two sisters who were bigger than he was and who slapped him regularly if they got mad at him. so going with our Sandy was probably something psycho in him or something... Sandy didn't invite him to dinner either: she was truly afraid her parents would eat him alive. they'd never let her hear the end of it: what a wossypants he was and all. she didn't need that... but she did need a boyfriend. someone to talk about in the teacher's room: yeah, my guy would like that movie too....sure thing! it's great to have a steady guy....things like that....
Sandy was fond of Snow. she had a thing for the cold - the ocean didn't do anything for her. she liked to huff and puff up and down trails a lot tho. being large make climbing hard. but not that hard. she loved the cold cuz she didn't sweat as much in the cold. she loved the quiet of the snow away-off up on the mountain. any mountain. she climbed what she could get to in a weekend. put on her snowshoes. headed down or up some well-groomed trail. where she wouldn't get lost too easy. sometimes went with a friend or two. mostly not. the solitude was great. no one to notice how big she was. she looked like some big ol' bear on the trail. that was for sure. but no one cared. the few people up there with her weren't there to look beautiful either. it was a safe and still and somehow 'warm' place to be... and she would take pictures and show them in the teachers lounge. so the snow was good for a lot of reasons... she would write about 'snow' often. in poems and stories. many people in her life did not like her stories: she didn't use grammar the way they were used to - punctuation and all. she wrote too much about the Snow as well. even in lyrics she wrote: it was off-putting...her emotions showed in her writing too - way too much. like Snow in your face: Stung.
living her own life was important to her. her exboyfriend had been so critical. so judgemental about her. how she wasn't that 'good' a person. how she was too determined to do things her own way. how she wasn't private enough about her life. told people too much about herself all the time - tho she was known for keeping secrets well. she accepted other people 100%. which was more than she could say about many of these so-called friends: between family and friends: a lot of criticism came her way. she tried to take it all casual. but 'no soap'...just hard to do....she decided to keep writing whatever way she pleased. she decided to live through her relationships whatever way she wished. she decided to just sing about her own life with whatever songs she wanted to sing: anyone who didn't like her as she was: they could simply eat her dust. that's what she decided. it was hard to live that way day by day tho... day by day is always hard anyways. it's often hard to be original and aggressive and creative about your life every single day. Sandy was workin' on this full-time tho. this was one of her reasons for living life: to be exactly her own self as much as possible....
So: that's who Sandy is. and how she got 'there' in this world...
it was Christmas Eve: there was no snow this very year. the hills and mountains were bare. everyone ignored all that: it was just the way it could be in California. you just never knew...it was not a traditional kind of State like that. Still. no snow. no real cold. no boyfriend. no big changes - good, or bad - happenin' lately. school was out. she was on her own...the family 'dinner' was over. the usual gifts: Cd's she had never heard of - that they thought she might like...boring as hell...if she had ever been a drinker, this would have been a good time for a shot of whiskey. but, no... and no ice cream to pig-out-on. which would have filled up something. and the john had just plugged up and overflew just about everywhere....not a good time for Sandy. not at'all.....
I'd like to add here that this isn't one of those about suicide over the holidays and so on. this one is about Redemption: comin' from out of nowheres. like Santy Claus. only better....back to this story....
The sun was rising up out of the east with a Christmas Sunrise of beauty - Great Beauty. the john had unclogged...she had gotten precious little sleep. she wasn't sad. not happy neither, tho...there were friends to see that day. there was the time off from school to cozy up at home with a few books to read...all week...there was candy in her stocking...not too shabby there....but she got the drift that something was goin' to happen: Something Fine...tho nothing had just fallen out of the sky to shock her quite as yet..
Sandy decided to go up to the Snow. took along her chains for the car wheels - in case there was enough Snow.... took along a bunch of books to read next to some fireplace somewheres up in the Sierra. took along her computer to write some more short stories or poems on. took along her Heart: hopin' it would be open to anything new that might or might not happen...it was good she brought along her Heart...she had a Big Heart too - like I said way back - so there was lots of room in it for sure...
the lodge had one little attic room left open for the season...she got it and she liked it: it looked out upon the Fine Snow...she felt its cold and its glow. it filled her up. she sighed that kind of happy sigh. even the light was Snow Light. the Sierra was doing its winter magic! it was quieter than other times too: on account of the snow pack was very thin. even at altitude: hardly any snowfall this year. but still: enough to walk on with snowshoes. Sandy had her snowshoes with her. just like always: this was Good as it gets. she got outside soon as she could: into her Snow....
It was already starting to warm up a bit tho: by the end of the day a full Melt might be on - or even done...Sandy headed out to get what she could...the Trees did their sharp piney smells and riffles in the small wind...the Snow was bright and crisp yet: it did its crunches and snaps under the snowshoes...the few people on the trails were muffled voices and laughs and muddles of colors and faces: they would all smile happy Hellos as they went past her or around her...the food and drink she brought along tasted better than ever it did indoors...the Sun was a god of Light and Gentle Warm Glow on the cold of the small wind...the day was perfect: all Cold Air and White and almost-Silence - occasional flash of Bird...of of Green-wet-Moss on the north of the Trees....
it was then that Sandy saw Him. He was making a Snow Angel.
Sandy stood still: He was a very large man. maybe young. no hat on his head: which was a shock of red hair all awry. He had taken off his snowshoes: He was making a Mighty Snow Angel - a Huge Snow Angel! - in the snow just off the trail...and he was laughing out loud - quite loud - to himself: to the day. to the Snow: about Life maybe - or maybe for no reason at all....Sandy felt her breath catch: He was the Most Beautiful of the Beauty of this day: He made her want to sing! so she began to sing!...
what came out of her mouth was "Here comes Suzy Snowflake"...sorry about that: but that song just came out: nothing romantic about it at all! no stars or sun fell from the sky! no rush of fall-in-love music to kiss by! no movie scene edited to glory and back! just that kid's song from way back-in-the-day. it would have made anyone laugh: and so it did! He stared at her for a second: and then He laughed! and by all that is holy: He laughed just like some department store Santy Clause! it was a Ho Ho Ho Laugh for sure - for sure...He sat up and started to sink more into the soft snow of the warming day: and He Laughed Ho Ho Ho! Sandy lost balance: that's how hard she was chortling! she felt her large self falling - and then rolling over - into the snow: straight down the trail into his boots: over which she tripped. and fell finally to rest: face-first into her Precious Snow....
Of course: He helped her up. they laughed more. told each other their Dear Names. told each other - in flashes of eyes and words: their Names from before they were born....
They took off like a blizzard: both Teachers of Little Kids. Both Unmarried. Both Large and Funny People. Both Writers. Both Singers. Both around the Right Age. Both Un-attached. except to Snow: Both attached: to Snow. to Reading. To 'trying some Writing'. to Singing...to Wanting to Love and to be Loved...
O how I wish I could tell you all about how Perfect it was for ever and ever! of course: Life is not so easy to pin down that way - especially during Snow Melt Times: times when the kids get the flu. times when neither of them wants to take out the trash.... you all know how it is...
but then: if you are Romantic... if you thought for years that you were too Large. too Book-wormish. too much of a Snow Freak: well then you know All About the Rest of this story: how to grab for all the Good Life you can get. how to never give up on just Being Your Very Own Self - no matter who or what...how to Sing and Write about Life and about Love as if you knew something about these Human Illusions and Delusions!...
Most Importantly - of course - You know just how to make Snow Angels...and you teach your Kids how to make Snow Angels Dance - because Snow Angels do Dance: they are the Gifts of your Spirits and your Bodies to the Snow: Impressions of that Life and that Love and that Laughter: Images of Unimaginable Hope.
Sandy and her Snow Angel appear to be very much Ordinary People - Every Day Folks...
But when they are making Snow Angels: They are the Best of All Possible People - and you are Honored if you get a glimpse of them laughing and playing just off the trail...you pass them by with a smile...
and then-perhaps...you slough off your snowshoes. you fall over backward into the soft and forgiving Snow...
you Give Your Self - You Laugh and you Cry Your Self...
into your Very Own Snow Angel....
12/28/11
SNOW ANGEL is a simple short-story that carries through on my Delight and Wonder about Snow Angels and Snow Angel-Making that I've enjoyed since I was a little person, whenever I'm in Snow...it begins as a long too-do about an Ordinary Woman and how she has evolved in Life, to the Point of Redemption - which we all can experience - if we wish to feel an event in our lives is such a 'Point'...her name is Sandy...she has made many, many Snow Angels in her Lifetime...and she has not made them alone....
12/26/11
WINTER OF NO SNOW ANGELS is Lyrics about this very 2011 winter we are having right now!...I'm hoping it snows soon! Just knowing that it's winter means there should be a bit of a smell of snow on the wing, from the east....bless the soul of the singer who finds the song for these Snow Angels to sing!....
WINTER OF NO SNOW ANGELS
This is one winter
When there is no snow -
Not in the Sierra
Where flat-landers go:
To make our snow angels
And snowmen - and ski -
Snowboard - and sled happy
As children can be...
_______________________
CHORUS
Sing on my Snow Angel!
I made you to show how
I want to be free on the wing
In the snow!
________________________
I ran into children
Who wanted - for real - to see
How a snowflake can taste -
And can feel - all cold on each
Tongue - all sweet on each face...
Or to make the Snow Angels all
Dancing with grace...in this
Wonderfully gracefully dear white snow place....
CHORUS
We all make Snow Angels
And sometimes we cry: for childhoods
All broken and lost in dark skies
That we hope will bring snow and Moon
Shine on ice - the flash of skate blades -
Oh, it sure would be nice to dance with
Snow Angels again in the snow!...
But it hasn't snowed yet this winter, you know....
This is one winter
When there is no snow -
Not in the Sierra
Where flat-landers go:
To make our snow angels
And snowmen - and ski -
Snowboard - and sled happy
As children can be...
_______________________
CHORUS
Sing on my Snow Angel!
I made you to show how
I want to be free on the wing
In the snow!
________________________
I ran into children
Who wanted - for real - to see
How a snowflake can taste -
And can feel - all cold on each
Tongue - all sweet on each face...
Or to make the Snow Angels all
Dancing with grace...in this
Wonderfully gracefully dear white snow place....
CHORUS
We all make Snow Angels
And sometimes we cry: for childhoods
All broken and lost in dark skies
That we hope will bring snow and Moon
Shine on ice - the flash of skate blades -
Oh, it sure would be nice to dance with
Snow Angels again in the snow!...
But it hasn't snowed yet this winter, you know....
12/24/11
This is my Christmas Season Story...it's a cryin' shame all right....! Merry Merry!...........
IT'S A CRYIN' SHAME
so, here is how this story goes: this workin'-poor carpenter man, non-union, of course, travels with his way-pregnant wife, (lady half his age, I might add) - on a donkey - a Donkey! - couldn't he even get her into a cart, her bein' 'due' and all? Well, he didn't make reservations, so of course they get to sleep with the animals in some little old barn,cuz no one will let them in, tho that lady's belly is huge! His wife births the baby all by herself, cuz I guess no one who hears her in labor gets up to help her. She wraps him in some bitty blankets she brought along, and then has to lay him in the manger where they put the animal feed. I suspect the innkeeper doesn't want to get involved, cuz he doesn't even show up to feed the animals, or he'd see for himself there's a new little kid in the straw!..then some shepherds who believe they heard angels singin' in the night - now what was that about? - come to visit this cold, hungry family, and there's no record they brought a thing to help either. That Kings or Wise Men business that be added add on didn't happened until later in their home town, so that was of no help at the time...no record of any of the ladies in town takin' up a collection for the new baby, or of any innkeeper or just anybody givin' somewheres better to stay. I mean, it was cold out there, and they just had animal breath and so on, to keep a bit warm at all!
Well, there's just no allowin' for some folks...they've just got no sense and all. And if that kid's dad just worked harder, he'd have more money and he wouldn't have got his family in such a fix! I tell you, it's enough to make a good, hard-workin' citizen just scream! Next thing you know, they'll want some handout from the government. Or, we'll have to bring them food and some charity box or somethin'...it's a cryin' shame...just a cryin shame!... I mean: just who do these folks think they are?.....
so, here is how this story goes: this workin'-poor carpenter man, non-union, of course, travels with his way-pregnant wife, (lady half his age, I might add) - on a donkey - a Donkey! - couldn't he even get her into a cart, her bein' 'due' and all? Well, he didn't make reservations, so of course they get to sleep with the animals in some little old barn,cuz no one will let them in, tho that lady's belly is huge! His wife births the baby all by herself, cuz I guess no one who hears her in labor gets up to help her. She wraps him in some bitty blankets she brought along, and then has to lay him in the manger where they put the animal feed. I suspect the innkeeper doesn't want to get involved, cuz he doesn't even show up to feed the animals, or he'd see for himself there's a new little kid in the straw!..then some shepherds who believe they heard angels singin' in the night - now what was that about? - come to visit this cold, hungry family, and there's no record they brought a thing to help either. That Kings or Wise Men business that be added add on didn't happened until later in their home town, so that was of no help at the time...no record of any of the ladies in town takin' up a collection for the new baby, or of any innkeeper or just anybody givin' somewheres better to stay. I mean, it was cold out there, and they just had animal breath and so on, to keep a bit warm at all!
Well, there's just no allowin' for some folks...they've just got no sense and all. And if that kid's dad just worked harder, he'd have more money and he wouldn't have got his family in such a fix! I tell you, it's enough to make a good, hard-workin' citizen just scream! Next thing you know, they'll want some handout from the government. Or, we'll have to bring them food and some charity box or somethin'...it's a cryin' shame...just a cryin shame!... I mean: just who do these folks think they are?.....
12/23/11
CANDLE LIGHTING is my Poem for Chanukka for this year....hope it is another voice for Peace in this World - It is halfway through this Jewish Holiday that so honors Survival and Courage of a People in times of Great Need...and the Grace that lights the way - as it did in the temple for eight nights - for all People of Good Intent and Action...may this Grace of Spirit and Light guide us through all our many problems together, as one Human Race....
CANDLE LIGHTING
In the middle of lighting the Candles
The glow overpowered her fading eyes
She saw stars - he saw surprise
All in her face
In Candle Glow
I love you dear, he said...
I know...I just saw Stars, she said -
I can't explain...a certain being
That I've never felt before...
I know, he said: and lit all Four....
In the middle of lighting the Candles
The glow overpowered her fading eyes
She saw stars - he saw surprise
All in her face
In Candle Glow
I love you dear, he said...
I know...I just saw Stars, she said -
I can't explain...a certain being
That I've never felt before...
I know, he said: and lit all Four....
12/14/11
SONG OF LOVE AND AGE AND GLORY is an older lady's Song Poem about what it's been to love people all of her (well, MY...) life....it's an old lady song, alright. no defense for it. it just is...sigh....
SONG OF LOVE AND AGE AND GLORY
CHORUS
Song of Love and Age and Glory
Blessed Song of Age and Fun
Loved by Some and Loving Many
Loving Much and Loving On
________________
Gave them all what I could give -
Gave each one all of my life:
Happiness and care, comforting:
Daughter, Mother, Lover, Wife....
Sing this song of instant changes -
Well, at least it looked that way:
Patience for the changes needed -
Never came - not once - no way...
_________________
CHORUS
__________________
Marked for life a reinvented
Women each ten years or so...
Each mating a change of life:
A dancer singin' as I go...
And all the Songs I used to sing
Were about love: creations light...
About sparkeling with giving...
Always tryin' to live right....
___________________
CHORUS
____________________
Now I live for just the livin' -
Give for givin': hold real strong:
To the idea of my self that I have known
My whole life long....
Know my age and know the mercy
Every single breath can bring:
Just for lovin' those I have now
In my heart: makes my heart sing....
___________________
CHORUS
____________________
CHORUS
Song of Love and Age and Glory
Blessed Song of Age and Fun
Loved by Some and Loving Many
Loving Much and Loving On
________________
Gave them all what I could give -
Gave each one all of my life:
Happiness and care, comforting:
Daughter, Mother, Lover, Wife....
Sing this song of instant changes -
Well, at least it looked that way:
Patience for the changes needed -
Never came - not once - no way...
_________________
CHORUS
__________________
Marked for life a reinvented
Women each ten years or so...
Each mating a change of life:
A dancer singin' as I go...
And all the Songs I used to sing
Were about love: creations light...
About sparkeling with giving...
Always tryin' to live right....
___________________
CHORUS
____________________
Now I live for just the livin' -
Give for givin': hold real strong:
To the idea of my self that I have known
My whole life long....
Know my age and know the mercy
Every single breath can bring:
Just for lovin' those I have now
In my heart: makes my heart sing....
___________________
CHORUS
____________________
12/11/11
THE ONLY HOUSE is a gentle Poem to honor my 'oldest friend' Barbara Burn's House and Home...where I have always been 'at home' and where I know where every single thing I need really is even tho most folks wouldn't be able to find their way about at all. but you know: I have been through the Looking Glass more than once. so this House is easily Home...for me and every body else who is quarter-past-silly a great deal of the time....
THE ONLY HOUSE
the only house
I've ever loved
has always been
these little houses
in the corny midwest
where Barbara Ann
aka BB of the Moment
Museum of stuff galore
lives and breathes
the little house
is stuff to the very gills
with treasures that a
child could love
and does when he comes
to visit and have a spot
of tea or when she wants
with all her little heart
to hold the hundred bears
close to her frilly little chest
all the corners are tiny wonder
worlds of magical creatures
cavorting about in scenes of
far away times when dear
childhood was one way to the
lands of imagine-nations
where things are definitely
much more cozy than they
ever are in adult mature land
where colorful is really wild
and wild creatures will never
harm you and poetry is the lingo
of the hour and there is just the
right amount of maple syrup
to be sweet and yet o wonder
still good for you
bet you think this is all hooey and
no such house exists but it does
and the icebox is full of holy things
that are like communion they are
so deliciously good for you only
don't tell anybody
and if you can't find what you need
in the house then you aren't being
with it and loving it because it will
open every door of every cupboard
for you if you let it sing by itself
this house does sing for you
every one of her houses sings
for you songs of love and warmth
of heart and good thinkin and good
lovin and learnin and livin yes
that is how it is when all the walls
are stuffed with books and pillows
and the cats own the joint just ask em
they have no respect but they do purr
when they get their way which is almost
all the time this is a cat house for sure
the sign of the paw is on the door
and plantings and flowers abound around
every season and seasonings fly about
in the kitchen where hodge podge is the
order of the day and the basement is
a wonderment of findings as is every
drawer where nothing is expected and yet
you may always expect wonder and get it
these are BB's houses all wrapped up
in one house and all improbable in a very
possible world that will welcome you in
to see the exhibits daily if you bring your
hoe and weed a spell in the back forty
or perhaps have a little something and
a small crock of honey along with you
being a guest in a place you belong
because it is kind and good in a mean and
sometimes unhappy planet where things be
dark and cold but here is light and sweet
in a sassy way and you are home
with BB and you are home and you are
home yes you are you are
home
the only house
I've ever loved
has always been
these little houses
in the corny midwest
where Barbara Ann
aka BB of the Moment
Museum of stuff galore
lives and breathes
the little house
is stuff to the very gills
with treasures that a
child could love
and does when he comes
to visit and have a spot
of tea or when she wants
with all her little heart
to hold the hundred bears
close to her frilly little chest
all the corners are tiny wonder
worlds of magical creatures
cavorting about in scenes of
far away times when dear
childhood was one way to the
lands of imagine-nations
where things are definitely
much more cozy than they
ever are in adult mature land
where colorful is really wild
and wild creatures will never
harm you and poetry is the lingo
of the hour and there is just the
right amount of maple syrup
to be sweet and yet o wonder
still good for you
bet you think this is all hooey and
no such house exists but it does
and the icebox is full of holy things
that are like communion they are
so deliciously good for you only
don't tell anybody
and if you can't find what you need
in the house then you aren't being
with it and loving it because it will
open every door of every cupboard
for you if you let it sing by itself
this house does sing for you
every one of her houses sings
for you songs of love and warmth
of heart and good thinkin and good
lovin and learnin and livin yes
that is how it is when all the walls
are stuffed with books and pillows
and the cats own the joint just ask em
they have no respect but they do purr
when they get their way which is almost
all the time this is a cat house for sure
the sign of the paw is on the door
and plantings and flowers abound around
every season and seasonings fly about
in the kitchen where hodge podge is the
order of the day and the basement is
a wonderment of findings as is every
drawer where nothing is expected and yet
you may always expect wonder and get it
these are BB's houses all wrapped up
in one house and all improbable in a very
possible world that will welcome you in
to see the exhibits daily if you bring your
hoe and weed a spell in the back forty
or perhaps have a little something and
a small crock of honey along with you
being a guest in a place you belong
because it is kind and good in a mean and
sometimes unhappy planet where things be
dark and cold but here is light and sweet
in a sassy way and you are home
with BB and you are home and you are
home yes you are you are
home
POEM FOR ALICE is an honor-poem for Alice Liddle who was the original Alice in Wonderland...and my three sisters and I are all related to her by good blood on my Southern Grandmother's side, Alice Everitt...who also looked just like the Alice in the illustrations AND my sister Bess has her 'looks' quite a bit as well, only Bess is lovely also...this Poem is for Alice when she is NOT at her very best....
POEM FOR ALICE
For all the times
you fell through
the looking glass
and the shards
actually cut you
I give you
this Poem
For all the Mad, Mad
Teaparties
where everybody
lied to you and o
only you
didn't know
I give you
this Poem
Because your fore
head is way
too high and
your mouth
turns down
I give you
this Poem
Since this is your
off with her head
moment
and you aren't
going to make it
cuz the king of hearts
has split
I give you
this Poem
you want more
too bad you never
learned to make
up the rules
as you go
one side makes you
larger
the other
makes you
small
I give you
this
Poem
For all the times
you fell through
the looking glass
and the shards
actually cut you
I give you
this Poem
For all the Mad, Mad
Teaparties
where everybody
lied to you and o
only you
didn't know
I give you
this Poem
Because your fore
head is way
too high and
your mouth
turns down
I give you
this Poem
Since this is your
off with her head
moment
and you aren't
going to make it
cuz the king of hearts
has split
I give you
this Poem
you want more
too bad you never
learned to make
up the rules
as you go
one side makes you
larger
the other
makes you
small
I give you
this
Poem
LOST DREAMS is the dark side of my moon...all strung out in a Poem...I live here sometimes, being that intense places are worth their weight in salt....
LOST DREAMS
Lost Dreams
drive me wild
snorting and willowing
on the winds
my hair twisting
mad-woman hair
bound to the head
of the earth
wanting to be lifted
by the sea
by sea winds
into new places
never been to
ever
wilder
standing on the brink
of nothing that can be
felt real
wanting to belong
and not belong
both at the same time
wanting you to stay
wanting to run
no. gallop
which would mean
away
not wanting away
wanting close very
close closer
too much
wanting
people tell me
they are
satisfied
my god
what does that mean
I've never known
such a thing
as that feeling
never have been
content
not ever
it's peace they're
lookin' for
well they came
to the wrong place
no peace here
endless storm
the thunder crack
broke my ears
the lightening
bruised my sight
and I've not touched
fire
not even with you
but I've come close
yes I have
in the thin ice blue
of your eyes
which hold me
down
and make me
fly
restless
rest
less
Lost Dreams
end in me
never played
again
notes gone
not one song
left
to sing
Lost Dreams
drive me wild
snorting and willowing
on the winds
my hair twisting
mad-woman hair
bound to the head
of the earth
wanting to be lifted
by the sea
by sea winds
into new places
never been to
ever
wilder
standing on the brink
of nothing that can be
felt real
wanting to belong
and not belong
both at the same time
wanting you to stay
wanting to run
no. gallop
which would mean
away
not wanting away
wanting close very
close closer
too much
wanting
people tell me
they are
satisfied
my god
what does that mean
I've never known
such a thing
as that feeling
never have been
content
not ever
it's peace they're
lookin' for
well they came
to the wrong place
no peace here
endless storm
the thunder crack
broke my ears
the lightening
bruised my sight
and I've not touched
fire
not even with you
but I've come close
yes I have
in the thin ice blue
of your eyes
which hold me
down
and make me
fly
restless
rest
less
Lost Dreams
end in me
never played
again
notes gone
not one song
left
to sing
OLD LOVE LOVE SONG is, of course, a Poem about two old people talkin' together about Love...and that is all this Poem is....
OLD LOVE LOVE SONG
every story of
love
always sucha
crap shoot
baby
roll em
take your
chances
leap of faith
hope
our lady of
charity
when you give
hearts
away
what you get back
is
used
you know that
take my hand
we're old now
they can't hurt us
any
more
every story of
love
always sucha
crap shoot
baby
roll em
take your
chances
leap of faith
hope
our lady of
charity
when you give
hearts
away
what you get back
is
used
you know that
take my hand
we're old now
they can't hurt us
any
more
12/10/11
MISSISSIPPI WAY is my projection about what it will feel like to go down the Mississippi next Summer through late Fall with Den McCue...it's al in planning and saving and wondering and dreaming so far...but it will be Our Song, anon!....l
MISSISSIPPI WAY
I am on the
water course way
laying still like
ms Ophelia
on her lily pads
only not dead
letting the river
carry her down
where the water
never crosses twice
not resisting
not helping neither
not going anywhere
twice just like
river courses
I am going
down river with
a water man
who cries more
than any other
man I've ever
been with
we are paddling
and being tired and
hot and even tempered
summer day river
bends and bends
I've learned to bend
like any river way
around life and love
around every snag
an expert fish
eyes wide open
to the truth
under the current
in the shade and deep
waiting for the dry fly
that I will snap
that will take me home
there are brilliant
water course ways
lives like symphonies
of rivers crashing
into willing and
wild seas
I am only one
little river going
down and down
I will meet another
we will go into the
big muddy into
the swollen delta
into the dark gulf
into the sea
I turn and sigh
and kiss the river
the river man
and the paddle
the canoe the
banjo the guitar
the songs we sing
on this river
this water course way
this river
this river
I am on the
water course way
laying still like
ms Ophelia
on her lily pads
only not dead
letting the river
carry her down
where the water
never crosses twice
not resisting
not helping neither
not going anywhere
twice just like
river courses
I am going
down river with
a water man
who cries more
than any other
man I've ever
been with
we are paddling
and being tired and
hot and even tempered
summer day river
bends and bends
I've learned to bend
like any river way
around life and love
around every snag
an expert fish
eyes wide open
to the truth
under the current
in the shade and deep
waiting for the dry fly
that I will snap
that will take me home
there are brilliant
water course ways
lives like symphonies
of rivers crashing
into willing and
wild seas
I am only one
little river going
down and down
I will meet another
we will go into the
big muddy into
the swollen delta
into the dark gulf
into the sea
I turn and sigh
and kiss the river
the river man
and the paddle
the canoe the
banjo the guitar
the songs we sing
on this river
this water course way
this river
this river
THE BEEKEEPER'S PICNIC is a Poem about my reflections about the arts and crafts of being a Beekeeper...which I was for about eight years, in Oakland, California...with my one hive perched above a Stream on Trestle Glen Road...I still hold a fond place in my heart for Bees and their Lives, which are Wonderful Lives...too bad I'm very allergic to them now...I can only love them from afar...sigh....
THE BEEKEEPER'S PICNIC
the beekeepers are
having a picnic
every other food
and drink besides
is loaded with honey
citrus honey and
eucalyptus honey and
orange honey and
wildflower honey
and even
grape-vine honey
apple honey
almond honey
you name it
you taste it
you tell them
all about how
you used to keep
bees as if any one
could actually
'keep' bees and how
you got stung so bad
you almost died
and couldn't breathe
but how you wish you
could still 'do' the bees
while the little ladies
in the meantime
are flyin and buzzin all
about and the drones
at the front door are
checking out the chances
that they'll be allowed
to stay and the smell
of honey in the sun
of beeswax in the soft heat
of this autumn day
those smells are enough
they are enough
and I am right back
peering into their golden brown
buzzery world where I would
not survive one second
and they are going to winter
over yes they are
to see another spring to
send out the women to haul
in the nectar feed the kiddies
build the house and hive
with their own legs and wings
and will still I have learned
so much from bees I can't
begin to know how to
tell you and then
one bee pauses mid-flight
circles me twice and
moves on and I am left
with honey and soul and hive
and heart and in the sunlight
bees
more bees
and
bees
the beekeepers are
having a picnic
every other food
and drink besides
is loaded with honey
citrus honey and
eucalyptus honey and
orange honey and
wildflower honey
and even
grape-vine honey
apple honey
almond honey
you name it
you taste it
you tell them
all about how
you used to keep
bees as if any one
could actually
'keep' bees and how
you got stung so bad
you almost died
and couldn't breathe
but how you wish you
could still 'do' the bees
while the little ladies
in the meantime
are flyin and buzzin all
about and the drones
at the front door are
checking out the chances
that they'll be allowed
to stay and the smell
of honey in the sun
of beeswax in the soft heat
of this autumn day
those smells are enough
they are enough
and I am right back
peering into their golden brown
buzzery world where I would
not survive one second
and they are going to winter
over yes they are
to see another spring to
send out the women to haul
in the nectar feed the kiddies
build the house and hive
with their own legs and wings
and will still I have learned
so much from bees I can't
begin to know how to
tell you and then
one bee pauses mid-flight
circles me twice and
moves on and I am left
with honey and soul and hive
and heart and in the sunlight
bees
more bees
and
bees
FALLING STARS is a Poem, not a song at all...about what it's like to be in a canoe at night in a lake with stars reflecting and bouncing around in their 'falling'...when the folks in the canoe are in love...and that's its whole dear story!....
FALLING STARS
we were watching the falling stars
in the lake because it was so still
you could hear them hiss
through the sky and land all
burnt out in the peace of quiet water
the canoe made no sound at all
the paddles little more
the canvas was like silk the wood
a muffled drum against the pales
of coming dawn
you rested chin on hand
held the paddle still body still
one falling star landed so close
in this reflection it seemed very
real very hot
these stars are parts of you and me
of people who love as we do
poor in things rich in stars
winding through waters that
part for us kindly
the falling stars belong to
no man no woman
belong to space and time
so long ago we never knew
its real name
count on each of them
for light and ashes heaps
of flame going out burning
heralds of no god birth
human either
there is no pocket to put
a falling star in it's going to
fade it's destiny is fade
it's brightness only you and
I will see tonight
and a million billion suns
are laughing at us dreamers
on the quiet waters of a small
planet intent on circling
this small lake
into this trail
of falling stars
we were watching the falling stars
in the lake because it was so still
you could hear them hiss
through the sky and land all
burnt out in the peace of quiet water
the canoe made no sound at all
the paddles little more
the canvas was like silk the wood
a muffled drum against the pales
of coming dawn
you rested chin on hand
held the paddle still body still
one falling star landed so close
in this reflection it seemed very
real very hot
these stars are parts of you and me
of people who love as we do
poor in things rich in stars
winding through waters that
part for us kindly
the falling stars belong to
no man no woman
belong to space and time
so long ago we never knew
its real name
count on each of them
for light and ashes heaps
of flame going out burning
heralds of no god birth
human either
there is no pocket to put
a falling star in it's going to
fade it's destiny is fade
it's brightness only you and
I will see tonight
and a million billion suns
are laughing at us dreamers
on the quiet waters of a small
planet intent on circling
this small lake
into this trail
of falling stars
SOMETIMES LIVIN'S is the first of a Series of Poems I'm going to start to publish on this Blog: It's not the most cheerful, but it does have some Hope within it: it's about hard physical and emotional times that I am going through that others who are older may experience...or even you younger folks in my life...Hope is truly there...can you hear it's delicate song?....
SOMETIMES LIVIN'S
CHORUS
Sometimes' Livin's much like Dyin'
Loss being endless: night and day...
All these lights are shinin' round me
Show the way - o! show the way!
_______________
O the sorrows, pains and glories
Of surviving hard and grim:
Livin' with love - livin' without:
Wantin' Love to thrive and win...
When you live a little longer:
Loss comes like rain - no, more like snow:
Every crystal of it different
Than the other: each to show
That there's beauty in each sorrow
That it's human: all this pain:
There is glory in prevailing:
There is Peace: no wrong: no shame....
Being older is a glory
Hidden in a darker place:
Where you see the past and present:
But the future has no face....
_______________
CHORUS
_______________
Wish I had that tiny Island
We all dream of in the sea...
Wish I could just lay my head down
Only peaceful sands and me...
And everywhere I would be quiet
Only waves would speak to me:
It would be a sweet wild heaven:
I'd be glad to just be free....
As it is I'm here on this earth
With the memory of light:
Hoping all this shining Wonder
Will end the miseries of night....
_______________
CHORUS
_______________
CHORUS
Sometimes' Livin's much like Dyin'
Loss being endless: night and day...
All these lights are shinin' round me
Show the way - o! show the way!
_______________
O the sorrows, pains and glories
Of surviving hard and grim:
Livin' with love - livin' without:
Wantin' Love to thrive and win...
When you live a little longer:
Loss comes like rain - no, more like snow:
Every crystal of it different
Than the other: each to show
That there's beauty in each sorrow
That it's human: all this pain:
There is glory in prevailing:
There is Peace: no wrong: no shame....
Being older is a glory
Hidden in a darker place:
Where you see the past and present:
But the future has no face....
_______________
CHORUS
_______________
Wish I had that tiny Island
We all dream of in the sea...
Wish I could just lay my head down
Only peaceful sands and me...
And everywhere I would be quiet
Only waves would speak to me:
It would be a sweet wild heaven:
I'd be glad to just be free....
As it is I'm here on this earth
With the memory of light:
Hoping all this shining Wonder
Will end the miseries of night....
_______________
CHORUS
_______________
12/7/11
O LITTLE PERSON WONDER CHILD is another Protest sort-of Christmas Carol...not totally uplifting, I must admit...but still, from the heart....as we overpopulate our small and wonderful Blue/Green/Brown Planet...I think a great deal about the babies...cryin' their first minutes into this world: deservin' this world and us...we needin' to do right by them, since they're here...so, this is my Song for them and their Folks...bless their Great Needs with Great Gifts of Life in some abundance: Help them to get Enough for themselves and their Families...in honorable and humane ways....
O LITTLE PERSON WONDER CHILD
CHORUS
O Little Person Wonder Child
Holdin' to your tiny hand
Brings tears to your people's eyes
Brings hope All can understand
______________
Everywhere there's babies bornin'
Into stalls and swaddled tight
Against hate and hunger - anger -
'Gainst each dark and war-filled night...
Everywhere there's angels singin'
About Hope and Love and such:
Everywhere the Mamas cryin'
Beggin' for their kids so much
That the halls of heaven are opened
And poor shepherds on the hill
Look up at the rouge star wonderin'
How they're supposed to do God's will
When they have no food, poor water -
Not even a hand of earth -
Expected still to live and die there
For the sad lands of their birth...
So sing your alleluias softly
Every babe's a queen, a king:
On this Christmas Night remember:
When you give: Give everything....
_____________
CHORUS
______________
CHORUS
O Little Person Wonder Child
Holdin' to your tiny hand
Brings tears to your people's eyes
Brings hope All can understand
______________
Everywhere there's babies bornin'
Into stalls and swaddled tight
Against hate and hunger - anger -
'Gainst each dark and war-filled night...
Everywhere there's angels singin'
About Hope and Love and such:
Everywhere the Mamas cryin'
Beggin' for their kids so much
That the halls of heaven are opened
And poor shepherds on the hill
Look up at the rouge star wonderin'
How they're supposed to do God's will
When they have no food, poor water -
Not even a hand of earth -
Expected still to live and die there
For the sad lands of their birth...
So sing your alleluias softly
Every babe's a queen, a king:
On this Christmas Night remember:
When you give: Give everything....
_____________
CHORUS
______________
12/6/11
UNITY AND SOME REAL LOVE STORY is a Short Story based on experiences that really happend in my life for about ten years...that ended, also, about a decade ago...there are real stories out there that sound like fiction...and fiction that reads quite true....this is a story around a campfire that once burned bright...then died in the reality of the morning light....maybe it was only a dream, after all....
UNITY AND SOME REAL LOVE STORY
First off, this is no I-Wanna--Be-An-Indian love story about white folks gettin all involved with red brothers. no way. I, for one, wasn't expectin' to be ridin' off into no sunset with a Res guy any time soon. First off, I'm too skinny. there's no meat on me. only the Irish punks seem to go for my type. and they beat women sometimes. not sayin' all of them... Second off, I'm white as snow, like Snow Fringles White. can't take the sun. the Res people and I both are called Red. me, red hair. sunburnt skin most of the year. glasses. small. wiry. thin. bad teeth. poor. very white. White Trash, I'm sayin'. Dad drunk. Mom drunker. just sayin'... Also. I am a story teller. but you know, love stories... I am bad at those. just don't get love stories. not very real, usually. in my thinkin'.
So, this is no movie love story. but, just maybe, it's a love story of the real kind. and about more than it looks from the outside, where you live, in Cali-I-For-Ni-A... what do you know about small town Arizona? - what you know about the Res, for sure - could be put in a match book: lots of little flames. but all go up in fire and smoke all at once. then, piff. gone.
Jesse and me had been friends since in kindergarden, where we didn't know nothin' about not playin' with people who'er different than you are. we both thought that just applied to home. to our hood, as you hiphoppers would be sayin' it.. due to, of course, the teacher was all with how we were Rainbow Children, all colors and religions and what-not. all together in 'unity' and so on. even in the face of all evidence outside her door to the contrary. she was the sort of teacher who believed her own self. and passed it on as somethin' fine to do... which was plain trouble at home. where my mama made it clear that no Injun Child was comin' over for snacks after school. not in this lifetime. not in this house. Dad just sayin' he don't want no half-breed grandbabies. like we five year old brats were goin' to be breedin' any time soon...leads to it, he said. later. and not much later, girl. don't you know it.
See, friendships of this sort were sneaky secret from the get-go. Except the teacher knew. she encouraged such things. and thought she was being way liberal and stuff. we were cute. very cute. of course, later we wouldn't be so cute. but in her grade, it was OK. Just sayin'....
Jesse and me started up just being story tellers. which were called lies by the grown-ups. but really, they were great stories. unbeknownst to us, we were beginnin' our writin' careers of some future that wasn't goin' to happen. but did happen at bit. against all odds, I'd say. neither of us was bright. not sayin' we were stupid. just not brilliant. fooled around with story tellin': too much...all day...all evenin'. Mom got told all the time that I had a bad attitude, on account of I didn't pay attention at all in class. too busy plannin' the next story, which I was totally obsessed with. and the shrink I go to sometimes when the blues get too bad says I got my compulsions from those obsessions. makes sense. and I gotta say...I don't really have no problem with that at all. all my hang-ups probably made me a better story teller, I figure.
See, Jesse was marked, naturally, by his grandpa, who was a Medicine dude, and was way respected on the Res for all sorts of goin'-ons he did day and night. which sometimes Jesse could tell me about. sometimes not. due to my being white and all... Jesse was marked. so him tellin' stories constantly was no big problem on the Res... me tellin' stories was unnatural, I guess. 'cause I got slapped upside quite a bit for day dreamin' and not paying attention at all. which was true. I admit it. but I sure couldn't stop it. stories just were flyin' in me mornin' and night even. can't stop what's goin' on in your head automatic-like, seems to me. poor folk like my parents get very ashamed of that kind of 'crap' as they say, though. since they have enough trouble looking respectable ever without addin' in a nitwit daydreamin' fool like me. all together, we were not respectable one whit, so can't see how it would matter what a runt kid like me was doin'....but I can tell you it did. and I was punished for my stories. since they were nothin' but trouble. so, I just took 'em to the Res - where no one gave a flea's ass if you told stories or no. I told my stories there - no problem. Jesse told his right back. it was good.
Lee came into our lives like nothin' anybody I ever had seen before. not ever. all my pals on the Res - meanin' Jesse and his brother and his uncle, being my only friends period in this world - said the same: for a white woman, she was plain unnatural. which I knew a lot about... she came in talking a blue streak. like all white people on the Res. on account of being nervous in such a place...first off. it's not got many roads that lead anywhere on any map. second off, no one ever gives a white person directions that make any sense. I know this for a fact. third off, no white person really has any business being deep into the Res. the only reason I was ever there was Jesse wanted me there. on account of how we were really only cozy in each other's company. period. so his bro and his uncle put up with me. Jesse got his way, on account of being marked and all...
so, how did she get in so far? turns out the Weavin' Women knew her. she sold rugs for them. the tradin' post gave them not even half of what the store got. but Lee sold their rugs and only took ten percent for gas and food and gettin' the space to sell and stuff. she didn't even own a car worth shit, for example. so she was hardly rippin' off the Women. The Elders were for her too. she joked with them... but she got bossy around white police or even around the Res police. about defendin' an Elder who was mindin' his or her own beeswax on their own land... these old folks didn't want to leave their land. the government was gonna 'relocate' them, on account of a deal made to get the Hopi back some of the land the Navajo had stole like hundreds of years ago. the government is stranger than fiction when they want after somethin'...in this case...the coal laying right under our feet....
Anyway, that's how she was gettin' on the good side of everybody....mostly though, she was just gettin' herself into trouble, far as I could see...plus she had a writin' lady with her, who was writin' a whole book about everybody in sight on the Res who Lee was helpin' and workin' with and all....it didn't take Lee long to get me all involved, being as how there wern't many white ladies hanging around this deep inside the Res. and, being friends with Jesse and all.
I could use the excitement. she could use some other white person who wasn't a Wanna Be or a Groupie or something. that was me. I had grown up with only Dine' kids to play with. their moms had watched over me, on account of Mom and Dad drinkin' days sometimes. so I was natural around the Res.
I got to say I respected Lee. but she was a pistol. she could lose her temper if you weren't like workin' very hard for her Weavers, or givin' her all your time. I wasn't much into being her Groupie either, so I wasn't always available to help out... she especially was a task-driver at the Sun Dances, which were supposed to be very secret. she got donations for the mutton and the vegetables and flour and so on...then she worked me in the kitchen day and night cooking up stews in the heat of the day and far into the next day. and cleanin' up and haulin' water and so on. can't say I saw much of the rituals. anyway, they're secret. two white women slavin' away over the cook stoves: felt strange. but she could make all that OK to do somehow. I respected her, for sure.
I got two of the stories her "Book"-lady wrote. you can see them if you want. they're OK. the "Book"-lady was kinda freaked about being out on the Res. I got that, OK. Don't blame her. there's nothin' to hang your directionals on out here. you got to know the territory by heart, as I say. It's not easy to make it out here food-wise and water-wise anyways. you got to pack in your own. just even for a day trip - to see a friend or whatever. Jesse and his uncle really depend on me to get my own groceries in and to cook too. I don't mind. being a story teller and all. I'd give more than that for a story from either of those guys. I keep them all in my memory. that's what we all do.
The "Book"-lady said she'd like my stories. but she really wanted Jesse's - that way she could get to his uncle's. I told her that would be a long, hard, and dusty road to take. cuz they don't give out stories to just any body. not even to me. and I've been sort-of in their family for my whole life, practically. she seemed way disappointed about that. she had lots of patience, I can see that. but patience isn't enough. belongin' here isn't about waitin'. it's about somethin' else that has no name. least ways, no word names that I know of....
Now, back to somethin' that threads through this whole business I'm tellin' you about. like a seam that binds...that's... what love is like out here. first off, people are pretty private about love-makin'. Res folk don't talk about their personal business very much anyway. very little PDA either. and sometimes not even a smile to tell you that it's love they're thinkin' about. now, with me and Jesse, we're true and real friends. not even like brother and sister. we tell stories to each other and listen to eachother's stories. That's way special enough for me. it's a real honor, actually. no joke. him being marked and all. I don't interfere with wantin' to know what he doesn't want me to know. visa versa, for me... I just show up. we sit around and gab. I might cook up somethin'. we eat with his uncle or his brother or a friend or somethin'. talk some more. maybe I get a story. maybe no. maybe I tell a story. maybe no. whatever. no push. no shove. but, it's not love like a man and a woman. I think I'm clear on that. But, Jesse says I wouldn't know love if it blinded me like mornin' sun direct into my eyes.
Lee had a love out here on the Res, though. we all knew it, on account of white women give all these obvious hints with their eyes and smiles and stuff. her love, the Blood, never gave a hint. also, we white women make too much noise. and don't show respect to the women who we should know are actually with these guys twenty-four/seven. no kiddin'. we don't pick up the clues that these guys have been 'taken' for a long time. and the guys are just being guys, I guess. I don't know. no one has volunteereed that part to me as yet. no guy out here on the Res ever came on to me, I can tell you that. maybe they thought I was Jesse's. but, I don't think so...they never let on, and I know he didn't let on, on account of there's nothin' to let on about...but, I may be wrong here....
anyway. she had a baby with this guy. everyone knew, but no body said a word or nothin' about it all ever. really. far as I know. her husband sort-of took on the kid's care, I heard. what Lee called it was "Unity"...not the kid's name...I mean, what havin' a half-Dine' kid was all about: "Unity". everyone acted OK about it, all the same. a kid is a kid. you don't want him freakin' over something like that. enough trouble growin' up now-a-days without addin' half-breed to your problems. better left unsaid. and, be held protected by those who care about your little butt. So the kid was fine....
It was the "Unity" bit that started weighin' on everybody somehow. it was pushin' things a bit far. it was one thing to be a big help and a big friend to the Dine'. it was another to ask for somethin' like "Unity" in return...even when Lee married a Blood - one of the older guys who had been in the "Resistance" brotherhood for decades...well, she still didn't really belong. first off, she was always goin' to be White. Period. second off, unlike the rest of the Res Folk, she could still pick up and leave whenever. and, in fact, she always did just that. No Res person did. unless they were leavin' the area for good, that is. otherwise, they had to stay put. money alone was one reason. being a Res person deep, was another. "Unity" was what the Res Folk had for centuries, without namin' it. certainly, without havin' a white lady name it....
So Lee talked on and on about "Unity" even right during Native American Church rituals, which are also supposed to be secret. and even during "Sweats", which are less private, but still. it was getting on people's nerves, but no one, naturally as rain, ever said anything whatsoever, of course. I certainly didn't. so she thought it was OK to just go on and on. even when the Hopi 'excluded' her from all the land her Weavers still were livin' on, she just kept comin' out and gettin' their rugs and sellin' em, mainly back in your California... and talkin about how it was all for "Unity" of the races and stuff, towards the common causes of Human Rights. she was also callin' herself a Human Rights Advocate by now, and gettin' more publicity and stuff... at one time, I recall tellin' her that white people who were like 'excluded' and all were kinda askin' for it if they kept pushin'. Jesse's uncle had told me that she was a 'risky one', which I took as being a serious warnin', since he rarely mentioned white folk ever for any reason, normally. she just smiled kinda Mona Lisa-like and said, I got life insurance for my boys, so I'm all set for anything. I didn't cotton to that attitude. sounded not responsible, to me.
Meanwhile, the "Book"-lady and her were close to gettin' an agent to get it all published and stuff. they were gettin' very excited and so were the Weaving Cooperative Women who were left on the Res... that "Book" was kinda gettin' a life of its own. People were worried her and the "Book"-lady had maybe trashed them in the book, or maybe not represented their story right or whatever. I personally had heard from both Lee and the lady that they had kept the "Book" really clean of all petty, gossipy stuff. but people get all personal about their stories and start feelin' they're too special to tell. lot's of great stories get shot right out of the water that way, I can tell you. we story-tellin' people know all about that. you got to make people all fiction. even then they come and get all hot under the collar and tell you to your face that you used their very own story, when you really didn't. every one thinks their life is the newest thing under the sun. when that just is never true. in my experience. and, just sayin', even if it was true. what good is your life if no body knows the story? I mean, does the tree fallin' in the forest get heard fallin' if no one is there? I ask you.
So, I don't know, I guess it came as a fat surprise when Lee was killed out on the Res... That's not the official story of course. Story is, she was leavin' her husband late at night, maybe a fight or whatever. her friend was drivin' . they had rugs in the car to take to a sale out-of-state or somethin'. she wasn't wearin' a seat belt. which, now I recall, she never did... car rolled over and her neck broke. she was only in her mid-forties. the other person, and another rider maybe, were not so badly hurt. that's the official story. on the Res even. but, me, I'm not being as sure....
first off, takin' care of the "Remains" was way too-fast done...cremation and so on....second off, how bad-off were the other folks in the car...not bad? what was that about? third off, what in the hell happened with the "Book"? see, turns out every one dropped the idea about that "Book" when they found out there was a copywrite on it that Lee had asked the "Book"-lady to get for the two of them come hell or high water....so she did...and her oldest son got all her "intellectual materials" in her will. but...turns out he never, ever picked them up. though the poor "Book"-lady tried to get him to do it many a time. She also tried to get someone to agent all the work, or publish it or whatever. just to give it life....but now, no one wanted it.So, she gave up. after eight years... she told me so.
see, that doesn't make sense...I'm a story teller. so I know a good story when I see one. I saw a good story come alive here. it had everything: lots'a conflict like with the government and the 'exclusion' and the human-rights stuff and the half-Dine' kid and the Sun Dance and everything! Lots'a dramatic stuff!.. and then the "Unity" thing all mixed up with an out-and-out love affair with a Dine' and a white lady and so on. and all the relocation folks against the folks who wouldn't move off their land...lots'a hassles there I didn't even begin to tell you about. on account of I wasn't there and didn't see them first hand. but they happened: a lot of them hit the papers. at least the Navajo papers. maybe not the regular papers...I mean to say. it all happened. really happened!
I just don't know. sometimes I think she's not really dead. that Lee is in one of those witness programs. where you turn up like fifteen years later drivin' a big rig or something. protected cuz you knew somethin' or were too hot for some reason or another... I can't think it through....
There was all this action and all this feelin' everywhere. then there was nothin'. makes no sense to me. I'm the kinda person things have to make sense somehow. even if I am a story teller. I asked Jesse. and you know what he said? he said a lot of stories are buried in the sands of the Res. some can be found easy and you can tell them. some can be found if you dig for the rest of your life. they may - may not - be worth the diggin'. some are just gone. a story that's gone, maybe never was... I reminded him that the "Book"-lady still has all her stuff. and the book too. on account of Lee wanted her story told. then he said: It don't matter who wants a story told. the story has to want to be told. all by itself... that put me quiet right away. Jesse is marked. he knows what he's sayin'....
I still sometimes try to get folks out here to talk about Lee and her life out here. her love and the kid. the work she did with the Weavers - most of who were old, so they're dead. some got relocated and died right away, like the elders all do if they get torn off the earth. the others just died. or are still just out there. I don't know... but, naturally, nobody wants to talk about it. that's the way it is out on the Res. it's like Jesse says: real isn't always as real as you think it is. he's right as rain about that. and not just because he's marked and all.
Jesse and I are marryin'. The ceremony will be on the Res. which is a little strange for me. but not too strange. I have spent most of my life out here. I still don't know about love. like he says... but I know I belong with Jesse. our stories depend upon one another. we've been tight since kindergarden. like I told you.
The other love. the one for humans and Human Rights and justice and stuff, the love that Lee had... I don't know about that one either. too deep for me, maybe. or maybe not real enough....
I remember her though. even if no one talks about her any more...
I hold her story still.... I can tell it, on account of that's what I do.
I am a story teller.
First off, this is no I-Wanna--Be-An-Indian love story about white folks gettin all involved with red brothers. no way. I, for one, wasn't expectin' to be ridin' off into no sunset with a Res guy any time soon. First off, I'm too skinny. there's no meat on me. only the Irish punks seem to go for my type. and they beat women sometimes. not sayin' all of them... Second off, I'm white as snow, like Snow Fringles White. can't take the sun. the Res people and I both are called Red. me, red hair. sunburnt skin most of the year. glasses. small. wiry. thin. bad teeth. poor. very white. White Trash, I'm sayin'. Dad drunk. Mom drunker. just sayin'... Also. I am a story teller. but you know, love stories... I am bad at those. just don't get love stories. not very real, usually. in my thinkin'.
So, this is no movie love story. but, just maybe, it's a love story of the real kind. and about more than it looks from the outside, where you live, in Cali-I-For-Ni-A... what do you know about small town Arizona? - what you know about the Res, for sure - could be put in a match book: lots of little flames. but all go up in fire and smoke all at once. then, piff. gone.
Jesse and me had been friends since in kindergarden, where we didn't know nothin' about not playin' with people who'er different than you are. we both thought that just applied to home. to our hood, as you hiphoppers would be sayin' it.. due to, of course, the teacher was all with how we were Rainbow Children, all colors and religions and what-not. all together in 'unity' and so on. even in the face of all evidence outside her door to the contrary. she was the sort of teacher who believed her own self. and passed it on as somethin' fine to do... which was plain trouble at home. where my mama made it clear that no Injun Child was comin' over for snacks after school. not in this lifetime. not in this house. Dad just sayin' he don't want no half-breed grandbabies. like we five year old brats were goin' to be breedin' any time soon...leads to it, he said. later. and not much later, girl. don't you know it.
See, friendships of this sort were sneaky secret from the get-go. Except the teacher knew. she encouraged such things. and thought she was being way liberal and stuff. we were cute. very cute. of course, later we wouldn't be so cute. but in her grade, it was OK. Just sayin'....
Jesse and me started up just being story tellers. which were called lies by the grown-ups. but really, they were great stories. unbeknownst to us, we were beginnin' our writin' careers of some future that wasn't goin' to happen. but did happen at bit. against all odds, I'd say. neither of us was bright. not sayin' we were stupid. just not brilliant. fooled around with story tellin': too much...all day...all evenin'. Mom got told all the time that I had a bad attitude, on account of I didn't pay attention at all in class. too busy plannin' the next story, which I was totally obsessed with. and the shrink I go to sometimes when the blues get too bad says I got my compulsions from those obsessions. makes sense. and I gotta say...I don't really have no problem with that at all. all my hang-ups probably made me a better story teller, I figure.
See, Jesse was marked, naturally, by his grandpa, who was a Medicine dude, and was way respected on the Res for all sorts of goin'-ons he did day and night. which sometimes Jesse could tell me about. sometimes not. due to my being white and all... Jesse was marked. so him tellin' stories constantly was no big problem on the Res... me tellin' stories was unnatural, I guess. 'cause I got slapped upside quite a bit for day dreamin' and not paying attention at all. which was true. I admit it. but I sure couldn't stop it. stories just were flyin' in me mornin' and night even. can't stop what's goin' on in your head automatic-like, seems to me. poor folk like my parents get very ashamed of that kind of 'crap' as they say, though. since they have enough trouble looking respectable ever without addin' in a nitwit daydreamin' fool like me. all together, we were not respectable one whit, so can't see how it would matter what a runt kid like me was doin'....but I can tell you it did. and I was punished for my stories. since they were nothin' but trouble. so, I just took 'em to the Res - where no one gave a flea's ass if you told stories or no. I told my stories there - no problem. Jesse told his right back. it was good.
Lee came into our lives like nothin' anybody I ever had seen before. not ever. all my pals on the Res - meanin' Jesse and his brother and his uncle, being my only friends period in this world - said the same: for a white woman, she was plain unnatural. which I knew a lot about... she came in talking a blue streak. like all white people on the Res. on account of being nervous in such a place...first off. it's not got many roads that lead anywhere on any map. second off, no one ever gives a white person directions that make any sense. I know this for a fact. third off, no white person really has any business being deep into the Res. the only reason I was ever there was Jesse wanted me there. on account of how we were really only cozy in each other's company. period. so his bro and his uncle put up with me. Jesse got his way, on account of being marked and all...
so, how did she get in so far? turns out the Weavin' Women knew her. she sold rugs for them. the tradin' post gave them not even half of what the store got. but Lee sold their rugs and only took ten percent for gas and food and gettin' the space to sell and stuff. she didn't even own a car worth shit, for example. so she was hardly rippin' off the Women. The Elders were for her too. she joked with them... but she got bossy around white police or even around the Res police. about defendin' an Elder who was mindin' his or her own beeswax on their own land... these old folks didn't want to leave their land. the government was gonna 'relocate' them, on account of a deal made to get the Hopi back some of the land the Navajo had stole like hundreds of years ago. the government is stranger than fiction when they want after somethin'...in this case...the coal laying right under our feet....
Anyway, that's how she was gettin' on the good side of everybody....mostly though, she was just gettin' herself into trouble, far as I could see...plus she had a writin' lady with her, who was writin' a whole book about everybody in sight on the Res who Lee was helpin' and workin' with and all....it didn't take Lee long to get me all involved, being as how there wern't many white ladies hanging around this deep inside the Res. and, being friends with Jesse and all.
I could use the excitement. she could use some other white person who wasn't a Wanna Be or a Groupie or something. that was me. I had grown up with only Dine' kids to play with. their moms had watched over me, on account of Mom and Dad drinkin' days sometimes. so I was natural around the Res.
I got to say I respected Lee. but she was a pistol. she could lose her temper if you weren't like workin' very hard for her Weavers, or givin' her all your time. I wasn't much into being her Groupie either, so I wasn't always available to help out... she especially was a task-driver at the Sun Dances, which were supposed to be very secret. she got donations for the mutton and the vegetables and flour and so on...then she worked me in the kitchen day and night cooking up stews in the heat of the day and far into the next day. and cleanin' up and haulin' water and so on. can't say I saw much of the rituals. anyway, they're secret. two white women slavin' away over the cook stoves: felt strange. but she could make all that OK to do somehow. I respected her, for sure.
I got two of the stories her "Book"-lady wrote. you can see them if you want. they're OK. the "Book"-lady was kinda freaked about being out on the Res. I got that, OK. Don't blame her. there's nothin' to hang your directionals on out here. you got to know the territory by heart, as I say. It's not easy to make it out here food-wise and water-wise anyways. you got to pack in your own. just even for a day trip - to see a friend or whatever. Jesse and his uncle really depend on me to get my own groceries in and to cook too. I don't mind. being a story teller and all. I'd give more than that for a story from either of those guys. I keep them all in my memory. that's what we all do.
The "Book"-lady said she'd like my stories. but she really wanted Jesse's - that way she could get to his uncle's. I told her that would be a long, hard, and dusty road to take. cuz they don't give out stories to just any body. not even to me. and I've been sort-of in their family for my whole life, practically. she seemed way disappointed about that. she had lots of patience, I can see that. but patience isn't enough. belongin' here isn't about waitin'. it's about somethin' else that has no name. least ways, no word names that I know of....
Now, back to somethin' that threads through this whole business I'm tellin' you about. like a seam that binds...that's... what love is like out here. first off, people are pretty private about love-makin'. Res folk don't talk about their personal business very much anyway. very little PDA either. and sometimes not even a smile to tell you that it's love they're thinkin' about. now, with me and Jesse, we're true and real friends. not even like brother and sister. we tell stories to each other and listen to eachother's stories. That's way special enough for me. it's a real honor, actually. no joke. him being marked and all. I don't interfere with wantin' to know what he doesn't want me to know. visa versa, for me... I just show up. we sit around and gab. I might cook up somethin'. we eat with his uncle or his brother or a friend or somethin'. talk some more. maybe I get a story. maybe no. maybe I tell a story. maybe no. whatever. no push. no shove. but, it's not love like a man and a woman. I think I'm clear on that. But, Jesse says I wouldn't know love if it blinded me like mornin' sun direct into my eyes.
Lee had a love out here on the Res, though. we all knew it, on account of white women give all these obvious hints with their eyes and smiles and stuff. her love, the Blood, never gave a hint. also, we white women make too much noise. and don't show respect to the women who we should know are actually with these guys twenty-four/seven. no kiddin'. we don't pick up the clues that these guys have been 'taken' for a long time. and the guys are just being guys, I guess. I don't know. no one has volunteereed that part to me as yet. no guy out here on the Res ever came on to me, I can tell you that. maybe they thought I was Jesse's. but, I don't think so...they never let on, and I know he didn't let on, on account of there's nothin' to let on about...but, I may be wrong here....
anyway. she had a baby with this guy. everyone knew, but no body said a word or nothin' about it all ever. really. far as I know. her husband sort-of took on the kid's care, I heard. what Lee called it was "Unity"...not the kid's name...I mean, what havin' a half-Dine' kid was all about: "Unity". everyone acted OK about it, all the same. a kid is a kid. you don't want him freakin' over something like that. enough trouble growin' up now-a-days without addin' half-breed to your problems. better left unsaid. and, be held protected by those who care about your little butt. So the kid was fine....
It was the "Unity" bit that started weighin' on everybody somehow. it was pushin' things a bit far. it was one thing to be a big help and a big friend to the Dine'. it was another to ask for somethin' like "Unity" in return...even when Lee married a Blood - one of the older guys who had been in the "Resistance" brotherhood for decades...well, she still didn't really belong. first off, she was always goin' to be White. Period. second off, unlike the rest of the Res Folk, she could still pick up and leave whenever. and, in fact, she always did just that. No Res person did. unless they were leavin' the area for good, that is. otherwise, they had to stay put. money alone was one reason. being a Res person deep, was another. "Unity" was what the Res Folk had for centuries, without namin' it. certainly, without havin' a white lady name it....
So Lee talked on and on about "Unity" even right during Native American Church rituals, which are also supposed to be secret. and even during "Sweats", which are less private, but still. it was getting on people's nerves, but no one, naturally as rain, ever said anything whatsoever, of course. I certainly didn't. so she thought it was OK to just go on and on. even when the Hopi 'excluded' her from all the land her Weavers still were livin' on, she just kept comin' out and gettin' their rugs and sellin' em, mainly back in your California... and talkin about how it was all for "Unity" of the races and stuff, towards the common causes of Human Rights. she was also callin' herself a Human Rights Advocate by now, and gettin' more publicity and stuff... at one time, I recall tellin' her that white people who were like 'excluded' and all were kinda askin' for it if they kept pushin'. Jesse's uncle had told me that she was a 'risky one', which I took as being a serious warnin', since he rarely mentioned white folk ever for any reason, normally. she just smiled kinda Mona Lisa-like and said, I got life insurance for my boys, so I'm all set for anything. I didn't cotton to that attitude. sounded not responsible, to me.
Meanwhile, the "Book"-lady and her were close to gettin' an agent to get it all published and stuff. they were gettin' very excited and so were the Weaving Cooperative Women who were left on the Res... that "Book" was kinda gettin' a life of its own. People were worried her and the "Book"-lady had maybe trashed them in the book, or maybe not represented their story right or whatever. I personally had heard from both Lee and the lady that they had kept the "Book" really clean of all petty, gossipy stuff. but people get all personal about their stories and start feelin' they're too special to tell. lot's of great stories get shot right out of the water that way, I can tell you. we story-tellin' people know all about that. you got to make people all fiction. even then they come and get all hot under the collar and tell you to your face that you used their very own story, when you really didn't. every one thinks their life is the newest thing under the sun. when that just is never true. in my experience. and, just sayin', even if it was true. what good is your life if no body knows the story? I mean, does the tree fallin' in the forest get heard fallin' if no one is there? I ask you.
So, I don't know, I guess it came as a fat surprise when Lee was killed out on the Res... That's not the official story of course. Story is, she was leavin' her husband late at night, maybe a fight or whatever. her friend was drivin' . they had rugs in the car to take to a sale out-of-state or somethin'. she wasn't wearin' a seat belt. which, now I recall, she never did... car rolled over and her neck broke. she was only in her mid-forties. the other person, and another rider maybe, were not so badly hurt. that's the official story. on the Res even. but, me, I'm not being as sure....
first off, takin' care of the "Remains" was way too-fast done...cremation and so on....second off, how bad-off were the other folks in the car...not bad? what was that about? third off, what in the hell happened with the "Book"? see, turns out every one dropped the idea about that "Book" when they found out there was a copywrite on it that Lee had asked the "Book"-lady to get for the two of them come hell or high water....so she did...and her oldest son got all her "intellectual materials" in her will. but...turns out he never, ever picked them up. though the poor "Book"-lady tried to get him to do it many a time. She also tried to get someone to agent all the work, or publish it or whatever. just to give it life....but now, no one wanted it.So, she gave up. after eight years... she told me so.
see, that doesn't make sense...I'm a story teller. so I know a good story when I see one. I saw a good story come alive here. it had everything: lots'a conflict like with the government and the 'exclusion' and the human-rights stuff and the half-Dine' kid and the Sun Dance and everything! Lots'a dramatic stuff!.. and then the "Unity" thing all mixed up with an out-and-out love affair with a Dine' and a white lady and so on. and all the relocation folks against the folks who wouldn't move off their land...lots'a hassles there I didn't even begin to tell you about. on account of I wasn't there and didn't see them first hand. but they happened: a lot of them hit the papers. at least the Navajo papers. maybe not the regular papers...I mean to say. it all happened. really happened!
I just don't know. sometimes I think she's not really dead. that Lee is in one of those witness programs. where you turn up like fifteen years later drivin' a big rig or something. protected cuz you knew somethin' or were too hot for some reason or another... I can't think it through....
There was all this action and all this feelin' everywhere. then there was nothin'. makes no sense to me. I'm the kinda person things have to make sense somehow. even if I am a story teller. I asked Jesse. and you know what he said? he said a lot of stories are buried in the sands of the Res. some can be found easy and you can tell them. some can be found if you dig for the rest of your life. they may - may not - be worth the diggin'. some are just gone. a story that's gone, maybe never was... I reminded him that the "Book"-lady still has all her stuff. and the book too. on account of Lee wanted her story told. then he said: It don't matter who wants a story told. the story has to want to be told. all by itself... that put me quiet right away. Jesse is marked. he knows what he's sayin'....
I still sometimes try to get folks out here to talk about Lee and her life out here. her love and the kid. the work she did with the Weavers - most of who were old, so they're dead. some got relocated and died right away, like the elders all do if they get torn off the earth. the others just died. or are still just out there. I don't know... but, naturally, nobody wants to talk about it. that's the way it is out on the Res. it's like Jesse says: real isn't always as real as you think it is. he's right as rain about that. and not just because he's marked and all.
Jesse and I are marryin'. The ceremony will be on the Res. which is a little strange for me. but not too strange. I have spent most of my life out here. I still don't know about love. like he says... but I know I belong with Jesse. our stories depend upon one another. we've been tight since kindergarden. like I told you.
The other love. the one for humans and Human Rights and justice and stuff, the love that Lee had... I don't know about that one either. too deep for me, maybe. or maybe not real enough....
I remember her though. even if no one talks about her any more...
I hold her story still.... I can tell it, on account of that's what I do.
I am a story teller.
12/5/11
ALWAYS WANTED CHRISTMAS is Lyrics that came from my heart tonight: just being happy to be alive and to be feeling more well...happy to have so much love in my life....hope there's a song in these lyrics there for someone else, too!....
ALWAYS WANTED CHRISTMAS
CHORUS:
Always wanted Christmas
We always wanted Christmas
Waited up for hours
Then I kissed you
Wanted Love for ever
So you kissed me
____________
Love to lay here underneath the
Christmas Tree, o Christmas Tree -
Never wanted this so much:
Me lovin' you - You lovin' me...
The lights are bright and twinklin' now -
The winkin' glowin' candles now -
The smells of eggnog - cider - candy canes now:
Always wanted Christmas just this way...
_____________
CHORUS
_____________
If I had many gifts I'd give them all to you -
If I had just this night I'd give this holy nighttime too -
O come all ye Angels and you Shepherds be
Our guests with us tonight under this green, green Tree...
The night is warm and kindly now -
Your arms are full of welcome now -
This time is dearly sweet with wonder now -
Always wanted Christmas just this way...
_____________
CHORUS
_____________
CHORUS:
Always wanted Christmas
We always wanted Christmas
Waited up for hours
Then I kissed you
Wanted Love for ever
So you kissed me
____________
Love to lay here underneath the
Christmas Tree, o Christmas Tree -
Never wanted this so much:
Me lovin' you - You lovin' me...
The lights are bright and twinklin' now -
The winkin' glowin' candles now -
The smells of eggnog - cider - candy canes now:
Always wanted Christmas just this way...
_____________
CHORUS
_____________
If I had many gifts I'd give them all to you -
If I had just this night I'd give this holy nighttime too -
O come all ye Angels and you Shepherds be
Our guests with us tonight under this green, green Tree...
The night is warm and kindly now -
Your arms are full of welcome now -
This time is dearly sweet with wonder now -
Always wanted Christmas just this way...
_____________
CHORUS
_____________
12/4/11
SONG FOR A SOLDIER TRUE was written in August of this year...and somehow got lost in the shuffle of time and other writings...so, here it is, still waiting for its hopeful song...it's Deb's 'call' first of course...then, too...it belongs to us all....
On Fri, Aug 26, 2011 at 10:09 AM, wrote:
these are beautiful and I'd love to sing them.
I've written two songs about the war...one is on my site and usually gets a good reaction. It's in 3/4 time.
It's on this page (link below) and is called "when are you gonna bring my boy home" Like I said in my post yesterday, I'm really heartbroken when I hear about soldiers who die. I met so many military when working in the embassies and I have a healthy amount of disdain for the politicians who start wars that ruin lives for so many people. In my song, I also try to address the Arab populations who suffered (without naming them). "my people" is a reference to my children who are half Algerian. I lived in Algeria for 6 years and when you live with Arabs you have another perspective on Middle East politics.
I even had a wild idea to write a musical about different couples affected by deployment in the war. I had so many songs (some are fun and more serious) about relationships that once my daughter (the theater major) and I sat down and made a rough outline of a script. The basic concept was different couples (a young typical couple, a gay woman couple, an middle aged couple, or perhaps a parent/child relatioship...can't remember everything we had thought of) were affected by their spouse's inscription and eventual deployment into the service. One is tempted by love at home; somebody would have to die ..maybe someone at home instead of the person at war...don't really know. In any case, we had worked the story around the songs I had written up until then and they often fit well. The song at the link below was the finale since it talked about the relationships we have with those who are off at war..he's my daddy, he's my brother, he's my long lost lover, he's my husband, he's my son, when will this war be done? When are you gonna bring my boy home?
http://deborahkuhl.com/originalmusic.html
-----Original Message-----
From: Kathleen Everitt [mailto:katheamann@gmail.com]
Sent: Friday, August 26, 2011 02:28 AM
Subject: Song for a Soldier True
NOTE to Debbie: this may not lend itself to music and arrangement, maybe...I can't hear it (as usual, I might point out!) BUT! I'm sending them anyways...maybe there will be a time we can use these lyrics....
These song lyrics are dedicated to the couples in the armed services I know and have known, and have felt for very deeply:
SONG FOR A SOLDIER TRUE
CHORUS:
now there is no sorrow
no fire on the sea
you are in my arms again
and all I am is free
_______________________________
suppose there is this battle -
suppose I am not strong -
will you be my shield or sword?
and where do I belong?
do you take my lightly then?
or do you take me grim?
can I soldier brave for you?
or sing your battle hymn?....
_______________________________
CHORUS
_______________________________
If we are to die today
or by the evening light -
would you hold me tenderly
far through this smokey night?
can you hold your head up?
tell me this and be true:
are you good for me and darlin
am I good for you?
__________________________________
CHORUS
__________________________________
I've heard we're only shadows in
the sunlight by the shore -
the waves wash in the waves wash out
we cannot ask for more....
still I just want to ask you
just one more time my dear
can you sing away our pain
or laugh away this fear?
__________________________________
CHORUS
______________________________
these are beautiful and I'd love to sing them.
I've written two songs about the war...one is on my site and usually gets a good reaction. It's in 3/4 time.
It's on this page (link below) and is called "when are you gonna bring my boy home" Like I said in my post yesterday, I'm really heartbroken when I hear about soldiers who die. I met so many military when working in the embassies and I have a healthy amount of disdain for the politicians who start wars that ruin lives for so many people. In my song, I also try to address the Arab populations who suffered (without naming them). "my people" is a reference to my children who are half Algerian. I lived in Algeria for 6 years and when you live with Arabs you have another perspective on Middle East politics.
I even had a wild idea to write a musical about different couples affected by deployment in the war. I had so many songs (some are fun and more serious) about relationships that once my daughter (the theater major) and I sat down and made a rough outline of a script. The basic concept was different couples (a young typical couple, a gay woman couple, an middle aged couple, or perhaps a parent/child relatioship...can't remember everything we had thought of) were affected by their spouse's inscription and eventual deployment into the service. One is tempted by love at home; somebody would have to die ..maybe someone at home instead of the person at war...don't really know. In any case, we had worked the story around the songs I had written up until then and they often fit well. The song at the link below was the finale since it talked about the relationships we have with those who are off at war..he's my daddy, he's my brother, he's my long lost lover, he's my husband, he's my son, when will this war be done? When are you gonna bring my boy home?
http://deborahkuhl.com/originalmusic.html
-----Original Message-----
From: Kathleen Everitt [mailto:katheamann@gmail.com]
Sent: Friday, August 26, 2011 02:28 AM
Subject: Song for a Soldier True
NOTE to Debbie: this may not lend itself to music and arrangement, maybe...I can't hear it (as usual, I might point out!) BUT! I'm sending them anyways...maybe there will be a time we can use these lyrics....
These song lyrics are dedicated to the couples in the armed services I know and have known, and have felt for very deeply:
SONG FOR A SOLDIER TRUE
CHORUS:
now there is no sorrow
no fire on the sea
you are in my arms again
and all I am is free
_______________________________
suppose there is this battle -
suppose I am not strong -
will you be my shield or sword?
and where do I belong?
do you take my lightly then?
or do you take me grim?
can I soldier brave for you?
or sing your battle hymn?....
_______________________________
CHORUS
_______________________________
If we are to die today
or by the evening light -
would you hold me tenderly
far through this smokey night?
can you hold your head up?
tell me this and be true:
are you good for me and darlin
am I good for you?
__________________________________
CHORUS
__________________________________
I've heard we're only shadows in
the sunlight by the shore -
the waves wash in the waves wash out
we cannot ask for more....
still I just want to ask you
just one more time my dear
can you sing away our pain
or laugh away this fear?
__________________________________
CHORUS
______________________________
CHILD IN YOU AT CHRISTMAS is a gentle little lyrics written after a lovely little bird flew into our window glass today, while I was resting all day - feelin' all sorry for myself, since I was havin' a reaction to my flu shot and all...and Den was so kind and the bird was badly stunned and lived...it made me think about the holidays comin' up...how we cry from a place in us that's still 'a child'...and how that relates to Christmas...and this bird...and vulnerable times...for all of us....
CHILD IN YOU AT CHRISTMAS
CHORUS
Once Christmas was a child thing
A little mouse stirring in the the house thing
Merry Christmas little child in you
And to me, too, child, child in you
_____________
A bird flew at our window - we thought it died -
I cried hard: my heart is always flyin' careless
Into windows too - we held on and cried together:
I am always loving, little child in me, the
little child who's still in you....
____________
CHORUS
____________
Everywhere there's life all fallin' into glass -
And hearts are bleedin' ....still,
There is this thought of Christmas: hope and all -
Among some countries on this old earth -
And birds flyin' live and free....
______________
CHORUS
______________
There are lives that never cry for little birds
Or kids at Christmas - hearts
All breaking...I sure wish that little bird, tho,
Didn't fly into our window - hit the glass -
But then, we saw: it flew away -
It flew and sang... for Christmas day....
_____________
CHORUS
______________
CHORUS
Once Christmas was a child thing
A little mouse stirring in the the house thing
Merry Christmas little child in you
And to me, too, child, child in you
_____________
A bird flew at our window - we thought it died -
I cried hard: my heart is always flyin' careless
Into windows too - we held on and cried together:
I am always loving, little child in me, the
little child who's still in you....
____________
CHORUS
____________
Everywhere there's life all fallin' into glass -
And hearts are bleedin' ....still,
There is this thought of Christmas: hope and all -
Among some countries on this old earth -
And birds flyin' live and free....
______________
CHORUS
______________
There are lives that never cry for little birds
Or kids at Christmas - hearts
All breaking...I sure wish that little bird, tho,
Didn't fly into our window - hit the glass -
But then, we saw: it flew away -
It flew and sang... for Christmas day....
_____________
CHORUS
______________
12/3/11
AN APPLE RIVER LIFE is simply a Short Story about livin' life on a river...Rivers preoccupy me much these days...I want to live by, or right 'in' (on a houseboat...) a 'River' somewheres, very, very much...can't sing this one...but maybe, someday, I can live-it, instead....
AN APPLE RIVER LIFE
Apple River used to border orchards. apple orchards, naturally. Sandi had been raised on those country roads bordering the willows and occasional low-land levees of that river. her family had been poor river rats. and that was a fact. her Mama and Papa had been divorced for years before she heard about how she was from a broken home. that being from such a home was a bad thing. it had never occurred to her. Papa still came around and gave Mama money when he could. Gramma said he meant good. but he just wasn't naturally a settled man. he was a gypsy. so Gramma said. Mama said nothing. but they always had coffee and talked around the old Formica kitchen table kindly enough. he'd laugh with them and called Sandi "Sandy Bottom", cuz that's what the Apple River had: a sandy and clean bottom. it was so clear you could see the fish easy against the sands - even after storm floods....
Sandi was a reader like her Mama and Gramma too. she figured that all three of them being readers meant they were as good as everybody else. the lady at the library was sweet to them and treated them like they were people like any body else too. but maybe being a reader wasn't quite enough. Mama was always talking about how they were all, she and Gramma and Sandi, Daughters of the American Confederacy. that meant they were people with class for sure. but no one else knew about that in town; not that Sandi knew about anyway. it wasn't that bothersome to know that people didn't cotton to her and her family - not that much anyway. they were OK just on the river as a family... and the river was part of the family for sure. its every season and mood and movement were twisted into the hair of all three women like ribbons of green and blue and white...
Gramma made do for them all. she put foods by. kept the kitchen garden - which was really huge. Mama worked in the calendar factory. boxing calendars off the punch-press six days a week. Sandi's job was to wash dishes after school for three hours at the Chinese restaurant and help set up for the dinner hour. then she'd come home and do her chores and her homework and get ready for the next school day. there wasn't much time for funnin', as Gramma would say. not much time at all. they were just getting by. that's for sure. and the house was a rental. a shack... truth be told.
There were three events in Sandi's life that changed her life for certain by the time she was eighteen.
The first was that Gramma died. she was out on one of those really muggy near-evening hot days when even the current of the river seems almost still as a pond. mosquito's buzzing around your ears causin' you to go crazy in about two hours. birds starting up in the sky who'll never eat enough of the pests to make a whit of difference. grass dank with river silt and wet. fishing slow - all of them in the deeps under the rocks. being cooler... not hungry enough to come on up yet for a bite. Gramma was up in the kitchen garden. weeding. insisting that it was cooler out there than in the house. air still as the grave must be. hardly could breathe...
Gramma's pies were under the screening domes trying to be cooling on the sill. apple. of course. and raspberries. and thimble berry...one pie. takes a lot of thimble berries to make a pie. the early gherkins in the pickle crock. vinegar and white sugar and salt and dill. the scum skimmer draped over the side: becoming pickles pretty near soon. dilly beans marinating for canning. strawberries and rhubarb simmering soft and slow on the stove to whittle them down into the paste that Gramma would roll up into straws of fruit leather that were the best bursts of flavor in the world for dessert - if none else was made. milk just churned into butter-milk...the butter cooling in the old wood ice box in its wooden mold with the hen-relief pattern on the bottom: that would become the top when you pressed out the butter to 'put it by' in the ice box...on top of the block of ice. so it would stay sweet...it was from milk from the neighbor's cows. clean and good....everything was clean and good and fed and innocent on that day... except for the heat. which was all steam and hell....
Then Gramma headed downward over into the rows. quick. like a tree falling in the forest. a tree upright. then down. across the carefully weeded rows of hefty plants. she herself a hardy and sturdy soul of a tree up until then - only sixty-something. over and down. curled around the crushed plants. arms out like protecting them from her fall. peace like a river on her face. Sandi saw her go down from the window of the house. ran over to her with screams low and loud. saw she was dead... and the peace like a river. cried out loudly into a wail of pain... up to the sky that had no mercy for that very day....
that night it would rain. and cool. and the next day was beautiful beyond belief. cool and fresh. it was the boiling heat of the day that had taken Gramma down. Sandi would never forgive hot and muggy days ever again in her whole life. she hated each one like a murderer gone free. for such a day had taken the person she loved most. right in front of her eyes. and no one ever again made a pie. or grew and tended a garden. or put by one living thing for preserving: not at that house by the river. not ever again.
The second happenings involved Mama big time. The factory closed its calendar production. people just weren't buying little cardboard desk calendars like they used to do maybe. maybe it was just time. whatever it was: took Mama's job. small towns don't have any jobs when their one factory pulls out of town. people just go on welfare: which isn't much. on account of the county being poor in the first place. and then there's how you feel about yourself. Mama felt real bad. real bad: Gramma gone. house all a wreck now and the yard too. no way to pay the landlord. and they were already living almost as poor as it gets. Mama started into drink. first a beer or two, cuz it was hot. then wine when it got cooler into the fall. then even medicine from the drugstore with alcohol in it. cuz they were going to be evicted. even Papa was at a loss. Sandy Bot, he said. you got two parents not worth a damn thing on earth. Gramma was the only good thing ever in our lives. her being gone took our spirit away finally. quite finally.
Papa and Mama packed up out of the house on the Apple River. they moved into the shelter in town. only Sandi wouldn't go. she talked herself into a full-time job at the Chinese restaurant. they naturally felt sorry for her: on account of she dropped out of school. age seventeen. almost eighteen. no one bothered her about it... she had to make do somehow. all the teachers knew it. only a couple of them had been working on scholarships for her for college. they kept saying not to throw it all away. but they didn't exactly offer to have her stay with them either. and there was no body else to help anywhere... so people turned away. not to be mean. just to be real about it all. Apple River folk all had to deal with having less. losses in floods... and now the factory gone: only the river kept singing its way over the sand and stone and past the old Indian Caves on its banks. caves that said that other people had lived there once long ago too. had made it somehow. seen sorrow. maybe poverty too. the landlord gave her a break. if she cleaned up the place and the yard and all - took care of it well: then he'd lower the rent. and she wouldn't have to pay the back-rent. Sandi took the deal. it was a good deal.
Winter came on. winter was snow and very cold. walking to work was hard. keeping wood cut for the stove was hard. keeping the road open was hard. Sandi had some good friends and neighbors who would help her quite a bit. she felt bad about it though. on account of she had no way to pay-back. to say thanks proper... she tried to help them all right back when she could. plus kids would bring by their homework and their texts. they tried to teach her what they were learning. so as she could take her GED and all. she just worked her self raw keeping her life going. what with the restaurant and trying to learn and keeping up the property and all... she was getting older before her time. no time for funnin' anymore for sure. no time for love... Papa and Mama never came out to see her on account of shame. they sometimes met together at the church relief-kitchen at the same time for a free meal though. not much to say. but then it had always been Gramma who was the chatty one. kept them talking about more than only survival. there was the shame all around too. Mama didn't even go to the library anymore. no sense pressing the Daughters of the Confederacy bit anyways... no one cared up north roundabouts anyhow... that was a complete fact....
May be best to make a long story shorter. simply said: the Chinese Restaurant burned down. it was winter. for some reason more fires start up in winter. don't know why: some said it was no accident. it was arson. but no one knew the china man or his wife... see: if you don't have family around in Apple River: you really don't have much of a social 'life' and so on. even Sandi didn't know them well... in the narrow streets of that narrow little town: prejudice was real as the river was real. people hadn't even wanted the China Family to fish in the river. people ate their food like it was foreign food - which it was. but it was like they were foreign: too foreign to be neighbors or friends - though they were really American as any body else. Sandi had never thought about it ever... still: now she didn't have a job. and the town seemed very small all at once. very narrow. she suddenly wanted the river to freeze over completely. to be able to skate away on it. to leave like the China Family did. without a trace left behind.
Sandi talked it all over with her friend Sara. Sara was the only and best friend who might understand why she felt she had to leave Apple River. Sara just laughed and said she had always known Sandi would leave. It was like a sign. that's what she said: the Chinese Restaurant burned down. you were going to go. I just knew it. they were sipping root beer floats. listening to the old jukebox in the drugstore. I'm staying here. Sara was clear about that. I'm tied to that ranch out yonder. it's dusty, dead, and in debt. but I'm staying with those three damn 'd's. Sara was kidding around. but not by much. you gotta go. Sandi. my grandpa used to say people born on the river are born moving on. they just see the world like it was a floating highway: they want to go on the river. go to where it's gonna go. they're not tied to the soil like the rest of us. you are a river rat. a river person on the run. always have been.
I don't know. Sandi was upset. Gramma kept us here so good. me and Mama. if she hadn't died. if she just hadn't died... Sara was kind. she was gonna die some day. Sandi: she would have told you to go now. you know that. your Papa made the mistake coming back all the time. your Mama made the mistake hiding in alcohol. you haven't make any mistakes yet. don't make the mistake of staying in Apple River. if you love the river: let the river take you out of here. that's what it does. it takes you away from all the mistakes. from the rotting of that old river house. the rotting in the soil where the garden used to be. the rotting of death in the graveyard where your Gramma lies restless... she would travel with you if she could....
Sandi knew right when she heard right. she hugged Sara and made her way back home. she listened to the river all night. next morning she went out fishing. near the bridge where the mud terns nested. near the old red barn. near the Indian Caves cut farther-in than you could see. near the ripples with the quiet water behind them. where the fish would bite. every time a little bass would bite: sometimes she would catch it. but she kept throwing them all back... dreams were possessing her. no body could blame the fish. they were following the river's ways. they had to eat. and bite. even at the fisherman's lures and spinners. there was mercy in the river - and there was no mercy in the river... the day grew beautiful. the birds flew into the low thermals above the river. their song was much like the sound of the wheels of a train on tracks going far away... the river was singing a gypsy song about moving on. about escaping Apple River... by being part of Apple River....
Sandi put her rod up on the hilly bank. she walked into the river off the stones on the bank. the river held her and rocked her. she paddled her self out of the shallow eddy and into the current. she let the river carry her a long, long, long way. it was night when she pulled herself out onto a grassy bank. she walked into the town downriver... shaking cold and drowned-looking wet. she told the nice police-man where she had 'fallen' in. he took her back in the squad car to Apple River. they talked a lot about his town. about it being ok. jobs and all. some place to be that was ok... she packed up the very next morning and took the bus to that town. the nice cop found her a room in his aunt's boarding house. she took a job at the Five and Dime the next day... it was a new town. bigger. small junior college. the nice cop - who she could almost trust. because it turned out he didn't live far from the river. not far from the river at all....
When you are born on river. when you live by a river all your life: well then it is not easy to leave the river. your life is all flood and then dry and is rarely a life of money or fame or fortune... your life is all gypsy and wandering and following the water downstream. fighting to get back up stream. dealing with the river as if it was kind. dealing with the river as if it was cruel: when all it is being is more natural than all that. it is just being timeless and flow of life down channels water makes and follows. stone. sand. animals that must live in it. animals that must live along it. Apple River is such a one: running free without a dam even to stop its course to the great lake and even to the very sea... if there is a sea nearby. or even far away....
Each life on Apple River has a water-course way to flow: a question when there is no better answer. Sandi followed the Apple River. she followed it since she was haunted by rivers. as she had once heard. She would never leave Apple River itself. not for all of her days...
there are people who have to have rivers. who have to be on rivers. in rivers. along-side rivers. wandering with rivers. fishing in rivers. living on the river. living because of river. what river is. where the water flows. there they follow. there they may die...
mainly. truly: there they have to live their lives.
Rivers just like Apple River.... there:
they live....
Apple River used to border orchards. apple orchards, naturally. Sandi had been raised on those country roads bordering the willows and occasional low-land levees of that river. her family had been poor river rats. and that was a fact. her Mama and Papa had been divorced for years before she heard about how she was from a broken home. that being from such a home was a bad thing. it had never occurred to her. Papa still came around and gave Mama money when he could. Gramma said he meant good. but he just wasn't naturally a settled man. he was a gypsy. so Gramma said. Mama said nothing. but they always had coffee and talked around the old Formica kitchen table kindly enough. he'd laugh with them and called Sandi "Sandy Bottom", cuz that's what the Apple River had: a sandy and clean bottom. it was so clear you could see the fish easy against the sands - even after storm floods....
Sandi was a reader like her Mama and Gramma too. she figured that all three of them being readers meant they were as good as everybody else. the lady at the library was sweet to them and treated them like they were people like any body else too. but maybe being a reader wasn't quite enough. Mama was always talking about how they were all, she and Gramma and Sandi, Daughters of the American Confederacy. that meant they were people with class for sure. but no one else knew about that in town; not that Sandi knew about anyway. it wasn't that bothersome to know that people didn't cotton to her and her family - not that much anyway. they were OK just on the river as a family... and the river was part of the family for sure. its every season and mood and movement were twisted into the hair of all three women like ribbons of green and blue and white...
Gramma made do for them all. she put foods by. kept the kitchen garden - which was really huge. Mama worked in the calendar factory. boxing calendars off the punch-press six days a week. Sandi's job was to wash dishes after school for three hours at the Chinese restaurant and help set up for the dinner hour. then she'd come home and do her chores and her homework and get ready for the next school day. there wasn't much time for funnin', as Gramma would say. not much time at all. they were just getting by. that's for sure. and the house was a rental. a shack... truth be told.
There were three events in Sandi's life that changed her life for certain by the time she was eighteen.
The first was that Gramma died. she was out on one of those really muggy near-evening hot days when even the current of the river seems almost still as a pond. mosquito's buzzing around your ears causin' you to go crazy in about two hours. birds starting up in the sky who'll never eat enough of the pests to make a whit of difference. grass dank with river silt and wet. fishing slow - all of them in the deeps under the rocks. being cooler... not hungry enough to come on up yet for a bite. Gramma was up in the kitchen garden. weeding. insisting that it was cooler out there than in the house. air still as the grave must be. hardly could breathe...
Gramma's pies were under the screening domes trying to be cooling on the sill. apple. of course. and raspberries. and thimble berry...one pie. takes a lot of thimble berries to make a pie. the early gherkins in the pickle crock. vinegar and white sugar and salt and dill. the scum skimmer draped over the side: becoming pickles pretty near soon. dilly beans marinating for canning. strawberries and rhubarb simmering soft and slow on the stove to whittle them down into the paste that Gramma would roll up into straws of fruit leather that were the best bursts of flavor in the world for dessert - if none else was made. milk just churned into butter-milk...the butter cooling in the old wood ice box in its wooden mold with the hen-relief pattern on the bottom: that would become the top when you pressed out the butter to 'put it by' in the ice box...on top of the block of ice. so it would stay sweet...it was from milk from the neighbor's cows. clean and good....everything was clean and good and fed and innocent on that day... except for the heat. which was all steam and hell....
Then Gramma headed downward over into the rows. quick. like a tree falling in the forest. a tree upright. then down. across the carefully weeded rows of hefty plants. she herself a hardy and sturdy soul of a tree up until then - only sixty-something. over and down. curled around the crushed plants. arms out like protecting them from her fall. peace like a river on her face. Sandi saw her go down from the window of the house. ran over to her with screams low and loud. saw she was dead... and the peace like a river. cried out loudly into a wail of pain... up to the sky that had no mercy for that very day....
that night it would rain. and cool. and the next day was beautiful beyond belief. cool and fresh. it was the boiling heat of the day that had taken Gramma down. Sandi would never forgive hot and muggy days ever again in her whole life. she hated each one like a murderer gone free. for such a day had taken the person she loved most. right in front of her eyes. and no one ever again made a pie. or grew and tended a garden. or put by one living thing for preserving: not at that house by the river. not ever again.
The second happenings involved Mama big time. The factory closed its calendar production. people just weren't buying little cardboard desk calendars like they used to do maybe. maybe it was just time. whatever it was: took Mama's job. small towns don't have any jobs when their one factory pulls out of town. people just go on welfare: which isn't much. on account of the county being poor in the first place. and then there's how you feel about yourself. Mama felt real bad. real bad: Gramma gone. house all a wreck now and the yard too. no way to pay the landlord. and they were already living almost as poor as it gets. Mama started into drink. first a beer or two, cuz it was hot. then wine when it got cooler into the fall. then even medicine from the drugstore with alcohol in it. cuz they were going to be evicted. even Papa was at a loss. Sandy Bot, he said. you got two parents not worth a damn thing on earth. Gramma was the only good thing ever in our lives. her being gone took our spirit away finally. quite finally.
Papa and Mama packed up out of the house on the Apple River. they moved into the shelter in town. only Sandi wouldn't go. she talked herself into a full-time job at the Chinese restaurant. they naturally felt sorry for her: on account of she dropped out of school. age seventeen. almost eighteen. no one bothered her about it... she had to make do somehow. all the teachers knew it. only a couple of them had been working on scholarships for her for college. they kept saying not to throw it all away. but they didn't exactly offer to have her stay with them either. and there was no body else to help anywhere... so people turned away. not to be mean. just to be real about it all. Apple River folk all had to deal with having less. losses in floods... and now the factory gone: only the river kept singing its way over the sand and stone and past the old Indian Caves on its banks. caves that said that other people had lived there once long ago too. had made it somehow. seen sorrow. maybe poverty too. the landlord gave her a break. if she cleaned up the place and the yard and all - took care of it well: then he'd lower the rent. and she wouldn't have to pay the back-rent. Sandi took the deal. it was a good deal.
Winter came on. winter was snow and very cold. walking to work was hard. keeping wood cut for the stove was hard. keeping the road open was hard. Sandi had some good friends and neighbors who would help her quite a bit. she felt bad about it though. on account of she had no way to pay-back. to say thanks proper... she tried to help them all right back when she could. plus kids would bring by their homework and their texts. they tried to teach her what they were learning. so as she could take her GED and all. she just worked her self raw keeping her life going. what with the restaurant and trying to learn and keeping up the property and all... she was getting older before her time. no time for funnin' anymore for sure. no time for love... Papa and Mama never came out to see her on account of shame. they sometimes met together at the church relief-kitchen at the same time for a free meal though. not much to say. but then it had always been Gramma who was the chatty one. kept them talking about more than only survival. there was the shame all around too. Mama didn't even go to the library anymore. no sense pressing the Daughters of the Confederacy bit anyways... no one cared up north roundabouts anyhow... that was a complete fact....
May be best to make a long story shorter. simply said: the Chinese Restaurant burned down. it was winter. for some reason more fires start up in winter. don't know why: some said it was no accident. it was arson. but no one knew the china man or his wife... see: if you don't have family around in Apple River: you really don't have much of a social 'life' and so on. even Sandi didn't know them well... in the narrow streets of that narrow little town: prejudice was real as the river was real. people hadn't even wanted the China Family to fish in the river. people ate their food like it was foreign food - which it was. but it was like they were foreign: too foreign to be neighbors or friends - though they were really American as any body else. Sandi had never thought about it ever... still: now she didn't have a job. and the town seemed very small all at once. very narrow. she suddenly wanted the river to freeze over completely. to be able to skate away on it. to leave like the China Family did. without a trace left behind.
Sandi talked it all over with her friend Sara. Sara was the only and best friend who might understand why she felt she had to leave Apple River. Sara just laughed and said she had always known Sandi would leave. It was like a sign. that's what she said: the Chinese Restaurant burned down. you were going to go. I just knew it. they were sipping root beer floats. listening to the old jukebox in the drugstore. I'm staying here. Sara was clear about that. I'm tied to that ranch out yonder. it's dusty, dead, and in debt. but I'm staying with those three damn 'd's. Sara was kidding around. but not by much. you gotta go. Sandi. my grandpa used to say people born on the river are born moving on. they just see the world like it was a floating highway: they want to go on the river. go to where it's gonna go. they're not tied to the soil like the rest of us. you are a river rat. a river person on the run. always have been.
I don't know. Sandi was upset. Gramma kept us here so good. me and Mama. if she hadn't died. if she just hadn't died... Sara was kind. she was gonna die some day. Sandi: she would have told you to go now. you know that. your Papa made the mistake coming back all the time. your Mama made the mistake hiding in alcohol. you haven't make any mistakes yet. don't make the mistake of staying in Apple River. if you love the river: let the river take you out of here. that's what it does. it takes you away from all the mistakes. from the rotting of that old river house. the rotting in the soil where the garden used to be. the rotting of death in the graveyard where your Gramma lies restless... she would travel with you if she could....
Sandi knew right when she heard right. she hugged Sara and made her way back home. she listened to the river all night. next morning she went out fishing. near the bridge where the mud terns nested. near the old red barn. near the Indian Caves cut farther-in than you could see. near the ripples with the quiet water behind them. where the fish would bite. every time a little bass would bite: sometimes she would catch it. but she kept throwing them all back... dreams were possessing her. no body could blame the fish. they were following the river's ways. they had to eat. and bite. even at the fisherman's lures and spinners. there was mercy in the river - and there was no mercy in the river... the day grew beautiful. the birds flew into the low thermals above the river. their song was much like the sound of the wheels of a train on tracks going far away... the river was singing a gypsy song about moving on. about escaping Apple River... by being part of Apple River....
Sandi put her rod up on the hilly bank. she walked into the river off the stones on the bank. the river held her and rocked her. she paddled her self out of the shallow eddy and into the current. she let the river carry her a long, long, long way. it was night when she pulled herself out onto a grassy bank. she walked into the town downriver... shaking cold and drowned-looking wet. she told the nice police-man where she had 'fallen' in. he took her back in the squad car to Apple River. they talked a lot about his town. about it being ok. jobs and all. some place to be that was ok... she packed up the very next morning and took the bus to that town. the nice cop found her a room in his aunt's boarding house. she took a job at the Five and Dime the next day... it was a new town. bigger. small junior college. the nice cop - who she could almost trust. because it turned out he didn't live far from the river. not far from the river at all....
When you are born on river. when you live by a river all your life: well then it is not easy to leave the river. your life is all flood and then dry and is rarely a life of money or fame or fortune... your life is all gypsy and wandering and following the water downstream. fighting to get back up stream. dealing with the river as if it was kind. dealing with the river as if it was cruel: when all it is being is more natural than all that. it is just being timeless and flow of life down channels water makes and follows. stone. sand. animals that must live in it. animals that must live along it. Apple River is such a one: running free without a dam even to stop its course to the great lake and even to the very sea... if there is a sea nearby. or even far away....
Each life on Apple River has a water-course way to flow: a question when there is no better answer. Sandi followed the Apple River. she followed it since she was haunted by rivers. as she had once heard. She would never leave Apple River itself. not for all of her days...
there are people who have to have rivers. who have to be on rivers. in rivers. along-side rivers. wandering with rivers. fishing in rivers. living on the river. living because of river. what river is. where the water flows. there they follow. there they may die...
mainly. truly: there they have to live their lives.
Rivers just like Apple River.... there:
they live....
12/1/11
TOAST TO LORETTA is lyrics inspired by a FB conversation where the line 'simmering guitars' came from Kevin Radley...and music both blue and bluegrass was discussed with class and ease by friends...from such simple lines come simple songs about complex people and the lives of those in the Purple Gangs of our San Francisco Bay Area....
TOAST TO LORETTA
CHORUS:
Loretta and You were good friends and great drinkers
The guitars just simmered the saxes just sang
The blues and the heartaches: you sang them all evenin'
Loretta and You and your sweet Purple Gang
____________
She was a loner and your were no stranger
To dark alleys, heartaches, and tempers, sad songs -
She pouted and put on a lotta red lipstick
You whispered of love and small nights and great wrongs...
She mainlined in dramas and covered the bruises
With cold steaks when hunger was all you went through -
She growled out them lyrics with pathos and bathos:
About all the rats and the crooks that she knew...
____________
CHORUS
____________
So beat them drums slowly and keep up the rhythms
Of cold and hot sorrow and pain every night -
Keep up the cruel laughter and light up the cigs now:
Hold your head high when just nothin' goes right....
The Purple Gang loves ya and so do the beat cops
And so do I, darlin' and so does this song...
You kept the faith true between you and Loretta
She loves ya tonight and she will all night long....
____________
CHORUS
____________
CHORUS:
Loretta and You were good friends and great drinkers
The guitars just simmered the saxes just sang
The blues and the heartaches: you sang them all evenin'
Loretta and You and your sweet Purple Gang
____________
She was a loner and your were no stranger
To dark alleys, heartaches, and tempers, sad songs -
She pouted and put on a lotta red lipstick
You whispered of love and small nights and great wrongs...
She mainlined in dramas and covered the bruises
With cold steaks when hunger was all you went through -
She growled out them lyrics with pathos and bathos:
About all the rats and the crooks that she knew...
____________
CHORUS
____________
So beat them drums slowly and keep up the rhythms
Of cold and hot sorrow and pain every night -
Keep up the cruel laughter and light up the cigs now:
Hold your head high when just nothin' goes right....
The Purple Gang loves ya and so do the beat cops
And so do I, darlin' and so does this song...
You kept the faith true between you and Loretta
She loves ya tonight and she will all night long....
____________
CHORUS
____________
11/28/11
COLUMBIA RIVER WATERS COME DOWN is a tribute to the great happiness I've had in the Columbia River Gorge north of Portland, Oregon: over and over and over and over...I believe its Song may be known by Debbie Kuhl Wendt: but, that's for her and these lyrics to decide...in the between-times: the Waterfalls spring over their rims..down into their Pools below...splash into their Streams...flow down to the Columbia River....down, down, down to the Great Pacific Sea...they are Home.....
#211 1001 Nights: LYRICS: Waters Come Down
One Thousand And One Nights
Reply |Kathleen Everitt to deborah, Dennis, Kevin
Deb, Here's the one about the Waterfalls of the Columbia River Gorge,
that I think you might have the song-for!...If not, pass it on, pass
it on!!! (But, I hope you do!....)
COLUMBIA RIVER WATERS COME DOWN
CHORUS:
I have been rockin' on Waters all evenin'
Been rockin' on Waters now most of my days
Waters come down, Baby, down come the Waters
Waterfalls have their ways - they have their ways
___________
Have you noticed, Baby, I am the fallin' one
Fallin' and fallin' - most often: for you...
Just like a Waterfall bringin' on all them
Positive bits: meanin': no, don't be blue:
Give me some big rocks - green wet mosses -
Salamanders - leafed ferns whisping to the sky...
Give me some sweet spray - stone bridge - fir trees -
A pool to splash high into - I'll fall right on by....
__________
CHORUS
__________
No body's countin' the flows of these Waters -
Every cloud that ever was is fallin' into me:
I am lovin' tumblin' on over, over, over -
There's no way to fathom the Lovin' in me...
You be the Stream goin' down to the River -
I'll be the Waters feedin' your flow -
I'll keep on fallin', Baby, into your WaterWays:
I'll go as far as you're willin' to go....
___________
CHORUS
___________
One Thousand And One Nights
Reply |Kathleen Everitt to deborah, Dennis, Kevin
Deb, Here's the one about the Waterfalls of the Columbia River Gorge,
that I think you might have the song-for!...If not, pass it on, pass
it on!!! (But, I hope you do!....)
COLUMBIA RIVER WATERS COME DOWN
CHORUS:
I have been rockin' on Waters all evenin'
Been rockin' on Waters now most of my days
Waters come down, Baby, down come the Waters
Waterfalls have their ways - they have their ways
___________
Have you noticed, Baby, I am the fallin' one
Fallin' and fallin' - most often: for you...
Just like a Waterfall bringin' on all them
Positive bits: meanin': no, don't be blue:
Give me some big rocks - green wet mosses -
Salamanders - leafed ferns whisping to the sky...
Give me some sweet spray - stone bridge - fir trees -
A pool to splash high into - I'll fall right on by....
__________
CHORUS
__________
No body's countin' the flows of these Waters -
Every cloud that ever was is fallin' into me:
I am lovin' tumblin' on over, over, over -
There's no way to fathom the Lovin' in me...
You be the Stream goin' down to the River -
I'll be the Waters feedin' your flow -
I'll keep on fallin', Baby, into your WaterWays:
I'll go as far as you're willin' to go....
___________
CHORUS
___________
11/16/11
SONG FOR FORTY SOME YEARS OF TOM WAITS is my date with destiny betwixt me and Tom: we'll meet another time and place...I just know it! meantimes, somebody better find these Lyrics their Song, or they just won't get sung, folks...that would be such a shame - don't ya think?!....
SONG FOR FORTY-SOME YEARS OF TOM WAITS
CHORUS:
I'm like the mermaid who rhumbas for ya, Baby -
I've a mean tarantella that'll make your feet ring -
I ain't afraid of no juke joint stomp -
For the great Tom Waits I'd dance to most anything...
__________
Drownin' in a Madrigal and bawlin' through some lullaby:
I just gotta say the man brings on a fine, fine song...
It's what - twenty vinyls now - he just keeps agoin' -
Real Gone songs "grew up hard" all along...
For a rovin' Song Man it's A Long Way Home -
And he ain't even trying to Hold Back Spring...
He's a roust-about Brawler with a Kerouac Beat -
He can bring through The Song about any old thing....
_____________
CHORUS
______________
I ain't no Orphan Child - but if I was one
I could sing tough ballads like Tom Waits can do -
I can love them Shiney Things - can growl like Leadbelly -
I can sing of melancholy - trainwrecks goin' on through -
But I can't do them country-blues all streaked with jazz riffs
With gravelly heart and full-up soul to sing away my fears -
And still be damn good - and tell strange tales all-along ...
Not all-along...no, not for all them years....
____________
CHORUS
____________
CHORUS:
I'm like the mermaid who rhumbas for ya, Baby -
I've a mean tarantella that'll make your feet ring -
I ain't afraid of no juke joint stomp -
For the great Tom Waits I'd dance to most anything...
__________
Drownin' in a Madrigal and bawlin' through some lullaby:
I just gotta say the man brings on a fine, fine song...
It's what - twenty vinyls now - he just keeps agoin' -
Real Gone songs "grew up hard" all along...
For a rovin' Song Man it's A Long Way Home -
And he ain't even trying to Hold Back Spring...
He's a roust-about Brawler with a Kerouac Beat -
He can bring through The Song about any old thing....
_____________
CHORUS
______________
I ain't no Orphan Child - but if I was one
I could sing tough ballads like Tom Waits can do -
I can love them Shiney Things - can growl like Leadbelly -
I can sing of melancholy - trainwrecks goin' on through -
But I can't do them country-blues all streaked with jazz riffs
With gravelly heart and full-up soul to sing away my fears -
And still be damn good - and tell strange tales all-along ...
Not all-along...no, not for all them years....
____________
CHORUS
____________
11/14/11
NEVER BE THE LIKES OF YOU are Lyrics to thank a friend to so many of us who love Local Music and Song in the East Bay of the San Francisco Bay Area: Kevin Radley is wonderful in his generosity with Song; Music Arrangements/Gigs/Songs/support for others/ and all-time kindness and fun! I hope he'll find the Song for these lyrics...if not, of course, he will graciously let them go like a bird freed into the skies!....
#208 1001 Nights: LYRICS: NEVER BE THE LIKES OF YOU
Reply |Kathleen Everitt to Kevin, Dennis
Kevin: here's the song...the guy is based very loosely on you, since I
don't know you well enough to write a song you might relate to as
being more true to your character as a person...I thought maybe you
could hear its song some way...any way, they're yours if you want
them...I'll post them on the blog anyways, either way you decide and
all...
Your Friend,
Kat
NEVER BE THE LIKES OF YOU
I could be your brother and your best friend true -
I might be your loved one or your lover man too -
I suspect I can listen just as easy as I sing -
I believe you could trust me in most anything...
But I won't be your fool tho I act like a clown:
That's just to bring a laugh there for ya
When you're feelin' down...
I won't be your boss man - I won't be your King -
I'll try not lie about every damn thing....
__________
CHORUS:
You can really hold me - I'll hold you right back -
I might give you anything I have that you might lack -
But I won't give my soul or all of my heart...
Hope that's enough, Woman...
Hope that's enough...
Hope I'm enough, My Darlin':
True....
__________
I've played up on this Stage of Life with passion and with song -
Strummed these guitars through good times gone so wrong -
Welcomed in good mornin's and some wild nights too -
Never tried to love so hard with anyone but you...
And I won't let you down though the moon's gone black:
I swear to you my darlin' Woman: I will bring it back...
I'll make the sun go shinin' and lots of rainbows too:
I'm a man full of heart songs - sing most of them for you....
__________
CHORUS
__________
Reply |Kathleen Everitt to Kevin, Dennis
Kevin: here's the song...the guy is based very loosely on you, since I
don't know you well enough to write a song you might relate to as
being more true to your character as a person...I thought maybe you
could hear its song some way...any way, they're yours if you want
them...I'll post them on the blog anyways, either way you decide and
all...
Your Friend,
Kat
NEVER BE THE LIKES OF YOU
I could be your brother and your best friend true -
I might be your loved one or your lover man too -
I suspect I can listen just as easy as I sing -
I believe you could trust me in most anything...
But I won't be your fool tho I act like a clown:
That's just to bring a laugh there for ya
When you're feelin' down...
I won't be your boss man - I won't be your King -
I'll try not lie about every damn thing....
__________
CHORUS:
You can really hold me - I'll hold you right back -
I might give you anything I have that you might lack -
But I won't give my soul or all of my heart...
Hope that's enough, Woman...
Hope that's enough...
Hope I'm enough, My Darlin':
True....
__________
I've played up on this Stage of Life with passion and with song -
Strummed these guitars through good times gone so wrong -
Welcomed in good mornin's and some wild nights too -
Never tried to love so hard with anyone but you...
And I won't let you down though the moon's gone black:
I swear to you my darlin' Woman: I will bring it back...
I'll make the sun go shinin' and lots of rainbows too:
I'm a man full of heart songs - sing most of them for you....
__________
CHORUS
__________
11/12/11
THANKS GIVING is NOT-Lyrics...it's an 'offering' for the time inbetween Veteran's Day and Thanksgiving...between 'War' and 'Peace'...between one man and his little family her in the United States of America...It's my offering of Thanks-Giving: for all of us in these times....
THANKSGIVING...
he was going to be leaving her again. all day the kids had been naughty and restless. they always knew when he was going to leave. kids just could sniff out the tension in the air like crazy. it made them crazy for sure. they even had a food-throwing fight right at the table. Kit had a fit about that. you kids are going straight to bed in an hour! that's it! I've had it!...stuff like that. yes. it was definitely a Dad's-Going-Away- kind of night. he felt suddenly trapped in the sad sameness of it all. these returns to war were bad. take the Leave. then war. R and R. then war. on and on. it was crazy-making for every single body he knew.
Kit was the worst of course. she was always so brave about it. her lips had gotten thinner over time. from holding her trap shut. not saying all the anger and sadness that was inside of her. because it wouldn't do any good at all. but it was tearing her apart. over and over and over and over. she never even shed one tear. as they say. shed one tear. not in front of him. but Sally was only six. she didn't know how not to tell. so she told him: Mama cries every night. Daddy. you need to be home every night. else Mama will just cry every night... he tried to tell her about how Daddy had to be a soldier for America. to keep America free. but Sally wasn't buying that one bit: Mama's crying... she made her voice firm so he'd get it. he got it... and the boy. Jake. he was only four. he would be really quiet when Daddy first came home. for a long time. then he'd start to play again. and laugh. they were starting to play ball together. the kid could really catch and throw. he loved to watch baseball and football games with his Daddy. but when Daddy was gone...Kit told him: he never plays with the balls or watches the games when you're gone. that made him feel even worse.
Deployments were the same word as Nightmares. get your gear in order. pack up. go down to the base. finish the paper work. get checked over. get the flight set up. go back home. say good bye to the folks. say good bye to friends. say good bye to the kids lightly: Daddy will be gone for a little bit again. to work as a soldier again. but I'll be back. I'll be back. I'll be back....not say good bye to Kit at all. she finally had said it at the third Deployment: I should'of married that rodeo guy. then all I'd have to worry about would be broken bones and him getting tanked on the pay before he came home. at least we'd have the trophies on the wall...so he stopped saying good bye. he's kiss her lightly and pat her fanny. say: see you. take care. be well. give my love to the kids every night and every morning. big kisses and hugs to you. I'll skype you soon as I can....her lips would get tight like that. she'd say: OK Pete. just that: OK Pete. just OK....
being back to the War was always really really terrible. not one guy said one word of that tho. they just wouldn't look at eachother's faces. much less in eachother's eyes. never would. there was nothing to say. they all had chewed-up hearts. souls out of reach. for sure. losses and pains that were just going to fester for years. if not forever. what was there to say about that? same old same old....orders. more orders. some rest. some food. some sleep. some cards. skype the wife. maybe the kids too: Daddy's fine. I'm well. how are you doing honey? how was the ball game? you didn't go? go next time with Uncle Joe. OK? go for Daddy. tell me about the game. tell me more about your picture. Sal. Sally is Daddy's Girl! Daddy loves you...did you pay that bill? Kit? are you OK? how is Ma? and Dad? well. got to go. bye...same old same old. he always had a real hunger to see them on the video screen. the hunger stayed while he was talking with them looking hard at them. then they were off line. and he was hungry again. worse than before.
he had been listening to winter warrior tapes lately. his buddy had brought them back. kind-of snuck them in a movie DVD. all guys talking about how all these deployments had messed up their lives. and their wives's lives. and their kid's lives. every single body in their life was all caught up in this deadening drama. it was like some lousy soap opera. only it so desperate. so very real. so very real. guys dying. dead. getting maimed. orders coming. go here. stay there. kill here. guard there. stand here. run there. rest. up. eat. shower. kill. rest. pack. carry. drive. kill. eat. sleep. skype the wife and kids. watch the movie. next order. it just kept going on. and going on. and going on. all the stuff they never talked about while deployed. never. Pete didn't know what to make of it. was it betrayal to see how they felt? they were out of the action. winter soldiers. all gray. older. trying to rebuild their lives stateside. were they traitors? lots of them had bad injuries. they were living in the VA hospitals more than at home. not much sense in being at home anyway. that's what one of them said. they all look at me like I'm a zombie. or some cartoon. like in a video game. what was it like over there? damn. what do they expect me to say?....Pete wondered what it would be like if he could get out. his tour of duty was going to be over soon...what would he say....he wondered if any one would call him a winter soldier. he doubted that. for sure.
he was terribly tired. terribly tired.. not being able to ever tell the truth about his life. that really hurt... having people looking at him like he was an alien. that really hurt too. the people they were supposed to be helping. the people they were supposed to be hurting. killing. the people at home they were supposed to be still loving somehow. did still love somehow. whatever love meant. trying to still believe that God cared. about him specifically. praying that God was taking care of his wife and his kids. which he personally wasn't doing. since he wasn't there. and mainly. mainly: trying to be human. pretending that he was some sort of special human. who could live like this over and over again. and still come out very human. and loving too. and loved too. as if....
there were some nice people there the last time he got off of the plane. coming home for leave. they were all pretty old. wearing caps and jackets with American flags on them. really kind people. they shook his hand kindly. thank you for serving America. we sure do appreciate what you've done...he thanked them right back... for coming out to welcome us home. it was three in the morning. some of these old folks had gotten up at one or so. just to come and welcome them home. it was odd. but sort of cool...only no one was there to say good bye when they left though. it was quiet. no one standing there to shake his hand and say: so long. don't get your self killed. come home in one piece. you hear? soldier?...he had to laugh to himself. wouldn't that be something? you'all come back in one piece now! you hear?....had to laugh....
these orders were going to not be so bad. he wouldn't be home this Thanksgiving coming up. but he was going to get to come home for Christmas. he had been able to tell Kit that. only this year she didn't look too hopeful and excited about that. she was just kind. she just said: I hope so. Pete. I sure hope so... well. she was a good Service Wife. never complained. but she was sure on her last legs over this marriage. she was running to whole show for too long. well. better not to dwell on that so much. there was work to do. it was night when they got onto the base. some of the guys were there. others were not. of course. some of them were out of their tours for good. arguing their own argument with their families at home. about how they were going to fit back in and all. some of them were still in the VA system getting care for head stuff or wounds and stuff. others were just dead. none of them talked about the the just-dead-ones. they just all pulled out the cigs and lit up. end of discussion. so. this would be his fifth Thanksgiving away from home. hopefully his last. he was thinking of leaving these good ol' armed services. before his time up would be settled for him. by some sniper. or some maneuver he just would be in-the -way-of. the wrong time in the wrong place. it was getting to seem pretty random. all told....
Halloween came and went. he saw the kids in their costumes. Kit made them their little costumes. per usual. really cute. Sal was Mary Had A Little Lamb. with a stuffed lamb. Jake was a GI Joe. he stood with his sturdy little legs apart and looked tough for his Daddy on skype. his Daddy saluted him right back. Kit was being all cheerful. saying sweet stuff... he was actually really bummed after that skype. it had been way too good. like a show put on for him. didn't feel real. he guessed it was as real as things were going to be for awhile tho. he hadn't had more than a short phone call since then.
now it was Thanksgiving. he got into the skype line early. with all the other guys with kids. the single guys had to wait. of course. the kids came first. he was starting to get hungry for some turkey. somehow they were going to have turkey today. that was the rumor anyway. they were pretty far from the base. but living on rumors like that was cool. gave Pete something to dwell on. he found himself saying dwell-on a lot lately. several guys had teased him about it: Pete's dwellin' on somethin'... that's what they'd say when he seemed far away. it actually wasn't good to be far away for long. you could lose your edge. which you needed to always have. your edge...
everything was kind in a mess at home. when he finally got through to them. Kit was irritated about her bird. it was already too dry. she was going over to his parent's for the day. she had insisted on doing the turkey this year. but she had slept through one of the basting times. or something like that. so the turkey was getting too dry. Pete had no idea what to say about that. Jake was whining about something or other. Pete told him to act like a man. which sounded pretty stupid to say to a little kid. but what the hell. this wasn't the contact he had been hungry for. for like weeks. Sally was sweet tho. you're Daddy's little sweetheart? right? right? she said yep... yep! she used to tell him she was going to marry him. after mama would get unmarried to him. now she didn't say that anymore. she had slipped out of that stage of things without him even being there. he sure was missing damn near everything. he didn't even ask Jake anything about ball playing or ball games. what the hell was the use...Kit got back on. well. we're going to go with the damn old turkey just the way it is. it's just the way it is. you OK? Pete? we love you. we miss you. we wish you were here. I wish you were here to tease your Ma. to tell her we missed basting the turkey because we were too busy making love. like you usually gave her as an excuse. wish you were here to do that for me...sure. Pete laughed for the first time: I wish I was there to do that too. I really do. babe. I really do...
so that was it. no body mentioned turkey the rest of the day. because the turkey never came. not even canned stuff. it had gotten rerouted somewheres else. figured. they had good food though. way better than the usual. it had been a quiet day really. way too quiet for where they were. it always happened: the enemy knew when the holidays were. hoped that they were all drunk or overfed or preoccupied or something. maybe it was better not to have turkey. made you sleepy anyway. some of them were napping. some just listened for the scores of the Thanksgiving games. that was the only thing preoccupying some of them. then all hell came down.
the enemy wasn't even supposed to have had a clue about their position. that's how secret this whole maneuver had been. well. guess not. they knew everything about everything apparently. they were all over them. all about them. there was the usual quick quick shuffle. they all knew the routine. they were covering here and playing-through all over the place there. everything was going A-1. but they sure were taking a licking anyway. all hell coming through. all hell to pay. so. Pete got hit.
he knew it was going to happen. these kind of stories always have someone getting hit. not an easy scene to miss. when you're in action: it's war. somebody is always getting hit. wounded. or dying. or dead...Pete didn't feel the hit. that was bad. he couldn't move. so it was some nerves somewhere in his body. maybe his spine. this was not good. he had often thought: better dead than in some wheelchair for life. not being able to move. and here he was. not feeling a thing. some men checking on him: you OK? shite no... OK man. we'll get you out of here... sure man. don't worry about me. go kick butt... men flying past him. men who could still move. he felt fear growing. couldn't even move one muscle yet. this was way not good at all. way bad bad bad. he tried to stay alert. but stuff was fading. he heard some kids singing. that couldn't be right. it was getting dark. for real. and all around him too. it was OK right now not to feel anything. better than pain. maybe better than pain. then he was out.
he came-to crying hard. he was feeling pain now for sure. here. there. everywhere. he was in transport tho. that part was good. he wasn't dead or nothin'. not yet. maybe it was good he was feeling pain. only he still felt like he couldn't move. he could see that the damn IV was in the vein wrong. his arm was puffing up from fluid. he got some guy over to fix that pronto. asked where he had been hit... do you really want to know?.. well shite. not now. not when you say it like that. sure dude. tell me...spine. upper spine. you feelin' a thing?...yep.here and there...well. good sign. just rest now. you hear? ...yes. I hear. that's one thing I can do. and see. and speak. but I'm willing to bet that I'm peeing all over my self. cuz I can smell it. but I can't feel a thing down there...best to pass out again. Pete tried that...nothing happened.....
all he could think of was how he was out of this war now. there was going to be the VA for months and years and stuff. Kit was going to have to take care of him. Jake was going to have to play ball with Joe forever. his uncle Joe. who would be just-like-a-second-dad for him. he was going to have to wheel himself down the aisle to take Sally down it for her wedding day. there'd be a tear in one or two eyes. Kit would talk about divorce. Kit would leave when the kids left. he'd go live with Joe. who never had married. Joe would get paid by the VA for being his attendant and all. Pete would get a clerk job. he would stay working for Uncle Sam...he would be a real soldier still. not a winter soldier. he decided never to complain.
after all. he's the one who had picked this. the buck stopped with him. it was all his doing. nobody else was to blame. war was war. he'd hang out with other service people. not with the vets at some corner bar. with the people still serving. not giving up on America. not saying no. simply because he couldn't feel below the chest. couldn't move below the waist. he wasn't alone here. lots of others like him. Joe would help him get his uniform on every morning. there was a lot to do on the base. he was part of it all...Pete could see it. it would be just that way...
Pete started counting his blessings. what he was thankful for. he gave thanks to God that he was alive. that the enemy hadn't killed him. the way he had hoped for. now he didn't feel like that. he was glad he was still alive. at least he could be with family for a long time. before the kids would leave the nest. before the marriage would finally crumble. he'd have friends and work. care from the government. for the rest of his days. there was surely a lot to be thankful for.
there sure was. wasn't there?....he found he could turn his neck a little. just like he had been hoping. and his right arm a little too. he waved a bit at the medic nearby: hey dude! sir! can you tell me: is it still Thanksgiving Day?...no man. it's the day after. just an ordinary regular old day in this man's war!...thanks man. thanks for helping me... thanks for me still not being dead. thanks for going home. going home...
going home.
I'm giving thanks here.
giving thanks
giving thanks
going home...
Pete closed his eyes.
sighed just one time...
and fell asleep....
he was going to be leaving her again. all day the kids had been naughty and restless. they always knew when he was going to leave. kids just could sniff out the tension in the air like crazy. it made them crazy for sure. they even had a food-throwing fight right at the table. Kit had a fit about that. you kids are going straight to bed in an hour! that's it! I've had it!...stuff like that. yes. it was definitely a Dad's-Going-Away- kind of night. he felt suddenly trapped in the sad sameness of it all. these returns to war were bad. take the Leave. then war. R and R. then war. on and on. it was crazy-making for every single body he knew.
Kit was the worst of course. she was always so brave about it. her lips had gotten thinner over time. from holding her trap shut. not saying all the anger and sadness that was inside of her. because it wouldn't do any good at all. but it was tearing her apart. over and over and over and over. she never even shed one tear. as they say. shed one tear. not in front of him. but Sally was only six. she didn't know how not to tell. so she told him: Mama cries every night. Daddy. you need to be home every night. else Mama will just cry every night... he tried to tell her about how Daddy had to be a soldier for America. to keep America free. but Sally wasn't buying that one bit: Mama's crying... she made her voice firm so he'd get it. he got it... and the boy. Jake. he was only four. he would be really quiet when Daddy first came home. for a long time. then he'd start to play again. and laugh. they were starting to play ball together. the kid could really catch and throw. he loved to watch baseball and football games with his Daddy. but when Daddy was gone...Kit told him: he never plays with the balls or watches the games when you're gone. that made him feel even worse.
Deployments were the same word as Nightmares. get your gear in order. pack up. go down to the base. finish the paper work. get checked over. get the flight set up. go back home. say good bye to the folks. say good bye to friends. say good bye to the kids lightly: Daddy will be gone for a little bit again. to work as a soldier again. but I'll be back. I'll be back. I'll be back....not say good bye to Kit at all. she finally had said it at the third Deployment: I should'of married that rodeo guy. then all I'd have to worry about would be broken bones and him getting tanked on the pay before he came home. at least we'd have the trophies on the wall...so he stopped saying good bye. he's kiss her lightly and pat her fanny. say: see you. take care. be well. give my love to the kids every night and every morning. big kisses and hugs to you. I'll skype you soon as I can....her lips would get tight like that. she'd say: OK Pete. just that: OK Pete. just OK....
being back to the War was always really really terrible. not one guy said one word of that tho. they just wouldn't look at eachother's faces. much less in eachother's eyes. never would. there was nothing to say. they all had chewed-up hearts. souls out of reach. for sure. losses and pains that were just going to fester for years. if not forever. what was there to say about that? same old same old....orders. more orders. some rest. some food. some sleep. some cards. skype the wife. maybe the kids too: Daddy's fine. I'm well. how are you doing honey? how was the ball game? you didn't go? go next time with Uncle Joe. OK? go for Daddy. tell me about the game. tell me more about your picture. Sal. Sally is Daddy's Girl! Daddy loves you...did you pay that bill? Kit? are you OK? how is Ma? and Dad? well. got to go. bye...same old same old. he always had a real hunger to see them on the video screen. the hunger stayed while he was talking with them looking hard at them. then they were off line. and he was hungry again. worse than before.
he had been listening to winter warrior tapes lately. his buddy had brought them back. kind-of snuck them in a movie DVD. all guys talking about how all these deployments had messed up their lives. and their wives's lives. and their kid's lives. every single body in their life was all caught up in this deadening drama. it was like some lousy soap opera. only it so desperate. so very real. so very real. guys dying. dead. getting maimed. orders coming. go here. stay there. kill here. guard there. stand here. run there. rest. up. eat. shower. kill. rest. pack. carry. drive. kill. eat. sleep. skype the wife and kids. watch the movie. next order. it just kept going on. and going on. and going on. all the stuff they never talked about while deployed. never. Pete didn't know what to make of it. was it betrayal to see how they felt? they were out of the action. winter soldiers. all gray. older. trying to rebuild their lives stateside. were they traitors? lots of them had bad injuries. they were living in the VA hospitals more than at home. not much sense in being at home anyway. that's what one of them said. they all look at me like I'm a zombie. or some cartoon. like in a video game. what was it like over there? damn. what do they expect me to say?....Pete wondered what it would be like if he could get out. his tour of duty was going to be over soon...what would he say....he wondered if any one would call him a winter soldier. he doubted that. for sure.
he was terribly tired. terribly tired.. not being able to ever tell the truth about his life. that really hurt... having people looking at him like he was an alien. that really hurt too. the people they were supposed to be helping. the people they were supposed to be hurting. killing. the people at home they were supposed to be still loving somehow. did still love somehow. whatever love meant. trying to still believe that God cared. about him specifically. praying that God was taking care of his wife and his kids. which he personally wasn't doing. since he wasn't there. and mainly. mainly: trying to be human. pretending that he was some sort of special human. who could live like this over and over again. and still come out very human. and loving too. and loved too. as if....
there were some nice people there the last time he got off of the plane. coming home for leave. they were all pretty old. wearing caps and jackets with American flags on them. really kind people. they shook his hand kindly. thank you for serving America. we sure do appreciate what you've done...he thanked them right back... for coming out to welcome us home. it was three in the morning. some of these old folks had gotten up at one or so. just to come and welcome them home. it was odd. but sort of cool...only no one was there to say good bye when they left though. it was quiet. no one standing there to shake his hand and say: so long. don't get your self killed. come home in one piece. you hear? soldier?...he had to laugh to himself. wouldn't that be something? you'all come back in one piece now! you hear?....had to laugh....
these orders were going to not be so bad. he wouldn't be home this Thanksgiving coming up. but he was going to get to come home for Christmas. he had been able to tell Kit that. only this year she didn't look too hopeful and excited about that. she was just kind. she just said: I hope so. Pete. I sure hope so... well. she was a good Service Wife. never complained. but she was sure on her last legs over this marriage. she was running to whole show for too long. well. better not to dwell on that so much. there was work to do. it was night when they got onto the base. some of the guys were there. others were not. of course. some of them were out of their tours for good. arguing their own argument with their families at home. about how they were going to fit back in and all. some of them were still in the VA system getting care for head stuff or wounds and stuff. others were just dead. none of them talked about the the just-dead-ones. they just all pulled out the cigs and lit up. end of discussion. so. this would be his fifth Thanksgiving away from home. hopefully his last. he was thinking of leaving these good ol' armed services. before his time up would be settled for him. by some sniper. or some maneuver he just would be in-the -way-of. the wrong time in the wrong place. it was getting to seem pretty random. all told....
Halloween came and went. he saw the kids in their costumes. Kit made them their little costumes. per usual. really cute. Sal was Mary Had A Little Lamb. with a stuffed lamb. Jake was a GI Joe. he stood with his sturdy little legs apart and looked tough for his Daddy on skype. his Daddy saluted him right back. Kit was being all cheerful. saying sweet stuff... he was actually really bummed after that skype. it had been way too good. like a show put on for him. didn't feel real. he guessed it was as real as things were going to be for awhile tho. he hadn't had more than a short phone call since then.
now it was Thanksgiving. he got into the skype line early. with all the other guys with kids. the single guys had to wait. of course. the kids came first. he was starting to get hungry for some turkey. somehow they were going to have turkey today. that was the rumor anyway. they were pretty far from the base. but living on rumors like that was cool. gave Pete something to dwell on. he found himself saying dwell-on a lot lately. several guys had teased him about it: Pete's dwellin' on somethin'... that's what they'd say when he seemed far away. it actually wasn't good to be far away for long. you could lose your edge. which you needed to always have. your edge...
everything was kind in a mess at home. when he finally got through to them. Kit was irritated about her bird. it was already too dry. she was going over to his parent's for the day. she had insisted on doing the turkey this year. but she had slept through one of the basting times. or something like that. so the turkey was getting too dry. Pete had no idea what to say about that. Jake was whining about something or other. Pete told him to act like a man. which sounded pretty stupid to say to a little kid. but what the hell. this wasn't the contact he had been hungry for. for like weeks. Sally was sweet tho. you're Daddy's little sweetheart? right? right? she said yep... yep! she used to tell him she was going to marry him. after mama would get unmarried to him. now she didn't say that anymore. she had slipped out of that stage of things without him even being there. he sure was missing damn near everything. he didn't even ask Jake anything about ball playing or ball games. what the hell was the use...Kit got back on. well. we're going to go with the damn old turkey just the way it is. it's just the way it is. you OK? Pete? we love you. we miss you. we wish you were here. I wish you were here to tease your Ma. to tell her we missed basting the turkey because we were too busy making love. like you usually gave her as an excuse. wish you were here to do that for me...sure. Pete laughed for the first time: I wish I was there to do that too. I really do. babe. I really do...
so that was it. no body mentioned turkey the rest of the day. because the turkey never came. not even canned stuff. it had gotten rerouted somewheres else. figured. they had good food though. way better than the usual. it had been a quiet day really. way too quiet for where they were. it always happened: the enemy knew when the holidays were. hoped that they were all drunk or overfed or preoccupied or something. maybe it was better not to have turkey. made you sleepy anyway. some of them were napping. some just listened for the scores of the Thanksgiving games. that was the only thing preoccupying some of them. then all hell came down.
the enemy wasn't even supposed to have had a clue about their position. that's how secret this whole maneuver had been. well. guess not. they knew everything about everything apparently. they were all over them. all about them. there was the usual quick quick shuffle. they all knew the routine. they were covering here and playing-through all over the place there. everything was going A-1. but they sure were taking a licking anyway. all hell coming through. all hell to pay. so. Pete got hit.
he knew it was going to happen. these kind of stories always have someone getting hit. not an easy scene to miss. when you're in action: it's war. somebody is always getting hit. wounded. or dying. or dead...Pete didn't feel the hit. that was bad. he couldn't move. so it was some nerves somewhere in his body. maybe his spine. this was not good. he had often thought: better dead than in some wheelchair for life. not being able to move. and here he was. not feeling a thing. some men checking on him: you OK? shite no... OK man. we'll get you out of here... sure man. don't worry about me. go kick butt... men flying past him. men who could still move. he felt fear growing. couldn't even move one muscle yet. this was way not good at all. way bad bad bad. he tried to stay alert. but stuff was fading. he heard some kids singing. that couldn't be right. it was getting dark. for real. and all around him too. it was OK right now not to feel anything. better than pain. maybe better than pain. then he was out.
he came-to crying hard. he was feeling pain now for sure. here. there. everywhere. he was in transport tho. that part was good. he wasn't dead or nothin'. not yet. maybe it was good he was feeling pain. only he still felt like he couldn't move. he could see that the damn IV was in the vein wrong. his arm was puffing up from fluid. he got some guy over to fix that pronto. asked where he had been hit... do you really want to know?.. well shite. not now. not when you say it like that. sure dude. tell me...spine. upper spine. you feelin' a thing?...yep.here and there...well. good sign. just rest now. you hear? ...yes. I hear. that's one thing I can do. and see. and speak. but I'm willing to bet that I'm peeing all over my self. cuz I can smell it. but I can't feel a thing down there...best to pass out again. Pete tried that...nothing happened.....
all he could think of was how he was out of this war now. there was going to be the VA for months and years and stuff. Kit was going to have to take care of him. Jake was going to have to play ball with Joe forever. his uncle Joe. who would be just-like-a-second-dad for him. he was going to have to wheel himself down the aisle to take Sally down it for her wedding day. there'd be a tear in one or two eyes. Kit would talk about divorce. Kit would leave when the kids left. he'd go live with Joe. who never had married. Joe would get paid by the VA for being his attendant and all. Pete would get a clerk job. he would stay working for Uncle Sam...he would be a real soldier still. not a winter soldier. he decided never to complain.
after all. he's the one who had picked this. the buck stopped with him. it was all his doing. nobody else was to blame. war was war. he'd hang out with other service people. not with the vets at some corner bar. with the people still serving. not giving up on America. not saying no. simply because he couldn't feel below the chest. couldn't move below the waist. he wasn't alone here. lots of others like him. Joe would help him get his uniform on every morning. there was a lot to do on the base. he was part of it all...Pete could see it. it would be just that way...
Pete started counting his blessings. what he was thankful for. he gave thanks to God that he was alive. that the enemy hadn't killed him. the way he had hoped for. now he didn't feel like that. he was glad he was still alive. at least he could be with family for a long time. before the kids would leave the nest. before the marriage would finally crumble. he'd have friends and work. care from the government. for the rest of his days. there was surely a lot to be thankful for.
there sure was. wasn't there?....he found he could turn his neck a little. just like he had been hoping. and his right arm a little too. he waved a bit at the medic nearby: hey dude! sir! can you tell me: is it still Thanksgiving Day?...no man. it's the day after. just an ordinary regular old day in this man's war!...thanks man. thanks for helping me... thanks for me still not being dead. thanks for going home. going home...
going home.
I'm giving thanks here.
giving thanks
giving thanks
going home...
Pete closed his eyes.
sighed just one time...
and fell asleep....
11/11/11
WRANGLING THE YEARS is lyrics about Lost Loves and the memories, scars, and gains still wrapped in discreet whisps of self-pity and self-worth: we all seem to intwine in such fragments of memory and emotion at times in our recollections...sent these by email, as I sometimes do, to several Songwriters I know...to see if any one of them can hear its Song...if you do: then Sing It!....
WRANGLING THE YEARS is is one of my new ones just up on the Blog, Friends...hope you find time to look through them....there are over twenty up there now...just if you have time, or course! no pressure here, at all! Really!
Love ya,
Kathy
WRANGLING THE YEARS
I've been wrangling the years:
Never give without losin -'
Never gave without bein'
Afraid of the Storms...
Been talkin' past partners
From far ago somewheres:
They never gave somethin'
Without leavin' home....
Chorus
You're my failures - my wins -
My Past and my Future
My unkempt ex-Lovers
Who I left alone...
I've fought with your Memory
Inside and Outside -
I'm really not leaving
Til you're up and gone....
Chorus
You're still awake in
My heart and my head -
I can hear you in mornings...
You haunt me all night -
I'll never forget you:
no matter how often
I wrangle the time warps
They never go right....
CHORUS:
You were some nightmare:
I know I'm just dreamin' -
I hope I grow up and
Forget all the pain:
My past is just lovers
I wrangled with mightily:
The losses were worth it:
My Self was the gain....
Love ya,
Kathy
WRANGLING THE YEARS
I've been wrangling the years:
Never give without losin -'
Never gave without bein'
Afraid of the Storms...
Been talkin' past partners
From far ago somewheres:
They never gave somethin'
Without leavin' home....
Chorus
You're my failures - my wins -
My Past and my Future
My unkempt ex-Lovers
Who I left alone...
I've fought with your Memory
Inside and Outside -
I'm really not leaving
Til you're up and gone....
Chorus
You're still awake in
My heart and my head -
I can hear you in mornings...
You haunt me all night -
I'll never forget you:
no matter how often
I wrangle the time warps
They never go right....
CHORUS:
You were some nightmare:
I know I'm just dreamin' -
I hope I grow up and
Forget all the pain:
My past is just lovers
I wrangled with mightily:
The losses were worth it:
My Self was the gain....
11/10/11
FAIRE L'AMOUR Lyrics is an awkward but heartfelt Love Song in Cajun, which is far more than a dialect in either French or English...Deb Kuhl Wendt is working these lyrics for their Song, so that she can perform them...being that she speaks and sings French beautifully! ....
Faire l'amour is a Song in honor of the love my Dad carried for his dear second wife all of his days. She returned this love full-time and full-heart: and they were very happy for their time together...
My Dad was 'part Cajun'...which meant he saw himself as Cajun. period. That's the way in Southern Louisiana...
'Beb'..my Daddy called his Geraldine this. they were an old couple being in love. so she was his girlfriend in Cajun...they were amourex - in love... This is a song with the few Cajun phrases I vaguely recall....
Laissez les bon temps rouler!
FAIRE L'AMOUR
Ain? beb! dat don matta -
Don matta at all -
We went ro-day
Up and down de bayou...
All de day
Up and down de bayou...
Don matta, beb
not a'tall...
Faire l'amour -
Dat is ma mama!
Ma sweet beb -
She is ma mama!
We went ro-day
bag daer on de bayou -
Don matta, mon cher,
not a'tall...
Da fais-do-do
ca c'est bon ca c'est bon -
Joie de vivre
ca c'est bon ca c'est bon -
Allons allons!
Joie de vivre!
Bon bon temp!
____________________________
have decided I'm going to study some simple Cajun this year - it would be fun, when we get to the Gulf on the Mississippi next year, to speak a bit with the Cajun folk on the river...just ordered a CD and the dictionary to start....can't wait!!!!......
My Dad was 'part Cajun'...which meant he saw himself as Cajun. period. That's the way in Southern Louisiana...
'Beb'..my Daddy called his Geraldine this. they were an old couple being in love. so she was his girlfriend in Cajun...they were amourex - in love... This is a song with the few Cajun phrases I vaguely recall....
Laissez les bon temps rouler!
FAIRE L'AMOUR
Ain? beb! dat don matta -
Don matta at all -
We went ro-day
Up and down de bayou...
All de day
Up and down de bayou...
Don matta, beb
not a'tall...
Faire l'amour -
Dat is ma mama!
Ma sweet beb -
She is ma mama!
We went ro-day
bag daer on de bayou -
Don matta, mon cher,
not a'tall...
Da fais-do-do
ca c'est bon ca c'est bon -
Joie de vivre
ca c'est bon ca c'est bon -
Allons allons!
Joie de vivre!
Bon bon temp!
____________________________
have decided I'm going to study some simple Cajun this year - it would be fun, when we get to the Gulf on the Mississippi next year, to speak a bit with the Cajun folk on the river...just ordered a CD and the dictionary to start....can't wait!!!!......
THE CROOKED ROAD Lyrics are part autobiographical and part fictional: the Songs and Singers the lyrics speak of are most certainly among my Those Who Came Before the songs/singers my three sisters and I represent to this day - all being Singers, as we are...some SongWriter/Singer/Performer surely can hear the Song in these Lyrics, and will do them proud...I hope so: they're all about Americana and the Folk Music of the winds through the grasses by the river....
This is #4 of the 'new ones': bluegrass/old timey: it's partly in my blood from my English and Scots Irish beginnings on the South East coast with the Everitts boating down the Mississippi to the Gulf...so, this song is about the Roads that may have brought them further along their way towards being Louisiana Southerners for generations - through today in my Cousins Charles and Billy Earle and their families...Recall! These are all first drafts of lyrics, these 'new ones' - not the finished-song!...Special thanks to my sister Vicky, for giving me the idea....
THE CROOKED ROAD
Chorus:
This Crooked Road: Blue Ridge
Deep Appalachia
The Wagon Road from far-off
Pennsylvania
The crooked tunes keep bouncing
Off the fiddle
The banjo claws some njoni tune
For Blessin'
__________
My people came from England:
They were pirates -
My people were Scots Irish
From the highlands -
My people were Acadian
From the north seas -
My people were the Welsh
Coal-mining families...
Germans from the Catholic
hilled-Bavaria...
All of them sang songs -
Known for their singin' -
But of them all the
Crooked Road Folk bested
Everyone in poem and tune -
Harmony: made us all to follow:
Singin' People....
__________
Chorus:
__________
So sing of sweet Irene and
Barbry Allen -
Fiddle me in every grassy
Hollar -
Bring me kind njoni tunes
Old Timey -
Drone me Anabaptist hymns
For Daddy -
Right along with Cajun from
Beb's fiddle -
Rock the cradle - bounce the bow
for Mama...
German Road through
Broken-down stills droning -
Winds in Celtic ballads
From North Ireland....
__________
Chorus:
__________
Then down The Crooked Road
I'm finally singin' -
Playin' Wake the Devil
From His Dreamin' -
Listenin' to the cloggin' and
The two-step...
Beatin' out the time to
Tunes of Lovin' -
Then 'bout how Death's
The only Gate to Heaven -
'Bout how all life underneath the
Mountain
Is answered most in Prayer
An 'Gettin' Happy':
Keenin' tunes reflectin' of
Line-singin'
Sung fine in old wood churches
A Capella....
__________
Chorus:
__________
THE CROOKED ROAD
Chorus:
This Crooked Road: Blue Ridge
Deep Appalachia
The Wagon Road from far-off
Pennsylvania
The crooked tunes keep bouncing
Off the fiddle
The banjo claws some njoni tune
For Blessin'
__________
My people came from England:
They were pirates -
My people were Scots Irish
From the highlands -
My people were Acadian
From the north seas -
My people were the Welsh
Coal-mining families...
Germans from the Catholic
hilled-Bavaria...
All of them sang songs -
Known for their singin' -
But of them all the
Crooked Road Folk bested
Everyone in poem and tune -
Harmony: made us all to follow:
Singin' People....
__________
Chorus:
__________
So sing of sweet Irene and
Barbry Allen -
Fiddle me in every grassy
Hollar -
Bring me kind njoni tunes
Old Timey -
Drone me Anabaptist hymns
For Daddy -
Right along with Cajun from
Beb's fiddle -
Rock the cradle - bounce the bow
for Mama...
German Road through
Broken-down stills droning -
Winds in Celtic ballads
From North Ireland....
__________
Chorus:
__________
Then down The Crooked Road
I'm finally singin' -
Playin' Wake the Devil
From His Dreamin' -
Listenin' to the cloggin' and
The two-step...
Beatin' out the time to
Tunes of Lovin' -
Then 'bout how Death's
The only Gate to Heaven -
'Bout how all life underneath the
Mountain
Is answered most in Prayer
An 'Gettin' Happy':
Keenin' tunes reflectin' of
Line-singin'
Sung fine in old wood churches
A Capella....
__________
Chorus:
__________
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