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BarbraG
Windchimer

1802 Posts

Posted - 07/11/2009 :  21:26:44  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Good thing Patton wasn't on that road in
Montana where the goats were holding up
traffic.

BG
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Ailinn
Windchimer

1512 Posts

Posted - 07/13/2009 :  19:11:23  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Sunrise Stories~

"I want a cigarette," he says. "Oh, shush! Behave yourself!" Alma Cottswold says, tsk-tsking and wagging her finger. I want a goddamn cigarette, NOW!" He gives Alma a menacing look as she backs up shaking her head. He takes a step toward her. I reach out to touch his arm but he yanks it away sending the refreshment tray flying. Dixie cups floating in an orange and cranberry juice puddle where the maintenance crew just finished polishing the Day Room floor. "Please, Major, let's take a walk," I say. I almost whisper, not ready for war. The Major takes the wide Trex stairs two at a time. More agile than I imagine. Then he bolts up the short fire escape and I follow. A beautiful night. Balmy. The traffic on El Camino thinning out. The sun on its way to Hawaii. The corner flower vendors with their striped umbrellas waiting for their rides home. He sits down on the still-warm tile roof. I sit down beside him. He doesn't say a word for ten minutes, then finally, "I'm transferring to Hemet." "You'll like it," I say, "Cahuilla country." "Yeah," he says. "My daughter and son-in-law live in Sage. I'll be staying with them weekends. He's a die- hard Marlboro man." We sat up there til some fog rolled in, then he helped me down the fire escape.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

1512 Posts

Posted - 07/13/2009 :  19:16:16  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
"Hop in," he says. His elbow out the window. His fast foot tapping the floor. Sunset slides across the windshield when he follows the red X's off the map. His fool-proof plan of escape. Later, when he falls asleep at the wheel she nudges him awake. He opens his eyes. He smiles, he nods. "For my next trick..." he says, and winks.
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San Diego
Rocker

420 Posts

Posted - 07/15/2009 :  20:17:56  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Crowded campers in a shopping mall lot. Bright Christmas tree quilt draped over one door. Pacific Ocean across the street. Plane taking off on the water. Water everywhere close to the road. Crossing the PCH at San Elijo where the line winds around Cove Donuts at 6am. Vans from UCSD and Scripps Oceanography double-parked waiting on their orders. Bumper stickers ~I got glazed at Cove Donuts~.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

1512 Posts

Posted - 07/18/2009 :  17:02:53  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Sunrise Stories ~ True Fiction
Three for Clotilde

1. I went looking for him that hot desert night, the American. I found him in the cameo-lit tamarisk grove under the pale Anza moon. He warned me about the jumping cholla. A cactus with its own luring aura. A bright bite so bold it demands blood and surrender. He shook my canteen with a rueful frown. He made a speech about shade and water. Made me squat down beside him when he scratched a crude map to the Ranger Station in the dust.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

1512 Posts

Posted - 07/18/2009 :  17:05:09  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
2. The trail curves along toward Trestles and San Mateo Creek. He shows me where the boat is hidden. Our shoulders touching in the starry dark where beneath the surface of the water the serpent stirs.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

1512 Posts

Posted - 07/18/2009 :  17:07:22  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
3. A tray of glass beads that match his eyes cooling on the kitchen counter.
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Doug L
Firefly

Canada
5416 Posts

Posted - 07/19/2009 :  21:57:09  Show Profile  Visit Doug L's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
These towns and cities, their roadside-joint signs
offering loans, steak-dinner specials, cheap beer
and happy endings. Tawdry saloons where the husband
sleeps off last night's booze 'til late afternoon
while his wife cracks whip on the lunchtime waitresses.
The 25 mph speed limits that power-mad locals cops
love to nail you for breaking by two miles per hour.
A library with a single public internet computer,
closed on Wednesday, the librarian tinkling her bell
when your half hour is up. The tow truck driver's
stories about ancestors who prospected and hunted
in the nearby mountains before the town existed,
his truck lurching until your guts are in your throat.
Churches everywhere, all shapes, sizes and denominations,
their spires rising above the low-slung houses.
An elderly woman dragging a barely-working sprinkler
over burnt-dust ground toward her failing roses.
The JFK Bar in Anaconda, the Club Moderne, most of
the houses dark by ten at night. The lonely Chinese
restaurant, grease on the windows, the scotch-taped
menu with prices crossed out and revised. There's
a hot tub at the Trade Wind, water pistols to squirt
cold water at each other when the steam and the beer
lull you to sleep. All the hidden guns that you feel
and never see, if you're lucky. And every woman you
meet and feel something for is either married or has
a boyfriend who is due out of prison any day now.
Like those storefront signs that promise so much
and deliver so little, people, too, may present a facade
which invites and lures and, ultimately, proves to be
bright neon next to the dark blood of the truth.
It's a story, then, they're telling, and you listen
knowing it's so, that it's a way to shine up time.
Five miles outside most of these towns there are
wolves, bears and mountain lions, stalking old paths
among trees that remember a time before the river.
There are rocks with fossil traces of snakes and snails,
stairs that lead you down to miraculous limestone caves.
A smelter's smokestack survives the smelter as the town
survives its departed and dead, the sun sprinkling its
broken promises upon the sunken public graves.

DL
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Ailinn
Windchimer

1512 Posts

Posted - 07/22/2009 :  21:14:24  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Eve's a superstitious chronicler of his days. Won't change the things he's named. She has fire in her eyes and a rolling pin in her hand. A temper like loose mercury. She reaches for the coffee beans in their twist of brown paper, the grinder with its tiny aromatic drawer. He tips back in his gravity-defying chair. Folds his knuckles up under his prolific chin. Of course nothing is what it seems and...all is as it should be. His peppery grin, his profile split by divination. His legendary shenanigans. His cracked-in-half laughter and well-worn wings. "Save everything! he says.
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Doug L
Firefly

Canada
5416 Posts

Posted - 07/24/2009 :  22:37:30  Show Profile  Visit Doug L's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Reading Rilke on the strand at MacDonald Beach,
a Vietnamese man fishing on the old wooden pier
asleep beneath a parasol. I'm too alone in the world,
he wrote, yet not alone enough to make each hour holy.
A fish taking the hook would ruin the poetry of this day.

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San Diego
Rocker

420 Posts

Posted - 07/25/2009 :  16:22:08  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Twelve hours. We cross the border before 6am. Our guests, Jerry and Lynn are Rhode Island people. Terrified and unhappy the way death is celebrated here. Candy skulls and grave site picnics. "Enjoy!" Mirella encourages, waving her beautiful hands around the decorated cemetery, the azure-blue and opal sky. A car passing by back-fires. "Oh, oh!" Alario says. Alario's a repeat. One of the Surf Camp Kids here for two weeks. Winner of the Intermediate Surf Contest in...RECORD HIGH WAVES!... (O, kiss my face, Alario!) He hands the couple a plate of tamales as Rueben picks up his guitar. Stu says, "Hang out a while, will ya, babe. I'm gonna get my shoes shined." Olympian shoe-shiners on every corner. Mirella and I look at each other. She's aware of my paranoid nature. I'm afraid these guys will have heart attacks on the wrong side of the fence. We pack it up and cross the border at 6:02. We head for Old Town in San Diego. Margaritas in a dozen flavors. Rancho Grande by a strolling mariachi band. "Viva, Mexico!" they say.

PS Tomorrow Mirella will be bringing her three friends...habanero, serrano, and jalapeno...to Jerry and Lynn's last dinner.

PPS Alario sure loves those dots too, Virginia...
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San Diego
Rocker

420 Posts

Posted - 07/26/2009 :  16:18:05  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Jerry's widowed brother-in-law Brad drives down from Orange County. Mirella's Mayan Mystery Sauce saves the day. "You married?" Brad asks Mirella. "Thirty-plus years to my original man," Mirella says. "Me and her..." she nods towards me, "we're just gluttons for punishment."
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San Diego
Rocker

420 Posts

Posted - 07/26/2009 :  16:25:53  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Alario flys to the top of a rolling green wall and with his arms extended, suspended in slow-mo time, he slides down the face of a twenty foot wave. Liquid on liquid. A tear running down a lovers cheek. The boy and the water are one. Kelly Slater and Mick Fanning are his heros. Alario's style is more Flores. Weightless. Graceful. Where's gravity? Invisible, the effort he puts into it. From Providence, Rhode Island. He turns 14 September 1st. Hey, all you guys hangin' ten at Waimea... WATCH OUT! A natural force is on its way.

"His surfboard in one hand
He spread his wings and landed
In the sacred place beneath the sacred tree..."
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Ailinn
Windchimer

1512 Posts

Posted - 07/29/2009 :  21:07:41  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Cormac's Wake. A dangerous man crosses the border. His life was a fiction. Colossal with grief. A quilt of chilled lillies. Memorial wreaths. Folded roses and icy carnations. His Faith on gilt easels displayed for the crowd. A rosary with tears and candles.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

1512 Posts

Posted - 07/29/2009 :  21:09:46  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
The soul is a bird on a string straining for Heaven.

Saint John of the Cross
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San Diego
Rocker

420 Posts

Posted - 08/01/2009 :  17:43:52  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
For Gloria.

The rabbits are back en masse. They eat purple cabbage and garlic bread. They don't run when we come into the yard. Much less timid than before.

PS Thank you for posting the Gathering photos.

Ro

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San Diego
Rocker

420 Posts

Posted - 08/01/2009 :  17:48:36  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Tell me what you see.

Don't write to a line and don't lie.

Mickey Newbury
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BarbraG
Windchimer

1802 Posts

Posted - 08/01/2009 :  21:25:58  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Ice box. Wringer washer. Homemade hot chocolate
syrup with vanilla flavoring. Black cow. Sugarbabies.
Mary Janes. Bazooka. Sugardaddy. Small wax bottles
with koolaid inside. Wooden stoves. Stringing
tobacco with a table full of food waiting for workers.
Splattered watermelons (to see if they were ripe).
Homemade ice cream (pineapple). Teaberry gum.
BIG old BIG old cars, but new at the time.
Going to the fields at 04:30. (Why?) I guess to
beat the heat of the day for a little while, anyway.
All of the children taking a bath on the wrap-around
porch... in the same washtub. "The Lone Ranger" on the
radio at 5 p.m. and my grandfather sitting in his
rocking chair with one leg thrown over one side.
Three (table full) meals a day. Wonder how she did
it. There was peace and harmony on the old place.
There's nothing there, now, except these memories
and hundreds more.

I felt safe there.

Those were the days, my friend
We thought they'd never end ....
We'd sing and dance forever and a day..

Those were the days ....
Oh, yes ....
those were the days.

BGee
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Doug L
Firefly

Canada
5416 Posts

Posted - 08/10/2009 :  00:41:41  Show Profile  Visit Doug L's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Compassion is a blossom one day, a knife the next.
The blossom opens, issues a scent, enables us
to learn the heart of people we have yet to know,
remembering ahead to our meeting in a world
we only imagine. The knife is what cuts into us
for caring at all, while around us the pain
of living gathers. Hope is sharp, draws blood.
You cannot have the blossom without the blade.
Being wishful, we suffer. Sweet humanity,
the song we dream of singing.

DL
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Bill Smith
Windchimer

2381 Posts

Posted - 08/10/2009 :  01:51:58  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
It was a dark and stormy night.
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