Princess Margaret

I've been binge watching The Crown on Netflix. I have a crush on Princess Margaret. She's very pretty, and funny despite her broken heart. I'm a sucker for a broken heart.
Oh, and those shoulders are lovely, quite.

Nikki Haley on Slavery

Here at Bulletholes we occasionally feature women that we have crushes on. Nikki Haley doesn't quite make that list, but we do see her as an outstanding presidential candidate and could see ourselves voting for her the way we could have voted for Mitt Romney or John McCain. Or Chris Christie even.
In the meantime we would advise her to read and reread Lincoln's Gettysburg address.

"Four score and seven years ago our fathers brought forth, upon this continent, a new nation, conceived in liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal.
Now we are engaged in a great civil war, testing whether that nation, or any nation so conceived, and so dedicated, can long endure. We are met on a great battle field of that war. We come to dedicate a portion of it, as a final resting place for those who died here, that the nation might live. This we may, in all propriety do.
But, in a larger sense, we can not dedicate we can not consecrate we can not hallow, this ground The brave men, living and dead, who struggled here, have hallowed it, far above our poor power to add or detract. The world will little note, nor long remember what we say here; while it can never forget what they did here.
It is rather for us, the living, we here be dedicated to the great task remaining before us that, from these honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they here, gave the last full measure of devotion that we here highly resolve these dead shall not have died in vain; that the nation, shall have a new birth of freedom, and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the the earth "

FAR FROM PERFECT

Its probably not going to be a popular opinion, but as I sat at the Gastroenterologist office last week studying the diagram of the human digestive system I couldn’t help but think God could have come up with something a little more simple, a little more elegant, especially considering some of the symptoms I was experiencing.
What a mess.

Where Do It go?

When I was in the hospital last year they weren't going to let me leave unless I had a bowel movement. I kept telling them I hadn't eaten in 3 days there was just nothing there. They insisted there had to be something.

I said "You know, I can eat a footlong Subway sandwich and I only get an inch and a half out. I don't know where it goes. I can't explain it, but if you don't let me eat something I will be here forever. Until the end of time."
So they gave me a cup of broth and an enema.
21st century medicine.

We Do Recover

I made something for my daughter for a birthday present in 2002. It was a horse head, fashioned with colored grout glued to a piece of travertine. Before you go thinking what a sweet thing to do, you should know that the reason I made it was because I had no money, no job, no visible means of support. I was down, down to the dirt man. Deep in my addiction, I didn’t have two thin dimes to rub together to buy her a birthday present. So I made this stupid horse. It looked like a third grade art project. And though I felt a lot of shame giving her this gift, it was all I could do. I’m not sure what they call it when you pretend to not be ashamed, but what ever it is, that was me. I don’t recall if Aubree liked it, or thought it was dumb, or if she was delighted. I really don’t know.

So fast forward 21 years and her step dad calls me and says he has a box of stuff I might be interested in. And among several items that darn travertine horse head was in there.
The strangeness of this life sometimes cant be measured. I can hardly describe or explain the gratitude I felt to see this thing. And all that shame from all those years ago had faded away and left a wonderful sense of humility.

So I called Aubree and asked it she remembered this horse head. She kinda did. I told her how it looked like third grade art project and we laughed, and I sent her a picture of it.
“Yes, I DO remember” she said “And dad, its really not that bad. You can tell it’s a horse.”
She is very kind. And she kept it.
I plan to hang it on my wall somehow. Its like a prize, a trophy, a badge.
A crown of thorns.
We Do Recover

Raymond Carver

 

Woke up early this morning and from my bed
looked far across the Strait to see
a small boat moving through the choppy water,
a single running light on. Remembered
my friend who used to shout
his dead wife’s name from hilltops
around Perugia. Who set a plate
for her at his simple table long after
she was gone. And opened the windows
so she could have fresh air. Such display
I found embarrassing. So did his other
friends. I couldn’t see it.
Not until this morning.”
― Raymond Carver, All of Us: The Collected Poems

The Numinous

“We drove 22 miles into the country around Farmington. There were meadows and apple orchards. White fences trailed through the rolling fields. Soon the sign started appearing. THE MOST PHOTOGRAPHED BARN IN AMERICA. We counted five signs before we reached the site. There were 40 cars and a tour bus in the makeshift lot. We walked along a cowpath to the slightly elevated spot set aside for viewing and photographing. All the people had cameras; some had tripods, telephoto lenses, filter kits. A man in a booth sold postcards and slides -- pictures of the barn taken from the elevated spot. We stood near a grove of trees and watched the photographers. Murray maintained a prolonged silence, occasionally scrawling some notes in a little book.
"No one sees the barn," he said finally.
A long silence followed.
"Once you've seen the signs about the barn, it becomes impossible to see the barn."
He fell silent once more. People with cameras left the elevated site, replaced by others.
We're not here to capture an image, we're here to maintain one. Every photograph reinforces the aura. Can you feel it, Jack? An accumulation of nameless energies."
There was an extended silence. The man in the booth sold postcards and slides.
"Being here is a kind of spiritual surrender. We see only what the others see. The thousands who were here in the past, those who will come in the future. We've agreed to be part of a collective perception. It literally colors our vision. A religious experience in a way, like all tourism."
Don DeLillo, White Noise

On a rainy day like today I worry I might go to the Grand Canyon and come away uninspired.
A picture perfect barn? A restored ’59 Chevy Apache?
I really prefer my barns decrepit, weather-beaten, barely standing. My trucks all rusted out with broken headlights and a birds nest in the wheel wells
Like the State Fair. Big Tex? Dumb. Almost as dumb as those gaudy Angels on Bass Hall. Unless you can catch him on fire. now that's a picture.
The Car Show? Yawn.
Fletchers Corny Dog, ok, yeah yeah yeah, I get it. I like the corny dogs. And I like the Art Deco sculptures
But the high point for me, the sight that inspires me in a spiritual way, is watching the kid in the wheelchair at the rodeo, his chair positioned where they let the handicapped sit right up next to the arena rails, so close your hair blows back when the horses fly past.
That is the best..
The Numinous.

Gizmo the Goat

I came home from work one day last year. My son is on the computer. He looks up and says“Hey look dad, I can get us a pygmy goat!”
“Oh yeah? Lets see”
He shows me the goat on the computer. Eighty five dollar for a goat.
“Wouldn’t that be great?” and he laughs.
“Oh yeah, that’s just what we need is a goat” and I laugh.
“We could ride him. He could keep the grass mowed. Maybe teach him to do tricks”
But the look Lee has on his face, his head on a bias, licking his lips, and the faint (overpowering) smell of alcohol on his breath, I’m afraid he might be serious.
‘Say man, you are just foolin’ around, right? Because we can’t have no goat around here. I lead a simple life. It does not include farm animals and feed. My only experience with goats is when my grandfather gave me a bicycle and a goat ate the seat and Grandpa shot the goat. Goats are bad luck”
“Yeah, I’m jus’ foolin’ around” he says “but wouldn’t it be cool?”

The next day I come home from work. Walk in the front door. Where’s Lee? Must be in the backyard. So I go to the back door, open it and what do I see? It’s a pygmy goat. Wearing a tactical vest. A goat in a tactical vest. He looks like he is about to invade Afghanistan, and he is in my backyard.

And there is Lee, grinnin’ ear to ear.
“You did not go get the goat I told you not to go get” I say.
I’m pissed.
“But dad, Gizmo will keep the yard mowed”
I’m even more pissed. The goat even has a name.
“I have a lawnmower. He will eat the house. He cant stay. You have to find someplace to take him because he can’t stay here.”
“But Dad…” and he tries to sell me on the goat.

I don’t want a goat., I don’t even want a dog. Even a goldfish is pushing it. My backyard is not a pasture. I have no idea what the zoning ordinances are. I don’t NEED to know because the simple fact is I’m not keeping a goat in my backyard. I give him three days to get shed of the goat.
Over the next 48 hours the goat escaped the backyard CONTINUALLY. Completely outsmarted my son on the daily. And the smell. This goat smelled like rotted buck mutton. The whole yard smelled. The FRONT PORCH smelled like goat. Finally on day two of goat hell the goat escaped and Lee wasn’t here to run him down. I found myself running down the street to drag the goat to the backyard. About that time Lee showed up.
I was livid.
"I want that goat gone tonight. That’s it. I am done"
Lee looked at me and blinked his eyes.
*BLINK-BLINK*
“Dad, I got some fencing material to put up to help keep him in”
And that was it for me.
I was screaming.
‘You aren’t listening to me! That goat can’t stay. In fact, forget tonight. You and the goat are gone RIGHT NOW. If Gizmo is still here in five minutes I’m going to shoot him in the head”
I don’t think I’ve ever been that mad.

So over to Granny’s he and Gizmo went. Gizmo got out at Granny’s too. We don’t know for sure what happened to Gizmo, but I’m betting he never got out again.

Delilah

Apparently Delilah loves Tom Cruise. Big fan. We have watched Jerry Maguire, Top Gun, Vanilla Sky, War of the Worlds, all big hits with Delilah.
Interview With the Vampire, maybe not so much.
When she found out that Top Gun had a sequel- Maverick- she was very excited. Ran circles around the room. Ran circles around the whole house. So I loaded up Maverick and we watched it. Her eyes never left the screen.
But when it was over I asked her "What did you think?" She turned to me and rather laconically said "It's just not the same without Goose"

NOPE

I cannot squint my brain enough to see this connection.
Perhaps someday they will build a monument for Mr. Trump commemorating how he exposed the rampant voter fraud--unlike the blaring inequalities and civil rights abuses that Dr. King exposed and fought against-- that there seems to be scant evidence of.

Not buying it.

Mysterious Russian Soul

I had almost forgotten about my Ukranian blog buddy Crazy Ivan. He had to go underground last year when Russia invaded. But I see he has managed to post some of his wonderful broken prose recently. From the Russian it goes like this...

~About the mysterious Russian soul~
"Granted that I took my keyboard and plunged into the cauldron of absurd reality, where naivete and fearlessness play in clear contradiction with the geopolitical madness. Let's take a closer look at this mosaic psychosis, which, like a whirlwind, takes us into a world of persecution of logic and the suppression of everything reasonable.
What the Russian people are really good for is their familiarity. Two hundred years ago, the great Saltykov-Shchedrin (image below) wrote that the task of the authorities is to keep the people in a state of constant amazement. He, perhaps, thought that he was joking so subtly and bitterly, and meanwhile the authorities took this rule into service, and for two hundred years of unceasing amazement developed in the Russian people a total immunity to this feeling. And then, of course, it was our turn to be amazed.
They cannot be defeated in the sense that they do not understand the meaning of the words victory and defeat. And this is a kind of wisdom, because for them victory from defeat will be no different. Victory - they will go home to thump, and the authorities will take all the money from them in the form of taxes. Defeat - they will go home to thump, and NATO will take all the money from them in the form of reparations.
And here, my dear friends, comes the moment of truth. What is all this madness about? The answer is simple: in the Russian habit of being indifferent. For two centuries now, they have been patiently catapulting from reality to reality, like drunken acrobats in a circus arena, where yesterday Kiev was burned in a day, and today they live in a world where everything that remains of the Black Sea Fleet is trying to hide from sea drones, and the film "Barbie" can, if you're lucky, watch in the Saratov cinema in a not very bad pirate screen.
Forget about the rest of the world - that's their secret to happiness. They, like the heroes of Amber, jump over the edge of perception, swaying between realities, like a drunken clown on a high spire. And what drives them? And nothing but fearlessness. They allow themselves to fall into the nirvana of the unknown, for they know that nothing has changed, nothing will change. So they live, plowing the expanses of their insensitivity.
Capture Kyiv in three days? Yes of course.
Let's surrender Kherson? Yes of course.
Will Prigogine take Rostov and go to the Kremlin in a tank? Well, yes, it is logical.
Drones will fuck up in Moscow City? Well, yes, that's how it should be.
Yes, they do not give in to delight, because they have long ago moved the arrows in their internal indicator of surprise. Now they, like the captains of the Black Sea Fleet, who drowned everything in a puddle, confidently nod their heads, realizing that victory and defeat are just jokes in the palette of their indifference.
And the day will come when the Trident will be erected over the Kremlin. The day when the planet will be shocked by the genius of the Russian strategy: "First we lose in order to try to win later!" After all, only a Russian can easily translate the saying "pull a star from the sky" into reality, calmly sitting on the couch with a pack of seeds.
Trident? Above the Kremlin The policeman now beats not because you have a Ukrainian flag, but because you do not have a Ukrainian flag? Well, yes, it is logical.
All that remains is to call for respect and admiration. Respect for their magnificent ability to remain indifferent to everything that falls on their tiny world. Admiration for this masterful game without surprise, for this soul dancing on the verge of absurdity, which may not be amazed, but does not plunge into the abyss of the unknown.
Maybe it's their defense, their armor, their way of not being overwhelmed by either victory or defeat. After all, for them the meaning of the words was lost in this whirlwind of apathy, and they just watch the whole performance with a smile on their faces.
Perhaps this is because they have long since lost their souls. Without a soul it is impossible to be amazed"

The Psych Ward

I did end up in the psyche ward once. The ex wife took me in. The doctor came out with his clipboard, asked me a bunch of questions, wrote stuff down.‘
"Any thoughts of killing yourself"
“No not too much”
‘Are you doing any illegal drugs”
“Yes”
“What kind?”
“Meth mostly”
“What does that do for you?”
“Makes me feel good, and funny. I’m funnier on meth”
“A comedian?” he asked.
“Yes, kind of” I said and he wrote something on his clip board.
“Do you ever drive while you are using?”
“Yes, all the time”
“Don’t you think that’s dangerous?
“No”
And he wrote something down on his clipboard.
“If you have been up all night, and you get in the car to drive the kids somewhere, you don’t think that’s dangerous”
“No, not really doc”
And I thought about it for a few seconds and added
“You know the dope I do, that’s the same dope they give fighter pilots”
The doc looked at me over the tops of his glasses and said “Oh, so you are a fighter pilot now” and wrote something on his clipboard.

Desperate in Fort Worth

 Dear Meow Town Kitty Rescue

I am desperately seeking help with a population of feral cats. I have lived here almost four years. The lady next door is an invalid. In addition to having a house full of cats, her mother fed a whole bunch of feral cats from her driveway when she would come to visit. These cats like to use my yard as a litter box. Regularly I am overrun with feral cats. They probably produce three to four litters a year. I have put up with it for almost four years.

Two weeks ago the lady next door died. The house is now vacant. The lady's mother is no longer able to come and feed these feral cats. I thought that would be the end of it. Without food and water the cats would disperse. Now the lady across the street has taken upon herself to feed them. She brings food and water into the driveway next door.

I spent several hours this week researching what, if anything, I can do about this. My plan was to trap spay and neuter. And return, which everything I read says will help control the population. After several hours of research I find it this would be difficult for me to do. The schedule of the free clinic is sporadic at best. I have called animal control and complained about this lady across the street feeding and watering the cats. As of today I'm not sure what if anything can be done about that. It hard to tell if it is illegal or not to feed feral cats. I'm told that it is.

I did suggest to the lady across the street that if she wanted to operate a 24/7 cat feeding station she should do it from her own driveway instead of my neighbors vacant house.

Of course she declined. A friend of mine that loves cats said she is probably worried about the cats having to cross the street. I told them yes that would make two things, the other one being she doesn't want all those cats at HER house.

One of the suggestions the humane society and animal control websites have is to contact a cat rescue. So that is what I'm doing. My yard smells like a litter box. On hot and humid days it's horrible. Is there anything here you can do for me?

Thank you for your consideration;

bulletholes

TURNING THE WORLD AROUND

I like it when I go to Sonic Drive Thru, and the girl taking my order sounds like she is new, and she stumbles over the order a little bit (unsweet raspberry ice tea, easy ice) and when she comes out the door I can see that she is worried, tentative, maybe her last customer was mean, but she comes out the door, she's frowning and uptight, she looks up and sees me, and I give her my biggest best smile. I can see the worry melt off her face, her shoulders relax and now she is smiling too, she gets to the car and I give her my best hello and thank you, now she's half laughing happy and relieved and says your welcome and confidently skips back to the door, what a great day at work she must be thinking. Its not much, but its good to know you can have that kind of power -- to turn the world around, upside down even-- if you just pay attention to someone besides yourself.

SHE ROLLED HER EYES

I went through the Burger King drive through yesterday.
“I’d like the #1 Whopper with no cheese, no ketchup, and extra veges. Fries and a diet coke.”
“Would you like cheese on that?” they always ask.
Always always always.
Sometimes they will interrupt me right after I say “”the #1 Whopper” to ask about the cheese.
I try to remain polite and repeat for them:
“No cheese, thank you, and no ketchup, with extra vege's. Fries. And a diet coke”
They will repeat the part about the cheese and ketchup, but usually they get hung up on vege's.
“Is that like the pickles?” they ask.
“Yes, pickles, tomato lettuce and onion”
They repeat back “ Pickles, tomato and lettuce”
“And onion” I remind them “with a diet coke and fries.”
But now its time to revisit Ketchup.
“The Whopper already comes with Ketchup” they say.
“Right. No ketchup for me please”
But by now I am a little worn out and I’m starting to lose patience. So when there is a 10 second stretch of silence as they ponder what a vegetable is, and then ask me again “Would you like cheese on that?” even though I know they are hard-wired programmed to ask me about cheese because cheese is a little confusing, there is always a lot of confusion over cheese, especially when you order a cheeseburger and ask for no cheese, which doesn't happen to be the case right now, but one can never be too sure about cheese, I’m probably not all sweetness and light when I scream “NO! NO CHEESE”.
Then when they ask what kind of drink, and if I want "fries with that" it just about does it for me because “”the #1 Whopper” includes fries at least in theory.
I’ve learned to take a deep breath, and in the softest most angelic voice I have “Oh! I would love a diet coke. And yes, fries would be nice.”.
But yesterday. Yesterday. Let me tell you about yesterday.
After going through this exercise and getting to the window they weren’t done with me yet.
She handed me the bag and I asked if she had put ketchup in there for me.
“I thought you said “NO Ketchup” she says, obviously perturbed.
“Right. No ketchup on the burger.”
“So you want ketchup NOW? she says.
“Yes please, for my fries”
And that’s when she rolled her eyes. She really did.
She rolled her eyes.
But that’s OK. I figure I deserve it.
All those times at the Jack-in-the Box on lunch break with your 3 very stoned friends, 1975. The driver rolls down the window, smoke pours out.
Jack: “Can I take your order?”
Driver: “Ummm, yeah man, what did you want?”
Backseat #1:“A coke, a super taco, and some fries”
Backseat # 2 “ Lemme have a Whataburger with no pickles and a shake and onion rings”
Driver “Dude we are at Jack in the Box”
Backseat #2 “Huh?” (muffled laughter)
Driver: “Dude, I’m trying to order, we are at Jack-in-the Box, get a fucking grip”
Backseat #2 “Is that where they have the big Macs?” (car explodes with laughter)
And it just goes downhill from there, right?
Once you started laughing, that was it.
How we didn’t starve, I don’t know.

H&I SUBCOMITTEE REPORT FOR JANUARY, 2010

 The January H&I Meeting was held January 17^th at 1:30 pm. This coincided quite awkwardly with the Cowboys kick-off time of 12 noon for the divisional playoff game, so on Friday I sent an Email to the H&I Secretary that read:

“It is quite likely that I will be experiencing car trouble on the way to the meeting Sunday and might be late, if “car trouble” means “the Cowboy Game” and “might be late” means “don’t hold your breath”.

 

So here are the Top Ten reasons that I should have gone to the H&I Meeting on Sunday, instead of watching the Cowboys: 

 

 

Top Ten reasons that I should have gone to the H&I Meeting:

10) It would have been the “next right thing to do”.

 9) Shawn G. was there with his report from Springwood. He can no longer be considered “Gone Rogue”. It had been so long, no one knew him.

 8) The new “Guidelines for H&I Service” were accepted and voted in.

 7) Lynn J at the Avalon Correctional Facility is in need of a Co-chair, and Cleve needs a Co-Chair at McFadden Ranch

 6)  Concept #4 :”Effective leadership is highly valued in Narcotics Anonymous. Leadership qualities should be carefully considered when selecting trusted servants.” So, here I am.

 5) Concept 6. “Group conscience is the spiritual means by which we invite a loving God to influence our decisions.” The Cowboys and I  could have used some of that.

 4)  “What do you do with 5 Gallons of leftover Rotel , a dozen helium filled Cowboy balloons, and plane tickets to New Orleans for the Super Bowl… Make Lemonade?

 3) “Working in service is one of the most satisfying things about recovery.”

 2) Minnesota 35, Dallas 3

 And the #1 reason I should have gone to the H&I Meeting…

1) The indelible image burned into my brain of Kat B dry-humping a horrified Mike M (he is gay). in front of the TV on Angela’s Living Room Floor.

 And that is my report.

 bulletholes

GANGBANGERS

For David K at Live and Learn, who has walked 1100 plus (almost) consecutive days at the nicest little park you would ever want to see. But they have erected another kayak stand, which obscures one of the wonderful views at this particular park of Dave's. 

Be thankful you don’t have any Muscovy ducks. Or don’t seem to. There are no pics you’ve posted of Muscovy's, and probably for good reason. It is one ugly duck. Now I don’t have anything against one ugly duck, I’m a kind person and not that good looking myself. On a duck by duck basis, I’m sure they are fine animals and worthy of love, or affection even. But as a group they can be rather disturbing. We have them in the parks down here. They are like duck gangbangers. They like to hang out at walkway intersections, panhandling for crumbs. 

There is usually a leader of the duck gang, you can tell by the leather jacket and cigarette butt slouching out of the corner of his mouth. If you don’t give them crumbs, they will follow you, squawking and in increasing numbers as you walk along, and you find yourself wondering which one might be packing heat. Its very disconcerting, threatening even.
I would trade these ducks for a kayak stand any day!

LETTERS TO JAIL 2018

Hi ******!
Your mom is doing pretty good, all things considered. She's had like 6 surgery’s in 4 months, and now after getting the kidney removed she finds out she has a hernia and will probably need ANOTHER surgery next in April. I don't know how she does it.

Hope you are hanging in down there. I have a good friend in Henley, you should keep an eye out for her. Her name is ******, but she goes by Grace. That's like her "Jail" name or something. When I first came to NA she was one of the darlings of the group. Had 8-10 years clean I think. She had this wonderful story about herself and finding self-worth. Then she relapsed. And relapsed again. Went to jail, relapsed, then went to jail again, and now she is hoping
to get out this summer.

Me? I used for like 35 years and never got in trouble (with the law). but I burned my good life down I don’t know how many times. Then finally the law caught me.
I asked the guy I got busted with what was going to happen.
"Oh, its no big deal" he says "They'll give you 2 years, but you'll only do 6 months"
I'm like "NO BIG DEAL?" What are ya talking about? I am not a prison guy. I won't do well in there."
So the state gave me a program where if I stayed clean a year I wouldn’t have to go to prison. The big surprise for me was that I COULD stay clean. After 6 months I wasn’t just doing it. I was digging it. I didn’t expect that. I half figured I'd stay clean a year, then go back to using. Anyway, I don't wanna preach to ya, but I thought I'd send you a note and tell you to look for Grace. I sent her a note to look for you.
I'm very blessed. I have no idea what its like down there.
Peace to ya *****,

Steve r

UNREQUITED

Unreciprocated romantic attraction was explored by comparing narrative accounts. Unrequited love emerged as a bilaterally distressing experience marked by mutual incomprehension and emotional interdependence. Would-be lovers looked back with both positive and intensely negative emotions, whereas rejectors were more uniformly negative in their accounts. Unlike rejectors, would-be lovers believed that the attraction had been mutual, that they had been led on, and that the rejection had never been communicated definitely. Rejectors depicted themselves as morally innocent but still felt guilty about hurting someone; many rejectors depicted the would-be lover's persistent efforts as intrusive and annoying. Rejectors constructed accounts to reduce guilt, whereas disappointed lovers constructed them to rebuild self-esteem. Rejectors saw would-be lovers as self-deceptive and unreasonable; would-be lovers saw rejectors as inconsistent and mysterious.

WHAT A WONDERFUL WORLD

"There is one thing more deadly than the sirens song. Namely, their silence"

Quick little vacation in Galveston.
Janine takes her mother Jeanette to the beach. Jeanette doesn't walk very fast and is a young 71. Janine takes her by the arm to steady her the whole way. They don't go very far out and it takes quite some time to get there but you sense the joy and love and tenderness between them from 1000 yards away. I had to go meet them and they were delighted for me to take their picture.
And I think to myself what a wonderful world.

They stole my heart. And it's sad that this is the best picture of them that they will never see. I should have gotten their information from them but I didn't want to be a pest. Note to self-- don't be so afraid to be a pest.

'TWAS A BRAVE MAN FIRST ET AN OYSTER

 

My son Lee Rippy had a fishing expedition all set up for us but he had to work and couldn't make it. So I invited the son of Adorable to go. His name is Christian and he hasn't done a lot of fishing, so fishing in Galveston Bay is a big deal.
Christian made a great navigator and guided us through Google maps all over College Station trying to find Lee's apartment so we could drop shirts off, shirts his mother insisted that he have. It ended up costing us about 2 hours on the trip down.
Christian asked, as all kids do, after we dropped off the shirt "How much longer?"
When I told him 3 hours you could see him deflate. But he bounced back. He didn't whine or complain.
He said " thank you for taking me fishing" so that's a pretty good young man there.

On the way down Christian asks me
“When we get to the Bed and Breakfast can I have the master bedroom?”
“Sure” I says.
His face lights up big time.
“Really? I can have the master bedroom?”
He's completely stoked.
“Sure you can. Why are you so surprised?”
“Because mom wouldn’t have let me have the master”
I thought about it a second and said
“You know I’m sweet on your mom. But this trip isn’t about her. Its all about you. You get whatever you want. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. I told her she should come down with us, but I was just teasing. I think its better, just me and you”
Christian says “If she came with us she would be in the master and I would be on the couch”
I says “No, if she came with us, you would be in the second room and I would be on the couch”

He likes to eat and have Starbucks. Friday we had biscuits and gravy, 10 Jack in the box tacos, fiery hot Cheetos, and topped it off with fried crawfish coleslaw and fries when we got to Galveston. I'm sure I'm leaving something out.
Saturday was the best though. We caught a lot of fish, mostly small ones, and the prettiest little stingray you ever did see, but did bring home eight keepers. All 2 to 3 lb black drum which we will cook up in the next few weeks.
Saturday night we went to Tookie's seafood in Kemah, just east of Galveston. I swear it's one of the best meals I've had in a long time. We discovered Christian loves shellfish; crab, shrimp (for his entree' he had something unusual--six deviled eggs topped with blackened shrimp), crawdads, and he nearly stole all of my oysters on the half shell. Any man that likes oysters on the half shell is my kind of man.

FATHERS DAY RETROSPECTIVE

My Dad was typical of a lot of men of his era.
He was a truly good man, quiet, frugal and conservative.
He attended Church every Sunday, but I never heard him sing.
I know he prayed every day, but I never heard him pray.
I know he loved me, but it wasn't a hugs and kisses kind of love. He never said "I love you."
He taught me to fish, and light a fire with one match, and tried to pass on the principles he lived his whole life by.
He showed me how to make Pancakes.

He fought in WWII in North Africa and Italy under General Patton. That's him pictured with a Mohawk, and on a motorcycle, and smiling big checking out the tailfin art on a B-25 bomber, somewhere outside Capistrano Italy around 1943. I never would have imagined him with hair like that, or on a motorcycle, or ogling a girl in a bikini, but like so many men of his generation, there was just a lot they did not talk about.
Dad always told me what the right thing to do would be.

There was a cigar that seemed to be a permanent fixture in Dad's mouth which he used to great effect as he talked to you. Dad could recite the Gettysburg Address in perfect diction with that cigar tucked into the corner of his mouth. He could move that cigar from one side of his mouth to the other and you never saw his lips move. It was as though it rode on ball-bearings.
Surreal.
Whenever Dad wanted to put some punctuation to any remark he might be making, the cigar would come out of his mouth and he would study the cigar, and the ribbons of smoke that came off of it.
When I turned 16 and got a car, I met a girl at a Junior Achievement Dance. She was not my first girlfriend but she was the first with me having a Drivers License and a car. A whole new world was opened up.
She was very pretty, with blonde hair down to the small of her back, Ice-blue eyes and pouty lips that shone with Ice-Cream lipstick, and she danced like you wouldnt believe. I am sure that it was her good looks that prompted my Dad into one of our little conversations.
After coming in from a date, Dad sat me down.
"Thats a real nice lookin' girl you are seein' there son"
"Thanks Dad"
He looked at the ceiling, rolled the cigar from left to right.
"You know, son, one of these days that little girl is gonna get the hot pants for you"
"Undoubtedly, Father"
The cigar comes out and we both study it for a long moment as he blows a slow steady stream of smoke...
"Well when that happens I want for you to take her on to her house and you just come on home too."
"Sure Pop"

It was the equivalent of giving a girl a coin to put between her knees for birth control.
It was good and well intentioned advice, but there were other signs that Dad was losin' it.
His signature was getting sloppy and his writing wandered off the line.
When we worked on the car, he had trouble getting the screwdriver into the slot.
When he pulled up to a stop sign, sometimes he stopped 20 feet in front of it.
I thought jokingly that he must be getting senile.
Two years later in 1975, I heard a Medical term I had never heard before.
Alzheimers.
Dad had the "Early Onset" form of it and it left him completely disabled at the age of 58 years old.
Dad had always told me what the right thing to do would be. I miss hearing him and seeing the way he talked with that cigar.

My nephew and I have started being sure to talk to each other every week. Some weeks we talk on the phone for an hour, other weeks only a little while.
The thing is, Davy lost his Dad too, and there are so many things we wish we might have talked to our dads about.
So, for you who still have fathers, even quiet and secret men like my father was, you go and talk to them, talk to them a lot because some day you will not be able to talk to them at all.
Its not too late.

THE ECTASY OF ART

"She wanted to be drawn
in charcoal or pencil or pastels.
No, that’s not right…
She wanted to be raised
from emptiness, from a white page,
from the stretched sheets of her bed
by fingers with a plan, by someone
unafraid of the mess of love
or the ecstasy of art."
The poet known only as Peregrine

Artist~ Unknown

https://youreyesblazeout.tumblr.com/

ROSEMARY ROASTED CHICKEN

“I have begun to long for you, I who have no greed
I have begun to ask for you, I who have no need”

I made this wonderful Rosemary Chicken Monday night. The sauce was superb. Buttery, deep, and fine. I had a spoonful. I turned away from the stove.
I said, almost out loud “Here Adorable, come here. Come taste this” but there was no one there.
It’s a lonely feeling I’ve grown accustomed to.
Until lately.
Until Adorable came along.

A CHEFS RETROSPECTIVE

My ex-wife and I, we get along pretty good for an old divorced couple. But she likes to remind of the time we worked at the hotel together, and her and several waitpersons eating off a Queen Mary loaded up with leftover buffet food; Prime Rib, Shrimp, chicken fingers, fruits, cheeses, crudites, its a 6 tier smorgasbord on wheels. She likes to give me a really withering look and remind me how I came over there and took HER plate from her hands, and dumped it in the trash can and ran everybody off from eating this leftover food, making sure to chastise HER especially the whole time.

All that food was basically destined for the dumpster anyway.

I remind her that it was "the rules" that no one eat off the the Queen Mary's, and the reason I picked her out to snatch the plate from was to make sure no one thought I might be playing favorites.

"No one ever did" she assures me, which nowadays cuts to the bone.

Anyway, while I'm telling her this, there is a spot in the back of my mind that cant quite square the fact that I was being an asshole under the guise of just doing my job. I was really kind of going out of my way to be one too. I never saw the Executive Chef run off ANYONE from perfectly good food.

Shoot no, he had assholes like me to do it for him I guess, but the fact was no one really cared and it happened all the time. Shit, thinking back, it should have been in the policy as part of the benefit package, right between Health Care and "You get Laid Lot in This Business".

At the same time this was happening, all this unauthorized munching going on, the General Manager would be downstairs explaining to the Banquet Chef that the employee meal down in the cafeteria was the most important meal he would prepare that day.

I'm really glad I'm not a Chef anymore. I do miss it so.

LONELY TIME

Back about 1996 I got sick. Came in from work one day and fell on the couch, fevered and exhausted.
My then-wife asked me what I needed for medicine
“I don’t know” yelled, “Just get me something” I fell asleep on the couch.
When I woke up, Shila was nudging me awake.
“Here , I got you all this” she said, and there were about 10 bottles of medicine lined up on the coffee table.
I groaned and said “What is all this SHIT?” and she said “To hell with you”.

And so fast forward about 6 years. I’ve run everyone in my life off, in my addiction, including Shila.
I was working at Subway, and my only friends really were the High School kids that worked there with me.
I got sick. Bad case of flu. There was no one to call for medicine. So I drug myself up to the Albertsons to get some. I stopped at the Subway on the way. I stood there feverish in front of the counter and told these two kids that I worked with:
“Don’t do what I did, kids. Don’t run all the people in your life off, or you’ll end up just like me”
And I just broke down and wept, right there in the Subway.
Like the old Dylan lyric "An old man with broken teeth, stranded without love".

Sometimes I wish I could run into one of them, and show them how I'd changed, and find out if they had taken my words to heart

It would be another 4 years before I got clean and came to a program that said:

"One of the signs of having had a Spiritual Awakening is and end to the feeling of loneliness"

WHIPPED CREAM AND OTHER DELIGHTS

 

In my dream sequence I am playing frisbee with Beautiful.
It’s a pleasant sunny day.
The dream shutter clicks, and now all I can see is Beautiful, naked, wearing only a necklace with a huge silver feather hanging between her breasts. Only she isn’t naked, quite. She is covered in feathers, delicate downy white feathers, exactly as the girl on Herb Alberts album cover for “Whipped Cream and other Delights” appeared, lathered in whipped cream. Right down to the single red rose and green background.

Its classic. Every man in America knows this album cover.  And like the cover, Beautiful is gorgeous in her feathers.
Its just a split second, they say most dreams are, then on to the next vignette in the dream sequence.

 

A PRAYER WE DIDNT KNOW WE WERE SAYING

Through the pines and the one maple I hear her.
𝘐 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥𝘯’𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘨𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘧 𝘐 𝘥𝘪𝘥𝘯’𝘵 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘵𝘰 𝘧𝘪𝘴𝘩.
𝘐 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥𝘯’𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘨𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘧 𝘐 𝘥𝘪𝘥𝘯’𝘵 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘵𝘰 𝘧𝘪𝘴𝘩.
There she stands
legs impossibly long
pink and black polka dot swimsuit baggy
pole in her hands
and a little oval sunfish impossibly on her hook.

I don’t tell her, but I do think
Oh, sweet girl, life is always like that.
Fishing before you know how to fish.
Leaving before you know how to leave.
Speaking before you know how to speak.
Fighting before you know how to fight.
Loving before you know how to love.
Dying before you know how to die.

We are all the child with the pole
worrying about who we’ve hurt.
And we are all the fish on the hook,
hoping for mercy.
Her aunt hears her muttering prayer
and though she hasn’t unhooked a fish in 30 years
grabs the wriggling innocent in her hands
and dislodges metal from cheek.
And this, too, is all of us.
Saved again and again by prayer we didn’t know we were saying
and a witness we forgot was listening.
- Courtney Martin -

OUR TRUE SELVES

Its OK to joke yourself, but you shouldn't joke other people.

Like the time I took a bite out of Joanna Rodriguez's sandwich in the LD Bell lunchroom and put it back in her bag. It was supposed to be a mystery, a secret, like a funny (haha) who-done-it. She would open her bag and see the big bite out of it and smile, and say "Who is the comic genius that took a bite out of my sandwich." I would fess up, and I would be completely endeared to her (even though we had not been formally introduced) her saying "Oh how clever you are!" But it wasn’t a secret for long because of my overbite, and the peanut butter and jelly on the corners of my mouth. That was a dead give-away. It wasn’t funny either, haha, especially to Joanna who was pissed that some asshole with an overbite had secretly taken a bite out of her sandwich her mama had packed for her. Right there in the lunchroom, while she went to get her milk.

What was the country coming to, that you couldn’t set your lunch down for not even a minute?

In my minds eye I can still see Joanna, as I'm sure you must be seeing her now, disgusted and fuming, unceremoniously stuffing the sandwich back into the bag, marching to the trash can and slam dunking it, madder'n Charles Barkley.
And it wasn’t funny to me, me suddenly being absolutely horrified at what I had done, and the fact that it wasn't a secret, or the least bit funny-- which is what I was shooting for, haha-- at all. No sir, it wasn’t funny at all.

Addendum:
This story came up during an online recovery zoom meeting today. The topic was the masks that we wear and our true selves. I shared that even on a good day when I seem confident, polite, courageous, friendly, funny, urbane, and sophisticated, that deep down I'm like an awkward little boy that just wants attention, approval, and acceptance. And I'm afraid that I won't get it.
I think about this story often.
Sometimes you think maybe you're misunderstood. But you're not misunderstood, you're just doing stupid stuff. Fifty years later I still have to remind myself not to take a bite out of other people's sandwiches in order to get attention, and live in a certain amount of fear that I will have a momentary lapse of reason and resort to such tactics.
I get a lot of mileage out of a peanut butter and jelly sandwich don't I?

 Joanna, pictured left.

"MY NAME IS STEVE AND I AM AN ADDICT"

 I had a boss the last 6 years, a Marine veteran. He struggled with alcohol and no telling what else. His story was typical. Joined the corps out of High School. Spent 20 years at it. Several tours in Iraq and Afghanistan. Returns home broken. Gets his first civilian job. Soon to follow is a divorce. He told me one time that he had no idea what to do with his kids. Just could not relate. It was hard enough on the job. I was exactly the kind of guy he couldn't stand, Funny, big-hearted, happy. He looked at me sometimes like I was the Taliban. I used to have to tell him "Hey, I'm on your side, remember?"

 Several times I contacted corporate that we had a problem down here. The boss is showing up drunk if he shows up at all. They seemed to be limited in what they could do. I watched the guy disintegrate the last two years. And then one day last September he shot himself in the head while I was on vacation.

Grief counselors came to the workplace and we had a meeting. They spoke to us (an office of six) and opened the meeting up for us to share. Everyone was silent. Maybe 30 seconds, or 45 went by. And thats when I launched into “My name is Steve and I work here.” I shared about my feelings on Tom, and what had happened, and how I was disappointed the company seemed to let Tom down.

That's how you get it started. Identification.

It broke the ice and everybody shared from there. It's what I've learned to do through my narcotics anonymous program.

I guess now its my habit, my nature.

FUCK YOU FRANK

 What a marriage! From acimony to alimony in six months flat. An alligator ate their dog. There was a parrot, whose only phrase was "Fuck you, Frank, fuck you, Frank." After she left he took to drinking, a fifth of vodka a day. Sitting in the backyard with a high-powered rifle, waiting for the alligator to come back. 

He blamed the state of Florida. It was his idea of a bad idea, and by that he meant the whole damn state. There was a For Sale sign in the front yard. But nobody was buying, what with the real estate slump and the alligators and the not-so-distant roar of the traffic going from nowhere to nowhere on the causeway.

He ate frozen pizza every single night. Alone at the kitchen table, or standing by the patio window, on the lookout for the alligator. It was her dog, a tiny chihuahua with a mean streak. One minute it was yapping in the backyard and then it wasn't, and there was an alligator sauntering back to the canal, belching. They should have put up a fence but there wasn't time, between the swearing and dish throwing. 

He wanted her back, that was the amazing thing. He even wanted the parrot back. Sometimes at night he would look at himself in the bathroom mirror and say, "Fuck you, Frank. Fuck you, Frank."

UF Mike

WHISPERS

 Sillage (n.)- a scent that lingers in the air; the trail left in the water; the impression made in space after someone has been and gone; the trace of someone’s perfume.

“The alphabet of grace is full of sibilants—sounds that can't be shouted but only whispered: the sounds of bumblebees and wind and lovers in the dark, of whitecaps hissing up flat over the glittering sand and cars on wet roads, of crowds hushed in vast and vaulted places, the sound of your own breathing. I believe that in sibilants life is trying to tell us something. The trees, ghosts, dreams, faces, the waking up and eating and working of life, are trying to tell us something, to take us somewhere.”
~ Frederick Buechner

~Image Rene Magritte

APRIL SHOWERS

 

She lived down the street from me. I was 17 and she was 14. Looking back, it seems like she and I played in the rain like this all the time. Most likely it was just one 30-minute rain shower that seemed like an eternity. I walked her home and kissed her on her front porch. It was a real kiss, and I remember being surprised I would do that, and how good she kissed for being just 14.
I think back sometimes, and wonder was it her first kiss. Judging by technique, I would say not.
If it was a "date" then it was the date all other dates are judged by.
Of course, she doesn’t quite remember any of it.

APRIL SHOWERS

She and I played in the rain

We would walk to the top of the hill

And break a small piece of twig

To float in the gutter

Back down the hill we would follow our twig-boats.

Wait patiently for them to free themselves from eddies.

Watch delighted as they bounded over and around.

Small rocks,

Clumps of leaves

Cracks in the pavement

Then skipping through the rapids

We landed at the bottom of the hill,

Drenched and happy

Running back to the top

To do it all over again.

Bullet holes 5/2013 

Sometimes when I meet a girl and think maybe I like her I wonder to myself if she is the kind of  girl that would float twigs with me.

 

14 YEARS CLEAN AND SOBER

 NEW BRAUNFELS JUMPING BEANS

oDwn at the ZZ top concert we were standing in a pretty thick crowd, asshole to elbow. I had to throw a few elbows every now and then to help create a little space for the three of us. There was a young cowboy to my front right. I gave him a few pretty good nudges. He was pretty good natured about it and would give us a little space, smiling at me and giving me a little fist bump..

In between songs he turned to me and offered me a couple big white pills in the bottom of a cup. I looked up to him and I told him "No thank you. I've got 14 years clean and sober. No alcohol or dope at all".

He said "Dude, that's great" and withdrew the cup. Another fist bump and we smiled at each other.

I couldn't help but wonder what that was he offered me. Ecstasy? Hydrocodone? White witches? Some kind of cocaine/fentanyl/propanol/ketamine tossed salad? New Braunfels jumping beans? These were pretty big pills.

So during a break between songs I leaned over and asked him:

"What was that you tried to give me anyway?"

"Copenhagen" came his reply.

Copenhagen pouches. Shit. 

 Yeah, I do everything I can to protect my clean time but I still felt like a bit of an idiot.

IF YOU WANT A FRIEND, BE A FRIEND

 

A few months back I’m talking to the Ex-Mrs Bulletholes, Shila. She tells me she and our good friend Lisa are going to see Willie Nelson and ZZ Top in April.
“You should get a ticket and come with us” She says.
“Oh yeah? You think?”
“Sure “ she says. “We are getting a B&B. If you go, you cant sleep with me, you’ll have to sleep with Lisa”
This makes me giggle.
“So how much are tickets?” I ask, thinking there no way I can afford ZZ and Willie. “Seventy-five dollars” she says.
“Seventy five dollars? Where is this show at, out in a field somewhere?” I’m thinking my days of outdoor concerts in fields is probably long past.
She gets that excited, unsinkable look on her face that I have always loved. Nodding her head she says “YES! Out in a field!” She is beaming.

I laughed. But the more I thought about it the next few days, the more I thought what the hell. We could have fun. Lisa just lost her husband, my friend Larry. I never liked a man as much as liked Larry.  I know this is a wonderful distraction for her. And besides, “NO” is not a word we use around here, not where our friends are concerned. Its all part of participating in your own life. If you want a friend,  be a friend.
So  called Lisa. She was excited that I would go.
“Shila says I have to sleep with you though”
Lisa laughs. “That’s probably not going to happen” But its worth it to hear Lisa laugh.

 So I bought my ticket. I called Shila. “I got my ticket. I’m coming with y’all. I told Lisa that you said I had to sleep with her”
Shila says “That’s not what I told you. I said you couldn’t sleep with me, you would have to sleep with Lisa”
I took a page from Shila’s book.
“That’s right” I said in my most excited voice “You said I’d have to sleep with Lisa!”

 So I hope they have a couch for me.

 Lisa and I go way back. I was a senior and she was junior when we met in Journalism class. During Christmas break I got the courage up to go see her the day before New Years to ask her out. As I was walking up the walk, a dude was leaving her house. James, a loser. I don’t mean to be judgmental, but this guy, I don’t think he could spell CAT if you spotted him the C and A.
“Hey James” I said as we passed on the walk.
“Hey Steve” says he.
I got to the door and rang the bell. Lisa opened the door and with a huge look of relief on her face says “Oh Thank God”.

We got to be fast friends  from there, and kissing buddies. We kissed all the time, even when her boyfriend moved up from Houston. Maybe not ALL the time after that, but sometimes I'd pull her into the next room for a quickie. It drove him crazy. 
I lost track of her about 1978, but in 1981 I was standing in line with my girlfriend at Galligaskins sandwich shop out on Camp Bowie. Some people came in behind us. I turned and glanced at them and did a double take. It was Lisa! With some guy. A NEW boyfriend. During my double take Lisa  was silently mouthing to me “Steve?”
I couldn’t help it. I took her in my arms and planted the worlds most passionate kiss right on her lips, in front of the world, in front of my girlfriend and her boyfriend.

That's all there ever was. Everybody ought have a kissin' buddy or two growing up, doncha think? We no longer do the full on liplock, but anytime we meet there is a friendly little peck for old times sake. 

A LITTLE PRICK

 I had a CAT scan done last week to make sure no cancer is trying to come back from my kidney removal last year.

They had to put in an Intravenous tube, which requires a needle. I don’t like it. Don’t like it one bit. I have to look away and I always gasp, even if all I feel is a little teeny tiny prick. 

The girl that put the IV, she was good, but noted the gasp and asked "Are you okay?"

I let out a sigh. “Yes, I’m fine but I really HATE these things. Very invasive” in my best Daffy Duck voice.

And we laughed.

She says "Well it's over now. Everything's okay"

“NO, No, no, it is not not not okay. Not OK at all. There is a tube hanging out of my arm that IS NOT supposed to be there.”

She said "Well the needle is out"

I laughed. “Don't try to sugar coat this for me!”

We both laughed. She was real nice and played along with my grouchy old man routine.

It got even better. She took me to the dressing room and turned on the light. Only one of the four lights was working. It was dark, like the back table down at The Pussycat Lounge. She says “I know it's a little dark in here but the light really is on.”

“You keep telling me things that are only half true” I whined.

And we laughed.