Walk

Come walk with me and breathe the air
where life is good and kind and fair
where children laugh and play their games
and gay and straight aren’t hateful names

Where a child can safely walk home from school
and neighbors heed the golden rule
where every person does their part
and love flows freely from the heart

No need for money in this place
we’re all part of the human race
when there’s a need we’ll all be there
to lend a hand and give our share

A dream perhaps, well maybe so
but if you don’t try you’ll never know
how truly beautiful life can be ...
so come and take a walk with me

The Buddhist and The Beetle

This morning, as with most mornings, I awoke early to get my daily 2.5 mile walk done and out of the way. Being on vacation, I had new terrain to cover, not the usual scenery passing me by as I made my way through the neighborhoods along such street names as Scrapbook Lane, Gasoline Alley, and Presidio Circle.
This day I would speed up my pace and go a little farther and faster than usual. I planned for a 3 mile walk instead of the usual and hoped to complete the walk within 30 minutes. Starting out I set a fast pace and thoughts of a successful finish were racing in my head. That's when I saw the beetle; a large Rhinoceros beetle on its back lying on the curb being ravaged by about half a dozen angry ants. I stopped my walk, brushed off the helpless beetle, sat him upright in a safe location, and resumed my walk withing a few minutes time. Immediately I realized my goal of 30 minutes wouldn't be achieved today. I had failed, or had I?
As I continued my walk I again passed by what had become familiar street signs in the last few days; Scrapbook, Gasoline Alley, Presidio. Presidio Circle made me think of San Francisco, which made me think of the Golden Gate, which made me think of new found friendship and peppermint tea. I turned the corner toward our vacation home and felt the warm rays of the sun break through the trees, and then the epiphany overcame me. It's not about the race, it's about the journey. The Buddhist in me smiled. I had won the race after all. Yeah, it's all about the journey.

Peppermint Tea House - For Sam's Kids

A Peppermint tea house on a minty green street
a hip little tea house where everyone meets
A cute little door leads to a pink little table
where short pudgy women serve soup with a ladle

The hot cups of tea are poured from a bowl
which rises from the floor through a strange little hole
Where tiny yellow men crawl out of the dark
and order up chowder on a whim and a lark

The Peppermint tea house is oh quite the rave
It’s coming to Berkeley and then to Del Rey
So come early for soup and tea if you’re able
I’ll reserve you a spot at the pink little table

The Deconstruction of 'W'.

Their final meeting would take place in the White House oval office. President George W. Bush summoned Dick Cheney for a meeting to discuss their exit strategy. As Vice President Cheney entered the office he was greeted in an uncharacteristic solemn manner. “Hi Dick, have a seat. I don’t know where it all went wrong. I mean Jesus H. Christ who would have thought our party would be making such a mass exodus out of DC? Especially since it was all caused by a man named Barack Hussein Obama? I did pronounce that right didn’t I Dick?” “Close enough Mr. President. Just a bit more emphasis on the second syllable of Barack, but you did fine.” “Thanks Dick, but it really doesn’t matter. Laura and I aren’t going to be in the loop anymore. She’s having a hissy fit to get back to a normal life. I don’t think I’ll have much chance to use his name at the ranch, if you catch my drift. I will say one thing about Barack taking over the White House, he’s about as welcomed as a skunk at a lawn party. Dog gone it Dick, when did it all go South? Was it my position on stem cell research? Was it my position on the war in Iraq? Was it the economy?” “Well, Sir…it might have been the time you said ‘There's an old saying in Tennessee — I know it's in Texas, probably in Tennessee — that says, fool me once, shame on — shame on you. Fool me — you can't get fooled again.’, but then again, it could be just kismet.”
“Dick, I want you to call an emergency meeting of the inner circle. Make sure Condi is notified. Oh, and invite Colin, I have a few questions of him.” “Mr. President, it’s over. Condi and Colin have joined Barack’s camp. It’s over Sir, there is no inner circle, it’s just us, and we’re on our way out. Mr. President…Mr. President, it’s time we leave. Your staff is waiting for you to say goodbye.”
As they both exited the White House to the smart salutes of rigid marines standing at attention, they knew it would be the last time they would be seen together. A brief thank you and farewell to the White House staff was given. A few tears were shed by the faithful that attended. With all the formalities completed except the liftoff of the Presidential helicopter, Marine One, W turned to Cheney with outstretched hand and said, “Why don’t you come down to the ranch and we’ll do a little quail hunting Dick?” “W, you’re an asshole and have always been one, I just didn’t have the opportunity to tell you until now.” As they both smiled and parted ways you could almost hear the ex president repeatedly attempting to pronounce “nuclear” as if it were a test of his success as our commander in chief. As he climbed up the stairs of the ever waiting Marine One, he whispered something to the Marine pilot and then took a seat beside Laura. “What did you say to the pilot George?” “I told him before we landed at the ranch to make a little stop over right outside of Crawford at Richey’s liquors. I’m going to pick up a bottle of Absolut, I need a drink real bad. Hey babe, I wonder if I should give one of those parting salutes like Nixon did as we lift off the lawn? “Give it a rest George. It’s time to go home cowboy.”


Crawford

I’m thinking of retiring,
of turning in my gear.
A man my age can turn a page,
and retirement time is here.

I have no plans before me,
no blueprints in my mind.
I’ll live each day in my own way
and dream of days behind.

I discussed it with my old lady.
I said, “Now here’s the place.
I’ll quit my job and you get one.”
She laughed right in my face.

“Well, let’s retire together
and start our life anew,
rekindle that old ardor
that early marriage knew.”

She looked at me with sadness,
and said both kind and low,
“George, about your love life,
that retired some time ago.”

Who Is John Bledsoe?

I awoke in a bright sunlit room. The window was open to the outside breeze and I could hear voices coming from the yard. My body ached, and I was thirsty. Looking around the room I could see that it was meagerly furnished, a bed, a wash basin and mirror, a chifforobe, and a chair against the far wall. My head felt like it wanted to explode. As I attempted to sit up in bed I became violently nauseous and immediately fell back onto my pillow and lost consciousness. When I next awoke, the room was dark, as night had come. I closed my eyes once again and slept until the following day.

A knock on the door startled me and without warning the door swung open. An attractive middle aged woman carrying a water pitcher approached me. “You’ve slept for two days soldier boy,” she said. “We didn’t think you would make it through the night, but I’ve been wrong about these things before." “Who are you, where am I, how did I…?” I couldn’t finish my words, so I closed my eyes as she began to speak.

"My name is Dorothy Hazard. This is my home, what's left of it. You were wounded on the battlefield, the one at Shiloh. Our farm help found you wandering in a daze over by Owl creek. I suppose with that gash to your head the confederate soldiers took you for dead. You must have come to and started walking. That’s when Benjamine found you and brought you here. We never took care of a Yankee soldier before, but all life is sacred in these parts of Tennessee. You’re lucky soldier, word is that one of our confederate generals, General Albert Sydney Johnston, was killed the first day of the fighting. If word gets around that we are keeping you here, you’ll be shot. I'm sorry I didn't get your name." As my memory slowly started coming back, I replied “John Bledsoe, Corporal John Bledsoe, 77th Ohio infantry ma’am.” As she offered me a drink of water I heard her say, “You get your rest, and we’ll talk later.” With that I closed my eyes and slept once again.

I was awakened by the sound of a child’s voice. “Yankees killed my daddy”, a little boy said as he stood by the head of the bed and looked at me with empty brown eyes. “Mama said you’re a Yankee soldier. Is that so? Are you a Yankee? Because if you are I hate you. When I turn twelve I’m goin' to join up with the Tennessee boys and shoot all of you.” With that the young boy turned and left the room. I never got his name. I only knew there were people in the house that didn’t want me here.

As the day turned into late afternoon, I got up to my feet and walked over to the wash basin in the room. As I gazed into the mirror above the basin I saw a deep laceration to my scalp above my left ear. It had been bandaged loosely, probably by Mrs. Hazard. The dressing was now completely off the wound and was covered with dried blood. I recall being in a gun battle with opposing confederate troops, then all went dark. I imagine I took a glancing blow or a grazing shot to my head during the first day of the battle. I knew I was lucky to be alive. I thought about my family and my home back in Ohio, and that gave me strength to survive whatever misfortune would come my way.

Another knock on the door sounded and before I could respond an attractive young girl entered the room. “Mama told me that you were feeling better today and that I should bring you something to eat. Are you hungry? It’s not much, but I made it for supper. I hope you like grits and eggs.” I was starving, although grits I didn’t know about. It didn’t matter, I was famished. “My name is Louisa”, she said. “Louisa May Hazard. I already know your name Mr. Bledsoe, I mean Corporal Bledsoe.” Louisa smelled of lavender water, her red hair pulled back with a bow, her green eyes sparkled and her skin was that of alabaster. She was the most beautiful girl I had ever seen. Louisa's charm and beauty made my heart beat as fast as when I had faced the confederates a few days earlier. Maybe someday I would be lucky enough to find a girl as beautiful as Louisa to settle down with in Ohio.

All of a sudden a sharp pain shot through my side, then another. “Wake up, wake up Jon! You slept through the alarm clock again. You’re going to be late for work if you don’t hurry and get dressed!" I opened my eyes to see my wife leaning over me with a frustrated look in her eyes. “I had that dream again, the dream about John Bledsoe and the civil war. I wish I knew what it meant. Be a dear and fix me a cup of coffee, I’ve got to get to the office.” As I lifted my head from the pillow I thought I briefly smelled the scent of lavender wafting through the air.


Methinks I've been Shot

Bows and hearts were made to be broken
Cupid has flown and left me a token
An arrow he shot upon my behest
The taste of an Angel pierced through my frail chest

The shaft of the arrow so deep did it drive
I felt so much love when it finally arrived
My prayer has been answered, my wound will be cleansed
I’m much more for knowing you, Louisa, my friend

Nite Nite Red Light

Through the tall pines I could see the red light blinking on and off in steady rhythm. It would start out as a faint red glow then increase in intensity until it was brighter than any other light in the sky. Closing one eye would make it disappear between the branches of the trees, then just as suddenly reappear when both eyes were opened. My vantage point was my bedroom before I lay down to sleep. The windows of the room lifted high allowing the cool night air to flow through the house pulled in by the attic fan. My older sister told me the red light was God, and I believed her until I was six years old. I would get down on my knees, fold my hands in prayer and pray to the blinking light in a way only a child knows how to pray, a prayer of complete faith and trust. I would end each prayer with the same sign off to God, “Nite-nite red light.” I still say it occasionally even now a half century later.
Someday I hope I can return to that same bedroom window with my grandchild and tell them about the red light, faith, trust, and God. How a radio tower beacon brought religion to my world in Mississippi through a stand of tall pines.

We Got the Okra

I think the Japanese people have a right to brag on their beautiful Cherry trees especially at this time of year, and that gives me pause to reflect on a plant equally as beautiful that we grow right here in Mississippi. Only one plant comes to mind and rightfully so. The majestic and revered Okra. Fried, boiled, tossed into stews. What other plant can even come close to its versatility and slimy goodness? And let’s just see those Japanese try to make gumbo with a Cherry tree. I mean c’mon.

My wife, and grandson on the porch. Tender mercies. I can't tell the story better than the photograph.