Mo Anam Cara

Out to the West so many miles
she walks in bare feet by the bay.
Raven hair and loving smile
sipping lattes through the day.
So wise in age and graced in style
linked to my soul in special ways.

The Gaelic bond that we both share
Mo Anam Cara is its call.
Whatever burden we may bare
is always taken without stall.
To uplift each in loving prayer
and share the pain if either falls.

A kindred soul; a co-joined heart
a willingness to always share.
To know the other does their part
no need to say we'll always care.
Mo Anam Cara, let us start,
Mo Anam Cara....kind and fair.

Bringing Home Sam

The last days of June were unusually hot, although I really didn't mind the heat as I spent most of my free time in the water. Learning to surf Cocoa Beach Florida at the sweet age of 53 was out of the ordinary, but I was quite the un-ordinary guy. Ron Jon’s surf shop had come to know me well in the past year as this was my usual hangout on any given weekend before I would head to the local beach.

My background up until a year ago was in the space program. My business card read Commander K. 'Papa' Pennebaker/Shuttle Commander/ NASA Flight Program Coordinator. I had flown missions out of Cape Kennedy with the shuttle program dating back to the 1980’s, and most recently held the position of officer in charge of new recruits indoctrinating into the astronaut program. Flying by the seat of my pants was what I really enjoyed, but working with the ‘new blood’ coming into the flight program gave me a great sense of satisfaction. I had decided recently that I had done all I could do and had seen it all, so last July I met with my good friend and supervisor, Wally Hunt, and told him of my plans to retire. It was time I thought to start thinking about a new life, and enjoy the fruits of my labor. If I had prepared the new recruits thoroughly I could leave the program without any reservation. That is when my cell phone rang.

“Papa, it’s Wally. We need you at the Cape. We have a Galactic Code 4.” As soon as his words were transmitted to my cell I was in my car and heading toward Cape Kennedy. I passed by security and drove straight to Building 1. That's where Wally was waiting with the news.

“It looks bad Papa. Sam has gotten herself into a real nasty situation. She was flying her first solo mission to Jupiter. While maneuvering though the Van Allen belt, her craft was struck by a meteorite. Our sensors indicate her oxygen pressure is very low. We believe it’s only a matter of time until she runs out of breathable oxygen, and then …well you know what that means.”

Sam was the top cadet that had come through the astronaut training program under my direction. She was a summa cum laude grad from UC Berkeley with a double major in physics and aerospace studies. She made it through the space program despite having two young children to take care for, and the death of her namesake Grandmother Natividad. Her hard work and professionalism impressed me above all the other students I had instructed. After she graduated the program at NASA we became good friends, and she even once took me to her favorite coffee house and also introduced me to her Mother's Filipino cooking. “What do you need me to do Wally? I’m in. I’ll do anything for Sam.”

“Papa, NASA needs you to go back into space and rescue Sam. Do you think you can do it? Can you reach into your gut and pull out the courage to fly again?” “Just show me the way to the launch pad Wally. The surf can wait a day or two; I’ve got a rendezvous with Sam.”

Wally and the pre-launch crew led me to the hangar where I was introduced to the Lapin Blanc. A prototype rescue craft, small, two-seater, white, sleek, awesome. “Why the name Lapin Blanc, Wally?” "It's French for White Rabbit", Wally replied. "A quick rescue vehicle developed in collaboration with the French Space Administration for just this purpose. This craft flies like a Ferrari with its two twin Kretchmar solid fuel booster rockets."

“What do you think Papa? Can you can fly it?” “For Sam, hell yeah I can... start the countdown!” “Countdown starts in 1 hour Papa, better suit up. Sam needs you.”

After a quick two fingers of tequila in the preparation room, and getting into my flight suit I was ready. I was going to bring Sam home in one piece or my name wasn’t Papa K.

3,2,1 blastoff. My body pushed back onto the leather seat of the sleek white rabbit as it rocketed through the clouds and within seconds blue turned to dark black space. As the twin Kretchmars disengaged I could see stars through the heads up display and I could feel myself go weightless. It had been years since I had experienced weightlessness, and now I understood why surfing appealed to me. It was that same kind of feeling.

My rendezvous with Sam would be in an hour as I familiarized myself with the robotic arm that I would use in pulling her to the Lapin.

Out of the dark Sam’s craft came into view. I could see it had been struck by space debris, as it wobbled out of control and gaseous vapor spewed from its port side. I sent a message to Sam by radio and was successful upon the first attempt. “Sam, it’s Big Papa K. I’m here to take you home.”

After what seemed like an eternity, I heard her beautiful voice. “How did you know where to find me Big Papa?” “I listened to your guardian angel Natividad. She showed me the way. Now let’s get the hell out of here and back to Karen and Mikey, what do you say?” As I grabbed her with the Lapin's robotic arm and pulled her inside the two seater she took a deep breathe of fresh oxygen and then smelled the coffee. “Yeah, I brought you one. It's a caff'e caramel macchiato from Peets. You didn’t think I would forget, did you?” We had both reconnected after all this time. Sam was still the bright Filipina Berkeley girl I had come to admire. The one who first gave me the name ‘Big Papa K’, the name that had stuck.

As we re-entered earth’s atmosphere, the sky was colored an unusual flush apricot sway. At that moment I turned to Sam and said, “You remember the song? Our song from long ago? Wanna sing it again?" We both laughed and started singing that silly song I wrote about my trip out to California to visit her once. As our little white Lapin sliced through the clouds, Cape Kennedy's runway came into view.

Filipino pride, Filipino pride...
Going back to earth in my little white ride.
Top down crusin' here comes the mornin' sun.
Becha I’ll be brown before this trip is done…

to be continued.....

The Responsibility of Our Blessing

As the fourth of July approaches I usually start thinking about barbeque, ice cold watermelon, a couple of beers, backyard parties, and flying the flag out front so all can see. I love flying the flag, and try to put it out daily, and not forget to bring it in at dusk. I have watched the flag for what seems like hours on occasion, and know how the red and white stripes flutter in the breeze and how the field of fifty white stars sit upon their dark blue background. Red, white and blue. Those three colors have come to represent not only our flag, but also an analogy for being a good citizen. “Yep, he’s red, white and blue through and through.” You have probably heard that many times in your life. It’s fitting that those colors represent someone’s loyalty to the United States. If you think about it, well it’s quite a compliment to be red, white and blue.

Blessed with citizenship, and not taken for granted. That’s what I wish for myself and my friends. I totally understand that this freedom I enjoy came with a huge price. The sacrifices of men and women before me, and those that will come after me have and will ensure this blessing for generations to come. Our present day responsibility collectively is to ensure that the younger generation realizes the prices paid, and the responsibility that is theirs in keeping our country free from tyranny.

I am very proud to be part of this great country. I am proud of each one of you who take citizenship seriously, and I am proud of those who come to our country legally and seek citizenship lawfully.    

So this fourth of July, as I eat my barbeque, fly the stars and stripes, and listen to the kids laugh and play in the yard, I'll also remind myself of the responsibility of my blessing.....

"I pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States of America, and to the republic for which it stands, one nation under God, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all."

Untouchable

I took along a few dollars worth of quarters in my pocket while walking the beach with my wife in Naples Florida this past Sunday evening. I knew that Steven Spielberg lived in one of the homes located along this stretch of beach. I had hoped to throw a few of the quarters onto his property. Actually I had hoped that he would notice and ask me what I was doing. When Steven was a young man he would ask for a quarter admission to view one of his home movies. I thought it only appropriate that a quarter be my token homage to this great film maker. I did get near his home, but the quarters remained in my pocket as I didn't get within throwing distance.
My wife and I still had a great walk along the beach. I guess it's all for the best that we didn't run into him. It gave me more time to be with the woman I love and reflect on how lucky a guy can be...now back to the future.

Little Bunny

This bunch of daisies I picked them for you
from a field full of flowers of yellow and blue.
A magic green field where pink bunnies speak
and little girls kiss their Moms on the cheek.

A bubblegum fountain that can actually talk,
and gingerbread sidewalks with lots of pink chalk.
Tall peppermint trees where the bluebirds all sing.
Imagine the fun you can have with such things!

And out in the distance a mountain so dandy
with a sea of red licorice and all sorts of candy.
Where mommies and daddies paddle in a canoe.
I see a white one, a green one, and one that's bright blue.

So remember to smile and sing your favorite songs,
and when you give hugs make them last oh so long.
Forever stay young while you live in this world.
These things I wish for you...my sweet little girl.

Cherry Mambo #1

Sixteen Cherries all lined up.
Sweet little cherries in a Chinese cup.
Plump red cherries by the piano keys,
cherry mambo madness with a cup of tea.

Dark red cherries on a cherry stem.
Sweet red cherries on a cherry-whim.
Fresh cut flowers and the time is now,
cherry mambo madness pops in my mouth.

Free falling cherries from a cherry tree.
Sweet cherry poems to you from me.
The taste of cherries is what I send,
cherry mambo madness to you my friend.

Basin Blues

I was asked to repost this short story with the additional poem that was included in my book Twelve Tall Tales published in February 2009.




Basin, Mississippi in 1975 was like any small river settlement in the deep South along the Pascagoula River. The brown water of the Pascagoula flowed southward to the Gulf of Mexico as it passed by the two hundred or so homes located along the sand bars of the "Singing River". Old timers called the river the "Singing River" named that for the Pascagoula Indian tribe that lived along the waterway until the early 1800's. The fate of the Pascagoula Indians is in dispute but a story of their demise persists to this day. It appears the Pascagoula Indians rather than face death and imprisonment from an opposing warlike tribe chose instead to march into the river and drown. If you believe this story you can almost hear the death songs of the Indian men, women and children as they took their own lives rather than face dishonor.

I turned 20 years of age that year. Two years at a junior college did nothing for me except make me question who I was, and where I was heading. It would have been easy to blame my sense of uncertainty on drugs, as it was the 70's, but I never did fall into that scene. It was an uncertainty I still don't seem to quite have an answer for. My longing for direction told me to find myself that year. I quit school, joined the Navy on a delayed entry program, and bought a boat. I had always wanted to be the captain of my own boat, and now I was going to be. Would I hear the singing of the river and experience what so many of the old timers speak of? Would buying a boat be a failure? I didn't know, but I did understand that I needed a change and this was how I was going to express myself, at least for the summer of 1975.

With all my uncertainty in navigating a boat on a mighty river like the Pascagoula, I set off on a Saturday morning to test the used boat that I had purchased. After launching the boat at Smith's Landing I headed south for about ten miles before I heard the clunk, clunk, clunk of the engine. I could see the next bend in the river coming up as my motor shut down and I drifted with the current. After this bend in the river there were no other homes until it emptied into the Gulf of Mexico. It was by sheer luck that I spotted a cabin through the thick stand of scrub oaks, and river willows. A barking dog ran out from the lone cabin and stopped just short of the water's edge as if to say, "Don't even think of coming here." As I considered my options of making a landing or not, an old man appeared out of the cabin, waved off the dog, and signaled me to paddle ashore. It was a man I had always been told to avoid. I had heard stories about him from my parents and friends. It was Wes Gibson. A man who was known throughout the county as a recluse and scoundrel.

Old Wes Gibson had lived along the river since 1959. He built his own cabin that year on the banks of the Pascagoula. With no electricity, and no running water, he had lived a life of chosen seclusion for 16 years. The only time he had come into town was to complain to the health department that they should come out to his home and spray for mosquitoes. I only know this from direct conversation with someone who worked at the health department. Yes, Wes Gibson was a quirky individual, and I was afraid when I saw him.

I had no choice but to come ashore. If I didn't I would be floating into the Gulf of Mexico within a few hours. This was not acceptable. How would I explain to my Navy recruiter that I wouldn't be there for duty in November? How could I tell my family that I chose not to face my fears and try, at least try to rescue myself from drifting out to sea? I chose to drift toward Wes Gibson and as I threw him my line, I asked him to tie me off so I could come ashore.

Wes was a man who stood about five feet five and weighed around one hundred and thirty pounds. Not an intimidating persona, but a rough looking sort of man. His face was weathered and wrinkled and he sported a beard that reached down to the middle of his chest. As he called me ashore I could see from his open mouth that all of his front teeth, top and bottom, were missing. I wondered if that was from neglect or from the many stories I had heard about him from his younger days as a boxer and a scrapper. Needless to say, I was afraid.

I jumped out onto the river bank as soon as Wes had tied off the boat to a tree along the river. I was surprised that he offered his hand in friendship. He greeted me kindly and said that he hadn't seen another person for over a month. When I asked him if he had a telephone he smiled, and I knew the answer, of course he didn't. After all I was in the presence of Wes Gibson. I was in Mississippi. It was 1975. I felt more at ease from his greeting as we spoke about my need for finding a mechanic to fix my motor. He knew I wouldn't be finding any mechanic here. Inviting me to come inside his cabin, I felt a little anxious, but something drew me towards the house. Walking up the bank of the river towards his cabin, I could see smoke coming from the chimney. My sense of fear eased slightly as the smell of coffee wafted from the open door.

As I walked inside his cabin, my first sense was that of dirt below my feet. The dog had since taken a place near the stove and was eerily eyeing me. Wes offered me his cot to rest, and after drinking a cup of hot coffee I lay down and slept. It rained hard while I napped. I would never have guessed I would be sleeping inside a dirt floor cabin in the presence of such a much maligned individual. Upon awakening I realized that if Wes would have meant harm to me it would have happened while I slept. At that moment I heard the sputtering sound of my outboard motor running in the background. As I walked down to the river's edge, I saw Wes in my boat. He had the motor running like new. Wes smiled a toothless grin. When he saw me he said, "Neighbor, you better git before your Pappy thinks your dead."

As Wes untied my boat from the tree that he had hitched me to earlier that morning I gave him a nod and a smile. I think that is all that he wanted. To be acknowledged as a person. Someone who had value. I was beginning to see the larger picture. Everyone has a purpose and need in this life. It didn't matter if you were a banker, or a hermit. It didn't matter if you were a successful University student, or someone going off to the Navy in search of identity. We all have purpose and needs.

Gunning the motor towards Smith's Landing I broke into a wide smile and began singing out loud. I sang an impromptu song of my meeting the hermit Wes Gibson. I wondered if my voice would be heard over the drone of my outboard, over the song of the Pascagoula Indian’s death march? History was repeating itself; the song was back on the water. I will forever remember this moment and the link I felt to the river and its history, and maybe, just maybe, a little understanding of friendship, acceptance, and purpose of life.


River Chant

I heard Wes Gibson was a mighty mean man
a lazy right eye and lightening quick hands.
He’ll drop you down upon your knees,
spit mud in your eye then do as he pleases.

The tale has been told for at least twenty years
of how old Wes Gibson ain’t got no fears.
He lives on the river in a tiny wood shack,
eats fish for breakfast and squirrels for snacks.

Well I don’t care what the town folk say
I’m gonna shake hands with Wes someday.
They say please don’t go, don’t take that chance,
but listen to me sing my river chant.

The song’s on the water back where it belongs,
from the Pascagoula Indians long since gone.
To the young man singing ‘round the river bend,
old Wes Gibson is now my friend.