Dieu Est Un Poisson

My name is constantly coming up as a matter of contention to some. My friends know me as Kim, my business associates call me David, and God knows what others call me. I tend to like Papa to be used by those who love me. As for anyone else, it really doesn’t matter.
So here I am driving up to Rhode Island from Virginia to be with my family at Thanksgiving. Tomorrow is Thanksgiving, my favorite holiday of the year. Nan, my wife has invited the parish priest to come by and deliver blessings and have a taste of true Vietnamese/Rhode Island/Southern cuisine. Nan and the kids have really taken to being active in the local church since coming to Albion. I suppose it’s a credit to her that our children are all being raised Catholic. If it was left up to me, I really don’t know what sort of religious upbringing they would have.
So Stafford, Virginia has been my home for the past six weeks while I have been overseeing a military contract. Another month and I’ll be done, but for now I can only get home every other weekend to be with family. As I cranked up the Landcruiser, and headed north I noticed the first snowflake. Just my luck I thought as I headed home to the ‘Hope’ state. Yep, that’s our motto. I preferred the motto, “Rhode Island…Where Size Doesn’t Matter”. I had that on the bumper of the SUV until my wife made me take it off. It seems like we got too many stares, finger pointing, and giggles from passing motorists. That embarrassed Nan, but I liked the attention. Regardless, I agreed to take it off the bumper to make her happy. As I exited the military gate and went through the traffic signal, my world came to a stop…a dead stop. There will be no Thanksgiving in Albion, Rhode Island tomorrow.
As I opened my eyes I was surrounded by the most beautiful light anyone could imagine; a bright light emanating from a large white room. “Where am I? What happened? How did I…?” As soon as I uttered those words, a fat man with a chewed up cigar in the corner of his mouth answered. “You’re in Heaven Mack. Nice to finally meet you, I’m Gabe. Welcome to heaven where all is good, and the chow hall is always open. Now I suppose I should introduce you to God, you are expected.” As we walked down row upon row of aquariums filled with goldfish, there positioned in the center of the room was a huge octagonal aquarium filled with beautiful colored gravel. Swimming alone inside the aquarium was a goggle eyed fancy finned goldfish of impeccable quality. Gabe turned toward the fancy fish and said, “God this is Kim. Now I’ll leave you two alone to get acquainted.” Gabe turned and disappeared, and God spoke. “Surprised? Don’t worry, everyone is. You didn’t think God was a fish did you? Well, go ahead…say something.”
“Oh my God, I mean Sir, I didn’t…know!” “You presume much by calling me Sir", replied the Almighty. And don’t be too hard on yourself about using the name in vane, everyone has, and I'm a forgiving God if you haven't been told. Everyone gets into heaven. I should let you in on a little known secret...hell is what you make of your life on earth. You didn’t think I would love you so little that I would create you in my own image and then cast you into a burning sulfurous eternity to suffer endlessly did you?" I thought about what I was seeing and hearing and then said, “God, what do you mean created me in your own image? You’re a fish for God’s sake….I’m sorry again.” Oh Jesus!” “Everyone is a goldfish, God replied. You may see yourself differently on earth, but believe me…you are a goldfish. Go ahead look at your reflection in the aquarium and see for yourself…you’re a goldfish.” You don’t have to go to confession, you don’t have to eat fish on Fridays….please don’t eat fish, God reiterated. You don’t have to tithe ten percent of your earnings. All you have to do is love your fellow man as you would have them love you. That’s as simple as it gets. Obey the golden rule. And if you get it wrong a few times, I’ll make an exception, you see…everyone gets a ticket into heaven. Now, it’s your turn to take your place among the school of souls where you will be fed fancy tropical flakes for eternity.” “But I don’t want to be here. I want to be with my wife and family. I want to go back!” At that moment I felt Gabe’s hand on my shoulder leading me out of the great aquarium room and pointing me towards Virginia.
I spent the next two weeks in intensive care at the Bethesda Navy Medical Center. The morning of my fifteenth day in the ICU, I awoke from my coma to see my wife sitting by my bedside knitting a blanket; a blanket monogrammed with the following; Commander ‘Papa’ Pennebaker…My Hero.
I had incurred a broken T-6 vertebrae but no spinal cord damage. I had traumatic brain injury, and had a broken left femur, but I was going to be OK. I knew where I had been, and I knew where I was going. My life on earth from this moment on would be different I thought. I was going to make a difference in my life and the lives of those I dealt with on a daily basis.
I finally made it home to Albion just in time for Christmas. We called it our Thanksgiving dinner at Christmas. The importance of the word Thanksgiving was not overlooked. As the family gathered around the table and held hands I wanted to tell them that we are all going to heaven. God loves us all. But I just couldn’t help but let out a huge laugh seeing them all as goldfish.
Thanks Gabe for leading me back home, and save some of those fancy tropical flakes for me would you? I’m sure we’ll be seeing each other again, though hopefully not too soon.

The Patti Duvel

Gather 'round mates and hear ye this tale
of the fateful voyage of the Patti Duvel.
A sixty foot trawler with a beam of blue spruce,
an old weathered Captain and a rough hardened crew.

The call for the crew went out about one
to gather at the docks by the rise of the sun.
With lightening quick speed the boat was all readied;
the lines were hauled in and the sails were all steadied.

The tuna were deep running out on the ledge
and the Captain set sail with this God solemn pledge,
“We’ll work ‘til we fill the hull of this trawl,
then it’s back to homeport and whiskey for all!”

The boat was offshore closing in on its mark,
as the winds picked up force and the sky turned slate dark.
Waves of ten feet were breaking over the rails,
arriving in sets of three and four swells.

Well, the best laid plans do oft go awry,
as the winds were now howling with seas twelve feet high.
The wooden deck groaned, and mates cried for their mother,
as the Patti Duvel listed then started taking on water.

The Captain and crew hung on to their ship,
but after an hour all loosened their grip.
As one after the other slipped in to their grave;
home to past sailors, some cowards, some brave.

When word reached back to their port the next night
that the Captain and crew had lost in their plight,
the men all drank whiskey and the women drank tea,
and remembered their friends who returned to the sea.

Sixteen Minutes With Mary

I promised a friend I would talk with you tonight. I know you listened because I slept peacefully.







Are my shoulders strong enough
to lift you from the mire?
Can they endure the strain and burn
to lift you even higher?

Can my presence give to you
a friendship you can trust?
A knowing in your heart and soul
that tells you that you must.

Reach out my friend and take my hand
if ever you are wronged.
I'll be there to lift you up
my shoulders they are strong.

My Granddaughter

What a blessing it is to be alive and involved in a child's life. Especially if they are your Grandchild. Life just keeps getting better. I promise that I will be such a positive influence in her life.
One hundred years from now, it will not matter what kind of car I drove, how much money I had in the bank, or what kind of house I lived in. What will matter is that I made a difference in the life of my Granddaughter.
That is all that is important to me.


Little girl, little girl

ribbons and lace

soft little fingers

and a beautiful face

pink little ears

and wiggly toes

pouty little lips

and a wee tiny nose

a cute little laugh

and a delicate smile

you've captured my heart

my sweet little child

The Boneyard Bangers

My life in 1968 seemed as though it was spiraling out of control since Mom and Dad decided to divorce. I was a happy thirteen year old that year living a normal life in Montana with good friends and backyard football games. As soon as the divorce was finalized, Mom and I left our little town of Lavina and headed down south to Mississippi. Mom and I were moving in with her brother, Uncle Smitty. The only silver lining of the move was that he lived on a piece of land that had a lake on it. I had played there a few times when we had visited him in the past. I tried to remember the name of the Lake, was it Bonefield? No, that wasn’t it, maybe ..oh yeah, Boneyard Lake. Creepy sounding name but I wasn’t scared of anything. I looked forward to fishing, exploring, and maybe Uncle Smitty would teach me to hunt.

Fall was in the air when we arrived at our new home, at least our home for the time being. Mom enrolled me in school, I made a few friends, and a couple of boys were coming over to the house in the afternoons to play football in the back yard. One boy I liked was Billy Wilson. We became buddies and soon we were what Uncle Smitty would call “a couple of River Rats”, because we played down by the water so much. We took Uncle Smitty’s reference as a badge of courage. We weren’t afraid of anything and Boneyard Lake, albeit spooky at night, was our haven away from being stuck inside the house or doing chores.

Halloween was only a week away when Billy asked me “John Boy, can you keep a secret?” My real name was John Reinmiller, but I guess John Boy was sort of like a southern thing so I didn’t object. “Sure I can keep a secret. You can trust me I swear.” “You’ll have to swear with your blood John Boy. You’ll have to. Tonight I’ll take you to a place you won’t believe. You meet me after supper by the dirt road that runs down to the lake. Tell your Mama you are coming over to my house to plan for Halloween. I’ll see you tonight, and don’t be late.”

After supper I met up with Billy and we both took a trail guided by our flashlights to the edge of Boneyard Lake. As we came upon the boat launch I saw a small fire and heard the chanting.

“Black and Orange, Yellow and Red

We call on you to come back from the dead

Return we ask and visit us

Ashes to ashes and dust to dust”

Ok, maybe I wasn’t so brave after all. My throat lumped up and I was shaking so hard my flashlight beam was shining on the surrounding trees like a prison spotlight searching for an escaped convict. “Chill out John Boy, it’s OK. I know these people. This is what I brought you here for.” Billy gave out a whistle and we were acknowledged by the group of kids sitting around the fire pit in a circle. We took a seat on the grass and the chanting continued.

“Spirits past and spirits new

Lead us now we’ll follow you

We sacrifice our blood to take

Upon these grounds of Boneyard Lake”

“What’s going on Billy”, I asked “It’s the secret clan of the Boneyard Bangers, and now that you know about us, you are one. You’ll be tested in the next week, and you better not let us down, or something bad will come your way, I guarantee you that”, Billy said. With that I was asked to cut my middle finger and drop seven drops of blood into the fire pit. The cut was superficial. I was so scared I didn’t even feel the blade of the knife as it opened up my flesh. Seven drops of blood, a pact to the Boneyard Bangers, and an impending test of my courage within the week. Somehow I longed for Montana. I got back home to Uncle Smitty’s within an hour and went right to the shower, cleaned up, and went to bed. I didn’t sleep much that night.

Billy met me after school the next day and told me the Boneyard Bangers had decided what my initiation would be. “John Boy, you’ve been given your orders from the high priest of the group. You have to break into Old lady Smith’s house on Halloween night and steal her pistol that she keeps in the gun rack next to the fireplace.” “I won’t do it, I said. You’re kidding right? I’ll talk to this high priest and tell him I won’t do it!” “You’re talking to him John Boy, and you will do it, otherwise you’re a dead man.” Billy had an intense look of evil in his eyes. I believed he would actually kill me if I didn't do what he said.

Halloween night came quickly and I found myself wishing I had never heard of the Boneyard Bangers, had never left Montana, and had never met Billy. I wanted my Dad. I wanted out. I knew if I was caught I probably wouldn’t go to jail, being only thirteen years old, but I would be from that point on an outcast in this small community we lived in. I was afraid of Billy and his threat if I didn't do as he instructed, so I did exactly what he told me to do. I snuck up the stairs to old lady Smith’s as soon as her lights went out. It was 9 pm and I had to make it quick, as it was time for me to be home and Mom would be looking for me. I opened her unlocked door, quietly entered her living room and found the gun case and took what wasn’t mine. I took her pistol, a Smith & Wesson 357 Magnum revolver, fully loaded. I silently left her house and hid the pistol underneath a pile of wood at Uncle Smitty’s. Billy would ask me about it the next day, and I would have to show him the gun, or give it to him if that is what he ordered.

I met Billy at the boat launch at Boneyard Lake the next afternoon. I took the pistol along with me hoping that this would all be over within the next few minutes. “Did you get it John Boy? Did you get the pistol?” I pulled out the 357 magnum, but having second thoughts, I put it back in my coat pocket. “Give me the gun John!” Billy had never called me John before. His eyes were pure evil. “Give me the damn gun!” Billy struggled with me to grab the gun. As I grabbed the handle of the pistol, it went off with a loud bang. Billy looked at me with surprise as he still tightly held the barrel of the pistol. His eyes were no longer filled with evil. Now all I saw was fear. His grip loosened on the gun and he fell to the ground at my feet with a bullet hole in his chest. I dropped the gun and ran home.

Billy’s Dad called that night looking for him. Uncle Smitty shouted out to me “John have you seen that other River Rat today?” “No Uncle Smitty, haven’t seen him all day.” That night his Dad went looking for him and found him lying in a pool of blood, dead from a gunshot wound to the chest. The police were called, the weapon recovered and traced back to old lady Smith’s home. She didn’t even know it was missing. The police determined that young Billy Wilson had stolen the weapon, and either accidently or intentionally shot himself. I never said a word about it.

Rose Upon A Wisp

My wife was diagnosed with breast cancer in 2006. After undergoing a double mastectomy, and a very difficult time with chemotherapy including a hospitalization with pneumonia I found myself deep in depression.
At a point in time during the chemotherapy we both were at the point of accepting she might not live and having to accept whatever the consequences were. It was so difficult. This poem was written by me at a very low point in my life when I just had to live on faith. I hope you enjoy.

Rose Upon A Wisp

Shall I cast your love with open hand
and let it catch the breeze?
Shall I turn my back upon your name
and fall upon my knees?

The wind shall lift your love ahigh
to take it where it blows,
and land it soft upon a cloud
to change into a rose.

To free you from your earthly bond
is to free you from your gloom.
Then I'll chance to view your love
transformed into a bloom.

Let It Rain

 


















I thirst for your coming
sitting alone as if anticipating
a lover to call upon me
not knowing when or where
 
Waiting for you to wash away
the dust that has settled upon my skin
since we last parted
so long ago

When you come
let me be awake to welcome
your arrival
and bathe in your presence

Immerse me in your love
Saturate me in your element
Delight me with your company
Let it rain