The Felsenmeer 10/29/2011

   It is one of those fall days, the first cold windy day after a relatively warm string of autumn days. The air is clear and the wind gusty. Leaves are falling and swirling.
   On a similar day in Germany, some years ago, we drove into the Odenwald  to an area called the Felsenmeer, the sea of rocks, an area where an ancient continental glacier had once deposited tons of rocks in giant piles and rows where hardwood forests would eventually grow among the stones.
  Our first daughter, almost two at the time, was enchanted by the combinations of colors; lichen, leaves, granite and trees. As we walked the trails she became most uncharacteristically quiet. Finally, she began to dance with the blowing, falling leaves. Round and round, as a child will do with her arms stretched out to catch the colors and her blonde curls bouncing on her head. Sometimes I believe in magic. Sometimes I believe in enchantment.
   A day like this always brings this memory back to me.

The Old Man at Meteetse

Cody, WY 9/26/2011

  I saw him at the small Meteetse museum, an old man just passing his days. He asked where I was from and proceeded to tell me that his uncle had worked at a cotton mill in Atlanta, and that his mother had once flown there, and she had told him that she could hardly see the tips of the wings on the plane, they were so long, and that he didn't see any reason to fly, except for emergencies. He wanted to be on the ground.
  Several days later, we again stopped at Meteese, having braved a rugged road to nearby Kirwin, an abandoned mining town. We went into the only bar/cafe in the tiny town to get a bite to eat.
  The old fellow was sitting at the bar, alone, nursing a beer. While we were waiting for a table he asked where I was from. I reminded him of our previous meeting, and the uncle he had mentioned. He said he had worked on many of the surrounding ranches over the years, including the Legendary Pitchfork Ranch. He began to talk of his family. He and his sister had lived in the house where they had been born and raised. She had passed several years ago. All of his family are now dead. He is the last of that line.
   Just think of the history he has witnessed. I wonder how many stories he has to tell.

The Quiet Rebel

Cody, WY, 9/26/2011

   Mike drove down from Big Sky to explore the Cody area with us. We all had some time to talk and catch up. He and I had worked together last year and had become friends. A bit unusual since Mike is 25 and I am 63, his father's age. But Mike doesn't accept limits without thought.
   As a student in high school and college, Mike was gregarious. He is till ready for a party or a concert, but his several months working in Yellowstone and Big Sky, and  exploring other places in the west taught him to value solitude.He has borrowed from a friend the idea that loneliness is the sorry state of being alone, while solitude is the glory of being alone. He is a very skilled night photographer and goes on lone hikes high into the Tetons, or far into the Utah desert to capture incredible images. This choice of lifestyle is not a temporary stopping place for him, it is his life.
   His computer gave up the ghost so Mike is using the opportunity to research for a novel he is working on. No easy task since the subject will be alternate realities and perceptions. So his journey continues. It seems to me that his is the type of journey that requires quite a bit of courage.

Top Secret

Cody, WY, 9/21/2011
   During the Vietnam War, I was a part of a secret communications operation based on the legendary Indian Code Talkers of World War II. The idea was to use soldiers from north Georgia, east Tennessee, and western Carolinas as radio operators. North Vietnamese intelligence operatives, many speaking excellent English, would not be able to understand a dialect that had never been adequately archived and recorded.
  I wrote down one exchange that occurred in January, 1969. The following is an edited transcript and interpretation:

Orange 1, Orange 1, Howz yo momma?
Gud, gud, an yers?
(Security verification)
Hole bunch them lil sumbitches in the war. Yall come on ova chere.
(We are under attack.)
Git som dem gud ole boyz. Wil opin can of whup ass.
(Request reinforcements and artillery support.)

  The operation failed due to a lack of communication between the radio operators and the officers they reported to, usually 2nd lieutenants, and recent college graduates. These young men usually spoke only fraternity, so if the first sentence of a conversation did not include the words "naked" and "beer", they lost interest.
   So, to all veterans of the aforementioned code talkers, "I slute chall!"

Maria

Cody, WY 9/20/2011
   Near Old Faithful in a cold dismal rain, a woman asked if we were going to Mammoth. Gale told her we could give her a ride to Old Faithful and that a shuttle might be available. The shuttles had shut down for the season the week before so Maria said she would just catch a ride on the loop road. Against her protestations we took her to Mammoth and made a new friend on the way.
   Maria is 60+ years old, from Madrid, Spain and has been traveling around North America. She has been through Alaska, the Canadian Rockies, Grand Canyon, and after Yellowstone, she will catch a plane out of Jackson Hole on her way home. She travels by bus when she can and where there are no buses, she asks for rides. She spoke of 9 mile glacier hikes and constantly mentioned the kindness of people she had met.
   So, we met a very brave lady, very optimistic, and we have an invitation to visit Madrid.

What I Learned at Baptist Church Camp

Cody, WY, 9/18/2011
   I learned that a metal trashcan full of wire coat hangers, flung down a narrow hall at midnight made a terrible din, and that such an act would have repercussions other than obnoxious sounds.
    I learned that prayer and meditation hour was, for a twelve year old boy, something like the eternity they often mentioned in nightly lessons. It was also a perfect time to take a canoe out on the lake, filled with all the other paddles of the other boats, so no one could come and force us to pray and meditate.
   I learned that boys and girls were to be separated into two large groups, so that a girl named Carol would only be seen from afar. There would be no long anticipated walks, hand in hand, on sylvan paths, so the only reason I went to church camp was moot.

I Don't Know, What Do You Want to Do?

 Cody, WY, 9/16/2011
    Picture it. Night. Summer, 1964. A '62 Ford Falcon station wagon, lights off, creeps up a small rise. Two shadowy figures lie prone in the luggage rack on the roof. When the vehicle reaches the top of the rise, high beams illuminate the garbage dump and thousands of large rats run in all directions. Simultaneously, the marksmen begin shooting their semi automatic .22 rifles. One, two,....maybe a dozen rodents bite the....garbage.
   The wagon slowly backs down the rise and the snipers reload. Quiet descends over the Cartersville garbage dump. They wait. Not too long. Rats don't wear watches. The process is repeated.
   Small town Saturday night. No dates.

Characters

Cody. WY, 9/13/2011
We had breakfast at a small coffee shop on Sheridan Ave. The young lady who waited on us is a college student who participates in barrel racing and goat roping. We got this information from an old guy, about my age, who then began to tell us about his wife's rock garden. Apparently she loves shapes and colors of unusual rocks. Each story led to another, sometimes by mysterious paths. He also makes jigsaw puzzles. One of his latest creations is made from a rodeo poster featuring some of the kids who work at the coffee house.
Later, at an outfitter store, we met a man whose last name is White Bird. He rebuilds Airstreams and has owned eight of them. He has walked across the US twice.
The owner of a clothing and tack shop makes custom saddles. His wife sews wall tents for hunters. The young man that waited on us also participates in the rodeo, as a bull rider. He said that he has had two concussions from football but has never been injured riding bulls.
Everyone has stories. God grant me the patience and wisdom to listen.

Tapestry

9/11/2011 Cody, WY

Today is such a sad day of remembrance and it is difficult to tie this anniversary to what I am writing.

We went to a rodeo last night where the competitors were college students from some of these western states. I really enjoyed the pageantry, the swagger, skills and tradition. There are some things about the rodeo that I don't like, but then again, I don't make the rules.
There are a lot of things that should be changed, but some would have us all living in a homogenized society of their rules.What a monochrome society we would live in if there were no rodeos, no NASCAR, no old guys driving their Harleys across the country.  

An Injustice

We visited the site of the Japanese American Internment camp at Heart Mountain yesterday. Today, some houses and ranches can be seen from the site, but it is easy to imagine the barren desolation that must have greeted the internees as they got off a train, in the middle of nowhere, so far from their homes.
The barracks hosed several families, each with a small area to live in, with little privacy. These barracks were each built in about an hour, of # 3 green wood, that shrank, leaving spaces between the outer boards, letting in the Wyoming winters. Tar paper was nailed over the outside to help keep the wind out.
There were schools, movie theaters, a hospital, library and other amenities. One particularly poignant story tells of the first student body president of the high school, later to join the army and die in France for his country, that was treating his family as the enemy.
The internees worked on irrigation projects and farmed near the camp. Several young men served in the US military.
The government spent millions on these camps at a time when every resource was needed for the war effort.
I don't believe in collective guilt and I don't buy into the current movement in the US of my country, always wrong, but I do believe in the study of history and learning from history. The most important lesson should not be self righteous judgement so common in hind sight. We are all prisoners of our times. The most important lesson, in my opinion, is to know that most of us would have approved of the camps at that time, and that makes me question my own integrity.

Town Sounds

Cody, WY 9/5/2011

I grew up in a small town, one block from a textile mill where many of our neighbors worked. Some of  my earliest memories are the sounds of the neighborhood; the light early morning traffic,(especially the swish swish sound of tires on wet pavement), the opening, lunch and closing whistles at the mill. Later on I became aware of the sounds of a wider world; the cheers from the high school football games on fall Friday nights and the constant train whistles, the tracks a block away.
We are visiting a western town, population 8000+, where the sounds have become an important part of our visit. The courthouse clock strikes the hours and half hours, concerts in the park can be heard, and Friday nights, we hear the cheers from the high school. Some mornings I hear the hooves of mule deer as they move through the lawns of this town.
The distinctive sound of Cody occurs late in the evening as some of the locals reenact a gunfight on a blocked off street at the Irma Hotel. We look forward to it every day.

Endless Road

Cody, WY, 9/4/2011

Our first night in Cody, we stayed in a small 1960's era downtown hotel much favored by bikers, usually of the  Gold Wing/Harley set.
At breakfast we had a conversation with two couples, my age or a bit older, who had ridden their bikes from Maine. They had gone through part of Canada and the only complaint was the hot weather in North Dakota. When asked if they pulled a trailer, one of the ladies told me that they only had saddle bags, and once you had some warm weather gear and a rain suit, the rest was just gravy.
Old age rapidly approaches and by some measurements, it has arrived, but some choose, and are lucky enough to be able to choose to be "willin' to be movin'." Those folks continue to have new stories to tell.

Road Trip

8/31/2011, Cody, Wyoming

One of my greatest and most exhausting pleasures is driving from Georgia to Wyoming and Montana. A little more than half way across Missouri, the land begins to look more western. The population is less dense. The rivers appear less tamed, with high limestone bluffs and wilder currents bordered by cottonwoods. Place and stream names may be  American, Indian, or French, from the days before the Purchase. The sky grows larger and when I top a rise on the highway I feel as though there is no higher elevation on earth.
Radio stations play country music, grain and hog prices, concerns about neighbors and various versions of Tell and Sell, featuring hunting dogs and John Deere equipment. Rough looking characters hold the door open and service station attendants are well spoken and polite.
The far mountains beckon. The beauty is indescribable and vistas are endless.

Just a Sick Baby

  I was teaching on a US base in Okinawa when our first daughter was born. Gale was and is a natural with all children, but I didn't have a clue about relating to this new person, so small and delicate, suddenly in my care. When the baby was about four months old, she suddenly learned to smile and stole my heart. Soon we were on a plane to Taipei for a vacation. Her first plane ride.
  We transferred to Germany and more flights would follow. She would fly across the Pacific and then the Atlantic before her first birthday.
  In our German apartment it was Gale, me, and this magical little elf who kept us laughing. She was the center of our lives. When she was sick, we had no grandparents to give advice and take night shift watch. When she ran a fever she would move all over the bed, probably dreaming her baby dreams. We would make a pallet on the floor so she wouldn't fall off her bed. One of us would stay with her.
  One really bad night as she and I slept on the floor, I heard her whimper. She had crawled into the drapes and was lost. I called her name and said, "Come to Daddy," and she crawled as fast as her chubby legs would carry her and curled up beside me.
  I've been to quite a few places and had some wonderful  experiences, but one of the most memorable, one which I keep in my heart is a night in Germany when my baby slept nestled under my arm.

An Elitist Prayer

Our Father, and we call you that simply out of habit,

We thank you for all that is Buddhist, Celtic,  or Native American.

Bless those that make hybrid cars, new age music, presumptive little wines, movies based on Jane Austen books, and sensitive poetry.

Forgive us our little no- nos, such as looking down on those less fortunates who drive American made sedans, Elvis fans, and especially those who listen to country music.

Protect us from our enemies, heterosexual Caucasian southern males, who hunt deer.

Give us our daily brie.

Please help us to keep in mind that whatever other countries or individuals do, it is our fault.

We ask in the name of Maya Angelou.

Amen

A Parable

A certain man went out of Cartersvile and fell among a gang of orthodox Jews and Catholics who proceeded to guilt him severely.

" How long since you've called your mother?"

"You probably used the solicitation from Mothers Against Drunk Driving for a coaster for your martini."

" I bet you snicker at Neil Boortz jokes."

And he fell in the gutter and rolled into a fetal position.

By chance there came a socker Mom, who swerved her SUV to avoid him, but still ran over his foot. She didn't stop because she was late to pick up the kids, having been at a Sarah Palin rally.

Next came a feminist, who ran over his other foot, being late for a NOW meeting, (and after all he was a man), and she had been at an anti Sarah Palin meeting.

A Democrat came by, asked him what the trouble was, then explained that Obama's healthcare plan included treatment for depression brought on by drive by guiltings. He then gave him an Obama sticker and left.

As you may have guessed, a Republican came by, suggested that there was no real problem that he could see, and he just needed to keep on doing what he had always done before. He did admit a possible government bail out of the victim's company.

Luckily, an Episcopalian came by and gave him wine. (The Episcopalian's name was Luckily)

Unfortunately, a Baptist came by, took the wine away and gave him grape juice. (The Baptist's name was Kevin)

As it came to pass....the dude died.

When I Thought Myself a Rebel, 3/1/2011

I was at the University of Georgia in 1967, when I participated in my first sit in. Under Students for a Democratic Society leadership, we took over the administration building. We didn't know what to do with it, but that was beside the point. I participated for somewhat conflicting reasons. I believed that female students should have the same rights as male students and the SDS women did not wear bras. I was 18.
Later that year I roomed with Babs and Mike, an absolutely wonderful hippy couple. We all went to Atlanta to protest the pararde for the premiere of John Wayne's "Green Beret." It was mild pandemonium with much repetitious rhetoric, the main point being made that war is bad.
In retrospect, that was a time for all night talks about the things we believed in. A time for dramatic gestures to let other people know, and to assure ourselves, that our opinions were important. We went through a slow change from the Supremes and the Beachboys to Dylan and Baez. Later, we would find there was a time for all of them.

Jewels for Gale

Your friends say that I've not given you diamonds,
But they didn't see the fog freeze, delicate lace in the plain trees by the Rein.
Trees jeweled with lovely impermanence that disappeared with the sun.
Their house is so small, they say,
But we often set our tent in the  Rockies, the Tetons, the high desert.
The stars shown in their millions, layer on layer, infinite. 
Some mornings the sun painted the mountains red.
We drank our coffee in silence and beauty.

First Assignment, Japan

We taught for a year on Misawa Airbase, northern Honshu, Japan. It was our first overseas assignment, and in many ways , our best. We lived in a very small house on a one lane dirt road, just outside of the base. We had no phone and an old salvaged drip oil stove for heat. The winter was bitter cold. Gale wore two sets of thermals and a robe to bed. Snow fell October through May. The "garrison under siege" attitude made for much partying and close friends.
The Japanese were wonderful. Misawa was rather isolated and  relatively poor. Across our one lane road was a small nursery. When I shoveled snow from our walk I would also shovel their porch and walk. The teachers would line up those beautiful children, with their black eyes and hair, most dressed in vivid red coats, and they would bow and thank me. I would also bow and tell them they were welcome. Those days were special.
Our garbage man was intrigued by Gale. When he came by to collect his fee, he would wait in the mud room while Gale walked down the hall to get money. On more than one occasion we caught him length ways in the hall, but with his feet still in the mud room, watching Gale walk down the hall. I would shake my finger at him and he would grin.
On the evening of October 30, a Japanese boy, perhaps 13, came to our door in his school uniform. He kept repeating "gandy, gandy." Gale finally figured out that he was trying to say candy and that he had some way found out that Americans would give kids candy on Halloween. We brought him in and showed him the calendar, indicating for him to return the next night, which he did, and we bestowed him with much "gandy."
We left transferred to Okinawa the next year, where our daughter, London, was born. She was a blue eyed, blond baby who smiled at everyone. Older Japanese or Okinawan women would often ask if she was a boy, and when told that she was a girl, would tell us they were sorry, and maybe next time we would have a boy. 
That always confused us, as we thought we had done quite well.

Priorities

I was watching MSNBC as news of Mubarak's abdication reached the protesters. I find it incredible that those thousands could be on that square will relatively few problems, the only (reported) violence being from hired thugs. I alternately envied those people and feared for their future, knowing how noble ventures can be hijacked by fundamentalists, whether political, ideological, or religious. But, whatever happens, many of those people on the square will look back on this day as the most important of their lives.
Then, I noticed the matrix on the bottom of the screen, reporting on Lindsey Lohan and some proported romance between two other movie stars.
Are we to be the first nation to simply silly ourselves into obscurity?

The Simple Things

You know, when I'm having a bad day; the Beamer got recalled, servants are pilfering more than usual, and you just can't find Beluga anywhere, I ask Josefina to call Nefertiti, my Yoga and Earth Color Scent Therapist, and soon I'm right with the world.
It is the simple things.

Riding Shotgun With Daddy

When my brother and I were small, our Mom worked third shift at Goodyear Mill to avoid paying a sitter with money we didn't have. Mom would get home after her shift and try to get a few hours sleep. Gary is older and started to school two years before I did. I watched TV. Those were the days of Fuller Brush, Watkins Products, and other door to door salesmen, and when one of them knocked, I dutifully woke Mom. She instructed me to only wake her if it was important, so when a salesman came by, I would wake Mom and tell her it was important. This was not good.
Dad drove a truck, delivering fuel oil and kerosene, so he would often come by the house and I would ride with him. I think Mom must have threatened both of us with severe harm. I loved riding with him. My favorite destinations were the mines on the river. The miners were a bit rough and good natured. They cursed a good deal. I thought their language was very interesting. Mom did not approve when I tried out a few words at supper. A couple of the guys would give me unusual rocks and crystals. I wanted to be a miner.
Other destinations included isolated farms, usually small affairs that were in their last days. On one of these trips, Dad attempted to hand crank a tractor for an old farmer who had heart trouble. His hand slipped as he hit the down turn on the crank and it kicked back on him, breaking his jaw and several teeth. He drove all the way back to town, without a sound. He spent Christmas eating soup through wired up teeth. Never a complaint.
On occasion, Dad would give someone a ride. Once he picked up a crazy old evangelist, hitching to Alabama for a tent revival.  He said the tent would be provided by God. Another time he gave an old woman a ride to a country store. She told us numerous times that she was from Laffingal, a community that had all but disappeared. I asked Dad why he gave folks rides and he replied that they were mostly lonely.
Once again, as I look back on my life, I see that my real education was informal and profound.

I'll be Your Server / Canyon / Yellowstone

So now I was a server at the Canyon grill in Yellowstone National Park. I came in at the very last part of the season, while my fellow workers had been there for most of the tourist season. There were three groups of workers, college age, retirees, and also a group of professionals of varying ages.  Even though I am a retiree, I ended up hanging out with the folks with whom I worked, the kids. We all lived in a dormitory that smelled like a hiking boot. My room was 4 doors down from the bathroom. The laundry had a few questionable washers and dryers. One washer was the harvest gold color, popular in the '60's, making the machine significantly older than most of my colleagues.  The work was hard. I am somewhat deaf, and that didn't help.I missed my Gale badly, and my cell would not work at Canyon. I was the new guy, so I kept my mouth shut for a while. And because of those "kids" I loved it. I think of those guys and their kindness every day.
One young guy said, "Dude, my roommate quit, so I got some uniform shirts you can have, but Dude, I'll wash them. Dude, he never did laundry." So three clean shirts were brought to my door.
Jess, the best thing to come from New Zealand since "Lord of the Rings" would attempt a Georgia accent. I told her that I would marry her if only she were my cousin. She would ask me to bring my guitar and sing some of my songs.  I always tried to get Mike to laugh. He has an incredible laugh that carried throughout the building. I would identify the snapping of my latex gloves as the most frightening sound for a man of my years. The laugh would erupt making the day a better one for all of us.
One evening I rode with John and Rab, in the back seat of John's truck. Most of the room was taken by a large speaker system. Very stimulating. Anstee always asked me to join the younger set in their evening escapades. The highlight of one particular bonfire was an anti grilled cheese sandwich diatribe by Austin, one of the cooks.I once took a package to a nearby UPS store for Anstee, and had to identify it as merchandise from Victoria's Secret. The clerk got a laugh out of that.
I could go on and on like old men often do. I'd name so many others and tell so many tales.
I now am back in my home, with a bath close by. Our washer and dryer work well. The lady that I've loved for most of my life sleeps beside me, and that is worth a couple of worlds.
But, my Yellowstoners, I have your names in my FB account and your words and faces in my heart for as long as I live.

Changes in Attitude

I just reread " She Smiled at Me," and it reminded me of another smile, though it was in  a totally different context.
This is another Vietnam story, so if you have overdosed on the war, quit reading now.
Towards the end of my tour, we were on convoy. Most of my friends had gone home. Others had been medivaced for one reason or another. My mood was increasingly negative. I had just informed the first sergeant the he had been in the army so long that he didn't know what the truth was, or some words to that effect. I'm pretty sure that cost me a promotion, but at the time it was worth it. Hell! it's still worth it!
It was hot, as usual and dry season, when the red dust  was like cocoa powder. Everything near the roads, including me, had a coating of the stuff.
I was in the back of a truck, looking forward to the truck ahead of us, when that truck slowed to let a civilian jump up on the tail gate. He carried a staff and wore the saffron robe of a Buddhist monk. His head was shaved and his skin was nearly ebony. Perhaps he was of Indian descent or a child of an African legionnaire from the French colonial era. His face was so serene. And he smiled such a smile of peace that it changed my attitude. No, I was not filled with love for all of God's creation, particularly the first sergeant, and most particularly, Lyndon Johnson, but for that day and some days after, I no longer felt a need to be angry.

Love and High School

It was a time of '55 Chevy's, and dances in the old wooden gym. Rock and Roll top 40 on the AM dial. Deep and lasting friendships. First love.
Had I not failed chemistry the year before, I wouldn't have known much of this drama, but fail I did and in need of a science unit to get into college, I took Physical Science my senior year, usually a freshman or sophomore class. Easy A, easy credit. I didn't want to ruin my senior year with a lot of effort.
My old textbook had  been used  by Carrie two years before.She was a good friend. I wouldn't have minded if she were more than that, but she was very popular.
She had penciled notes in the page margins of the old text, a kind of diary of the year she had physical science, the year she fell in love with Ben.
Ben was not a jock or a brain. He was a ladies' man. He loved the girls and for the most part, they loved him. His love notes were the stuff of legend and his romances included flowers and "our song."
At the beginning of the year, the margin notes were pensive questions, whether he would call again or take her to a movie. After a chapter or two she was asking herself if she loved him, then if he loved her.And I was hooked.
Somewhere around chapter 5, the relationship was in full swing. They sat together at lunch. He gave her rides home, even waiting for her while she was at cheerleader practice. They talked almost every night. At the dances in the old gym, they always slow danced to "Stranger on the Shore."All of this was duly recorded.
She wore his jacket during the school day. One day she carried a single rose all day. He gave her his ring, packed with paraffin to make it fit.
Spring at high school was a tumultuous time when the romances of fall and winter seemed to fall apart. It was a time when guys like me could sometimes get a date with prom queens and cheerleaders. I loved spring.
Carrie's notes became fearful. Ben hadn't called. He  was talking to other girls. He asked for his ring. The final dreaded straw; he told her they could just be friends. Her heart was broken.
I was so taken with the story that I was actually quiet and thoughtful for an entire day. My friends were almost worried.
I had asked Carrie to the next school dance, and, of course, Ben was there with his new love. Carrie was very quiet the entire night. Eventually the band played "Stranger on the Shore," and Ben walked to our table. I had recently seen "Casa Blanca,", so I told Carrie to go ahead and dance, while I grabbed a smoke. The gym grew quiet and other couples drifted to the side to watch Carrie and Ben dance.
I saw Carrie a couple of years ago. She's still pretty and has four grown children.I doubt that she has time to think of the old days, those days of "55 Chevy's. Dances in an old wooden gym. Top 40 Rock and Roll on the AM dial. Deep and  lasting friendships. First love.
I'm glad even to have played a bit part.

She Smiled at Me

A few months before I met Gale, I was Eurailing through Europe. I was on a train, delayed in Innsbruck, when I saw a train beside us begin to head out in the opposite direction. I got a wild hair, grabbed my pack and caught it on the fly. Eurail passes were good for most trains, so ticket wise I was OK.
I ended up, late that night in Zurich, in a cold blowing rain, looking for a hotel. I finally stumbled into a very upscale place that had an annex for folks like me, that is to say tiny rooms and distant bathrooms. I pushed through the front door into a crowd of people, very formally dressed. I had on 10 day jeans, a five day beard,  a slouch hat pulled down over my head, and a backpack, all dripping wet. I was freezing, hungry, and miserable.
A lady was standing with her escort among the more fortunate clientele. She was tiny, with long honey blond hair, and she had violet colored eyes. Her dress was velvet, the color of red wine and she wore matching long gloves of that era. She was gorgeous!
Most of the crowd there had no reaction to me walking through them, other than stepping as far back as necessary. But she smiled. Not a small civil smile, but a real smile of greeting and understanding, and that was all that occurred between us.
I don't remember her in any romantic sense. I never believed in love at first sight, before I met my Gale, and even then it may have been love at first sound, since I think I first feel in love with her gentle voice. But sometimes, on cold rainy mornings when the thought of coffee and solitude call me awake, I watch the rain and remember that smile. I think about the lady, that I never envied her apparent wealth, status, and possible fame, But I hope that her life has been one of  peace and happiness, those things that have been so prevalent in my own life. I wish this for her in gratitude for that smile, for a lone wanderer, far from home.

Proper Attire

Early December, 1969, was a particularly rough time to be in a war. Back home the folks were getting over Thanksgiving and getting ready for Christmas.
Delta Co had a few firefights so we set up for a time to resupply and let our mail catch up with us. We named our camp LZ Fruitcake, due to the number of those we received. Helicopters dropped duffles of clean fatigues,almost as worn out as the ones we were wearing, but clean. No boots were delivered, so my buddy, Ceasario, had to tie his soles on with wire. Mostly we needed ammunition and thousands of rounds were dropped. Many of the cartridges were bent, dented, and rusty, so we cleaned and sorted and started a pile of stuff to be destroyed when we moved on.
Bags of mail, particularly Christmas packages, were brought in by the dozens. Mom sent me a box of Christmas ornaments. I don't know why. Despite the necessity of traveling as light as possible, I carried those ornaments until we reached our fire base where we used them to decorate a  latrine. Other guys received a variety of gifts, some actually useful, like survival knives.
One guy, Marlon, received a smoking jacket. It was of a shiny soft material, brown, paisley. We all tried it on. When we rotated for guard duty, the guy on watch got to wear the smoking jacket. Marlon wore it on patrol. He often walked point, and it was strange to see him, so nattily dressed, pass our observation post in the jungle, followed by about six grunts in ragged jungle fatigues.
Finally we were ready to walk out. We place all less useful things in to piles, stuff that would explode and stuff that wouldn't. We exploded the ordinance and set the other pile on fire. As the fire grew larger, we threw more useless stuff in. The last item to go on the pyre was Marlon's smoking jacket. A collective groan was heard in the Central Highlands on that day.

It Might Have Been

Several years ago, BC, (before children) Gale and I were traveling in the UK. We were touring the beautiful city of York and decided that since the streets were so crowded, for some reason unknown to us, that we would tour the ancient cathedral. We wandered that incredible edifice for quite a while, then noticed that we were the only people there. Very strange! We continued to look around for a while, then exited by the massive front door.
Thousands were lined up on each side of the street leading to the cathedral, waiting, as we later found out, for the Queen Mother. Apparently we had bypassed security and had no business in Yorkminster after it had been cleared by MI5 or whatever. I wonder how long we would have stayed in a British jail had we been caught.
At this point I had one of my brilliant ideas. I suggested to Gale that we walk the middle of the street, bowing and waving to all and sundry. Who the hell in York would know who we were anyway? Gale, being a bit more cautious about police and security threatened all sorts of retaliation if I took a step towards the cobbles. I bowed to discretion and fear of Gale, and stayed where I was.

The Naked Jungle

I spent most of my 20th year in the Central Highlands of Vietnam. I made a few close friends. Those were the guys that shared their last drop of water and their last packet of toilet paper with you.
One guy, of Polish decent, with a Polish name, became known, as was the military custom, as Alphabet. He was crazy as hell, and as our respective years rolled on, he became crazier.
Our commanders would send us into the jungle for various lengths of time to search out the NVA. When we were lucky, we didn't find them. These periods of time in the boondocks were about 30-45 days. After the first few days we were filthy. After a couple of weeks we could no longer smell ourselves and towards the end of the sweep we could not smell each other.
Once we set up close to a beautiful stream for a couple of days. Patrols were sent out, and a few of us at a time were allowed to bathe. Finally, Alph and I went to the river. He produced a small tube of shampoo. I rubbed some into my hair, but could only produce a light brown. scum instead of suds. With repeated rinsing and application of more shampoo, I finally got a respectable head full of suds. We then heard the guards yell that unknowns were coming toward the river. Alph and I got our boots, M-16s, and bandoliers, and found cover. The unknowns turned out to be Montagnards, aborigines who were, for the most part, allies to Americans. They looked at Alph and I and quickly went upstream to get water. Alphabet and I looked at each other; boots, rifles, bandoliers and heads full of shampoo suds. We laughed until tears rolled down our temporarily clean faces.
I wonder if there is a legend in the Central Highlands of naked white gods who grow bubbles from their heads.

A Yank in Edinburgh

After a couple of years in the army I tried college and a series of jobs. I ended up working in a bank for three years. At some point I took stock of my life and decided that I didn't have one. I made plans to see some of Europe. I was a bird out of a cage and the dollar was strong. I had "Europe on $5 a Day", a twenty one day Eurail pass, a ten day Britrail pass, a back pack, and a round trip ticket on Icelandic Air.
I loved it! It set me on fire and made me want to see the world. I went through a good bit of Western Europe, then I went to the UK. London was the most wonderful place. I stayed in Bloomsbury in a servant's room with no lock and no need for one. I discovered theatre and took the cheapest seats, somewhere above the balconies. The buildings themselves were works of art. The tube was marvelous, with wood and fabric escalators and musicians on every platform. I wandered the British Museum for a day.
I headed north and eventually found another city that I loved, Edinburgh. I wandered the city for days. In the evenings I looked for small theatres or music halls. I was attending one of these shows one night when it dawned on me that the songs were very anti British and somewhat anti American. I had mistakenly entered a Scot Separatist Socialist rally. I kept my Yank mouth shut, but I did join in a sort of Conga Line that formed in support of one of the young men who gave fiery speeches and made some wonderful jokes about American tourists and British royalty. They were a very friendly bunch. I just nodded and smiled a lot.
During that trip I got hooked on other places. I learned that this small town boy could love cities and feel quite at home in them. I learned that a country where fried potatoes were served with bad pizza was a country close to my heart. I learned that sweet Scottish ladies in a tea shop would heat soda bread,  for a stranger who could only afford a cup of tea.  I learned that socialists could really sing and dance.

The Arsonist

The summer of 1968, I was on the verge of leaving the University of Georgia, at the convenience of the University. I made an unsuccessful attempt to bolster my grade point average by taking some summer courses.
My finances and especially my parent's were at an all time low, so I got a job as a garbage man, working for the city of Athens. A number of SDSers and hippies also worked for the sanitation department.
I loved the job! I got to drive old rattle trap trucks all over that beautiful town, full of interesting people. My truck was a doorless flatbed, with dayglo blue peace signs, care of my hippy colleagues. I especially liked to make emergency garbage pick ups at the Baptist Student Union on campus. They felt sorry for me and always had sandwiches, pie, and sweet ice tea. I often played up the part of destitute student to get more goodies.
One part of my job was to haul ashes from the incinerator, on one side of town, to the land fill, across town, out of the city limits. I'd back under the chute of the incinerator and ashes and a spray of water flooded into the truck bed. The spray was meant to put out any left over sparks. I had to drive around the University.\ to get to the land fill.
My boss, Smiley, always complimented me on my driving and efficiency. Smiley was, to this day, the best of bosses. He took care of his people. He was legendary. On heavy garbage days, like water melon rind day, July 5, Smiley rolled up his sleeves on his dress shirt, tucked his tie into his belt and hauled cans with us.
One beautiful summer morning I began my first ash haul. A friend of mine saw me downtown and yelled that my truck was on fire. I looked back to see a huge wad of unburned papers smoldering, then bursting into flame. Apparently the safety features on the incinerator chute had malfunctioned.
Seeing myself as the heroic type, I figured out a way to save the city from conflagration. I cut across the university, to get to the land fill as quickly as possible. Somewhere around married housing I was stopped by three University Police cars, an Athens motorcycle cop, and a man who introduced himself as the University Safety Officer. With the exception of the Athens cop, they all began shouting. I caught a few words, like prison and arson. During the height of the yelling session I asked the Athens cop to radio Smiley. Smiley soon showed up and quietly informed the University folks to talk only to him, not to me. He looked at the truck bed, and the flames had died down some. I tried to tell him why I had chosen the route through the University, but he just told me it was OK. Smiley asked me if I'd be willing to drive to the landfill and dump the load., which is what I did. I never heard another word about the burning truck.
When I look back on my few months at the University, I actually learned little in class, but I learned a lot hauling garbage.

An Apology to My Father

Since or oldest daughter, London, was fourteen she had been very hard to get along with, especially for me. She was opinionated, stubborn, and self righteous; like me. She was also the baby we had in Okinawa, far away from family. Her first flight was on a C130. She lived in Asia and Europe before she was one. She made it easy to meet people. Many Japanese and Chinese were fascinated by her blonde hair and blue eyes. She smiled at everyone.Her first complete sentence told her Mom not to be mean to her sweet Daddy. She did the piggy face for me. She was a magic little elf in our apartment in Germany.The world revolved around the three of us.
The day came to take London to Georgia Southern. I did fine until it was time for us to go. London made it plain that our leaving meant little to her. She was now in college.
I cried so hard that Gale had to drive back. I continued to cry after we got home.
I thought of the day in 1969, when my Father took me to the airport for the first leg of my journey to Vietnam. He rarely put his foot down with Momma, but he told her in no uncertain terms that she would say goodbye at the house.
Dad and I had some problems getting along. I was opinionated, stubborn, and self righteous; like him.
He walked me to the gate, shook my hand, told me to be careful, and walked away. It didn't mean much to me. I was going to Asia! I was on an adventure! I was going to war.
In World War II, Dad was in North Africa. At some point he was in a port city, as were thousands of other Americans. By some chance, he ran into his brother Walter, who was shipping out for Italy. Walter was killed in that bloody campaign. Daddy mentioned him to me one time.
Where did he get the courage to shake my hand at the airport and walk away?