(Please comment good or bad, i won't take it personally. well unless you don't comment)
Free Parking
“Okay Coyote jump out and grab it.”
“Jump out and grab what, Loyd?”
“That damn parking ticket.”
“Whose car is that?”
“How the hell should I know? Grab that damn ticket.”
“Grab that damn ticket?”
“Yeah, and hurry up about it we’re blocking the street.”
“Look Loyd, I’m not getting into one of your little games. If you want it, you get it.”
And with that, Loyd flew out of the truck, grabbed the ticket, and was driving back down the street. The moment had all the urgency of a fire and none of the bells. Loyd threw the parking ticket in the glove box with what had to be a hundred others and raced down the street at a mind numbing speed of about ten miles an hour. “Look”, Loyd said. “There are two more. You get the one on that side and I’ll get the one on this side.” In this Coyote flatly refused. He once again insisted that he was not going to engage in whatever silly little game Loyd was playing this week.
Over the next thirty or forty minutes, Loyd and Coyote drove the Perfect loop and collected parking tickets. The glove box had become over run and the tickets were now being stuffed under or behind the seat. In the middle of all of this Coyote sat back, drew on his beer and giggled at what could be nothing more than a Tuesday night special. Usually Loyd stuck to littering, but the judge had grown weary and changed the Sheriff’s departmental policy. Littering was no longer a crime unless it was committed by someone other than Loyd. This all came to pass because Loyd would, on any particular Tuesday after payday, find a Deputy and litter right in front of him while acting the ass. There were times when Loyd would end up in his underwear on a public street tearing little bits of paper from a notebook and throwing them to the ground for the sole purpose of being arrested. After all, you don’t get to see the judge, if you don’t get arrested.
Our Judge was one of a kind. D.A. Hallowell. Her given name of Dale Anne was both a mirror of her twin sister Anne Dale and the first names of their parents, Dale and Anne. With both of her parents now gone and a vicious rivalry with her sister, her name was Judge Hallowell or D.A. for short. The other sister was just as furious as the Judge.
Anne Dale Hallowell went by Dale. The funny thing is, she looks like a dale too, whatever that is. The name just suits her. I remember one day when Loyd was screwing around with a lingerie catalog on the bar at the Fox Hollow. He was erasing the bras off of the models on the pages when Dale came out of her office to see if we needed fresh beers. Immediately Loyd shut the catalog and started reading over the back cover. His transparent feigning of interest spawned the comment from Dale that he was going to go blind if he didn’t quit shopping. Somewhere in that Loyd read the address box; A. Dale Hallowell, Hallowell Mercantile… “Hey, I know A. Dale Hallowell”, he said. “Do you know A. Dale Hallowell?” Well the next thing you know everyone at the bar was talking about knowing A. Dale Hallowell. There weren’t but five or six of us, but that was enough to raise the ire of the A. Dale Hallowell and she threw us all out until we could grow up. We spent the afternoon out back on the patio drinking beer from the grocery store, pitching washers, and discussing our familiarities with A. Dale Hallowell. I still don’t believe she was out to hurt anyone, we all know that shotgun isn’t loaded, but we got the message.
Klaus Van Horowitz was a Sergeant on the Perfect police force and the assistant chief. A poor hapless bastard born of a mouthy German woman and a Jewish father who was never healthy and never let you forget it. For one reason or another Klaus was born with a chip on his shoulder and a world to take it out on. Klaus, like most people in Perfect was a native. What set him apart was that when he went away for college, he didn’t stay gone. He moved back, went to work for the police department, and never looked back. Most people will tell you that he came back because he would have had to work in some other town, but what would he do in Perfect? Get even with anyone he wanted. Take Loyd Cantrell for instance. Just once he’d like to bust his ass. To bust Loyd for something that would make him feel good for doing it. Something that would make up for all of the jokes that were played on him as a kid and it would happen. Nobody is so good they never get caught. However, right now Loyd would have to take a back seat; he had bigger fish to fry. Somewhere out there right now was a true vandal that he had been investigating for months. Some kid was out there lifting parking tickets off of cars causing a severe administrative headache for him and maybe if he caught the little booger soon enough he could turn him away from crime. The chance to save a boy from going bad would go a long way toward becoming lieutenant.
Sunday, September 27, 2009
Saturday, September 19, 2009
The canon that is my life
As a person of letters, that i like to fancy myself as being, i have a canon of literature that is my life. Many people remember what year something was because a certain band or song was popular or perhaps an event like an election or the Olympics were held. For me, There is a story for every event in my life. Take for instance the first novel i read, Robinson Crusoe. I remember toddling my little third grade ass to the school library on library day and checking it out. This caused a tremendous uproar in the school because that book was for fifth graders not third graders. When i got to my grandparents that day i was a little bummed out by the whole thing and the next day my grandfather convinced them it was completely alright for me to have that book. At the time i had already begun reading some shorts by Chekhov and Poe, what was Defoe going to do to me.
When i got married the first time i was reading a book on Sam Houston called Six Foot Six. I didn't know it then but i was feeding my need for all things Texas. I know what i was reading when all of my children were born and what i was reading the day i got the news my daughter Jackie had died. That day, i was reading The Things They Carried, by Tim O'Brien. The irony in this is still so horribly faceted that i reread portions of it to remind me of how i felt and to feel closer to her. I love to hate that book and it's one i never loan out.
The day that Donna and i decided to get married i was reading the National Electric Code. That should have told me that our life together was going to be something. Though i am unable to articulate what i mean by something, It can be said that there have been sparks, short circuits, and plenty of blown fuses, but the lights are still on.
Even as the years crept by, every landmark seemed to be punctuated by what i was reading. When the guys started school it was Catholic School and i was reading a series of books on the Saints. After Sept. 11, 2001, i had to sell my '72 Mach I Mustang because i, like so many others, lost my job and the Tech Writing market went to shit. I, just by happenstance was reading How to Win Friends and Influence People and The Chicken Soup book. When i met my best girl friend i was reading Eudora Welty and five years later when i heard she was pregnant i was reading A Hundred Years Of Solitude.
Today I'm not reading anything. This is quite unusual for me. I wonder if this period of not reading is a hallmark in my life. A great empty void where i can't continue on to what is next until i have put to rest those things that most prevalently occupy my mind. Some things are easier said than done. In this case my mind and my head aren't on speaking terms and it makes it nearly impossible to develop a solution to the quandary. There's a great line from The Prince of Tides that goes something like this: "I learned that I needed to love my mother and father in all their flawed, outrageous humanity, and in families there are no crimes beyond forgiveness. But it is the mystery of life that sustains me now. I look to the north, and I wish again that there were two lives apportioned to every man - and every woman."
When i got married the first time i was reading a book on Sam Houston called Six Foot Six. I didn't know it then but i was feeding my need for all things Texas. I know what i was reading when all of my children were born and what i was reading the day i got the news my daughter Jackie had died. That day, i was reading The Things They Carried, by Tim O'Brien. The irony in this is still so horribly faceted that i reread portions of it to remind me of how i felt and to feel closer to her. I love to hate that book and it's one i never loan out.
The day that Donna and i decided to get married i was reading the National Electric Code. That should have told me that our life together was going to be something. Though i am unable to articulate what i mean by something, It can be said that there have been sparks, short circuits, and plenty of blown fuses, but the lights are still on.
Even as the years crept by, every landmark seemed to be punctuated by what i was reading. When the guys started school it was Catholic School and i was reading a series of books on the Saints. After Sept. 11, 2001, i had to sell my '72 Mach I Mustang because i, like so many others, lost my job and the Tech Writing market went to shit. I, just by happenstance was reading How to Win Friends and Influence People and The Chicken Soup book. When i met my best girl friend i was reading Eudora Welty and five years later when i heard she was pregnant i was reading A Hundred Years Of Solitude.
Today I'm not reading anything. This is quite unusual for me. I wonder if this period of not reading is a hallmark in my life. A great empty void where i can't continue on to what is next until i have put to rest those things that most prevalently occupy my mind. Some things are easier said than done. In this case my mind and my head aren't on speaking terms and it makes it nearly impossible to develop a solution to the quandary. There's a great line from The Prince of Tides that goes something like this: "I learned that I needed to love my mother and father in all their flawed, outrageous humanity, and in families there are no crimes beyond forgiveness. But it is the mystery of life that sustains me now. I look to the north, and I wish again that there were two lives apportioned to every man - and every woman."
Sunday, September 13, 2009
Sometimes it's the cake (warning goofy prose alert)
Sometimes it's the Cake
It wasn’t long after Cam told the Pope to kiss his ass that Stevie B., started coming around. I always saw her as something of a predator. Not in the sense of when a bear lumbers in a stream to fish out salmon, but more like a buzzard that hates carrion. She’d circle and circle and in that last moment of life she’d take hers. You might think of it like the loud ass brother-in-law that circles the turkey on Thanksgiving so as soon as everyone’s back is turned he can scavenge a morsel or begin pecking out the last remnants of flesh still clinging to the bone.
Cam wasn’t his real name, just a handle he went by because he hated his name. At least, that’s what we all believed. Cam wasn’t his whole nick name either. Cam is short for Camo, which is short for camouflage. We called him that since we were kids. His dad had tons of Army grease paint left over from his reservist days, the kind they use to camouflage their faces with, and Cam wouldn’t play “Forts” with us without it. This usually meant we had to wait on him to get it just right. He always said, “Heavy on the bone, light on the meat.” Something his dad undoubtedly picked up being in the Army Reserves, though none of us knew what it meant. So Camouflage was shortened to Camo, and then to Cam and it stuck. Just so you know, his real name is Grant Lee Eisen-something-or-other. I don’t know, it just doesn’t seem all that bad to me, but then again I was the only white kid in the neighborhood and my name is James Brown. Like they say, nobody’s perfect.
For some time, Cam had been in a downward spiral. I say for some time. If you consider his high point as birth, then it has been a bit more than merely some time. On his eighth birthday, his older sister choked on a hotdog and died. It wasn’t really as simple as all that. She had been walking around with a hotdog in her mouth, the way kids do, when Cam, while swinging at the piñata, hit her in the mouth with the stick. When he brought the swing forward again the piñata split in half raining gold coin chocolates down over the flock of kids diving for the candy. In all the excitement, his father had missed the part where Cam’s sister had fallen to the ground. Cam’s mother died giving birth to him, so if it hadn’t been for the Pastor’s wife, his sister would probably still be lying there.
Eileen Underwalther, the Pastor’s wife and frequent visitor to the Eisen-Something-or-other house, called Mac’s attention to his unconscious daughter on the ground. Immediately, Mac sprung into action. He knew just what to do. He elevated her head and checked her for breathing. It was kind of hard to really discern what condition she was in given the location of the hotdog and the amount of blood on her face. He checked her for breathing and listened for a heartbeat, in the middle of all of us kids screaming. When he didn’t hear a heart beat, he started CPR. The Medical Examiner said there really wasn’t any way to know for sure she was alive when her rib punctured her lung, but just know he tried his hardest with all of his training to save her and didn’t. I guess what I remember most about that day is the cake was really good.
It wasn’t long after Cam told the Pope to kiss his ass that Stevie B., started coming around. I always saw her as something of a predator. Not in the sense of when a bear lumbers in a stream to fish out salmon, but more like a buzzard that hates carrion. She’d circle and circle and in that last moment of life she’d take hers. You might think of it like the loud ass brother-in-law that circles the turkey on Thanksgiving so as soon as everyone’s back is turned he can scavenge a morsel or begin pecking out the last remnants of flesh still clinging to the bone.
Cam wasn’t his real name, just a handle he went by because he hated his name. At least, that’s what we all believed. Cam wasn’t his whole nick name either. Cam is short for Camo, which is short for camouflage. We called him that since we were kids. His dad had tons of Army grease paint left over from his reservist days, the kind they use to camouflage their faces with, and Cam wouldn’t play “Forts” with us without it. This usually meant we had to wait on him to get it just right. He always said, “Heavy on the bone, light on the meat.” Something his dad undoubtedly picked up being in the Army Reserves, though none of us knew what it meant. So Camouflage was shortened to Camo, and then to Cam and it stuck. Just so you know, his real name is Grant Lee Eisen-something-or-other. I don’t know, it just doesn’t seem all that bad to me, but then again I was the only white kid in the neighborhood and my name is James Brown. Like they say, nobody’s perfect.
For some time, Cam had been in a downward spiral. I say for some time. If you consider his high point as birth, then it has been a bit more than merely some time. On his eighth birthday, his older sister choked on a hotdog and died. It wasn’t really as simple as all that. She had been walking around with a hotdog in her mouth, the way kids do, when Cam, while swinging at the piñata, hit her in the mouth with the stick. When he brought the swing forward again the piñata split in half raining gold coin chocolates down over the flock of kids diving for the candy. In all the excitement, his father had missed the part where Cam’s sister had fallen to the ground. Cam’s mother died giving birth to him, so if it hadn’t been for the Pastor’s wife, his sister would probably still be lying there.
Eileen Underwalther, the Pastor’s wife and frequent visitor to the Eisen-Something-or-other house, called Mac’s attention to his unconscious daughter on the ground. Immediately, Mac sprung into action. He knew just what to do. He elevated her head and checked her for breathing. It was kind of hard to really discern what condition she was in given the location of the hotdog and the amount of blood on her face. He checked her for breathing and listened for a heartbeat, in the middle of all of us kids screaming. When he didn’t hear a heart beat, he started CPR. The Medical Examiner said there really wasn’t any way to know for sure she was alive when her rib punctured her lung, but just know he tried his hardest with all of his training to save her and didn’t. I guess what I remember most about that day is the cake was really good.
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
One lit in my face and one burning in the ashtray...
Well it's three in the morning and i just cracked a Dr Pepper and choked down a couple BC Powders. I say choked down, i think I'm starting to take them for the same reason some old people eat dirt or corn starch. I'd like to say that i have a headache every time i take them, but I'm not entirely sure that would be accurate. One thing is for certain, i endure chronic headaches. Oh, and no my BP and sugar are both fine, but thanks for asking. I think it has to do with when i fell out of the sign at the Bien Venido Motel some years ago and i whacked my neck pretty good.
My 14 yr old has sprung from his chrysalis and come out the other side a social damn butterfly. Thank God we have an unlimited plan because between his one ring tone for text messages and his myriad of ring tones for his friends, I've made him set it to vibrate anytime it's within ear shot of me. Some days it's maddening!!! He has really started coming into his own in school too. Well, Football for sure, I'll know about the academics in a couple of weeks and as all of you know that's where i live. It sure isn't football. Anyway, he's gotten his permanent position as the starting center. He really didn't think he could do it because, evidently, there is a lot of responsibility in that position. However, he likes to yell and block and tell people when they aren't doing what they are supposed to. Stupid me, i thought the center just gave the quarterback the football and then blocked, but he's told me tons of other things that he has to do to make sure the play comes off the way it is designed to. I have to admit, i look at him when he starts explaining, the same way i used to look at Mrs Davis when she tried like hell to explain to me the objective and nominative cases in English in 9th grade.OK for the next part to make any sense at all i have to preface this with a little bit of an explanation. Our boys are 15 months apart. The one mentioned above is red headed, six foot and built like Adonis. The 13yr old is 5'4", sandy blond hair and the closest he gets to sports is the chess club. Yes, the older one is a fair student and a great athlete; the younger one is totally an honor student and no athletic prowess what so ever (save possibly the remote for the TV)
I pick the little one up from school everyday and i always ask him the same thing. It's kind of like a catch phrase at this point, i say,"good day, bad day, or okay day??" He'll usually give me the old "good day". Then I'll ask him what the best and worst part is, this is where he goes into a soliloquy on par with "Song of Myself" and will talk for thirty minutes about how unrealistic it is to put kids like him into regular classes with kids that don't want to be there and only want to cause problems or tell him he's retarded and give him the finger. Here again, i digress into my own school experience and have much the same look on my face as when Mrs Morgan tried so desperately to teach me, "Order of Operations". 
Then my lovely wife locks up the administration at her school around eleven most evenings and calls me. Naturally i am twenty minutes from the end of a movie i am completely buried in like Wednesday. I was watching, i really love Netflix!!!!!, this movie called "Elegy" with Penelope Cruz and Ben Kingsley. It was so tragically amazing. I'd say that it made me cry, but we all know guys don't do that. Just like the first time i saw the movie "Philadelphia". (Vamos Aver) I was buried in "Elegy" and there was about twenty minutes left and my phone rang, i saw it was her and i hit the end call button. See that way it could go to voice mail and she'd think i was on the phone and i could finish the movie. I'd tell you what they were doing but i won't in case the odd one of you watches it. If you liked the "Notebook" or "La Puta Y La Ballena", you'll love this. Anyway, about two minutes later she called back and i hit the end call button again. The movie is just that good! Well, then that old devil on my shoulder started talking to me about her car being broken down or of her getting mugged in their parking lot and i had to stop the movie and call her. So i did. I asked her if she was OK and she said yeah, she was on 35, blah blah blah. Here again, my face went as blank as it did every time Mrs Matley used the words several (serval) and she had another one she used to screw up too, but that used to just send me into an out of body experience.The wife blathered on for her entire thirty minute ride about things that happened at work that were funny and some stuff that was un-called for and the like. All the while, I'm blindly listening to these things and i don't know any of the people or anything about where she works other than it's on 35. I went there once to start her car and thus the sum total of my knowledge of the events in her world. About two hours later i restarted the movie and watched it from beginning to end and it was worth the interruption just to get to see it again. I have to admit that i, probably from being a man, needed to see it twice to understand what it meant and that was fine too.
I guess it's days like these that make me love that new Zac Brown Band song "Toes" so much. There is a verse that goes:
I got my toes in the water, ass in the sand
not a worry in the world, a cold beer in my hand
Life is good today, Life is good today
I have got some more of "Perfect" to put up, but i just have to get my arse in gear and do it. Plus, here a while back Paige had asked me what it is that i sew and that is such a hard question to answer this way. I don't want to put up a slide show on facebook, but if blogger will let me, I'll throw up a slide show. I just have to figure out if i can or not. If not, i may just have one huge posting of pictures. But those are the things on my horizon and i plan on doing that in the next couple of days. If it starts to look like I've gone blog happy don't worry it's only the 24hr kind.
Till i share with Y'all again, Take care of Y'all, D
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