gentledeepwaters's journal

I happen to be just a wee bit tiddly tonite. (snockered) Normally I might have two drinks a year...and some years I forget one of them.

But tonite, my oldest son turned 30 and I found myself in his peer group celebrating that fact. So I write this to myself tonite...cause I wouldn't if wait till morning.

In my humble opinion, Mr. Cary Sherman nee Hilary Rosen nee whoever....I fully understand, since you represent "all artists"
and are just looking out for their vested interests, the hopeful (and well paid for) use of the legal system to halt these, mostly children, from outright theft and piracy.

Well, as a mother, I think back over the last...oh say thirty years, give a decade or so, of the increasing numbers...year by year of "role model" artists in your genre, who slowly but surely made drugs n alcohol n sometimes frank vandalism, the byword for being the thing to do if you want to be cool.
I'm not gonna touch on the use of our hero worshiping young; mostly females. Parents aren't cool. Some of your artists and peer groups were and are.

Now you are dealing with the children of those children. Parents of the "Me" era.

Mr. Wesley Clark...Staunch Republican supporter and a man who has a clear record of getting where he wants to be. What or should I say, who, do you want to represent, so much you change partisonship? I don't trust your motives.

Our esteemed Senators and Representatives..very, very few voices had the courage or forethought to raise objections in the face of the present administrations "steamroller" tacticts.

Trust and Democracy are fragile things, to be dealt with wisely.

I have more.....but the Excedrin is kicking in.

She had Polio when she was l6 months old...just learning to walk.....2 years younger than I....we were seperated by her need for rehab for many years....to the point we did not know each other...Dark brown hair and the only one to get my grandfather's big brown eyes.....like chocolate they were....with a glint in them. Paralyzed from the waist down..braces and crutches......and she hated them...she'd rather "scoot" around on her bottom......and my God she was flexible and limber...with massive upper arms from the crutches and lifting herself here and there....She got the hair that would do anything you wanted...with a natural wave...a temper that simmered if you were lucky.....and blew if you weren't....but rare....she loved music...Ricky Nelson....she adored...she had to work at her homework....she was a people person not a scholar....raised in a small town....she was the beloved "different" child in her classes......and she craved to be just the attractive girl she was. But not one boy had the courage to even flirt....ever.

Once she was so mad at me...and she got me good by hiding under the bed in wait....and getting even with my bare toes with this small rubber hammer...we had a sybling rivalry that wouldn't ever quit...I was oldest....she next...I could walk free...and she couldn't. I was shy but a nerd and she was outgoing and drew people to her...a true beauty too.

We have a picture of her on the ground.....washing our dog Tuffy's face with one of our bath cloths. A huge Boxer that towered over her...but they had the same sweet soul....her's a bit more spicy at times.

One Easter we were dressed in our fluffy white nylon dresses with the little pink and yellow and blue flowers and those nylon fluffy underskirts and white patent shoes.....and to keep us clean and out of our mother's hair while she dressed the boys...she had me take her out to our shining white l953 freshly polished Buick...to keep ourselves entertained we went through the glove box...and lo and behold there was this square of stuff that Dad chewed sometimes and looked sorta like a brownie....but didn't feel quite the same.....we dared each other.....and each took a bite....and chewed...kinda sweet but with a weird whang to it...then Jane choked....and started gagging...in my desperation to get over her and get the door open...I swallowed mine..we didn't make it to Easter Sunday that year....and the front seat of that car was never quite the same.

High School was a blessing for me....seperation at last....I was myself not Jane's sister...and then as a Junior here she came...we had to drive to school and I developed my own arms putting her wheelchair (she had developed curvature of the spine) into the car after lifting her in....and she proceeded to charm the pants off of every teacher and student in high school..she went through this phase of being determined to jerk me out of my shy..nerdy self....that I will not go into....it is still one of my most excruciatingly embarrassing memories to this day. She would have made an awesome politician.

Then 3 months before she graduated High School....she developed Schizophrenia.....and my sister...ceased to be my sister..and our family fell into a hell. Doctors, psychiatrists, psychologists, eventually mental homes.....electric shock...medications....and a family confused and unknowing about mental problems.....tiny periods of clarity....and stupid suicide attempts....not the thought behind it.....the means.
She knew salt was poison in large amounts...so she attempted to swallow the contents of the salt shaker.

Two years into that.....and the curvature was so bad...surgery was done...and I was her "nurse"...her body rejected the stainless steel rods and screws.....huge holes all down the line of her spine...and surgery to remove it.....a tiny piece of fat or tissue hit her brain during that.....and she came out in convulsions....and brain damaged beyond repair..a mix of Jane and Schizophrenia and brain damage.

Two weeks of drug induced coma to stop the seizures and give her body time to heal from the surgery......they said she would die or come out a vegetable....Mom had two young sons at home and a business to run to support the family...she took the first week and I took the second....a lot of crossword puzzles and reading and washing her face and hands and lips to keep them moist...and talking...lots of talking.....I alternated between the terror of losing her....and reminding her of all the crap she had thrown into my life....including that damn one toe that she swore always wiggled even when awake and in her shoes.......but I felt damn well it only started up when I was almost asleep and she somehow moved her foot right up against my calve.....(we shared a double bed our whole young lives) both bedwetters till adolescents.......and of course she quit first.

The coma continued despite the drugs being stopped.....and the doctors warned my Mom of the worst. And one day as usual I was doing a crossword using the side of her bed for a table with the rail down....and stood up...and she opened her eyes and said "When did you get that outfit"?? Dear God......the clothes horse was awake and aware....and comtemplating "borrowing" my clothes again.

She lost math....a bunch of spelling....hard to tell on geography and history because she hated those two subjects.

Years and years of mental homes...interpersed with home visits..till the Judge took the right away from my Mom and she became the ward of the state. Then the big American drive to unload the mental homes of Viet Nam Vets and the "safe to the Public" and the opportunity to move her to our hometown into the Nursing Home.....and she thrived..

Today my middle son called me at 3:45 pm to tell me my sister had died.

There is something profane about being the oldest and not getting to go first.

This was and is my hero of life.

This is a poem by a real .....honest to God Cowboy....gives you a glimpse of how they think and do. If you can get past the Texan phrases.

BUNGEE BUCKAROO

There’s certain aggravations that a cowhand can’t abide.
Weak coffee, gunsels, dudes and whiny women chap my hide,
But of all the banes and pestilence this cowboy’s life has wrought,
What truly ups my dander is a horse that won’t be caught.

A hand who’s taught a horse to come to feedbag or to grain,
Or halter up his muzzle slick without a lick of strain,
Is a man who should be toasted with the finest barley malt,
While an hombre should be skinned alive and rolled in picklin’ salt

For learnin’ some ol’ outlaw bronc to shun and fear the noose,
‘Til he kinda grows accustomed to the feel of runnin’ loose,
An’ he’ll tear plumb through yer catch rope when it settles ‘round his neck,
So the nylon burns yer grabbers an’ yer bootheels snap; a wreck

You knew was comin’ when you set back on yer stompers.
Now you’re face down in the catchpen, spittin’ horse poop through yer chompers.
I rue the day I met the bay the cowboss called Ol’ Boomer,
For God made me a thinkin’ man; God has a sense of humor.

Every hoss is good for somethin’; that’s a natcherl, solid fact,
Be it packin’, cuttin’, ropin’ or some other handy act.
Ol’ Boomer was a night horse, best that run beneath the moon;
That is, when I could catch him, ‘cause I’d have to start at noon,

‘Cause he’d duck an’ dodge an’ roll back on his hocks like Peppy San,
While I’m snaggin’ air an’ fence posts with my handy hooleyann,
An’ if by chance he tripped my snare, he’d rear an’ pitch an’ paw,
An’ leave me plowin’ furrows with my nose an’ bottom jaw.

But I’m a cogitatin’ cuss, as I have often said,
An’ a sorter brilliant notion kinda moseyed through my head,
Concernin’ laws of physics, higher math an’ other dope,
An’ a clever apparatus that we know as rubber rope,

Or bungee cord or lashin’ straps, dependin’ on yer roots.
For tarpin’ hay or pipes or posts, there ain’t no substitutes.
I’ve seen fellers jump off bridges, from a blimp or big balloon;
With fifty foot of bungee, Boomer’d play a different tune!

It ain’t easy bein’ brilliant; or so I tell myself.
Though some may claim my ladder don’t quite reach the upper shelf.
So I throwed a great big double jugline, Chinese bola knot
Around my legs an’ chest an’ struck out for the waterlot,

To battle with this devil so deceptively disguised
As a common, wranglin’ ranch horse. Oh, Lord, he’d be surprised
At the fiendish, wicked genius of my calibrated plan.
It shore ain’t fair that brains like mine belong to just one man.

Well, he never seen it comin’; he was sleepin’ in the shade
When my perfect, slashin’ hooleyann cut through the air an’ made
A lovely, little loop that cleared his ears an’ latched his throat,
Causin’ him to wake an’ flatulate a parting note,

Of impolite indignity that echoed off the wall
Of the barn into the ozone as I gave a mighty squall
An’ swung my hat an’ chunked a rock to agitate his rear.
Though I’d factored in velocity, he caught another gear!

The effect of twice a hundred pounds upon a horse’s neck
At the anchor of a rubber rope should instigate a wreck
Rarely seen before by human eyes or offered for display,
Like a herd of Baptist preachers at a free-for-all buffet!

Ol’ Boomer was acceleratin’ out towards the end
Of a thousand feet of rubber, disappearin’ ‘round the bend
Of the barn towards his freedom while I set back on the deck,
An’ chuckled kinda sinful at the up an’ comin’ wreck

That would jerk his tonsils through his tail an’ break him of the habit
Of skitter-daddlin’ free an’ fancy like a bloomin’ rabbit.
Folks, there oughtta be a formula for estimatin’ stretch
An’ the devastatin’ impact that it has upon a wretch

Who would lash himself to half a ton of motivated nag,
While calculatin’ angles, wind and coefficient drag.
‘Cause bungee cords are used by men who might shun parachutes;
A circumstance that wet my pants and sucked me from my roots

With a soberfyin’ speed that kinda peeled an’ crossed my eyes,
As I flashed by poor Ol’ Boomer, to his horror an’ surprise.
He was sailin’ ‘cross the prairie, aimin’ for the open gate,
But if he thought to beat me, boys, he was runnin’ late,

‘Cause I rung the pipes an’ panels like a midway carny gong,
An’ a thousand squirrels an’ birdies started singin’ me a song,
While Boomer set back on his tail an’ fairly plowed the ground,
Then loaded up both barrels for to fire another round!

By now the other boys had gathered ‘round to watch the show,
An’ pass the hat an’ tote the odds on which way I would go.
They factored in collision speeds as buildings flew on by,
An’ come away concludin’, folks, that I was gonna die!

Boomer raced for the horizon; I was gainin’ on him fast.
Screamin’ now was useless, as I fired acrost his mast,
‘Cause I’d breached the sonic barrier an’ couldn’t hear a sound,
While I passed my shadow twice an’ left it gasping on the ground.

I violated gravity and laws that God had made,
Like a monkey in a Stetson on a helicopter blade.
I caromed off the barn an’ knocked the privy off its stand.
Got a glimpse of Pete inside it an’ the parts where he ain’t tanned.

Tore plumb through the chicken coop an’ scattered hens an’ chicks,
An’ thanked the Lord that it was made of wood, an’ not of bricks,
Like the bunkhouse fast approaching as I hit the passing lane,
Where no doubt I’d make an imprint or a cowboy-colored stain.

There was feathers in my gullet, toilet paper in my hair,
And thirty pounds of gravel in my boots and underwear.
I’d lost my pride and dignity, my shirt and all my lunch.
My nose was honkin’ Dixie, and I had a sneakin’ hunch

That I’d rearranged my eyeballs, ‘cause the feelin’ in my gut
Said there ain’t no natcherl way for me to stare at my own butt!
I begged the Lord to spare me, though it may seem quite absurd,
Like the coyote in the cartoon that can never catch the bird.

By now Ol’ Boomer must have guessed resistance was a chore,
When dealin’ with an intellect he’d never met before.
So amazed was he, in fact, that he just squatted on his haunch
An’ put the quick extinction on another rocket launch

Of a cowhand who’d outsmarted him at every twist an’ turn.
There’s lots of ways to skin a cat an’ lots of ways to learn.
Some thirty passes back an’ forth, I’d wrapped him up an’ then
I’ll guarantee Ol’ Boomer never ran from me again!

An’ so the story’s told in cowboy circles, with a hush.
It ain’t easy bein’ brilliant, as I claim with modest blush.
Remember all your days this tale I tell to you as true:
It’s a bird, it’s a plane; no, it’s Bungee Buckaroo!

Early this morning the heat/air conditioner man was here...after a miserable night under too many covers and feet that would not warm up. He replaced a sequencer and the heating element and now things are toasty. The problem is....after he left...I rolled back into bed till it warmed up and somehow slept till 5:30 this afternoon! So here I am writing in this journal at 1:l5 am, my time.

Yesterday was cold but cool...sipping hot coffee...bundled up and watching the playoffs...it there had been wind blowing through the apartment it would have been as if I were at the stadiums.

Yes, I could be doing a lot of more productive things, but I'm stuck on the story....the damn chicken is driving me nuts.

I want to respond to RCD about the atom bomb in Japan, but my emotions are running too high to state my thoughts about it..a bit more time to clarify what I really do think about it.

I want to hear more about Martins first hand impressions on Mumbai.

My youngest son and his family are moving across country to Kentucky the 25th..I will miss my grandchildren...who are the apple of my eye....I will not miss my son so much..he needs to sit under a tree and rethink the person he really wants to be. But that is what is so neat about being a parent....you don't have to be their friend..a parent is the one person who has no qualms about telling you when you are being a pain....unfortunately we are also the ones who hate seeing them in pain. He's gonna have to make his own mistakes and learn from them.

Tomorrow is to be sunny, and that means an opportunity to get outta here and go do something different for a few hours.

So..call it a night and read till...lol..probably till sun up.
Wisdom learned of the day...your sleep cycle is directly hooked into your feet.

This post was edited by gentledeepwaters on Jan 14, 2003.

Turning to a concerned James, Sara asks.."Would you give us a minute....please?" "Sir Aus has never seen such wonderful fowl in his life and is overwhelmed at this honor you do him." "It will also give them a chance to look us over, get familiar with us a bit." His face clearing, James grins widely, hands Sara the extra skin of the red he is carrying and re-enters the barn.

Sara turns to the rigid, staring Sir Aus....."Okay, just step back a couple of steps against the barn and slide down, let's sit and get our bearings straight on this." "That's it, you can do it!" "One more step back......ahhh.....now just kinda slide down."

"Lass!" he croaks, "Look ye down afore I slide, any sign tha' goose has been here.....recently?"

"Nope," Sara says, eyeing the ground...."Just fresh growing grass.....not a sight of goose processed grass in the immediate area." "Take a wee sip?"

As he slid down, he tipped his cup up and drained it.....before he hit the ground he was holding it out for a refill!! "Lass....Puck.....Lass....it's just too much......too much...ye know ma' views on great ugly beasties.....I know this is a ha...loo..cin...a...shun but.....but," extending his cup for ANOTHER refill, "what if we be not in a ha...loo..cin..a ..shun and in another dimension or plane or whattchamacallit...a KNIGHT riding a ...a...great beastie fowl inta' battle.....daily riding in mah' kilt......we will need a bluudy ladder......MY GOD!," the goose starts and excretes more grass "what if it spys a tick on tha' horses?"

Sara sits beside him.....takes his empty cup and hands him the skin......they both stare at the fowl and ponder.

"Well, Sir Aus, ummmmm the daily riding?......nice comfy feathers there instead of that bony ridge you have been accustomed to?" "The tick situation we can control." "They have got to have a solution to the mounting problem, don't you think?" "We can only ask on that one?"
"Whether we be dreaming this or not........what other knight in history would have the b.......the bravery to ride such a steed that could him perhaps a tiny bit higher than the normal target on a dragon........say, the eye of a dragon??"

"Hmmmmm" taking a long fortifying swig, Sir Aus pinks up a bit......."Lass, ........hic.......ye' may hav' a bit of a point there!"

The next morning after cajoling Sir Aus out of the "mister" he had become addicted to, with a cup o' the red, Sara informed him their hosts were eager to show them the new steed. As they walked toward the huge barn, Sir Aus was still in the throes of his last misting experience......"I tell ye, L......Puck, it just surrounds you with water as soft as taste of tha' best Scotch e'ver made.....niver a too hot spot nor a cool one....and it follows tha' hands.....I swear it does....after a count of a few seconds.....so tha' soap isna' washed away as you................HOLY GODS!!!!"

We had walked through the massive barn and into the small fenced in pasture behind.........and there were two fowl......approximately l2 feet high .perfectly proportioned. At......Sir Aus's shout....the goose who had been grazing....flapped his wings and hissed a bit.....and unfortunately did what geese do that eat green grass. The chicken who had been scratching just looked us over one eye at a time....as a chicken will when deciding if you are to be eaten or a danger. The goose was still settling his feathers but the chicken took a couple of steps toward us and did a soft inquiring cluck. Our host, James, taking Sir Aus's reaction as awe struck, fondly stated. "Both are fine riding animals....you'd not think a fowl would be....the old master didn't breed the horses for size....but for strength to pull wagons.....and those we use to cart the crops to the towns. " "The goose is a little less settled in temper...but the faster...and makes for a fine guardian of the place." "The chicken has great strength.....very biddable....except if you touch her eggs." Turning he beheld Sir Aus.....who was pale, clammy...and could not stop looking from one great fowl to another. Sara knew he was in shock, for his cup o' the red seemed forgotten.