serial found, river of why

“Why” that tortuous word.  The good part would be it causes you to search.   Not in the light!   No, we have to head into dark places.  The recesses that hides things from yourself and others.     The hole in floor contains the really interesting or is it disturbing thoughts.

These aren’t places we show others to see.  What would you think if you find out those darkest thoughts I hold?  These aren’t warts,  These are open lesions.  My mind had scratched them raw,  over and over again. Do you ever want to show your most deepest fear or would you rather share darkest thing you have done.

Light of day will surely sanitize the wound.   Is a healing better the risk of alienation?   The mind is a cavern.  Without a river to clean out the debris, we bury ourselves.

Next hope is for a flood.  Only a rage of emotions can stir a lathe enough tide.   Just when will that damn break. ….

same page, different book

Reading from a person in history and his account of things makes life more ingesting.   Not views welcome today but from 1850 and beyond.   In many ways,  We are on same page but different books.   Any thoughts would be appreciated.

https://any1mark66.wordpress.com/2015/04/23/burdens/

burdens

Dear Mr Jefferson Davis,

The “burdens” from the Compromise of 1850 have been most forgot in time.   The economic impact of tariffs on raw materials from the South may have had an impact but other states should have had similar issues.   The arbitrary assignment of a divicausedding line does little to address the problems of trade.  Regional differences have existed since colonies were established.  Both North and South had hands in the troubles that would follow.

The lack of industry in Southern states was caused by a lack of resources.  Similar to Boston was no place to grow cotton.  The monetary centers were in North as well.  Kentucky, Missouri, Maryland and Delaware were states that had same issues with economy based on agriculture and being “slave” states.

Regional differences may have led to natural wealth.  But it’s was political means that set up the division of future “free and slave” states.   As much as “free” permitted indentured servants to be kept until their sponsor released them.  The opening of the American West caused issues with small states worried about the population would take away their votes.  The reality was this area won’t have been seen as agricultural but of great mineral wealth.   The latitude created a barrier to limit sizes.  It also discouraged expansion southward.

The differences in what each region expected from it’s government created more friction.   Your southern brethern wanted limited governance.   This folks in New England preferred a centralized federal system strong enough to dictate terms to foreign and state level governments.   Apparently,  The ninth amendment separating State and Federal powers was as doomed as your views.

Mr Lincoln in his Inaugural address stated he was interested in persevering the nation.   His intention is shown by Emancipation Proclamation only applied to territory captured by union forces.   No amendment to end slavery occurs during his life.  Four states had slavery until June 1868.  The South separated with no army,  no navy,  no industry to produce armourment nor weapons.  If these “burdens” were great,  a change in your  economy may have better served your cause.

Your “Short History of the Confederate States” makes for an interesting read of a forgotten time.   But like all history, we mix more fiction than the facts that would support them.

Any1mark 66

The corner of Unintended and Consquences

Our minds lay out like city maps.  There are grand boulevards, gracefully planted wide views.  There are dark alleyways, best kept out of view.   Evolution has provided us with advantages of secrets.  It had also burdened us with the dark things we keep inside.  The dark place is located in out of way intersections.  There are no trees, no open well lite places here. Misery pays the rent.

It all started out as breakfast with Mom.  A drive to the next town over, Medina.  The choice in roads is a “country” road named Foskett.   The road rises and falls through not quite farm land and not quite suburb.

We come to a man with a stop/slow sign.  The road has a crew working on a tree.

“A couple kids hit the tree.  Killed one and really messed up another.  The kids were drunk.  The driver barely got a scratch.  What a shame.”  sign man explains to vehicle in front of me.

The words follow the wind through the open windows.  The warm spring air carrying the rebirth of life itself.  Mom tells me my niece knew one of them.

My mind wonders.  I know this road well.  How many times was I the drunk kid.  When you’re in your twentys, you think of driving here because no-one else will be on road with you.  Many nights go by, you and friends both drive unimpeded.  Nothing  ever happens.  It’s always someone else, until your number comes up.

Twenty three year old with a six month old girl, never left home for this to happen.  He’s the “really messed up” one.  His friends went out to have fun.  Alcohol played a part of the dance card this night.  The cause doesn’t help the pain that follows.

In front of me, the maple tree crashes to the ground. On my mental map, it lands at the corner of unintended and consquences.  There are people waiting there as well.

The interview

At some point, you become a homework assignment. Whether through actual “help” or needed for subject material.

“So i need to know something.” Smiling daughter says.

“And that would be. .. ” trailing my words.

“What did you do when you were my age? Did you have games?  Was your family fun?  I need an interview for school.   You are more interesting than Mom.” Toothy smile is telling Mom said ask Dad. Kid has a future in sales.

“When I was 12… we played outside. Everyday was a pickup game of football or baseball.  I did last year of little league. But we meet at a field and played. We ride bikes.  Everywhere we went was on a bike.  You went home when it got dark.” Dear god I’m talking like I’m old. “You know we didn’t have video games” she’ll never know about Atari.

” W

as Aunt Val living with you, Gramps and Granny? Who were your friends?  And girls?” she’s got a list here.

“Val was 17, worked in evening and had her own car.  Maybe she did live there.” Joke falls flat  “Gramps was still teaching. Granny went to college.  They  came home late a couple nights.   We had to cook our own food and do laundry.   Your grandparents made us do chores.”  I’m pausing.  The girl question, yikes!

“I ran around with Travis, Christine and Molly.   We  went to a game room and roller skating.  Just hanging out with each other.  No dating then.  But one by one they moved away.”

“How come you got to run around like that?” She’s even sounds like her mom at times.

“It was really like that at one time.  People looked out for kids. They also knew where you

lived,  So we didn’t need phones back then. Besides some people don’t answer phones.”

Back to her list.  “What was your favorite subject?  And didn’t you have a paper route?”

“Science, we starting to learn about the planet.   Mr Frescan was all about hands on understanding.   You didn’t learn about volcanos, you learned about Hawaii.”  Funny,  I remember four teachers in school.

“It wasn’t till 13, I became a paper boy.   Back then Cleveland had two papers.  After school, six days a week.  I used a bike delivering 70 houses.   You put the bag on the handlebars.   Folded the paper up and tossed it by the door.   Well a couple had boxes for the paper.”

“Ok, finally last one.   Why did you go to your grandparents during summer vacation?”

“My parents were really smart.   They drove us to nowhere Ohio,

and left us for two weeks.  They got the house to themselves.  My     grandparents taught me about gardening,  canning food, and learned about old people.   At the time, it started well but got so boring.  Running around a small town isn’t the same.”

She’s done with her list of questions.  I know mom set me up and gave her things to ask.  I’m left with spending a couple minutes with back then.  Life was easy.  Days were so long.

.

last day of sand and rum runners

My week on white sand is quickly ending. Bad internet will so be bad memory. I’m surrounded by three groups of wedding parties. Turquoise blue is the in color. I’ve lived so long, never knowing what the”in”color was. Chinese lantern launchesa second night in a rite. They climb and hang in air only to crash back a stream of grey. Icarus had no Competition here. But it’s better to walk in a different place, ti taste and feel the world outside from whence I came. Oh yeah, the worlds best displayed their wares in sculptures of sand. Let me share a couple. 20150417_13181620150417_13183920150417_13162720150417_131335

t’s necessary to point out here, mom is half German and half Irish. These countries distrust of government including use of measuring spoons and cups. So there were variance from time to time. The steak and noodles is mentioned but never discussed at length, memory is to bad. But twice a year come hell or high water, it was waited for like last day of school.

Like all parents, “the thrill of what hell are they thinking?” moment of the new people in their kids life. As my sister and I got older in because the meal that would blend or new partners in life as potential new family members. Let the record show I put more beef and noodles on the table.

There was a dark side to this, are you a mixer? My parents never mixed mashed potatoes with the beef and noodles. New people were subject to the dollar bet, would they mix or not? It was probably nerve racking for self conscious people. Dad never real approved, but would give in and participate. So was being included in our “normal like us” family.

Mom still makes beef and noodles. We all have memories of what happened different years. That is comfort itself.

three views

Mendon, Oh, small town USA.  From center park, the north and west are two and three story stone buildings.  To the east,  a giant white building stretches, three blocks as Auglize County Hospital.  To the south an old sandstone church black with age stretches to sky with steeple.  It’s black face broken by a circle of stained glass,  blue cross back lite.

An older grey Impaled pulls into a parking spot across park from hospital.  Out of drivers side steps Robert.  He heads to front of car, looking back at Sheila who slowly leaves car to join him.  There is a path straight across but they never go that way.   There’s is a fountain,  looking like a magicians hat water bubbles up and splashes down erratically.   It honors Civil War veterans and has names of every citizen who dead at war since, on bricks surrounding it.  Sheila won’t walk on names of the dead.

They had north. The park is inch talk grass, three blocks long one block wide.  There’s two trees, each north and south of fountain. They pass by Magnolia, it’s sweet smell fills the late April air. The park has two paths at each end to cut the corners away from rectangular shape.   They follow path between rows of evergreens couple feet with tulips in front.

Sheila quick steps to an orange and yellow tulip. Squatting down to smell her find.  Robert is shaken from the zombie walkthru have had here. He looks down at his wife.  Her pink baby doll tee shirt and distressed jeans are perfect, like her hair.   She jumps back up and grabs his hand.   They haven’t been here since last year.

Behind them is a lime green maple tree, it’s fresh leaves almost glow in sunlight.   There’s an old lady on a wooden bench wringing her hands.  She holds up a red sweater to inspect her work.

The couple turns back down path to see the sweater.   In a moment,  something happens to Robert.  He is overwelmed,  Or struck down with an unseen blow. A whimper, maybe a loss of breath sound comes from him.  His eyes tear up.

One year ago, they had been here.   Sheila had spotted blood. They ran across the park, across the names of dead people.   Their baby came too early.  They watched for three days. Every moment had rushed by through him seeing that sweater.  Thinking about baby Jessica. He had it behind him somehow.   Until now. Suddenly he is all too aware of Sheila holding him.

Sheila held her breath. The red sweater. .. red on this day. “Oh no! ” her heart sank.   Poor Jessica was gone,  but today we’re starting a new family.   Every bad minute from last year would be replaced by the new child. It was all her fault,  her body failed her. Failed her husband,  her family would never be right. Robert well be so happy when he hears another baby is on the way.  “Where’s Robert?”

Grandma Brehm had done fifteen of these sweaters.   The first one was for a boy, Christine held her baby high everyone knew it was going to be Alexander.   Her daughter had a girl,  her first grandchild and she rushed to mage a pink one instead.   That’s it red from now on.   Lexie is now 17, and made her a great grandma.   “That girl,  so young. What a shame! The older I get the younger they have babies.”

She smiled at the young couple embracing.   “They look like such a nice couple” She turns up her hearing aid, hate the traffic noise around here. “I hope she likes it”

couple, married at the beach

Sputtering yellow plane drags a banner across cobalt blue sky.

“Crab legs $28.95” almost looking as if a sign from god, Jim walks out of water.  “I left her somewhere around here,  didn’t I?”

Turning to right he cruises toward a night blue towel.

“Get out of my light!” Kim mummers “I told everyone I was a golf widow.  I really hate thoes trunks.  Navy blue and chartreuse. Uugghh!  So what have you done all day?” Brief pause ends with a surprise look “you do know I’ve been in same place for four hours now?”

A little confused now.   “You know I went parasailing.  You’re like a hundred feet above the water.   Blue,  turquoise and white sand as far as you can see.  I think I saw big fish, maybe a shark.   It was really fun.   They gave me a deal for one of those paddle board when I got done.  You probably saw me fall of that board a dozen times….. wait you’re a widow.   Funny salmon,  one piece and all,  wouldn’t you be mourning me?” Looking a like he finally heard what she said,  The words get choppy.   “You could have come along.  I thought we came here to relax?”

Rolling on her left side, “Relax, really?! I’m laying out.  Sun, sand, gentle water sounds, peaceful.   Run like an idiot. I’m relaxing.   The best of the beach is the beach itself.   Now get out of my Sun! ”

“I’m getting hungry,  how about crab legs?”

where did the man on the wing start

There’s a story from the twilight zone,  about the man on the wing.  The character in oldest telling looks rather crude like a cotton mop for a wig and a fuzzy parka.  Of course the plane didn’t help.   He’s bigger build than most people.   His face is contorted and features are compressed.  This is probably from hanging on to the plane.  Or jumping from plane to plane.  If you don’t know the story, he tears at the engines, ripping wires and smashing metal.

So I’m on a flight next to the window. The engine is jumping up and down, bending with the wing in a most unnatural way.   Turbulent air is not easy sometimes.  Looking at the planes reflection on engine you can see a place a twisted gruesome man could hang on. I’m thinking the man on the wing is meeting me.

Reflection under plane