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Wednesday, December 17th, 2008
2:29 am - Don't Dump


http://summercircles.livejournal.com/17843.html

Not an abandoned journal.

current mood: accomplished
current music: Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairies

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Monday, December 31st, 2001
7:14 pm - Book Cover


Book Cover

(post photo of water rippling over rocks in a stream to bleed off edges of the cover...)

The Saga of Travels Far Woman
Book One



Summer Circles







Next


Self reference for editing purposes:
http://summercircles.livejournal.com/19936.html

current mood: annoyed
current music: We Never Change - Coldplay

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Sunday, December 30th, 2001
8:55 am - Note (12/13/08 WC: 148)


Back

This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the writer's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, locales, plant and animal habitats or tribal customs is entirely coincidental.

The richness of the characterizations and word play are enhanced by introducing the flavor of Spanish dialog into some passages. Interior thoughts and characterizations allow people who do not speak the language to follow the plot without being any more left out than normal for a monolingual person living in a culturally diverse world.

Cover and chapter photos by Julie Schlenker, Alba, Missouri

Famous Bitterroot Valley Wildfire Photo
John McColgan, BLM

John McColgan, a BLM firefighter, took photos on August 6th, 2000, while fighting fires in the Bitterroot Valley of Montana. McColgan says he "just happened to be in the right place at the right time" with his Kodak DC280 digital camera.


Title page

Last updated 12/13/08 Added photo credits; 7/5/04.


Word Count: 148

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current mood: anxious
current music: March of the King Laois/Brian Boru's March

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Saturday, December 29th, 2001
11:11 pm - Travels Far Woman/Summer Circles


Back
Table of Contents



Title Page

(post photo to bleed off edges of the cover...)

The Saga of Travels Far Woman
Book One



Summer Circles




by (Suggest a good pseudonym to me... I seem stuck in NANO LAND... Brunhilda...)



Next


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Tuesday, September 4th, 2001 6:52 am (pandemo)

current mood: organized to the max
current music: "Your Hip Bone's Connected to your Thigh Bone"

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Friday, December 28th, 2001
7:23 pm - Table of Contents -- SummerCircles: The Saga of Far Travels Woman


Back



Table of Contents -- SummerCircles: The Saga of Travels Far Woman, Book One





Front Cover Mock-up
Note for Copyright page
Title Page
Table of Contents
Prologue -- How I Came to Write This Book
Preface -- Podunksville, Iowa
Interior Story Title Page
Quote Page

Part I: Iowa: Fall into Winter

1 Living the Dream (replaces all seven of the following)
or
1 The Dream
2 First Meeting
3 The Recurring Dream
4 New Dance -- The Recurring Dream
5 East Is East -- The Recurring Dream
6 ...and the Bees -- The Recurring Dream
7 Needs and Wants -- The Recurring Dream

Part II: Ye Olde Watering Hole

2 Ye Olde Watering Hole
3 Before the Mike
4 Elemental Forces
5 Range War III
6 The Water Pitcher -- Part I
7 Propina -- The Recurring Dream
8 The Water Pitcher -- Finale
9 Taking Tex Home
10 Vows

Part III: Stone Circles Reservation

11 Tail Lights
12 Under Construction
13 Going to Meeting
14 Fire Breathing Dragon
15 El Alfabeto
16 Refrigerator Art -- Set-up
17 Jello
18 Refrigerator Art -- Some Assembly Required
19 Show and Tell
20 Under Construction -- The Recurring Dream
21 The Rescue
22 Patient
23 Dramatic Voices
24 The Library, After Lunch
25 Refrigerator Art -- Intermezzo
26 Pest Invasion
27 Entrapment
28 Refrigerator Art -- The Blessing
29 Roommates
30 Cathedral-like Silences

Part IV: Class Projects

[Error: Irreparable invalid markup ('<a [...] hooky</a>') in entry. Owner must fix manually. Raw contents below.]

<br>
<a href="http://summercircles.livejournal.com/285.html">Back</a>


<b><center><h2>
Table of Contents -- SummerCircles: The Saga of Travels Far Woman, Book One
</h2></center></b>
<br>
<blockquote>
<a href="http://summercircles.livejournal.com/19936.html">Front Cover Mock-up</a>
<a href="http://summercircles.livejournal.com/17392.html">Note for Copyright page</a>
<a href="http://summercircles.livejournal.com/285.html">Title Page</a>
<a href="http://summercircles.livejournal.com/9752.html">Table of Contents</a>
<a href="http://summercircles.livejournal.com/701.html">Prologue -- How I Came to Write This Book</a>
<a href="http://summercircles.livejournal.com/788.html">Preface -- Podunksville, Iowa</a>
<a href="http://summercircles.livejournal.com/1191.html">Interior Story Title Page</a>
<a href="http://summercircles.livejournal.com/15381.html">Quote Page</a>
<center>
<a href="http://summercircles.livejournal.com/19379.html">Part I: Iowa: Fall into Winter</a>
</center>
<a href="http://summercircles.livejournal.com/19189.html">1 Living the Dream (replaces all seven of the following)</a>
or
<a href="http://summercircles.livejournal.com/1377.html">1 The Dream</a>
<a href="http://summercircles.livejournal.com/1629.html">2 First Meeting</a>
<a href="http://summercircles.livejournal.com/1834.html">3 The Recurring Dream</a>
<a href="http://summercircles.livejournal.com/2228.html">4 New Dance -- The Recurring Dream</a>
<a href="http://summercircles.livejournal.com/2449.html">5 East Is East -- The Recurring Dream</a>
<a href="http://summercircles.livejournal.com/2726.html">6 ...and the Bees -- The Recurring Dream</a>
<a href="http://summercircles.livejournal.com/2960.html">7 Needs and Wants -- The Recurring Dream</a>
<center>
<a href="http://summercircles.livejournal.com/19580.html">Part II: Ye Olde Watering Hole</a>
</center>
<a href="http://summercircles.livejournal.com/3516.html">2 Ye Olde Watering Hole</a>
<a href="http://summercircles.livejournal.com/3630.html">3 Before the Mike</a>
<a href="http://summercircles.livejournal.com/4027.html">4 Elemental Forces</a>
<a href="http://summercircles.livejournal.com/4507.html">5 Range War III</a>
<a href="http://summercircles.livejournal.com/6544.html">6 The Water Pitcher -- Part I</a>
<a href="http://summercircles.livejournal.com/4827.html">7 Propina -- The Recurring Dream</a>
<a href="http://summercircles.livejournal.com/6765.html">8 The Water Pitcher -- Finale</a>
<a href="http://summercircles.livejournal.com/4965.html">9 Taking Tex Home</a>
<a href="http://summercircles.livejournal.com/5584.html">10 Vows</a>
<center>
<a href="http://summercircles.livejournal.com/20052.html">Part III: Stone Circles Reservation</a>
</center>
<a href="http://summercircles.livejournal.com/5683.html">11 Tail Lights</a>
<a href="http://summercircles.livejournal.com/6041.html">12 Under Construction</a>
<a href="http://summercircles.livejournal.com/7149.html">13 Going to Meeting</a>
<a href="http://summercircles.livejournal.com/9148.html">14 Fire Breathing Dragon</a>
<a href="http://summercircles.livejournal.com/6256.html">15 El Alfabeto</a>
<a href="http://summercircles.livejournal.com/7196.html">16 Refrigerator Art -- Set-up</a>
<a href="http://summercircles.livejournal.com/10424.html">17 Jello</a>
<a href="http://summercircles.livejournal.com/7672.html">18 Refrigerator Art -- Some Assembly Required</a>
<a href="http://summercircles.livejournal.com/7838.html">19 Show and Tell</a>
<a href="http://summercircles.livejournal.com/7998.html">20 Under Construction -- The Recurring Dream</a>
<a href="http://summercircles.livejournal.com/8682.html">21 The Rescue</a>
<a href="http://summercircles.livejournal.com/9602.html">22 Patient</a>
<a href="http://summercircles.livejournal.com/8901.html">23 Dramatic Voices</a>
<a href="http://summercircles.livejournal.com/9319.html">24 The Library, After Lunch</a>
<a href="http://summercircles.livejournal.com/10225.html">25 Refrigerator Art -- Intermezzo</a>
<a href="http://summercircles.livejournal.com/11919.html">26 Pest Invasion</a>
<a href="http://summercircles.livejournal.com/20433.html">27 Entrapment</a>
<a href="http://summercircles.livejournal.com/10869.html">28 Refrigerator Art -- The Blessing</a>
<a href="http://summercircles.livejournal.com/10675.html">29 Roommates</a>
<a href="http://summercircles.livejournal.com/11407.html">30 Cathedral-like Silences</a>
<center>
<a href="http://summercircles.livejournal.com/20554.html">Part IV: Class Projects</a>
</center>
<a href="31 Class Projects</a>
<a href="32 Playing Hooky</a>
<a href="33 Pesticide</a>
<a href="34 La Bañera (español)</a>
<a href="35 La Bañera</a>
<a href="36 The Cave</a>
<a href="37 Waltzing Matilda</a>
<a href="38 Pinch Hitter</a>
<a href="39 Oh, What a Beautiful Morning</a>
<a href="40 Class Projects -- The Wind</a>
<a href="41 Candid Camera</a>
<a href="42 At Bay</a>
<a href="43 First Attack</a>
<a href="44 Board Talk</a>
<a href="45 An Ill Wind</a>
<a href="46 Rehab</a>
<a href="47 As the Wind Blows</a>
<center>
<a href="The Courtship</a>
</center>
<a href="48 Circles of Fire</a>
<a href="49 Moccasins</a>
<a href="50 Postage Stamp-Sized Hole</a>
<a href="51 Attempted Arrest - The Cave</a>
<a href="52 Aftermath</a>
<a href="53 Letters -- from Campfire Conversations</a>
<a href="54 The Wall Flower</a>
<a href="55 Rejected, Dejected</a>
<a href="56 Romantic Interlude?</a>
<a href="57 Romantic Nonsense</a>
<a href="58 Snake in the Grass</a>
<a href="59 Heredity</a>
<a href="60 Blabbermouth</a>
<a href="61 Liquid Gold</a>
<a href="62 Bank Questionnaire</a>
<a href="63 Fertility Clinic Conversations</a>
<a href="64 Parentage</a>
<a href="65 Nightmare</a>
<a href="66 La Desaparecida</a>
<a href="67 Emissions</a>
<a href="68 The Dowry</a>
<a href="69 Wedding Gifts?</a>
<a href="70 Reactions</a>
<a href="71 Room to Let</a>
<a href="72 Roadblock</a>
<center>
<a href="The Party's Over</a>
</center>
<a href="73 Third Arrest Attempt</a>
<a href="74 Swatted</a>
<a href="75 Invasion</a>
<a href="76 Invasion -- Part II</a>
<a href="77 Cliff Hanger</a>
<a href="78 Final Jeopardy</a>
Alphabet Soup
Courtroom With Juan
Refriferator Art -- The Benediction
Refriferator Art -- Inception of an Industry
<center>
<a href="Epilogue</a>
</center>
<a href="Summer's End</a>
<center>
Despina's Infamous Green Journal
</center>
The Arrival -- The Recurring Dream
Range War -- The Recurring Dream
The Rescue -- The Recurring Dream
Aftermath, the Range War -- The Recurring Dream
from Despina's Infamous Green Journal -- 6/1/01
from Despina's Infamous Green Journal -- 6/2/01
from Despina's Infamous Green Journal -- 6/3/01
from Despina's Infamous Green Journal -- 6/4/01
from Despina's Infamous Green Journal -- 6/5/01
Day's Stupidest Tourist Question -- 6/5/01
from Despina's Infamous Green Journal -- 6/6/01
from Despina's Infamous Green Journal -- 6/7/01
from Despina's Infamous Green Journal -- 6/8/01
from Despina's Infamous Green Journal -- 6/9/01
<center>
Appendix I
</center>

Universal Themes
"Pollyana" List
"Wish" List

<center>
Appendix II
</center>

Comments -- Prologue
Comments -- Range War III
Comments -- Tail Lights
Comments -- Patient

Related Items -- Podunk Center, Iowa
Related Items -- History of Despina's Name
Related Items -- Maybe Why Despina

Additional Background -- Offensive, or Amusing? -- Podunksville, Iowa
Background Material -- The Mojave Desert

Personal Writing -- Offensive, or Amusing?
Personal Writing -- Baby Blue Ram
Personal Writing -- Why I Write

</blockquote>

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Last updated 12/9/08 revising... HELP! 8/4/02.

Self reference for editing purposes:
Wednesday, January 3rd, 2001 4:32 p.m.
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http://summercircles.livejournal.com/9752.html


current mood: upset
current music: Parsley, Sage, Rosemary & Thyme

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Thursday, December 27th, 2001
11:27 pm - Prologue (6/8/08 WC 296)


Back


How I Came to Write This Book


This story is written as fiction, but there's some essential background the reader should know.

I teach high school English in Podunksville, Iowa. (More about that fascinating place later....) This past May, I challenged the handful of English III students who were going on into my senior Creative Writing Seminar to journal during the summer.

Oh, I was SOOO righteous! "My life is no more busy than yours. Write in your journals all summer long, and I'll write in mine. Every day. The first day we're back in the fall, you all already know what the cliched English assignment will be..."

A chorus of laughing and groaning student voices did a sing-song chant reminiscent of hundreds of grade school teachers, "What I Did on My Summer Vacation!"

"How I Spent My Summer Vacation!"

"My Summer Vacation."

"Let's turn it into a contest," enthused Aaron, a tall, string-bean of a sixteen year old boy with a rapier-sharp wit and a keen sense of competition. "The winner of the essay contest can be selected by the entire class. I'll even make the winner a cake with my own two little hands."

Jerry catcalled, "I'd rather have MINE made with flour, eggs, and water..."

I readily agreed. I promised to follow the "one head, one vote" rule scrupulously and to abide by their decisions.

But, as it turned out, an essay just didn't cut it in my case. The BOOK has about 400 pages, uncut...

To read more about Podunksville and the fascinating area that created these beautiful children with such a joye de vivire,all one has to do is simply not skip the Preface!


-- penned August 13, the last Monday before school started this year.


Despina MacKenzie


Next



Last updated 6/8/08 - dropped “about” in first line; 3/9/02.

Word Count: 296


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Tuesday, September 4th, 2001 6:52 am (pandemo)

current mood: pumped
current music: "Hungarian Dances" on WOI - fm

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Wednesday, December 26th, 2001
11:32 pm - Preface (8/16/06; WC: 3421)


Back
Table of Contents


Preface [Revision of Offensive or Amusing?]



Podunksville, Iowa 1


Podunksville, Iowa, is a dinky town strategically located between Begin Speed and Resume Speed not far north of Highway 2 in the southern tier of counties. Either an Italian or Croatian coal-mining town in its heyday, depending on the ancestry of the local telling the story, it was so tiny even then that it might NOT appear on a state map. Readers will just have to take it on faith that it really exists.2

The census takers say that the population is 15, but, personally, I think it took creative accounting to get the results that high. Perhaps on a Sunday afternoon during a picnic after church, or maybe at a big family to-do, when everyone was gathered, the census workers showed up.

"Howdy. Are you all from here?"

"Sure. Lived here all my life."

So they counted them.

Following their sumptuous repast, the locals all went for a walk in the forest along the creek, striding out quite energetically, doffing sweaters, sweatshirts, and jackets as their body temperatures increased. The aerobic activity, coupled with the rising heat and humidity, evidently resulted in quite a noticeable weight loss. Railing at each other with the most offensive and juvenile nicknames they could come up with, the group returned to the pond at the old mine entrance, where the residents again bumped into the census workers. Not recognizing them in their new duds and creative new "handles", they dutifully reported them again.

Just a thought...


Podunksville is very close to a whole host of other towns also not found on people's atlases: Confidence, (now even dropped from the STATE map, but still in possession of its highway markers and road signs); New York; Bethlehem, with, I am told by Granddad's old timer buddies from the area, a creek named The River Jordan between them; Harvard, and Promise City. On state maps, Promise City will still be there, even though it has lost all its gas stations, grocery stores, its school, and lately, even the feed store, while the US Post Office keeps threatening to close its local office. Anyone living in Podunksville, like my sister and I do, will have a Promise City postal address, and that will have to be good enough.


Our mother is a citified lady who does not reliably know her right hand from her left, north from south, and can only tell east from west when the sun is rising or setting. She has not the least conception of how long a mile is, or how long it should take to drive it at 60 m.p.h., (in fact, probably could not say what m.p.h. even stands for) but CAN follow clear instructions. Shortly after I moved into the area, about a week before my sister was free to join me, Mom's letter asking if I were up for my annual summer visit caught up with me.

Our names were not even ON the mailbox yet when a boyhood friend of granddad's, who just HAPPENED to be the substitute mailman for the day, noticed the last name on Mom's letter. He honked his horn, then handed me three fliers addressed to the obsequious "occupant" along with it. As I filled in a form for Leanna and me and thanked him profusely, we began to talk.

It turned out that he lives "a mile straight across the field, as a crow flies". I took him up on his invitation to use his phone to call Mom with the directions when I accidentally let it slip that she had NO IDEA I'd moved, much less where, and had explained that her letter was considered enough notification for me to expect her visit eminently.

"Uh, Mom, I've moved. Uh, Leanna and I just bought granddad Mackenzie's old ancestral home, which suddenly became available. In the rush to get things finalized and packed up, we haven't had a chance to call. We'd talked about trying to acquire it before, remember? Do you know anything about it?"

"No, can't say that I do."

"Granddad once mentioned that he thought the house had been constructed around 1907, and it sure looks the part! Have you ever seen it?"

"Not really. Just heard some passing comments at Mac family gatherings."

Ignoring her unusual reticence, I plunged on, "Well, it's the original horse ranch, the one the family lost during the depression. It sits on 80 rolling acres outside Podunksville, Iowa. While Leanna was nursing him through his final illness, he longed for it constantly, she said."

"Surely that's not why you two impulsive horseaholics bought it! He's dead and gone now! I'm sure his memory doesn't care one way or the other who owns the old place..."

"Mom! I'm indignant that you could even THINK that of us!"

"Humph! Let's see... Um... I can't find it on my atlas." (This has been a recurring complaint from would-be visitors ever since we moved in...)

"Gee, Mom, it's about 2 1/2 miles south of Confidence, the closest "real" town, with groceries, gas, and a church, and about 5 1/2 miles north of Promise City, which also has a little gas station with a food counter, but doesn't really serve food, a feed and grain store, and a combination lumber yard, farm clothing, and hardware store."

"I see. Back of beyond, in the middle of nowhere, huh?"

"We can ride the horses to the Confidence store, unless the day is horridly hot! Wouldn't want the milk to spoil on the way home."

"Confidence?"

"Yep! Turning west on the paved road just north of the farm, we're also about 5 miles east of New York. That's where a cool old abandoned church and nice graveyard is. Continuing down the paved road, 7 miles west of us, is Bethlehem, where the rural water tower is."

"Water tower?"

"Yeah, all the wells in the area are polluted, except ours, according to the relatives of the guy we're buying the farm from.3 Ours tested clean, but since the well sits IN the barnyard, I don't see how it possibly could really be pure. We plan to get on the rural water line as soon as we can afford the backhoe to dig the water pit."

"No water pit?"

"It's okay -- we have running water in the house, not a path around to the back like I did in that first farmhouse I rented. No catalog needed here..."

"That's one past experience I don't want to repeat! And to THINK that I held it all the way from town so I could use your 'clean' bathroom!"

"Uh, well, continuing west down that same paved road, ten miles away, we hit Millerton, which has a post office and the restaurant with the best cook around. It also an old style general store that carries groceries, clothes, hardware, lumber, and all kinds of farm supplies. It has sky high prices, but the clerks know what a 'thingamabob' is, AND can generally give you the RIGHT 'whatchamacallit' for whatever piece of machinery you're trying to replace the gismo on, according to the relatives we bought the farm from. That's also near the phone company stuff, so we'll be on a four party line in the 'Millerton exchange', which is long distance to both Promise City, where our church is, and Seymour, where I'll be teaching, but not the closest veterinary's office, where Leanna hopes to work. The next farm north of us is outside the Seymour Community School District, which is so small, it can't require that staff live within the district and still keep qualified people in all necessary areas the way bigger districts can. The upper elementary attends the old Promise City school."

"Promise City?"

"To the south, right! Then we're 12 miles from Mystic to the east, but I'd hate to even TRY to tell you how to get there. You have to dodge around the watershed for Lake Podunk. A lot of local folks' land got chopped up by the lake waters when the dam was built. There are full-grown trees all under water in parts of it, some at just the right height to foul boat motors, so I'm assured."

Dead silence met this barrage of folksy information at first. Mom obviously thought these names and situations were made up -- a joke.

"Promise City? Confidence? Um... Those don't seem to be on my atlas, either, dear." Her voice shifted automatically into for-your-own-good "lecture" mode. "Despina, you two may have had a mystical experience which lead you to undertake this mad escapade, but don't you think you ought to say you're a little closer to Promise City until you get the farm a bit more paid off?"

Ah, the old fake!

Gotta love her... She's one of a kind.


As the new kids on the block, so to speak, we lived in a gold fish bowl. Everyone knew our business, or thought they did.

The day my mother came, armed with her minutely-accurate-to-the-least-tiny-detail directions, she discovered that
o We had traded in Centerville. (Translation: bought groceries)
o I had attended the Promise City Methodist Church on Sunday, and had gone back of a night. (Translation: at night.)
o We did not feesh, but were right neighborly. (Translation: We didn't fish, but allowed the locals to use the pond previous owners had stocked.)
o I needed to change my erl. (Translation: I needed to change the oil in Baby Blue Ram, my brand new pickup truck, whose odometer read 3000 when I parked at the house of a lady I'd met at church and made plans with to car pool to Centerville for groceries.)
o When our lawn needs mowed, we did not have to poosh the lawn mower; it walked by itself. Mowing down the booshes and mowing the rough ground was a mite hard on the blade. They reckoned we had better get someone in there with a garden tractor to plow it up and reseed it lessen we were going to get ourselves a rider. (Translation: The push mower had tractor feet and was too small to mow down bushes. We needed a new one more suited to the job. [Nobody native would be caught dead down here saying to be between verbs, and I reckon lessen a body wants to be thought snobbish, she'd best learn to talk like the locals.])
o I'd best be careful, because that man I was dating had a prison record. (Translation: Gossip is rampant the world around. I WAS NOT DATING IN THE AREA YET.)

This last statement proved to be quite prophetic. Returning the summer after my first year of teaching in the area, one very magnificent older gentleman, Mr. Leon Deierling, greeted me, "And how was Despina's summer vacation?" a tradition he continued right up until his retirement. 4 Then he added, "What color is your gown going to be?"

"My gown? What GOWN?"

"Why, your WEDDING GOWN!"

"My WEDDING GOWN???

"Do I get to meet the guy first, or is he just provided as a community courtesy?"


Our mother did reasonably well with the directions. She found the twin cemeteries on each side of the gravel road outside of Confidence, so she got on the right road. She was to continue south for two and a half miles, passing one paved road, a half mile north of the farm. She found that corner, easily spotting the huge "Sunny Slope Church" sign, but, not realizing that she'd covered 1/2 mile yet, she drove right past the farm, drove right past a pasture full of horses she's known since we girls were in high school without recognizing a one of them, then DROVE RIGHT PAST PODUNKSVILLE without realizing she was in a town.

I have to admit, she's an equal opportunity town-misser. Not realizing that she had already come the 1/2 mile, she continued another five or six miles, also driving right past Promise City, crossing over Highway 2's paving, continuing south another mile to where she hit a T in the road.

There she stopped, pulled over, reread her directions, discovering no turns or T's once she passed the twin cemeteries, and, not being male, asked for directions.... from two men who were in our Sunday school class, as it turned out that winter after the harvest ended. The story of "The Day Our Mother Came To Visit" is still a local legend.

This well-preserved, cultured lady pulled over onto the wrong side of a gravel road at the bottom of a deep enough dip that the telltale rooster tail of dust was invisible over the crest, SHUT OFF her engine, got out, and started over toward them, instead of driving down to the gate like a sensible person.... She only stopped when she saw how steep and dusty the banks and weeds were. Obligingly, the fellows climbed over the barbed wire fence and waded through horse weeds taller than their heads to meet her. (Locals have a very active curiosity when it comes to eccentric strangers.)

"Will you please tell me where Paradise City is?"

"Paradise City? Never heard of it."

"I know it's near here. My daughters' new farm is just north of Paradise City."

"One of 'em fixin' to teach school?"

"Yes."

"Well, the town they live north of is up on the paving you just crossed, but, believe me, lady, it ain't no Paradise! Truck on north 'bout five miles or so, to the old Shorty Mackenzie place, and I'm SURE you'll find 'em."

She did, by stopping at every visibly occupied farm until she got here.

That turned out to be unfortunate, because when she was late, I decided to burn the packing boxes I'd gotten emptied. I got them carted out and put into the burn barrel, located directly behind an old slab woodshed that was of quite unique design. A huge Chinese elm tree shaded the shed and the nearby LP tank. I'd intended to jerk the rusted old barrel out of the weeds so it was further away from the building the same as Granddad did in his boyhood stories, but I heard the engine of a car going slow, ready to turn in. Sure it was my mother, I quickly lit the top box, then dashed around the house to hug her, planning to return immediately.

But when she promptly handed me something, we started carrying things inside, then I had to give her the mandatory tour, so I did not think about the trash being unattended until I heard a knock at the door.

"I hope you don't value that shed overmuch, as I doubt it can be saved," drawled a rotund stranger in bib overalls whose red pickup loomed behind my Mom's Subaru. "You'd best get that truck outa there. You got a garden hose?"

"Not yet."

"How about a phone?"

"Not yet."

He backed onto the road; Mom went for her keys, as when we'd gone inside for the last time, she'd LOCKED her car, even though it was parked in my driveway, out in the middle of nowhere! I fired up my truck, managing with much backing and cranking to squeeze between the trees in the fence row and Mom's car, then dashed from the roadside clear out to the barn for some grain buckets to scoop water from the water troughs.

The building was burning quite merrily by the time the local fire fighters came the 17 miles from Corydon, the closest town with trucks... Volunteer firemen began arriving from all over, which activated the local grape vine. The company that owned the LP tank sent a driver to try to move it, but the cap exploded, shooting a plume of gas higher that the tree's top into the by-then-night sky, increasing immensely the number of locals drawn to our roadside.

The tree also went up, flinging sparks onto the house's roof. The windows facing the fire cracked from the heat.5 The firemen emptied one pumper and switched to another somewhere around 2 a.m. A deluge of neighbors continued coming from miles around, as the propane tank was a more visible diversion than the fourth of July fireworks, drawing people from a wider area, we were later assured.

Finally, the tank burned out enough to be drug on its side up into the pasture as a precaution, one of the firemen informed me, a way to save the other outbuildings and reduce the risk of taking anything with it if it lost its integrity and exploded.

My mind boggled! Hoping mother had not overheard the "risk" remark, I watched the operation, praying my face was expressionless.

If an exploding tank could wipe out nearby buildings, what would it do to clustered NEIGHBORS standing nearer yet? ... Lose everything before we even get moved in? ... Why, just this morning I’d written a check and signed the insurance documents right in the agent's office! Surely that meant we were now covered!...6 "Against your own negligence?" demanded my conscience. Desperately I tried to control my breathing, which was roaring in my ears as if I'd just completed some death-defying athletic feat.

Gradually, the sides of the gravel road emptied of other people's vehicles, leaving only ours.

As we dropped exhausted into bed on the hydabed couch, Mother quipped, "Honestly, Honey, I've heard of 'house warmings', but don't you think this was just a wee bit OVERBOARD?"


People in northern Iowa feel superior to those in southern Iowa. When I went back north to pack up and move down, folks were just full of good advice.

"When you're out and about down there, be careful passing cars. Some of the old timers will signal a left hand turn by opening the left door as they are driving along. I'd hate to hear you hit one by accident." Wink, wink, nudge, nudge...

"Oh, so you're moving to Lapland."

"No, I'm moving to Podunksville."

"That's what I said. Lapland -- where northern Missouri laps over into southern Iowa. I've heard it said that if the bottom two tiers of counties seceded from the state and joined Missouri, it would raise the IQ of both states by 50%." (Leanna got quite a laugh out of their comments, but then, she had been living in southern Iowa for a while, so it wasn't quite the shock to her system. The reader is permitted one heart-felt groan.)

Southern Iowa, where Ottumwa, Iowa, is located. Ottumwa is so famous that even people who don't know that Des Moines is the state capital know that it is in Iowa. I think this stems from the fact that the famous Kansas City, Missouri, director Robert Altman made it big with his movie M*A*S*H, which was spun off into a famous TV show of the same name, which, for all I know, might still be in reruns somewhere. "Radar" O'Riley, who once addressed our faculty at an in-service, the most enjoyable one we ever had, was from Ottumwa. 


Southern Iowa, home of picturesque Lake Podunk, where the men fish, the women tan, and the children learn early not to play with worms with rattles on their tails.6

Southern Iowa, home of kindred spirits to those folk in Kentucky, Tennessee, Arkansas, and Missouri, where, again according to Northerners, the bright ones move away and the rest intermarry.

Does the phrase "raised in the shallow end of the gene pool" elicit any memories? If not, try reading the recently published book The Darwin Awards. It is a collection of news stories from all over the world..., which just goes to show how universal the small town mentality is.

I took it all with the proverbial grain of salt. Like granddad's people before us, Leanna and I knew it was super horse country, and that's why we chose it.

I am reminded of the lead character in Murder, She Wrote, who said she would not live anywhere else, as she could not write her stories without the people who surround her. Smart lady. Big cities are impersonal. Anyone wanting to make connections with real live folk should move to a small town and talk to the locals. Better yet, listen to them. Add a dollop of imagination, and voilá, a book.

Enjoy!

-----------------------------
1 Readers should be careful not to confuse Podunksville, Iowa, with Podunk Center, Iowa, which, once upon a time, really existed, even if it was mostly a tourist trap, or with Podunk, Michigan, which is still of such a grandiose size as to appear on atlases and that state's maps.

2 Think Prairie Home Companion here.

Like Garrison Keillor's Lake Woebegone, Podunksville just might be located on one of the corners of the map folded underneath to hide the error when four inept surveyors, in an ecstasy of effort, over-stated the landmass of Minnesota.

Evidently, the frontier territories were shy of surveyors, as the same four employed by Minnesota were also responsible for surveying the Iowa Territory, but they arrived at different times. Due to spring flooding and mud, the poor guy assigned to start in the southeast corner arrived several days behind the one sent to the southwest, and both of them were nearly a month behind the two doing the northern corners. Instead of meeting near the center, as scheduled, they were only 20 miles off the border of the Missouri Territory, and a bit east of center. But, with their Minnesota experience behind them, they knew what to do with the extra they'd accidentally created.8

3 That turned out to be just one of the assurances the relatives gave us that didn’t hold up in real life. The cold air leaking through the sill of the window that continued several feet below the level of the counter right at the location of the kitchen sink also froze up the water lines at the drop of a hat, despite repeated assurances to the contrary. We should have been well-warned when Leanna first opened the cabinet to see a scum of nearly evaporated water dirtying the bottom of a broken-handled pan positioned directly under the U joint which was positioned directly in front of the lower edge of the window, where the most draft from a cold north wind would enter.

4 Conversation at the faculty lunch table got a lot more boring after Leon, who had taught for a while in the wilds of Alaska, living with natives originally, left.

5 The local insurance agent informed us that the cracked windows and broken off shingles we’d all watched the power from the fire hose send flying was “old damage” and therefore not covered.... Had he claimed that they were not covered because the fire was self-caused, and we could not insure ourselves against our own stupidity, I would have accepted it without a qualm, and probably been able to talk Leanna around eventually.

6 As it was, however, after a few more lessons8 on the uselessness of paying an insurance premium, Leanna and I decided to drop it and save the $600 or so dollars a year to cover the actual damage, which we deemed to be caused by acts of God.

7 Again, think Garrison Keillor's Prairie Home Companion Lake Woebegone monologues here.

8 Then again, that might play havoc with the laws of physics, making the water in the creeks run uphill and animals grazing in pastures have to stand on their heads to eat. That type of thing might have its place in a tale, but not this one.

9 When Leanna injured her back cleaning up flood damage, which caused a several day hospital stay, the excuse was, "You don't have flood insurance."

When we attempted to apply for flood damage insurance, as that first time, the water lapped against the quarter round molding along the edge of the joint between the porch and the house, we were denied because, "Your farm is in a flood plane. That makes it ineligible, as it is prone to flooding."

When a single lightening storm bombarded the farm with multiple strikes, each damaged appliance was charged a $250 deductible, because, "They're on different circuits." (Fortunately, the repairman only charged ONE service fee to fix everything, so the bill was just pennies over the combined deductible, even though the dryer had to be taken in with him to solve the heating element problem, despite the fact that it turned out to be that only one side of the 220 to the dryer plug was operational. The electrician's charge to repair THAT was additional, and STILL the result of the SAME STORM'S effects, still uncovered by our "full coverage" insurance. Insurance shysters and their shenanigans don't seem to be limited to hurricane victims.)


Next


Last updated 6/8/08 - Added “until sometime after the turn of the century”; "Radar" O'Riley, who once addressed our faculty at an in-service, the most enjoyable one we ever had, was from Ottumwa. 
 footnote 4 add “who had taught for a while in the wilds of Alaska, living with natives originally,” 8/16/06 -- So extensive, do line by line edit.)


Word Count: 3421 (excluding footnotes)

Reading Level: 8.1

Thursday, November 15th, 2001 7:08 pm (pandemo)
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Tuesday, December 25th, 2001
11:37 pm - Interior Story Title Page (6/9/06) (WC 22)


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Despina's Novel's Title Page:




Verano, Vivace
(Lively Summer)

or What I Did On My Summer Vacation





by Despina MacKenzie


age 26


No longer single in spirit.




Next

Word Count: 22


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Monday, December 24th, 2001
8:36 pm - Quote Page (2/15/03)


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If you wish to travel far and fast, travel light. Take off all your envies, jealousies, unforgivingness, selfishness, and fears.
                        -- Glenn Clark



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Last updated 2/15/03.


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Sunday, December 23rd, 2001
9:46 pm - Part I Iowa - Fall into Winter


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Part I Iowa - Fall into Winter


(post photo of fall trees/road)

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Saturday, December 22nd, 2001
3:39 am - Living the Dream (Cut Version 6/09/08; WC: 1690, RL: 4.7)


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The Dream



Her long auburn hair swirls around her as she dashes to her husband's side, knocking him sideways.

Reflexively, he grabs her as he falls. She lands on top of him.

The gunshot echoes above the traffic noise on the busy street.

He feels her body shudder from the impact. Her blood splatters him.

Other agents start toward the lone gunman, guns drawn.

Rolling over, he flees for his life.1


The night was far from spent, but she had awakened again, palms clammy, heart thudding. Vague wisps of dream clung to her mind.

How vile! How evil! What a horrid death, and so unexpected. She looked YOUNG!

Shuddering, she shook off the ill feeling of the event, deliberately refocusing.

I'm sure I've never been to a hotel with that type of convention hall before. I thought dreams were supposed to be made up of real events, just redeposited... My hair has never been long, and I'm SURE I'd remember if I'd ever had a husband... especially a knock-out like him!

Afterward, she lay sleepless yet again, wriggling around in a futile hunt for a more comfortable position, as if creating the right "nest" among the sheets, blankets, pillows, and comforter would bring the bliss of a dreamless sleep.

Focus your thoughts on something, someone, or some place serene and peaceful. Imagine yourself in that place, with that someone, doing that something, or using that something, whenever you feel anxious.

"The modern mantra to replace counting sheep," she thought cynically, squirming into yet another, equally unrestful, position.

Don't knock it until you give it a fair try.

"Okay. I will. I'll dream up the perfect lover, and take him to bed with me each night I can't fall asleep," she resolved as a way to end her inner dialog. She dropped off before she got him created.


The next night, she tried again, with great success.

It is the dawn of the computer age. A British computer sends an old adage to its Russian counterpart as part of the calibration process.

"Out of sight; out of mind."

The Russian computer dutifully translates the message, then sends the Russian language version back to the British computer.

The British computer runs it through its translating program and prints out, "Invisible and insane."

    -- Anonymous joke circulated heavily in the early days of computers.


She was again driving Baby Blue Ram, her old beater of a pickup, east on Highway 2. The windshield wipers intermittently batted at the spittings of snow decorating the glass.

"A hitchhiker? Mid-November is no time to be out seeing the country on foot!" she thought.

Never pick up a hitchhiker. They might turn out to be a serial killer, and you might turn into their next victim," her conscious nagged her.

"That jacket sure looks short and a bit worn. It probably isn't much protection from that wind."

You're just an old softy. See a stray dog, and nothing would do but you had to bring it home, even though you KNEW how your father hated animals in the house!

"But, this is a human being, not a dog. He can't curl up in a snowbank with his tail protecting his nose," (assuming the smattering builds up to a bank... it's too hard and cold a snow to create a comfortable drift.)

"He's not even trying to hitch. He's just walking along."

Phew! Finally out of sight.

"Out of sight; out of mind."

Translated into Russian and back into English as "Invisible and insane."

"Rats! It is INSANE to be out walking along, not dressed for the weather, on a day like today."

You have to live with yourself.

She slammed on the brakes and did a U'ee right in the middle of a deserted flat stretch.


Appalled, she eyed the pile of feed she had laboriously drug helter-skelter onto the floor and seat, plagued by second thoughts. She watched him grow and grow in the rear view window as he did a tired jog up to the passenger door.

It would be helpful, if one decides that one just MUST pick up a hitchhiker, to have ROOM for him before making the offer. Now that I've GOT him, WHERE am I going to PUT him?


"I'm Despina."

"I'm Cu."

"Well, now that we have the "You Tarzan; me, Jane," bit out of the way, where're you heading?"

"I'd settle for someplace warm in exchange for honest toil, at the moment."

"I see. Would you like to stop at the Chinese restaurant for a bite to eat while we figure out where you can find your ideal soft landing place?"

Silence. Finally Despina spoke again, "There are other restaurants if you don't like to eat Chinese."

"Anyone local hiring? I'd rather work outdoors."

Alarm bells went off. No money for a meal... but unwilling to take charity, she decided.

"I don't know of anything off hand, but I can sure use some help unloading this feed if you'd consider trading the labor for lunch. It will put you off on a side road instead of in town, however," she finished helplessly.

Whatever ARE you up to? You don't know anything about him. If you take a drifter home, what does he have to lose? He'll be warm and fed, and you'll have a hard time putting him out afterward if you couldn't even drive by him. Leanna will be really ticked when she gets home, too. She's bound to feel invaded, or something, I'm sure.


"Where're you from?"

"Arizona." His voice and eyes hardened.

"You were heading east."

"I'm coming from Kansas."

"Arizona is southwest of Kansas, and both of those are WEST of here."

"So they are," he acknowledged, the humorous glint returning to his black eyes.


Unloading had never gone so rapidly. He set off across the creek with two bags of salt, one on each shoulder.

I wonder if he's a weight lifter. He makes those 50-pound bags look about as substantial as sacks of potato chips.

She headed up to the house to make a few phone calls to see if anyone needed a good hired man.

Maybe I can deliver him someplace safe before dark.


"Where'd you plan to spend the night?" She stopped, turning slowly to face him, one eyebrow raised in question.

"Who lives in the old house down by the barn?"

"Nobody. It doesn't even have water or heat."

"Who owns it?"

"I do. Would you like to shower? I can wash up your things while you get cleaned up, if you'd like." My nose will be ever so grateful if you say "yes". She was embarrassed to feel her nose twitch, and watched, horrified, as his obsidian eyes glinted with humor as if he'd read her thoughts.

Eyeing the huge pile that resulted when he unpacked, she thought, Wherever did he have all THOSE stashed?

Using cold water so he didn't get a nasty surprise, she started the load with double the normal amount of soap, then dug out some of her father's baggiest pants and a black oversized sweatshirt she generally wore with a good six inches of sleeve rolled up, depositing them outside the door.

He exited while she was loading the dryer. The legs of the pants she always thought were so big hit him mid-calf. She burst out laughing. His long black hair hung loose around his shoulders, and the sleeves were just slightly too short.

Smiling at him appreciatively, her wayward tongue commented before she could stop it, "You sure clean up nice."

"Clothes make the man."

A startled bark of laughter burst from her. "So I've heard."

He could play the leading man in a movie, even in rags. It's a wonder he's such a hard worker. Most good-looking guys are pretty good at getting others to do their work for them.

Picking up his pack, he slid it on, opening the door. "May I?"

Mother, May I? Frowning, she silently nodded her head. His feet would have hung out over the edge of the bed, anyway, I bet.


Every morning, she dropped Cu somewhere on the way to school. Every night, she collected him from whatever farmer had hired him for the day.


Christmas time drew near.

"Would you like to take advantage of the cheaper holiday rates to call someone special?" she ventured at supper the night before.

"No," he said gruffly, picking up his plate and setting it in the sink, then heading for the door.

Oops. Still a tad touchy about home.


The winter passed. When school was due to end for the year, Despina asked Cu if he had a valid driver's license, or would like to take the Iowa driver's test so he could drive himself to work and back once school was over for the year.

Instead of answering, he responded with a completely unrelated question. "What do you do during summer vacation?"

Well, a non sequitur is an improvement over being ignored when you ask a question, Despina thought. Aloud, she said, "Oh, I read some, work on my book a little, and 'horse around' a lot."

"Will you come to Arizona with me? You should not be facing any danger. My people need you." He stared at her face intently.

Pasting on a smile to hide behind, she thought furiously. Go with him? Not as a girl friend, nor as a wife... Not judging by his actions here over the past six months... Facing danger? Danger here or danger there? Danger living without a man around for protection? "Doing what?"

Surprised, he gave her his typical one word answer, "Teaching," as if that were the only possibility in the world.

Danger teaching? Gun toting tots to teach? Tomahawk practice at recess? Let's scalp Teacher today?

"How do you know they need a summer school teacher?"

"They always need teachers," he explained in what was for him a veritable geyser of words.

"If Leanna doesn't pitch too big a fit about having to shoulder the whole load here after giving over her spring and summer to caring for granddad."

____________________
1
    -- from Despina's Infamous Green Journal, 1/1/02



Next


Last updated 7/9/08 Figured out why George thought the story was going to be a romance, when that's not the main focus... Added How vile! How evil! What a horrid death, and so unexpected. She looked YOUNG!

Shuddering, she shook off the ill feeling of the event, deliberately refocusing. before the hunkiness of the guy -- letting that be the frivolous refocus to get her mind off the evil. 6/9/08 added "again"; 8/19/06. (...play the leading man in a movie...; -- 8/12/06. ...father hated animals...; ,,,one eyebrow raised in question.; ...surprise (delete when he showered); ...sleeve rolled up, depositing them...; "Would you like to take advantage of the cheaper holiday rates to call someone special?" she ventured at supper the night before.; giving over her spring and summer to caring for granddad." 1/7/06.)

Word Count: 1690
Reading Level: 4.7

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current mood: experiencing an epiphany
current music: Lullabye (Goodnight, My Angel) - Billie Joel

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3:38 am - The Dream (6/23/02 WC 281) Q (Read all 7 short chapters)


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The Dream



Her long auburn hair swirls around her as she dashes to her husband's side, knocking him sideways.

Reflexively, he grabs her as he falls. She lands on top of him.

The gunshot echoes above the traffic noise on the busy street.

He feels her body shudder from the impact. Her blood splatters him.

Other agents start toward the lone gunman.

Rolling over, he flees for his life.1


The night was far from spent, but she had awakened again, palms clammy, heart thudding. Vague wisps of dream clung to her mind.

I'm sure I've never been to a hotel with that type of convention hall before. I thought dreams were supposed to be made up of real events, just redeposited... My hair has never been long, and I'm SURE I'd remember if I'd ever had a husband... especially a knock-out like him!

Afterward, she lay sleepless yet again, wriggling around in a futile hunt for a more comfortable position, as if creating the right "nest" among the sheets, blankets, pillows, and comforter would bring the bliss of a dreamless sleep.

Focus your thoughts on something, someone, or some place serene and peaceful. Imagine yourself in that place, with that someone, doing that something, or using that something, whenever you feel anxious.

"The modern mantra to replace counting sheep," she thought cynically, squirming into yet another, equally unrestful, position.

Don't knock it until you give it a fair try.

"Okay. I will. I'll dream up the perfect lover, and take him to bed with me each night I can't fall asleep," she resolved as a way to end her inner dialog. She dropped off before she got him created.


____________________
1
    -- from Despina's Infamous Green Journal, 1/1/02


Part II of Chapter 1


Last updated 6/23/02.

Word Count: 281

Tuesday, September 4th, 2001 6:52 am (pandemo)
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current music: "On the Road Again"

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Friday, December 21st, 2001
11:48 pm - First Meeting -- The Dream (6/23/02)Q (2 of 7)


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First Meeting -- The Dream

(Two years of dreaming later.)



It is the dawn of the computer age. A British computer sends an old adage to its Russian counterpart as part of the calibration process.

"Out of sight; out of mind."

The Russian computer dutifully translates the message into Russian, then sends the Russian language version back to the British computer.

The British computer runs it through its translating program, and prints out, "Invisible and insane."

    -- Anonymous joke circulated heavily in the early days of computers.




She was driving Baby Blue Ram, her old beater of a pickup, east on Highway 2. The windshield wipers intermittently batted at the spittings of snow decorating the glass.

"A hitchhiker? Mid-November is no time to be out seeing the country on foot!" she thought.

Never pick up a hitchhiker. They might turn out to be a serial killer, and you might turn into their next victim," her conscious niggled her.

"That jacket sure looks short. And a bit worn. It probably isn't much protection from that wind."

You're just an old softy. See a stray dog, and nothing would do but you had to bring it home, even though you KNEW how your father hated dogs in the house!

"But, this is a human being, not a dog. He can't curl up in a snowbank with his tail protecting his nose," (assuming the smattering builds up to a bank... it is too hard and cold a snow to create a comfortable drift.)

"He's not even trying to hitch. He's just walking along."

Phew! Finally out of sight.

"Out of sight; out of mind."

Translated into Russian and back into English as "Invisible and insane."

"Rats! It is INSANE to be out walking along, not dressed for the weather, on a day like today."

You have to live with yourself.

She slammed on the brakes and did a U'ee right in the middle of a deserted flat stretch.


Section III of Chapter 1

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Thursday, December 20th, 2001
11:50 pm - The Recurring Dream (2/15/03)Q (3 of 7)


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The Recurring Dream



Dreams come true; without that possibiltiy, nature would not incite us to have them.
    -- John Updike, Self-Consciousness (Knopf)


Appalled, she eyed the pile of feed she had laboriously drug helter-skelter onto the floor and seat, plagued by second thoughts. She watched him grow and grow in the rear view window as he did a tired jog up to the passenger door.

It would be helpful, if one decides that one just MUST pick up a hitchhiker, to have ROOM for him before making the offer. Now that I've GOT him, WHERE am I going to PUT him?

Motioning for him to open the door, she leaned across the alfalfa pellets, rolled oats and cracked corn to raise the lock button. She would have had to move a good 600 pounds of feed to reach the handle from where she sat.

If we put those sacks in the back end unprotected, the snow will weaken the paper, and some of it will get spilled before it gets unloaded. The grain up against the wet sack might mold. I can't risk losing a horse to moldy feed like that gal in Georgia did.

As he drew closer, he loomed even larger.

Swinging an exceedingly small pack into the bed of the truck, he prepared to hop over the side into the back.

She rapped sharply on the window, motioning for him to come up front.

He opened the door in an economical continuation of the same motion he'd started to climb aboard. His eyes grew slightly wider as he took in the jumble of sacks, then, placing one hand on the roof, he lithely moved onto them, curling into a human knot to get his head and shoulders below the roof line. Folding his legs in a roughly lotus position, he deftly shut the door.

She could see NOTHING past his body.

As big as all outdoors.

Noting his bluish, gloveless hands, she cranked the heater as high as it would go.

"I can drop you in the next town. I have to pick up some bags of salt." She bit her lip. Drat! What did I have to say that for? Where would four 50 pound sacks of SALT go?

"Where're you heading?"

"I'd settle for someplace warm in exchange for honest toil, at the moment."

"I'm Despina."

"I'm Cu."

"I see. Well, now that we have the "You Tarzan; me, Jane," bit out of the way, would you like to stop at the Chinese restaurant for a bite to eat while we figure out where you can find your ideal soft landing place?"

"Livestock salt?"

"What? Oh, yes, I need iodized salt for the weather vane feeders."

Silence. Finally Despina spoke again, "There are other restaurants if you don't like to eat Chinese."

"Anyone local hiring? I'd rather work outdoors."

Alarm bells went off. No money for a meal... but unwilling to take charity, she decided.

"I don't know of anything off hand, but I can sure use some help unloading this feed if you'd consider trading the labor for lunch. It will put you off on a side road instead of in town, however," she finished helplessly.

Whatever ARE you up to? You don't know anything about him. If you take a drifter home, what does he have to lose? He'll be warm and fed, and you'll have a hard time putting him out afterward if you couldn't even drive by him.

"I don't think I've ever eaten a Chinese. They're quite small, aren't they?"

Surreptitiously checking her cash as they entered and were escorted to a booth, she decided he'd have to become acquainted with the hors d'oeuvre platter later.

She headed to the rest room after the meal, not spotting him when she went to pay. She felt curiously let down, instead of relieved.

Maybe he's in the john.

When she exited, he'd re-stowed the grain sacks. The four bags of salt should fit, leaving him with as much room as he'd had before.


Section IV of Chapter 1

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Wednesday, December 19th, 2001
11:53 pm - New Dance -- The Recurring Dream (6/15/03)Q (4 of 7)


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New Dance -- The Recurring Dream



I don't like work... but I like what is in work -- the chance to find yourself. Your own reality -- for yourself, not for others -- which no other man can ever know.
    -- Joseph Conrad


Unloading had never gone so rapidly. He set off across the creek with two bags of salt, one on each shoulder.

I wonder if he's a weight lifter. He makes those 50 pound bags look about as substantial as sacks of potato chips.

She headed up to the house to make a few phone calls to see if anyone needed a good hired man.

Maybe I can deliver him someplace safe before dark.

A soft rap on the door announced the end of the unloading. She waved him in as she continued her conversation with a local cattleman who needed a shed re-roofed following a recent wind storm.

Lowering the phone, she inquired, "Do you roof?"

"Tin and wood, shingles or shakes."

"Sounds like some interesting new dance steps to learn." Playfully, she offered him the phone, but he shook his head. Get a grip. You're not dating him. Briskly, she spoke into the phone, "When would you like him?"

Intense black eyes. Holding his gaze, she asked, "Is 6 a.m. too early for you?"

"No."

"Do you have the supplies on hand?" ...

"Would you be willing to help him haul hay?"...

"Can you drive a tractor?"

He nodded.

"He'll be there." She hung up, then looked him over. Long black hair was gathered into a pony tail that had been hidden by his coat.

"Would you like to shower? I can wash up your things while you get cleaned up, if you'd like." My nose will be ever so grateful if you say "yes". She was embarrassed to feel her nose twitch, and watched, appalled, as his eyes glinted with humor as if he'd read her thoughts.

She pointed down the hall. "Third door. Just set out anything you'd like cleaned."

Instead of starting down the hall, he opened the outside door, quickly returning with his pack. Soon an impossibly large pile of clothes appeared outside the bathroom door.

Wherever did he have all THOSE stashed?

Using cold water so he didn't get a nasty surprise when he showered, she started the load with double the normal amount of soap, then dug out some of her father's baggiest pants and a black oversized sweatshirt she generally wore with a good six inches of sleeve rolled up, and deposited them outside the door.

He exited while she was loading the dryer. The legs of the pants she always thought were so big hit him mid-calf. She burst out laughing. His long black hair hung loose around his shoulders, and the sleeves were just slightly too short.

Eying him appreciatively, her wayward tongue commented before she could stop it, "You sure clean up nice."

"Clothes make the man."

A startled bark of laughter burst from her. "So I've heard."

He could play the lead in a movie, even in rags. It's a wonder he's such a hard worker. Most good looking guys are pretty good at getting others to do their work for them.


Section V of Chapter 1


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Tuesday, December 18th, 2001
11:57 pm - East Is East -- The Recurring Dream (6/15/03)Q (5 of 7)


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East Is East -- The Recurring Dream




East is east
And west is west
And the wrong one
I have chose...

    -- Ray Evans - Jay Livingston


"Where're you from?"

"Arizona." His voice and eyes hardened.

"You were heading east."

"I'm coming from Kansas."

"Arizona is southwest of Kansas."

"So it is," he acknowledged, the humorous glint returning to his eyes.


Section VI of Chapter 1


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Monday, December 17th, 2001
12:01 am - ...and the Bees -- The Recurring Dream (6/15/03)Q (6 of 7)


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...and the Bees -- The Recurring Dream


Character may be manifested in the great moments, but it is made in the small ones.
    -- Phillips Brooks


"Where'd you plan to spend the night?"

"Do you have a plat map?"

Rustling around, she produced last year's edition. "Oh, now what did I do with the new one?"

"Is he in this one?"

"Yes. He lives on a century farm."

Quizzically raised eyebrows greeted her remark.

"When one family has owned a place continuously for 100 years, the owners can get the designation century farm.

Holding out the book, he said, "Show me."

As she discussed the distance and landmarks between the two farms, the dryer dinged. "Your clothes are done."

Unbidden, he headed into the utility room and removed his possessions, returning to the bathroom.

Definite star quality. I've got to get him out of here.

Returning, he said, "If I leave now, I can make it to work by 6," giving her a wry smile.

Her mouth formed an Oof dismay. "I was just so tickled to be able to find someone who wanted to hire you, I didn't think about how long it would take you to get there using shank's mare."

Turning his body the directions he would go the same way a honey bee dances directions to its hive mates, he repeated from memory the route she'd showed him in the plat book.

It looks like a tribal dance,Despina thought as she watched him wide-eyed.

"Right?"

"Uh, I wasn't following the route; I was just admiring the scenery."

Impulsively plucking her body from the chair, he began the dance again, holding her at arm's length before him, facing the same way he was, turning her as he recited the land marks.

Her heart thudded so loudly she couldn't concentrate on his words.

"Right?"

Flustered, she pulled away. "I guess I wouldn't make a very good worker bee. I'd never find the flowers."

Ducking past him, she headed down the hall to the spare bedroom. "I'll take you, I guess. Let me clear off the spare bed."

"No."

She stopped, turning slowly to face him. She raised one eyebrow in question.

"Who lives in the old house down by the barn?"

"Nobody. It doesn't even have water or heat."

"Who owns it?"

"I do."

Picking up his pack, he slid it on, opening the door. "May I?"

Mother, May I? Frowning, she silently nodded her head. His feet would have hung out over the edge of the bed, anyway, I bet.


Section VII of Chapter 1


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Sunday, December 16th, 2001
12:02 am - Needs and Wants -- The Recurring Dream (2/5/03) Q 7 of 7


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Needs and Wants -- The Recurring Dream


Thought is the blossom; language the bud; action the fruit behind it.
    -- Ralph Waldo Emerson


Every morning, she dropped him somewhere on the way to school. Every night, she collected Cu from whatever farmer had hired him for the day.

He would not sleep in the heated room. He did not set a new LP tank on the blocks behind the old house, even though she offered to sign for one for him. He did not hook up the telephone. He turned down her offer to move the bed down there. He did not get any furniture. He did not have her fix the freezer on the refrigerator when she offered.

He did pay the electric bill. He did continue to use her washer, dryer, and bath tub. Once a week. Presumably, the farmers' wives stuffed him adequately at lunch, as he rarely ate the volume she thought a man his size should need when he ate supper with her. He would not eat breakfast with her. The disgusting old kitchen carpet did get burned. The broom got borrowed. A cat moved inside, and he did buy it kitty litter and a litter pan.

She smiled, thinking he was an "animal" person underneath all the gruffness.

"Mice," he justified, in what qualified as a talkative streak for him.

"No rats?" she inquired, remembering Pounce, El León de Pandemonium, laying his first rat, nearly as long as he was, across her chest as she slept, then rubbing against her face until she awakened, expecting praise for his hunting prowess. He was a very bright cat. He placed future conquests under the chair she sat in for breakfast.

Typically, Cu did not confirm or deny the invasion of rats.

I hope his choice of kitten proves to be as good a hunter as Pounce was.


The first week passed. A cold snap made the outdoors a very inhospitable place to work, especially in a totally inadequate light jacket. She inquired if he had enough set aside to get a "real" coat, and offered to take him to Centerville, again feeding him at the Chinese restaurant.

Instead, he snatched her Eddie Bauer Catalog and returned to the old house.

Soon he was back, money in hand. Carefully, she copied his choice into the order blank, added her check and sent it off, praying for warm weather until it arrived.

On a trip to the local lumber yard to get some materials to repair the leaky roof, he exited with a cap with ear flaps and heavy work gloves. He hardly looked Indian at all in them.

One evening in early December, he knocked on the door to wash his clothes while she was playing a CD by Inti Illimani, a Chilean Indian group originally from the Andes Mountains. He had never heard of these people, but their music spoke to his soul. Early evening turned into concert time, as he listened to one of her tapes or CD's before withdrawing into the cold of the old house. When he had heard each CD and tape once, she coaxed him into staying long enough to get through a movie. She started him off with The Gods Must Be Crazy. Work on her book suffered, but she didn't mind.

One Saturday morning, a farmer arrived in her yard, honked repeatedly, but did not get out. Dressing warmly, she headed out, half tempted to ignore him for his rudeness and head down the hill to check on the horses instead.

He opened his truck door. "Where's that pesky Injun?"

Standing stock still, she thought furiously. They think he's living with me!

"Did you try his house?" she asked pointedly, turning away to head down the hill.

The truck turned around and roared down the lane, parking at the bottom. Cu was standing on the walkway, peering up the hill.

Don't work for that jerk. He might not pay you, she thought at him, as if that would do any good. I've no idea if he's getting paid regularly, or not. I don't know if he's earning the going rate, especially since he's such a hard worker. I DO know he's in steady demand.

The farmer rolled down his window. Cu did not move. Despina paused on the trip down the hill, intently watching the drama taking place below, even though she was too far away to hear a word of the conversation.

Soon, the truck roared off. Cu came toward her through Debut's stallion pen instead of going around it, as someone not accustomed to animals might have.

"We need to cut the feet of some of these horses. I saw nippers in the back room, and have them cleaned up and oiled now." He held up some ancient red nippers.

"They probably aren't sharp enough to even cut through the toe on a colt, much less those with hard black hooves," she warned.

Testing the one tapered edge with his finger, he showed her that, indeed, it was now horribly sharp.

"No farrier I've ever hired keeps a knife edge on his nippers. One ill-timed jerk, and he'd lose part of his hand."

A rare smile flitted across Cu's countenance. "Incompetent handler?"

I do believe he just teased me.

By noon, they had done all the rough youngsters who had not been trimmed enough to know how to cooperate nicely. She really appreciated the rapport he had with the animals. Rarely had she seen such gentleness when that was required, coupled with just the right amount of force when that was necessary.

Pleading hunger, she led the way up the hill. Her feet were frozen through. He turned down two other offers that came in over the noon hour, saying he was already busy and suggesting that they call more in advance if they were interested in hiring him.

He's not shy about using the telephone any more.

While they were working on one mare who was noted among her regular farriers for her ability to rip her hoof out of their grasp at the worst possible moment, she realized that most of the older mare's feet were already done.

"When did you trim the older mares?"

He ignored her question, filing away rhythmically.

Surely not after dark when he left after supper. He's been where I've dropped him every night, and all the places are too far for him to walk to, much less back from, not to mention do anything in between.

"Mr. Horn Honker brought me home for lunch on Friday. He didn't come get me until just shortly before you showed up to pick me up. I won't work for him again."

"What did you eat?"

"Two apples."

"That's NOT enough lunch to fuel your body in this type of cold. If that ever happens again, come up to my house and get a real meal." She was incensed on his behalf. "Did he pay you?"

"Half," he admitted.

When he'd left after supper, she called the first farmer she'd talked to, getting his wife. Out came the whole story, the rude honking in HER driveway instead of stopping at Cu's house, the lack of a decent lunch, the short pay. She finished with some satisfaction, "He's a good worker, and gives an honest job. He turned that fellow down flat this morning, staying and freezing me clear through trimming the horses' feet. It took me nearly two hours to get the whole story out of him. He's not one to complain. Have the rest of them been feeding him?"

"I don't know, but he sure got his fill here," she assured Despina.

"You're not stingy, and are an excellent cook. I imagine Cu'd work for your husband full time, assuming there was enough work to keep him busy. I hate to see someone take advantage of him just because he's an Indian. A good worker is a good worker. They're hard to come by."

She smiled as she chatted. This story will circulate rapidly, complete with the housing arrangements. Now that a lot of the men know how well he works and how skilled he is, I'm hoping I can line up a better situation for him than piece work, always trying to learn a new farmer's ways, always at risk of being short-changed or underfed.

Not long after that, the phone rang with the hoped for offer of a full time job, Monday through Friday, from another farmer with a wife who was a top cook, and not one to stint on feeding the farm hands.

The place is a bit further from my normal route to school, but I don't mind that. I want the assurance that he'll be well-fed and well-paid. I don't trust him to come up the hill to eat anything at all if I'm not here, no matter how hungry he is.

Another call came in. "I'm not sure, but I think he's hired on already," Despina explained.

"My wife wants to speak to you."

"...No, the old furniture got burned after the last renter's cats used it for kitty litter."

"...Well, you heard right. It was a pig sty. The stench was overpowering. I picked up hard turds from cat and dog in every room that they had access to. It was disgusting. I haven't tried to rent it since."

"...No, he uses it as a friend, by choice."

I didn't really claim that he was an old friend. I'm not responsible for folk's supposings, she rationalized as guilt struck her.

"...I offered him some furniture, but he wouldn't accept it."

"...Well, maybe if I ask him if he's using the back bedroom. I could ask him if he'd mind if you stored some stuff that's getting mouse-eaten in the machine shed, then you could just mention that he's free to use it while it's there. You could say what a shame it is to see good furniture go to waste... Maybe say something like, 'I'd love to see it inside a heated place, being dusted and cared for.'"

Maybe then he'll set an LP tank and let himself have the luxury of heat at night. Despina did NOT add what she was thinking.

Before very long, Despina, Cu and Baby Blue Ram began the furniture run. It took three loads to clean out the machine shed's accumulation. Despina swore the pile increased between trips.

Just how many families are restocking that old house?

If Cu noticed anything strange about the situation, he kept it to himself.

Despina was disappointed that the hoped for LP tank did NOT get ordered. She was afraid that if she arranged for her friend to "visit her furniture", he'd give it all back. She pictured him huddled around the supplemental electric heater she had kept in the bathroom, but they never mentioned it again.

Thanksgiving time drew near.

"Would you like to call someone special for the holiday? The rates are cheaper on holidays," she ventured at supper the night before.

"No," he said gruffly, picking up his plate and setting it in the sink, then heading for the door without waiting for the customary CD to finish.

Oops. Still a tad touchy about home.


The winter passed. When school was due to end for the year, Despina asked Cu if he had a valid driver's license, or would like to take the Iowa driver's test so he could drive himself to work and back once school was over for the year.

Instead of answering, he responded with a completely unrelated question. "What do you do during summer vacation?"

Well, a non sequitur is an improvement over being ignored when you ask a question, Despina thought. Aloud, she said, "Oh, I read some, work on my book a little, and 'horse around' a lot."

"Will you come to Arizona with me? My people need you." He stared at her face intently, seeking to fathom her expression.

Pasting a smile on her face to hide behind, she thought furiously. "Doing what?"

Surprised, he gave her his typical one word answer, "Teaching," as if that were the only possibility in the world.

"How do you know they need a summer school teacher?"

"They always need teachers," he explained in a veritable geyser of words for him.


Part II: Ye Olde Watering Hole


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Saturday, December 15th, 2001
10:33 pm - Part II: Ye Olde Watering Hole


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Part II: Ye Olde Watering Hole



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Friday, December 14th, 2001
12:16 am - Ye Olde Watering Hole (9/13/08) Q (WC: 1139; RL 5.8)


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Ye Olde Watering Hole1



A person is only as big as the dream they dare to live.
    --by that most widely quoted of all authors, poets, and composers: Anonymous


She sits alone with her $5.00 frost-textured pitcher of ice water and a matching tall, thin, textured glass, but she is no longer gulping the contents as she did, much to the well-hidden amazement of the clientele.

Nobody here realizes that I'm drinking ice water. They all think I'm gulping something alcoholic... She giggles in appreciation of the trick she is pulling on the bar goers, who are surreptitiously eying her between reordering drinks from Óscar, but are not yet presumptuous enough to approach.

Glancing about, she guiltily suppresses her giggle. That will appear tipsy to them.

Raising her glass yet again, she discovers it is empty. They also don't realize that I blew my last $5.00 in the world to acquire this mineral-laden beverage masquerading as pure water. She winces at the irony.

Slowly, the local lawman, who has been seated with his back to the wall at the first table inside the door, rises and approaches. Slightly tilting his head and wrinkling his brow, he requests permission to join her. She nods her acquiescence.

Doesn't he cut a fine figure of full-flowered manhood, now?

"Óscar, otro vaso, por favor," she requests of the bartender, her eyes never leaving the sheriff's.

Óscar's eyes widen briefly, then return to normal. He turns, choosing a clear 8 ounce plastic restaurant-style water glass from the store of upturned glasses that line the mirror behind the bar, flips up the counter, sets the glass in front of the sheriff, then pours slowly and tidily right up to the brim, returning the pitcher to the table with a satisfying thud.

Protecting the sheriff's reputation? she wonders.

The sheriff studies the brim-full liquid before him. "I came over here to suggest that you were hitting that sauce pretty hot and heavy, and might best slow down until you get to your destination of...." A lifted hand invites her to complete his sentence.

Raising both eyebrows, she smiles broadly, "Maybe you'd better join me before we get intimate."

"I don't drink on duty."

"How admirable. But sheriffing in this heat must be hot, sweaty work. Besides, you don't know that I'm not from a culture that believes that refusal to drink with someone is the same as a refusal of their friendship. Surely just entering the only air-conditioned building for miles around doesn't indicate criminal intent."

She nods again toward the glass. "Trust me."

His eyes lock on hers. Suggestively, she wiggles her nose,2 then meaningfully eyes the glass. He follows her gaze, then positions his nose above the glass, lowering it by imperceptible increments until he can sniff the contents without appearing to from afar. He glances up, then takes a closer sniff. "Water?"

Admiring the cleft of his dimpled chin and the outline of his square jaw against the blue of his uniform, she suggests coquettishly, raising one eyebrow in an arched look, "What else would I bolt so in this heat?"

An appreciative burst of laughter startles the other patrons into turning in their direction, instead of watching from the corners of their collective eyes. Saluting her, he, too, drains his glass and pours more. "You must be the new school teacher." His baritone echoes through the cavernous room, clearly audible to all.

"Guilty." Her near-whisper is for him alone.

The pitcher's contents soon disappear. "Óscar, another." Laying a fiver on the table, the sheriff eyes the others in the bar. They wilt under his gaze, returning to their own companions, or their glasses, which are NOT water.

"Weren't you supposed to arrive earlier in the day?"

"How'd you know that?"

"It's a very small town."

"I was supposed to meet a Native American..."

"I wouldn't let one of our local Indians hear you call them by that disgustingly politically correct phrase if you want to make friends around here."

"An Indian at a cafe in town, but it was closed when I drove in. In fact, this is the ONLY place in town that appears open."

"There's the Blissful Rest Motel next door."

Her eyes widen in disbelief. "Is that an offer?" Her manner stiffens perceptibly. "No. I promised I would live ON the reservation, AMONG the Nat... err, Indians, and speak only Spanish as part of my employment contract."

"On the reservation? ON THE RESERVATION?... WHERE on the reservation?"

All eyes again focus on her as the echo of his words dies.

"I really don't know. I was supposed to meet someone at Ellie's Cafe."

"Tom was in there until about 3:00. I thought that was a bit odd."

"Tom? That wasn't the name." Rattled, she grabs her purse, ransacking its insides with quick, nervous motions until she produces a wrinkled envelope.

"That your suitcase?"

"No." She flattens the letter on the table, regarding it fixedly. "Yes," she says, stabbing her finger at a spot on the page before her. "It's John, not Tom."

"John? Juan NEVER comes to town. Never."

"Then why would he tell me to meet him at a cafe in town? That certainly doesn't make much sense. It says right here, "Vamos a reunirnos al café de Ellie en la aldea de Broken Lance en la carretera 160, aproximadamente 150 millas de Flagstaff, al mediodía."

Again an explosive laugh booms from the sheriff, drawing every eye in the place. Even one towheaded drunk, whose head has been resting firmly on the table ever since she entered, looks up.

"You read Spanish right rapidly. I take it you came through Wolf Creek Pass, then!"

Embarrassed, she shakes her head no. Glancing around the room to avoid meeting the sheriff's eyes, she gasps in recognition as hers meet the blonde's.

"Paul P.! Oh, my. Whatever is HE doing HERE? I didn't expect to have to deal with him until school started up again this fall!"

Following her gaze, the sheriff sees Paul Peter Sorenson squint at her, then grin and give a halfhearted wave in her direction. "Lo, Pina" he says, dropping his head to the table with a thud, as if it were too heavy for his neck muscles to support.

When I decide that what I really need is a change of scene, not more vivid dreams, I would have to pick the one place in Arizona where HE also works! Just my luck! I should've checked the name of the reservation, instead of just shrugging it off! But, then, he SAID he wasn't going to teach this summer.

"Hello to you, too," she whispers, way too softly for him to have heard even if he still had been awake by then.

"You know him from somewhere?"


Next

__________________
1 Reference Despina’s dream on Oct. 21, 2000

2 This enduring quirk seems to be a consistent mannerism with Despina. Compare to the lines: "Would you like to shower? I can wash up your things while you get cleaned up, if you'd like." My nose will be ever so grateful if you say "yes". She was embarrassed to feel her nose twitch, and watched, appalled, as his eyes glinted with humor as if he'd read her thoughts. -- from Despina's Infamous Green Journal, 6/5/1998


Last updated 1213/08 Corrected Wolf Creek Pass - 9/13/08 added footnote to title referencing Despina’s Infamous Green Journal; 8/3/08 - added Pina, (7/7/08 - Changed ...but have not yet gained the temerity to approach. to are not yet presumptuous enough to approach. 1/5/06 - blonde, otherwise same as 8/29/04.)


Word Count: 1139, not counting footnotes; 1218

Reading Level: 5.8

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