Santa’s Black List

(not a tale for the impressionable)

Santa Claus kidnapped me and didn't allow me to play in any reindeer games or do any social networking.  I always knew he was a deviant.   I mean really, all those little kids sitting on his lap year after year.   Where do you think he found that Ho Ho Ho kind of mood?

So the "man in red" abducted me and deprived me of my daily routine and destroyed my personal boundaries.  I forgot who I am.  Santa forced me to disbelieve in myself.  Diabolical!

This all began at the local Sears department store.  I was maybe six years old.  It was the day after Thanksgiving and Santa Claus arrived, as advertised, via helicopter.  That's when I first started to wonder.   Where is the sleigh? Where are the reindeer?   Why does Santa's beard look weird – like not real?  Hmm.

Then there was the “naughty or nice” thing.   I knew some really good kids who only got stuff like pajamas or socks and shoes for Christmas.  They were asking Santa for stuff like computers and bicycles.  The really mean kids would get loads of stuff like electric guitars and tickets to rock concerts.  What's the deal with Santa.

One morning, when I was nine, I woke up and realized there was nothing real about Santa Claus.  That's when the trouble began.  I would wake up smelling like I had been in a barn.  Strange recurring dreams of a white beard and elves would fill my nights.  In the dreams I was hammering away at something.  There was laughter all around me but it made me feel uneasy.   Always I woke up hearing a loud Ho Ho Ho.

It just goes to show that Santa does keep a list of kids.  However, the list is of kids who don't believe – his black list.   He creates a special hell for the kind of doubtful kid I was.

Santa was steeling me away at night.  Me and disbelieving kids all over the globe were taken from home, just because we didn’t believe in Santa Claus.   Here’s a lightning bolt; he uses that sled year round.  Except for Christmas Eve he’s not delivering toys.   Santa stuffed me in a black bag with other kids he snatched that night and threw me into his sled.

Santa’s sled is cold.  I don’t want to know what he feeds those reindeer.  Flatulence isn’t a strong enough word for the smell.   They have so much gas no wonder they can fly.  If Santa ever lights a match in mid flight Rudolph's nose won't be the only thing glowing.  It occurs to me now that I was waking up not smelling like a barn but like the reindeer.

Santa populates sweat shops around the world with us disbelievers.  We make toys and good cheer – all with our tears.  Bah, humbug!   With luck he would put me to work building cell phones in China.  At least I can phone home. Trouble is no one believed me when I told them where I was and that I'd been abducted.  The worst work detail is wassail making.  Santa forces us to sing “Here we come a-wassailing” over and over.  It’s horrible.   We fill a huge warehouse with jugs of wassail. It takes days.  When I smell wassail I want to throw-up.

Since I was placed on Santa’s disbeliever list, he rounds me up every year and tosses me into forced labor some place.  When I start smelling like reindeer I know another holiday season is nearing.  I’m part of Santa’s hell trade.  He swaps my effort and my stolen days for the world's magical Christmas morning.  When people wish me a merry Christmas I just turn away.

I have tried to press charges against Santa Claus.  That didn't get very far.  The judge sent me off for psychiatric evaluation.   When I was deemed sound of mind they told me I should be ashamed of myself.

If you take nothing else from this story remember this.  Space aliens have nothing to do with abductions.  Big eyed grays with tiny nostrils and small mouths are not a part of this.  It’s Santa and his evil trade in disbelievers.

Watch out for the children in your life.  If they make noises about not believing in Santa Claus do your best to convince them otherwise.  He's real alright and he knows how to hold a grudge.

The Adventure Continues

When a phase of my life ends and a new one begins where does the old me go?  When what I am dissolves into something else, what happens?  Will I learn some other logic with a broader understanding - a brighter awakening?  I hope so.

My old ways are dissipating.  The new me is increasing with a new vitality.  There is no need to concentrate on this.  It seems to be an inevitable organic cycle.  I wish there was a way to measure the shift in consciousness?  How can I compare what was me and what is to be me?  What I am becoming is mysterious and unknowable right now.  

What happened to the old me?  Did I die?  I don’t remember a coffin or an obituary.  Don’t recall grieving relatives; not even flower petals.  Admittedly, some friends are bewildered.  So this must be a transition with little change physically, or am I too unaware to notice that I have passed away?   Am I hovering over the lifeless body I once inhabited but not yet ready to face the end?

Perhaps I am about to shed the shell – like a cicada on a window screen.  I’m going to wriggle out of the old skin and let the bigger me dry in the sun.   Finite space will become something else as the new me expands at least a little.  

 

Does all this movement require a change of address?  Should I pack?  Might it be more important to stow pertinent memories for a point of reference?  Memories can be a guidepost that keep me steady in the dark.  It is possible that I move to New York or Tibet to become a rock star or a monk.  I will probably move from the kitchen to the couch.

Maybe living is like a tray of ice cubes.  We fill one ice cube space with who we are in this life and then move to the next.  A subsequent life comes and we fill an adjacent ice cube space then another one, etc.  Each cube has a different understanding and different lessons.  No cube is aware of any of the other cubes in the tray.  What happens when the entire ice tray is filled with my little cubes of consciousness?  Who maintains and operates the freezer that keeps my cubes cold and solid?

Perhaps the step after filling the ice tray is to allow the ice to melt and spill on the floor.  All that knowledge and all the different awarenesses come together into a sloppy puddle.  For sure my dog will be there to slurp up the wetness.  He's very fond of water.  That would be a fitting end to my lessons; in the belly of a canine.  Eventually I will get peed out on a curb somewhere.  Yeah that's what we become - a smelly part of a walkway system somewhere along a road.

The adventure continues.

Two Dukes and the Lovers

Kamapua’a is an Hawaiian demigod who holds dominion over the rain and fertility. Though he is half hog and half human Kamapua'a is tall and handsome. His dark eyes sparkle with mischief and he is quite charming. However, beneath the charm there is a sinister interior to Kamapua'a. The Hog Child is a jealous demigod, quite aberrant and possessive.

Pele is the goddess of wind, lightning and volcanoes. Arrogant about her beauty, she is wary of anyone who tries to usurp her powers or manipulate her feelings. Often when tired of lovers she destroys them by luring them into a volcano’s lava flow.

Since she and Kamapua'a became lovers their relationship was often tempestuous. Each was envious of the others beauty. However, Pele truly loved Kamapua’a in spite of their difficulties with intimacy. Quite often Pele’s thoughts were gloomy because Kamapua'a sought to control every part of her life. She dared not look at other men nor focus too much on her work. There was trouble if all her energies were not focused on manipulative Kamapua’a. The jealous rages and possessive obsession caused Pele to suffer and she decided to leave the islands and her lover.

Pele's departure was deceitful and their break up humiliating; at least in the eyes of Kamapua'a. His rage at Pele forced him to take dire action. The beneficial rains with which this demigod nourished the islands were about to turn into something injurious and hostile. Kamapua’a conjured a hurricane. The huge storm began gyrating wildly in the waters of the Pacific. North of Galapagos and southeast of Hawaii, the category-five hurricane churned in the direction of Panama. With deadly determination Kamapua'a, demigod and hurricane, was on a destructive course of revenge.

Pele had forsaken Kamapua'a and sailed away. On an outrigger she hoped to find deliverance from the sadness and the oppressive eyes of her estranged lover. Entering the locks of the Panama Canal she hoped to hide somewhere along the warm waters of the Caribbean. The volcanoes there would make her feel less homesick.

It was perfectly obvious to Kamapua'a that Pele was following after another man. If needed, this deified mortal intended to destroy the world searching for both of them. Somehow their destruction would ease his indignity.

From Hawaii Kanaloa, the mighty god of the sea, recognized the vindictive presence of Kamapua'a in this storm. Action to assuage the tender ego of the Hog Child would have to be swift and nimble. Jealousy and vengeance would meet stalwart resolve to save the world from ruin. Kanaloa summoned Aloha Duke from the ranks of the Night Marchers - the ghosts of great Hawaiian warriors. Night Marchers move at dusk chanting and protecting the islands. The world needed protecting now.

A vortex spun on the shore sucking up sand and water. A lightning bolt struck it and with great thunder Duke Kahanamoku (Aloha Duke) emerged “in the flesh” again. The wind sifted through his dark hair as he stood on Waikiki Beach – his home. Gazing at Diamond Head he took strength from the waters of this beach. The salty air filled Duke’s nostrils and his toes sank into the wet sand. He listened to Kanaloa.

“Hear my words, Aloha Duke,” said Kanaloa, god of the sea. “Dark powers have stolen the spirit of a great storm at sea. Kamapua'a has taken the will of this tempest. If allowed, he will destroy and kill until the earth is completely obliterated. Aloha Duke, I send you to intervene for the earth and all that live here. Talk to the Hog Child and convince him to vacate this storm and resume his peaceful ways. The islands need his rains and the children long for his rainbows.”

Energy surged in the heart of Aloha Duke. He pointed his long surfboard southeast toward the vengeful Hurricane. Kanaloa, the sea god, lifted a wave thirty feet high to carry Aloha Duke to the storm.

The battle with Kamapua'a would be keeping Pele safe and rescuing people in front of his dangerous waters and wind. Aloha must do this while appeasing the half-man/half-hog. If he thought Pele was there, perhaps Kamapua'a could be tricked into spilling his powerful winds in some less harmful location.

Hurricane Kamapua'a was ripping through the Isthmus of Panama in pursuit of Pele when Aloha arrived. Pele was sheltered in the Panama Canal, leaving the Pacific and transferring to the Caribbean Sea. Duke rode the storm surge ahead of the horrible hurricane to better rescue people in the clutches of Kamapua'a. Enraged, the demigod tried to overwhelm Aloha with wind and powerful surf but Duke was too nimble. The storm moved over the Isthmus and into the Caribbean Sea. In restless waters ahead Kamapua'a could see the tack of Pele's sail moving towards Cayman Island. His desire to catch Pele caused him to forget Aloha Duke's interference. The turmoil of his fears, his worries and anger were directed to the Caribbean island of Cayman. There he saw Pele.

Again, Aloha Duke moved before Kamapua’a, thwarting his focus and spreading peaceful rescue in front of the stormy tumult. While the Hog Child focused again on Duke's surfboard Pele considered riling an ancient volcano and striking her estranged lover. However, sensing his destruction, Pele realized that she loved him too much to destroy Kamapua’a. Pele chose to flee the island and escape into the Gulf of Mexico as the hurricane and demigod wrestled with Aloha Duke.

However, her departure was not unnoticed. Kamapua'a pressed the chase advancing between the Yucatan and Cuba. Gaining speed and power, the storm entered the Gulf of Mexico.

These were strange waters for Pele, but she could do nothing but flee her lover. She moved northwest ahead of the hurricane and arrived quickly on the Texas coastline. Squalls and lighting were already disturbing the shores of the Texas coast. Pele abandoned her outrigger to seek shelter farther inland.

The outer bands of the hurricane were just touching the Texas shore and the ranchlands beyond. The King Ranch was a huge cattle ranch adjacent to the Gulf Coast just south of Corpus Christi. In a ranch house John Wayne, the Duke, was watching TV. About every ten years the Duke came back to earth from Cowboy Heaven to do a little hunting and fishing. He and Richard King, founder of the King Ranch, had been javelina hunting that day. The hunting wasn't too good so they called it a day, early. Richard King had gone back to heaven but Duke was watching Doppler weather from the Corpus Christi television station. He really enjoyed the commercials about fancy electronic gadgets in the early twenty-first century. Smart phones and computers were great but he didn’t have anyone to call or to e-mail. All his friends were dead – even if they lived, an e-mail from long deceased John Wayne, the Duke, would be discarded as a hoax. But the Duke was enjoying watching Doppler weather. The radar was in color and he could see the beginnings of Hurricane Kamapua'a showing up on radar. It was heading Duke’s way. Already bands of rain were blowing ashore. Watching weather reports on 3-D TV made the Duke want to check out the coastline for himself. So he mounted his horse and rode out to Padre Island to see what was going on. That's when the Duke saw Pele, the goddess of lightning and volcanoes, come ashore. She looked a little frightened and John Wayne was going to help her any way he could.

Pele could hear horse hooves thundering upon the ground and coming close. As if manifesting from the lightning that bolted above him, she could see the Duke. Not Aloha Duke, but the Duke, John Wayne. With rope and pistol and rifle he was there to do battle with the hurricane and to protect Pele. “Missy, you better jump up on my horse so we can get you out of here,” said the Duke.

Pele jumped on the saddle behind John Wayne. Duke lashed down beach houses with his rope to keep them from blowing away in the intensifying winds. Tornadoes were spawning in the squalls ahead of Kamapua'a. The Duke aimed his rifle and fired at the base of the tornados. Rifle shells disrupted the tornados’ contact with the ground. The twisters flittered away in erratic directions like a balloon losing its air. They rode up on a bluff overlooking the coastline and the roiling sea.

The real danger was now arriving on the Texas Coast. Hurricane Kamapua'a was nipping at the surfboard of Aloha Duke. Aloha dragged his board onto shore and stood looking at the onslaught of the hurricane. Huge loud waves were breaking with such force that the ground shook. Duke’s back was against the coastline, his surf board of no use now. Aloha Duke faced Kamapua’a alone and with no defenses.

Aloha raised his voice. “Has your rage blinded you to the terrible injuries you are about to inflict here. Kamapaua'a you bring the rains that bless our crops. Because of you we feast and grow strong.” There was no response. “I will not allow you to harm anyone Kamapua'a. You will have to take my life first before you can destroy the world.”

The Duke, John Wayne, could hear Aloha Duke talking. “What is he sayin’ and who is he sayin’ it to, Missie?”

“He is talking to the Demigod who inhabits this storm,” said Pele.

I don’t know what a demigod is, but if he don’t get some help that fella’s gonna’ get killed.”

Just as the huge storm surge was about to swallow the coastline and smash into Aloha Duke, the Duke (John Wayne) threw his rope. It wrapped around Aloha Duke and the Duke, John Wayne, pulled him onto the bluff where Pele and he had been watching. The surge came ashore and tore around the bluff destroying houses, twisting metal and bunching up cars. Cattle in the pastures were washed up against trees and stacked on top of one another like lawn chairs at a bar mitzvah. Ducks were floating where normally there was dry land. The two Dukes and Pele stood above all this and were yet unharmed.

Kamapua'a had been thwarted at ever point in this sojourn of destruction. Miscreant winds were at his control and they were aimed at the three helpless figures on the bluff. The Two Dukes stood in front of Pele protecting her from the brunt of the wind. There was nothing more they could do. Everything was in shambles around them. John Wayne’s weapons were waterlogged and useless. Aloha Duke's surf board had been splintered and washed away.

Just as the roiling ire of Kamapua'a arrived Pele stepped out from behind her protectors. She placed the palm of her hand forward in the direction of Kamapua'a.

“You must come no closer, my lover. If there were a volcano here I would lure you into it and I would throw myself in after you. Look at what we have done. We have abandoned our work on far away Islands and embraced this hopelessness here. We have destroyed people’s homes and lives because we cannot reconcile our differences.

“Kamapua'a, I love you. You must allow me to be who I am so that I can express my love. Come down from that horrible wind and face me here. Stand before me like the man I love.”

Hurricane force winds ceased as the eye of the storm moved on shore. Kamapua'a abandoned his rage and his despair to join Pele on the bluff.

“That is better, my love,” Pele stroked his hair and caressed his face.

Kamapua'a could say nothing, but his face showed his sadness. A slight smile conveyed his acceptance of Pele's imploring words. As the lovers embraced the hurricane subsided. Clouds evaporated. The sun shined upon the two Dukes and the lovers.

To celebrate their reconciliation Pele and Kamapua’a decided to take a sea cruise. The lovers boarded a luxury liner and sailed the Gulf of Mexico and the Caribbean. They sang duets in the karaoke bar. They gorged themselves on good food and fine wine and walked the beaches at sunset.

The Duke and Aloha Duke took the subsidence of the storm with great relief. They gave each other smiles and handshakes. The Duke invited Aloha Duke to take a ride around the King Ranch before going home to Hawaii. They ate Bar B Q and drank beer; swapping stories of their past lives.

Kanaloa, the great Hawaiian god of the sea, smiled at the reconciliation. He repaired the damage along the path of the Hog Child’s hurricane and healed the hurt wrought by the wayward lovers. Balance and harmony again reigned.

Temujin

The Mongolian Steppes in the late twelfth century was a lawless territory. Chaos was the rule. Wives and live stock were stolen only to be lost by thieves to others through ambush and subterfuge. All men lived as enemies and all men lived in poverty with no viable way to better themselves. Everyone was climbing out of the same dark abyss – pulling at the leg above and stepping on the head below. Together they could ride out of this hell and into history - but how? With no law and no moral standard the impossible deliverance sprouted from the Steppes in the guise of a boy pushed aside and impoverished of position and comfort. Through strength, will power and personal charisma Temujin, later known as Genghis Khan, established justice and stability with a vision of what the Mongols could be.

In ten years of conquest Temujin had forged alliances with many tribes. With growing influence and numbers of warriors the elders were convinced to call a Khuruldai. This was a political and military council whose job was to elect a supreme leader, a Genghis Khan. There was great support for Temujin to be elevated to Genghis Khan. Yet formidable adversaries opposing him were still in the field and would fight.

Temujin, the new Genghis Khan was a man of many talents and copious contradictions. The conqueror, destroyer and murderer became a great builder, innovator and protector of orphans and abandoned women. Three great passions dominated his world; women, foreign affairs and world domination.

Incredibly, a nomad fascinated by world cultures, chose to imitate those far off lands by building a great city. Temujin brought artisans, intellectuals and politicos from the far reaches of his empire to Karakorum, his walled city. Gathered, by force, these men would build a fabulous city and capital of the great Mongolian Empire. Ultimately the latest weapons and war machines of the world were in the hands of Temujin. Momentum was building.

Temujin had great ambition, not the least was uniting the tribes of the Steppes and forging an empire. The Silk Rode flowed through Mongolia like a golden river from the Orient to Eastern Europe. Confronting and purging the Chinese from the Steppes would put control of the Silk Road in Mongolian hands. Those hands would embrace fabulous wealth and the invading army from the Mongolian Steppes would change the world.

Building an empire was a family affair. Wealth and power would be Temujin's. The sons of Genghis Khan were his strong arms in the field, but they were suspicious and jealous of one another. Jochi, the eldest, was conceived during the time Borte, their mother, had been kidnapped by Merkit tribesmen. She had been sold as a wife before Temujin could steal her back. Nine months after her return she gave birth to Jochi. Was he Temujin's son?

Jochi's lineage was always a source of tension amongst his brothers and some of Khan's generals. Chagatai, the second son of Khan was hot-headed and the most vocal. He never accepted Jochi as Temujin's eldest son and heir.

Temujin knew well the dangers of conspiracies. What heightened intrigue and made Jochi's position less stable was a quiet marauder. Gonbold was a Merkit warrior who had once kidnapped Borte and was perhaps Jocin's biological father. Communicating in secret with the queen and her eldest son, Gonbold hoped to build a wedge between Khan and the heir to his empire. His goal was to foment the already tense dissension amongst Temujin's sons. He would use stealth and manipulation to consume the flames of Temujin’s empire. Gonbold hid amongst the populace of Karakorum. His Merkit followers were spread out in the near by steppes, under cover but ready to quickly usurp the great Khan. Temujin had Gongold and his men chained in the public square of Karakorum. After long and slow torture their bodies were set ablaze. Khan knew the value in the theater of public executions.

None of this dissension had any affect on the loyalty of Temujin. He believed in all of his sons and would delegate power and position to them. His goal was to strengthen and build an empire. The challenges were great. Formidable foes forced Temujin's family to forget their differences and join together in the name of survival and empire. Temujin believed he was only as strong as his most powerful foes. He welcomed the opposition as proof of his personal greatness and destiny.

A powerful adversary still roamed the Steppes. Jamuka was a boyhood friend and ally to Temujin; jealously and resentment ended their alliance. In the west Jamuka joined the Naiman tribes and was gathering many warriors and building strong resistance. Jamuka had defeated Temujin years earlier at the battle of Khalakhaljid Sands. His was a real threat and Khan sent Jochi, his eldest son, to end Jamuka's resistance. The Naiman's were one tribe, Khan was many. Jamuka was tortured and executed. His women were publicly violated. Members of the Naiman's were scattered.

Surely and inevitably scattered tribes were consolidated into the Mongolian dominion. Still the Jin Dynasty stood in the way of limitless wealth. The silk road was yet to be conquered.

The Jins ruled northern China from Beijing. Foolishly a delegation was sent to Genghis Khan demanding Mongol submission as vassals. Defying the Jins usually meant the loss of “the flow” of goods along the Silk Road. Beijing misjudged the situation. Genghis Khan ordered his son Tolui to attack Beijing with siege engines and trebuchets. When the city fell the Jin's were vanquished and the Silk Road flowed unobstructed through Mongolia.

This was the realization of Genghis Khan’s vision and ambition. Temujin betrothed his daughter to a tribal chief of the Tangut's in the southern part of the empire along the Silk Road. The riches of the Silk Road were at last in the firm grasp of Khan. For two hundred years the Mongols controlled the flow of trade. Dark forces were always on the horizon looking for a breach in the armor of the Mongol horde. Khan never feared.

Clutter In Clutter Out

I live in clutter in every room on every shelf over each inch of my household.  I am relentlessly attacked by toxic ataxia and the chaos it produces.  In fact there are four “masters of confusion” in my house.  All of us place objects that are significant in our world where we think are appropriate locations in the household.  The problem is a tripod leaning against a wall may be a place where another person walks and trips.  But when you're stepping over boxes and balancing a footstep upon stacks of paper it could be hard to know where someone might tread to traverse the living room.  We have wall to wall disorganization in our townhouse.

When entering the front door the dwelling is always unsettling.  There’s no sense of walls or structure – just rummage everywhere.  Luckily the kitchen is a focal point in our digs because there is a raised area in the middle of the floor amongst the disorder.  Beneath this bulge is our island.  From this reference point we can get a “fix” on the location of rooms in the rest of the house.  The island in our kitchen is a profound crap catcher.  Receipts pile up alongside school books and business plans.  Clothing and computer equipment balance precariously three feet above the floor.  Incense burners and 2 liter bottle caps occupy similar positions on this counter.

It's hard to believe that anything like this interior disaster could happen.  The floors are the final assault to the senses.  When shelves and counters were gorged the floor offered storage of last resort.  Overflow was shunted into boxes along side walls.  However, nothing on the carpet stays put for long.  Errant feet kick containers and pets snoot through them. Before long cartons are compromised and the innards spill over the walkways.  Somehow a pullulating debris field has displaced what was an adequate floor plan though lacking in square footage.

Include in the chaos two dogs that shed an immense amount of fur on wood floors, carpets and on top of all the mess.  Canine hair clogs the vacuum and produces a thick gunk that renders the carpet cleaner useless.   Thankfully we do not use either of these household appliances very often.  There's no time to shift the layers of stuff to make an open part of the floor available for cleaning. I might be more successful with a shovel and a wheelbarrow.

In our family unit space is limited but information is infinite and located inside envelopes or written on receipts. The U.S. Mail delivers every day with a fresh supply of shit I don't have time to look at.  I lose royalty checks and contracts and instructions because the last person to explore the interior of our mailbox threw its contents just about anywhere in the house.

Clutter has me in its clutches! There is no escape from all the piles of documents and stacks of periodicals and boxes of books.  After all I live in a small townhouse with far too many humans and critters.  There's just no place to put everything.  Elbowroom, like privacy, does not occur very often in our residence.

Maybe it all boils down to four humans with low self esteem and an inability to make a decision.  That’s what clutter gurus say, but what do they know?  Maybe not one member of the household respects the personal space of anyone else under this roof. Perhaps we are so confined that respect is a luxury we literally have no room for.

Regina Leeds (the Zen Organizer) says my home should be my sanctuary, a buffer against the world.  More often than not my home is a place to escape.  The world is my buffer against my residence.  There doesn't seem to be sanctuary anywhere.

Could there be some sociological epiphany to this interior of horrors?  Is there a light shining in all this dark domiciliary discombobulation?  It turns out that great art may be spawned in such despair.  We could be “expressing” ourselves in all this dishevelment.  Perhaps I am part of a family of virtuosos who work in wrinkled papers and worn magazines thrown on the floor like Jackson Pollock used to throw paint on a canvas. ShelterPop, a website about housing and lifestyle, says it just might be so.

Indeed the trained eye will know us for who we really are; insecure extroverts who avoid childhood memories of family confrontation.  And oh yes, we love kitchen gadgets.

Perhaps in the real world we are a family of slobs - overworked with no time to clean.  Elizabeth Robinson says guilt, grief and attachment can produce an obsessive disorder rendering a person immobile, unable to take action against what all this clutter represents to us.  In our case it is lack of time and energy.  Everyone in my house is trying to bring in money some how.  We’re just too tired.

The Last Ride

Hank Williams died New Years day 1953 in the back seat of his Cadillac.  On that day Williams stepped into history as a great elder of both Country Music and Rock and Roll.  From his imposing shadow people like Buddy Holly, Johnny Cash, Willie Nelson and Bob Dylan (to name a few) stepped out and continued the rich tradition in popular music.

Hank's immense creative ability was often overwhelmed by his addictions, first to alcohol then to morphine.  Born with Spina bifida, a congenital disorder of the spine, Hank suffered chronic back pain which partly led to his substance abuse.  

Despite his limitations Hank produced eleven "number 1" hits and was elected to the Grand Ole Opry.  Ultimately the alcohol and the pain killers would be his undoing.  He was so debilitated that more often than not he was drunk and tardy or altogether absent from his concerts.   Promoters were afraid to trust him, but when Hank did perform frustrations and hard feelings made way for his loyal fans.  The people listening on the radio and in concert never deserted him no matter how badly he behaved.  Hank spoke to them with intimate and simple lyrics.

There is a new movie out about the final three days in the life of Hank Williams.  The Last Ride takes place in the back of a blue 1953 Cadillac convertible.  Hank's manager hired a young man to drive the song writer across the south on what turned out to be Williams' last concert tour.  

The idea for this movie originated from an old man who was the young boy that drove Hank on those last days.  Too ashamed to say anything until recently about his experience, he still prefers to remain anonymous.   After all Hank Williams died on this man’s "watch."  Apparently the driver (called Silas in the movie) didn't recognize nor understand who was occupying the back seat through the troubled final days of Hank Williams' life.  This is understandable, for in the middle part of the 20^th century there were not many TV's, no CNN and no DVDs.  People listened to the radio and it was easy not to know what a famous musician looked like on the Grand Ole Opry

In The Last Ride two strangers embark on a journey across the south that culminates in the death of a music legend.  The journey is star-crossed from the beginning with too much booze and too many unplanned stops along the way.   Whiskey and hypodermics of B-12 laced with morphine were snatching the already flickering life from Hank.  

Harry Thomason, producer of the popular early 90’s TV shows Evening Shade and Designing Women, acquired The Last Ride from writer Howard Klausner.  Producer and partner Tim Jackson liked the notion that The Last Ride is NOT a bio-pic like I Walk the Line about Johnny Cash.  There are no flashbacks and Henry Thomas (the kid who played Elliot in ET and plays Hank Williams) did no singing. “Lip-syncing would be too phony,” says Tim Jackson, “and what actor has the nerve to sing a Hank Williams song.”

Hank Williams was a charismatic musical genius.  There aren't many of those around at any given moment in world history.  It is easy to forget The Last Ride is a movie.  The final days of Hank Williams' life flash before you in a funny, awesome and sad way.  He leaves us with some good advice; 

           Ya know there was a time when I didn't dream 
           about nothin' but this (traveling and performing).  
           Be careful what you wish for . . . it might just fall
           on you.

In a couple months The Last Ride will be playing alternately in 600 theaters in the U.S.   If you are not near one of those showings pick it up on DVD in the near future. It's worth a look.

Isn't It a Pity

Change is inevitable, nothing is stagnant.  Even in geological time a million years can go by then suddenly a granite boulder will fall from its rocky pedestal.  The world has changed.  Life is the same but the perspective has shifted.  Dreams are shattered but the tools to build again are resolute.

There are no shattered boulders in my household but there is one less person.  I helped my oldest son move to Tucson.  Jeremiah is off to study cosmology at the University of Arizona.   In the last two years five humans, three large dogs, a cat and a cockatiel have lived in a 1500 square foot townhouse.  Jeremiah moved back home in 2009 after the economy hit the skids.  It was no longer possible to work, to go to school and support himself.

For twenty-four months all of our kids have been home bringing wonder and horror into the household.   My younger son and daughter didn’t get the chance to move out even though they are of age - economics were just too tough.  The swagger of Jeremiah, the one who has been on his own, didn’t set well with the other two. Resentment fomented but Joey’s and Abby’s attitudes weren’t pristine.  Sometimes I think their manner was meanness, pure-d.

Add to this a household financial situation that has been on the brink of collapse.  Absolutely, it has been a bloody struggle just to keep a roof over our heads.  My wife has retrained to better handle the vagaries of crazy politicians trying to destroy an already unconscious economy.  I feel like I'll be working nights for $10 and hour for the rest of my life. 

Jeremiah has moved away and I am very lonely and sad.  I wish we had more money to help him, but maybe the tense finances will cause him to focus on his goals.  The local credit union gave him a personal loan to make the move to Tucson and begin his adventure into the cosmos.  This kid has better credit than I do.  I was a little jealous at first, but then I realized his staying with us helped him keep his bills current.  It might as well be me to take the credit hits. My prosperity of earnings is already in the toilet.

A portion of the loan went to getting his car fixed and replacing a tire on our vehicle so we could load it up with his boxes.  He would save the cost of renting a moving van for the 180 miles to Tucson. All tolled, it might have been cheaper to rent the moving van. Perhaps he needed to feel our support in the start of his new life. Our little convoy pulled out at 9:30pm and we didn’t stop till we got to Tucson 12:30am.

I don’t know what I could have done to make our life easier financially.  Perhaps my mistake was not becoming an investment banker.  A writer and a musician on average make a lot less than the typical banker.  Of course my decision to disdain the corporate elite was done out of integrity and a blind obsession to make art.   Making money would come with the development of my craft (I told myself).  However, I did not anticipate the lengthy illness that kept me on my back for years.  I didn’t consider the ignorant and destructive shift the world would make.  The planet is going to hell and it wants me to go with it.  I’d just as soon take a pass.

My younger son and daughter are much happier now that Jeremiah is out of the house.  Abby no longer shares a room with Joey.  She has repossessed the room that Jeremiah took.  Joey and Jeremiah couldn’t get along in the same ten foot square space; so Abby relinquished her room.  She has made good use of the surplus shelving in the garage.   Her room is transformed; better than it was when she first lived in it.  Joey has his room to himself and his Japanese studies can prosper even more than they have been.

The clutter that pervades the entire household may finally subside; probably gradually.   Less and less space is occupied by warm carbon units sucking air and billowing CO2.  Jeremiahs departure comes at the heals of the death of a beloved dog.  Wishbone was our fifteen year old Australian Shepherd.  He was strong, intelligent and the alpha dog.  He kept the boisterous golden Lab in check and was a friend to the Vizsla we rescued from the Wal Mart parking lot.

The house is much less noisy without Wishbone's constant barks at Lucky.  Now there is one less kid.   No barks no bickering, no arguments.  I live in a tomb.

Good heavens!   I’ve looked over this missive and realize that I’m sitting square on the dreaded “pity pot.”   I’ve never figured out what I should be doing on such a pot other than feeling sorry for myself.  Do I pee or poop in this pot?

The Stopwatch Gang

They spent their days playing poker with the sheriff and frequenting shops in Sedona. Friendly and generous, the boys supported local businesses and took flying lessons at the Sedona airport.  If people had paid attention they might have been suspicious of the amount of dollar bills in large denominations the boys were passing around town.  Friends knew them to be concert promoters.  Often gone “on tour” the boys returned with money and time to spend with local pals.  However, their lifestyle was far from show business; though their real occupation would be the stuff of an action thriller.

Paddy Mitchell, Lionel Wright and Stephen Reid were infamous bank robbers.  They were part of an elite group of criminals occupying the FBI’s Ten Most Wanted List.  Law men called them the Stopwatch Gang because Lionel wore a stopwatch around his neck.  Ninety seconds was just enough time to commit a robbery and evade authorities.  The gang planned their jobs carefully; in and out of banks quickly without firing a shot.  The movie “Point Break” was inspired by their style of shock and awe.  They were polite and always in disguise.  No one ever got hurt during their many robberies.

In the final year together Paddy, Lionel and Stephen had been hiding out in Oak Creek Canyon. It was a beautiful hole in the ground just north of Sedona, Arizona.  This is where the boys made their plans and where they disappeared into after executing the holdups.  

Ten years of meticulous planning went flawlessly but finally failed them.  The odds of something going wrong overwhelmed the preparation and the chutzpah.  Bad luck sabotaged their final heist.  A cop pulled up to the dumpster where the gang was waiting to stash disguises and bank bags from the holdup.  Lionel got anxious, even though the officer left without incident.  The truck that was supposed to empty the wastebin did not arrive.  Not wanting to wait any longer, Lionel threw the bags in the big trash can and took a plane to Arizona. 

Dumpster divers went foraging through that container.  Sacks were found filled with disguises, bank bags and a fake ID.  Unfortunately the gang's actual Oak Creek address was on that ID.  Authorities were able to lift fingerprints on some of the items.  It wasn't long before the FBI came to their door.

The Stopwatch Gang was the most successful robbers in North American history.  There are no reliable figures, but the gang might have committed as many as one hundred robberies.  The take for their efforts was between $5M and $10M.  That amount includes a $750,000 gold heist at the Ottawa Airport (Canada). They moved south of the border to plan and execute heists all over the United States.  In San Diego one robbery yielded $280,000 all in $20 bills.

FBI agents assigned to the gang remain friends with them to this day.  Paddy wrote a book and asked the lead agent on his case to critique it.  They would send cordial letters back and forth during his incarceration until Paddy died.

Genteel and gifted holdup artists, the Stopwatch Gang cared enough never to harm anyone.  Much of the money they stole was never recovered.  There are tall tales about where that money might have been stashed.

A movie about the Stopwatch Gang is in preproduction.  For information click on the following links.

http://alloftheaboveproductions.com/root/

and

http://indiegogo.com/stopwatchgang



 

For Good Or For Evil

Good and evil, are they opposite sides of the same coin?  Are there twins living inside the human body – the good one and the bad one?  All of us have faced crossroads - having to decide which way to turn can dominate the day.  There is the right and the wrong choice; no one else owns the decision.  Is it really a matter of chance, a flip of a coin that establishes our moral fiber?  The odds on a coin toss are 50/50.  That means fifty percent of the time good triumphs over evil.  Fifty percent of the time evil wins.  However, a coin toss seems to be a bit simplistic.

Thrown into the mix of good and evil is free will.  This adds a third side to the coin – a trinity creating dissension and mayhem at least as often as harmony and prosperity.  Compare this to a pair of dice.  The odds of a three-sided coin are half as diverse as a six sided die.  With sides added to our coin for guilt and greed, we are not too far away from shooting craps here.

The Catholic Church offered absolution for sins committed as long as you confessed your wickedness and were penitent.  For a price a sinner could receive dispensation for a bad decision; such as annulling a marriage.  Through Church largess good was sprinkled amongst all the bad.  Having slammed shut, the gaits to heaven reopened and the Lord on his thrown restored the sanctity of the soul.  It’s amazing what a little good will and pocket change could do for spiritual health back then. The heavens were brought back into balance. Good triumphed and the church got rich.  This was before the age of reason and unfortunately, the church is no longer so powerful.

Now omnipotence belongs to corporations.  The only balance in the universe is their bottom line.  Bad guys hide behind corporate law and they grant themselves dispensation and absolution for bad deeds.  A new ad campaign fixes all.  Corporations buy our politicians, steal our money and destroy what little dignity we have.  They expect us not to notice the hardship corporate policy causes.  Slogans replace human decency and it is very important to their shared image that we be happy in our destitution.  Credit cards keep us in financial slavery but if we are lucky we have a roof over our head.  At least with the Church there was a Hereafter to look forward to.  Our immortal soul was intact.

Could it be that good is only a distant myth? Maybe I’m only seeing the dark side.  Must I look deeper?

Philosophers and gurus say that positive and negative forces are with us always, keeping the universe in balance.  Does this duo really keep order in the universe?  Cataclysmic disruptions of balance occur so often that it has been given names – Incompatibilism, Biological Determinism and Theological Determinism are a few.  Murphy's Law is probably the most pessimistic.  That pesky free will keeps rearing its head.  If right and wrong are polar ends of the same axis then no wonder the world is spinning out of control?  All that free will in the middle makes the earth a volatile place. U.S. politics is a prime example of the imbalance.

Has Washington chosen too many negatives and not enough positives?  Republicans are union busting, cutting taxes to billionaires and destroying everyone's livelihood.  Democrats, even with a president in the white house and control of the senate are powerless to stop the shenanigans of the Far Right.  Where's the balance?  I’m beginning to feel like a punching bag.  Knowing right from wrong is less important in congress than knowing which corporation will give the most money for reelection.  So many wrong choices, how can the tangled mess be resolved.

Many alternatives that feel good are destructive.  Yet, the least attractive opportunity can blossom into something wonderful.  But if one chooses good every time then positives would outweigh the negatives.  That's supposed to bring us closer to God and harmony.  However, there is a quandary.  If we shun the dark for the light then what happens to the delicate balance that dark and light, positive and negative, good and evil produces.  Doesn't that disrupt everything?

Personally I run from good or evil wherever I see them because both scare the hell out of me. If I manage to do something good how can I keep up the good work?  I’m always falling short. Secondly, if I fall into the surly clutches of evil, the dark abyss (so tangible and invisible) seems limitless.  A perpetual fall might be attractive to those who parachute off stationary objects, but for me it is too compromising a proposition.  What to do?

Sometimes I have allowed mediocrity in my life because it is safe.  If I don't move closer to the light I won’t be sliding back into the shadows.  The abyss is farther away if the possibility of a horrible miscalculation is not so likely.  With luck I won’t find myself in a dark corner.  Perhaps this is faulty logic.

If by seeking the light and only the light, will there be a new balance or some fresh harmony that replaces positives and negatives? If truth reveals itself beyond the disinformation distributed everywhere the eye rests – what happens to all that energy put forth that is purposefully wrong?

Standing in the dark may force us to realize that there has to be something better than groping around blindly.  The world is visible in the light – you can see what you're eating. You can step around the potholes.  

Maybe it's not so important to know the mechanics of Heaven and Earth.  Let's make the best of ignorance and have a little faith.  But if that is too difficult keep your nose to the wind and move onward through the fog.

Snores Of Desire

There was a knock on the glass of the automatic sliding door.  I just locked it because 11pm had arrived and it was time to secure the building.  The man lifted the after-hours phone and spoke into it.  “Let me in, I’m in 222.  I don't have my card key.”  A push of a button opened the door.  Walking in and falling on the chair at the lobby computer he began delving into the web.  I went about my business. 

Five minutes later room 222 was in front of me.  “Hi, I’m Lenny.  Are there no escort services in Sedona?”

"There aren't," I said. 

"What kind of town is this," he blubbered.  Lenny in room 222 headed down the hallway.

"This is a small town, Flagstaff is your best bet," I spoke to his back.

"That's too far away," he shouted from down the hall.  He was horny but not that horny.

A few minutes later Lenny returned with a piece of paper in his hand.  Hovering over the lobby phone he picked up the receiver.  "Can I dial out with this phone," he looked inquisitively at me.

"Only if it is a local call," said I.  Evidently room 222 had found a number to an escort service.

Lenny sat down to dial the number to a rendezvous that would ease his throbbing need.  Listening to the beeps, I could hear the tone of six digits dialed but not the final seventh.  I waited a while longer but still did not hear the tone.  Had 222 reconsidered?  No?  The would-be joy house attendee began snoring.  The bugger had fallen asleep in the middle of dialing the number to the gentleman's retreat.   Lenny hit the hay before he got a chance to hit the sack with a “sporting” lady.  He was snoring with the phone receiver in his ear, the paper with the phone number resting on his lap and his finger touching but not pressing that all important last digit to the phone that belonged to the escort service.

I waited a moment; he was snoring so loud I was sure he would wake himself up.  No, this ole boy was a heavy sleeper.  Lenny’s breath kept buzzing but that last digit would not be beeping.  So Lenny sat there, hibernating for hours.

Two a.m. gonged on the lobby clock, and then the phone rang.  “Hotel,” I spoke softly.

“Hello, I would like to rent a room for an hour.  I have an appointment with Lenny Baird in room 222.”  The woman spoke calmly and with confidence. 

“Rooms are rented by the day not the hour,” said I.

“Well, I’m Lenny’s escort for the night.  You sure I can’t have a room for an hour?”  She was pleading.  Hmm, looks like Lenny made a call from his room.  We may only have reached the midpoint of this sordid tale of Lenny’s lost lust.

“This isn’t a flop house, lady," I responded.  Besides, your appointment is snoring in a lobby chair and he already has a room.”

“I can wake him.”

“Not tonight.” I hung up on the bimbo.

For five hours Lenny kept buzzing with each breath.  Six o'clock rolled around and he was still snoozing with the phone at his ear.  I hoped his dreams were slaking the sexual tension.  Please, may the dreams not be too gratifying.  No bodily fluids soiling the cushion upon which Lenny reposed, thank you.

Finally, people were walking into the lobby for the gratis breakfast.  A little girl walked by the hulk of room 222, still snoring.  She giggled softly and that woke Lenny.  He struggled to his feet, staggering to the corner of the lobby between the sliding door and the entrance to the stairs.

The same little girl squealed, “Daddy, that man is taking his clothes off!”  Every head having breakfast turned to look at Lenny.

Lenny had pulled his t-shirt over his head and was naked from the waist up.  There seemed to be a problem with his workout shorts.  They had fallen off his hips and hung at his knees.  Colorful briefs were the only things keeping those of us in the lobby from knowing Lenny in a biblical way.  More than little girls were squealing now, but Lenny seemed incapable of noticing.  Room 222 caught his shorts and pulled them up to parts north, clutching them with his left fist.  The door to the stairs seemed to beckon him but he reconsidered.  Choosing to stumble across the lobby Lenny banged into furniture and narrowly fell on an elderly woman. 

Everyone stared at Lenny and made way for the slightly comatosed zombie.  He leaned over the counter where the cereal was served, perhaps willing himself back into his body (I hoped).  The eyes were open but I don’t think he could see.  Anyway, he took three steps to the juice dispenser and placed a cup, down-side-up, under the spigot.  I caught him just before he pushed the button to unleash the flow. 

“Partner, I think your cup is in a compromising position.”  I turned it top-side-up.  Lenny dropped his shirt over an omelet on someones plate and touched the button to get his juice.

Room 222 exited the breakfast area and disappeared down the hall with a cup in hand and his shirt cast over his shoulder.  No one checked his progress but in the breakfast area there was a prayer circle organized.  Voices in unison asked the Divine to help Lenny find his room and the rest of his clothing.  I just hoped he wasn’t prostrate on the hall floor with another snooze on.

An Encounter With Mr. Thinker

Early one balmy summer's morning I was driving home from my girlfriend's house.  Nearing my parents abode, the streets were getting very dark.  The neighborhoods in this part of Aldine (a suburb of Houston) have no street lights.   I took a right turn off of Lilja and was making my way down Aldine Mail Route.   There was a brilliant light behind some construction on my left; very unusual.  This light suddenly jumped above the trees.   It was an atypical air craft; I assumed it was military, there were no markings on it.  The lights were fulgent amidst the pitch black backdrop of 2am.  Built on a rectangular platform, a bright white dome was positioned in the middle.  Two gold triangles were drenched in light at either end of the rhombus.   A red blinking light was attached to the top of the dome, like the kind on the wing tips of conventional aircraft.  

There are lots of military in this part of Texas.  Ellington Air Force base and Johnson Space Center are very close.  This seemed to be a military conveyance.

The craft was now directly above the street in front of me and moving slowly to my right.  This is when I figured out it was not military.  The occupant inside the UFO began to "think" at me.  By the demeanor of his thoughts I gathered he wasn't happy that I was witnessing his movements.  Evidently there were mechanical problems that forced him down.  In his thoughts to me was good advice - don't get out of the vehicle and don't come any closer.  I decided to heed both suggestions and stopped my little car in the middle of the road with the engine idling.

Whoever or whatever was operating this vehicle happened to be a cool flier.   Mr. Thinker, the pilot, was moving away from both large airports in the Houston area and below their radar.   Intercontinental was twelve miles northeast of my position and Hobby Airport was a good deal southeast.  I turned right on my parent's cul de sac, behind Mr. Thinker who was heading south southwest just over the tree tops.  I watched the craft pass above the roof of my parents house and I slowly turned into the driveway.   I got out and stood there watching the bright lights in the dark sky slowly gain altitude.

Crude rendering of Mr. Thinker's craft. 

 

The craft passed through the beam of a carbon arc searchlight that was part of a promotion for a newly opened water park five miles away.  Very gradually the blinking light on top of the dome of this aircraft faded away in the distance.

I suppose I should have called the airports and asked if they had seen anything on their radars.  Mr. Thinker was flying so low I knew they would have seen nothing unusual.  I could have called the military bases in the area, but I didn't.  It was just one of those encounters.  I guess I was grateful that whoever was in that machine was not interested in me.  He wanted to be on his way and I stumbled upon his little secret.  Was he from some other part of the universe?  I will never know.  The power of his thoughts made me certain that he wasn't from Texas.  They pressed against my chest as if he were pushing me away with his hand.

Seven Years in Sedona

I have lived seven years in the red rocks of Arizona.  More accurately I (my wife and I) have worked seven years in Sedona.  The hospitality industry is just about the only industry in town, except for real estate.  I have been asked a few times what it's like to live in this area.  My answer always is, "This place is great, if you have money."  Ten dollar an hour jobs in hotels or resorts don't make the nut and food prices can be extreme.  Some items are double in price compared to other parts of the country.

Sedona is a high point in the upper Sonoran Desert.  Pressed against the base of the Mogollon Rim the town is connected to Flagstaff by Oak Creek Canyon.  Strong winds and cold air funnel down the canyon from the San Francisco Peaks.

In Woo-Woo land Sedona is like Mecca.  There are vortexes, sweat lodges, psychics and massage therapists.  A few people still walk down the street in white robes and beads pushed up their derrieres (don't ask). 

Time-share has a large presence in Sedona. There is money to be made and high pressure salesmen to destroy the ambiance of this beautiful burg.  I have it in good stead that Kachina spirits stand over 89A and block all the bad energies billowing from timeshare sales rooms. 

The very wealthy of Sedona live in privilege and seclusion behind gates and the red rocks.  Celebrities such as Sharon Stone and Steven Seagal have homes here.  The Hollywood presence here is always socializing for some important cause.  The last one showing up in the Red Rock News was Jane Seymour mixing promotion for her Camp Soaring Eagle (for children with serious illnesses)with Open Heart Designs at Kay Jewelry.

Above all Sedona is the red rocks.  Some have recognizable shapes like Snoopy rock, Elephant rock, and Cathedral rock.  (There is probably no need to mention the rock shaped like a dildo.)  The topography here inspired Walt Disney to fashion parts of his theme parks as well as segments of his animated features in the image of the red rocks.

The word “Sedona” is not a Spanish term but the name of a woman.  Sedona Schnebly was the wife of the first post master in the region. 

We moved here from Madison, Wisconsin after an illness forced us to seek a warm, dry climate for our daughter.  The big question was what were we going to do after our arrival?  The tentative answer was work for a time-share resort; like everyone else. 

Karin and I both worked as off property concierges (OPC's) which meant we manned booths located throughout Sedona.  Ads stenciled on the booths offered free maps and information.  It was our job to coerce visitors into taking a tour and a sales pitch from a timeshare property.  Personally it was an intense learning situation.  For this job to be profitable a prospective tourist has to be entertained.  Everything must sparkle, especially me.  So it was jokes and information, smiles and rapport.  Most important one has to persist.    

We started in the hospitality industry and unfortunately we are still struggling there.  At least I am.  The hospitality industry can be inhospitable to the people it depends upon for day to day operation.  Management is often coarse and domineering.  Corporations want to make money and they want to pay employees as little as possible in that pursuit. 

Karin lost her job in the great recession of 2008.  She managed to acquire a Pell Grant and went to film school on the government dime while collecting unemployment.  Now great energy is being poured into building a film production company.  We have award winning scripts but no money to produce them.  So we buy lottery tickets and pitch ideas to anyone who will listen.  There has to be money and interest out there somewhere.

I try to stand next to wealthy people in their expensive cars at local music festivals and air shows.  I'm hoping their money will rub off on me.  I haven't seen Nicolas Cage yet.  He lives here and is known to frequent grocery stores in the middle of the night.  Sometime soon I hope to see him while prowling Safeway.  When I do I'm going to give him a pitch and a treatment. 

Until then send us some good thoughts and money vibes if you can spare any.  We're getting old and tired, but miracles happen.