Friday, November 28, 2008
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
Again & Forever
I will remember our youth.
Laughter and music and you at the door with flowers in your hand.
Sweet beginnings with a stolen Christmas tree
And you & I playing grown-up.
But our lives scattered like a broken string of pearls.
Years and miles and other loves like fun-house mirrors
Turned us down blind alleys and into locked doors.
Then you saw the exit to the maze.
You took a chance.
You took my hand
Guiding me back into your life and into our love.
Today, no longer young, we mean the vows we took so long ago.
We dust off our giggly hopes and place them on the mantle,
Just next to reality.
My fondest hope is to sit with you on the porch at our twilight,
Gnarled hands clasped like the youngsters we once were.
Remembering the paths we walked
And the day those roads convergedAgain & forever.
Laughter and music and you at the door with flowers in your hand.
Sweet beginnings with a stolen Christmas tree
And you & I playing grown-up.
But our lives scattered like a broken string of pearls.
Years and miles and other loves like fun-house mirrors
Turned us down blind alleys and into locked doors.
Then you saw the exit to the maze.
You took a chance.
You took my hand
Guiding me back into your life and into our love.
Today, no longer young, we mean the vows we took so long ago.
We dust off our giggly hopes and place them on the mantle,
Just next to reality.
My fondest hope is to sit with you on the porch at our twilight,
Gnarled hands clasped like the youngsters we once were.
Remembering the paths we walked
And the day those roads convergedAgain & forever.
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
Reesie and the Dream
It was mighty hot in July in Clarksdale, Mississippi – they tell me. Clarksdale is a small town – they tell me. The Sunflower River, the color of chocolate milk, runs through the middle of the town. Across the river are some of the things I like best: the two movie theaters, the candy store, the drive-in ice cream store where they would bring your ice cream cone right out to your car -- a new idea for 1932, they tell me.
On our side of the river were the school buildings and all the houses where people lived. They tell me lots of things in case I ever get lost like my name is Billy and I live at 340 Cherry Street and my phone number is 1218. They tell me all of this because I’m just five years old.
“They” are a lot of people: my mother Ruth, my grandmother Momma Dolly, my grandfather Pops, and my two aunts Dot and Montie. We all live together.
My mother works downtown; Pops is a plumber; and my aunts go to high school. That leaves Momma Dolly and me at home. And Reesie. I could play on the big front porch, but I couldn’t go in the front or side yards because of Reesie. I could play on the small back porch, but I couldn’t go in the back yard because of Reesie. Did I tell you who Reesie was? No, I guess I didn’t.
Reesie is a big, reddish brown rooster that thinks he owns the world. At least he walks like that. When you are three feet tall, a two-foot tall rooster looks pretty big. I’m redheaded, too. Do you think that makes any difference to Reesie? Oh, no. We ain’t brothers because Reesie don’t want any!
Momma Dolly lets Reesie out of the chicken yard the first thing every morning. No dogs, cats, men, women or postmen – nobody comes in the yard when Reesie is out. I had tried to make friends with Reesie. If I tried to feed him, he’d peck me on the hand, and it bled. If I tried to pet him, he’d peck me on the arm and it bled. If I tried to step off the porch, he’d peck me on the leg and it bled.
It wasn’t exactly that he was a bad rooster. He had 12 or 15 wives that seemed to like him well enough. They played tag in the chicken yard all the time.
Reesie loved Momma Dolly and she was the only one who could come out of the house when Reesie was out. Let me sorta give you the lay of the land so you will see how they had me hemmed in.
Out past the front porch was the big ol’ road called Cherry Street. On the side of the house was a big ol’ yard with a great big ol’ pecan tree right in the middle. There were lots of flowerbeds, then another street past the side yard.
In the back of the house were a small back yard and a chicken yard and a garage. Behind that was an alley, then another street with houses on our side, and a cotton field on the other side. Behind the cotton field was a railroad track.
There were all kinds of reasons that kept me out of all these beautiful places to play. In 1932 the cars whizzed up and down the street at 25-30 miles per hour. There were mule-drawn wagons carrying cotton past the house every hour on the way to the gin. They said Cotton was King here, but I never saw him.
Momma Dolly said I couldn’t play in the front yard because it was too close to the street.
I couldn’t play in the back yard because it was too close to the alley. The garbage trucks ran up and down picking up garbage and trash.
I wanted to get out in the big old side yard and run and kick and play and dig. Oh, my. It was too close to the street in the front, the street on the side and the alley in the rear.
Momma Dolly couldn’t chase me when I ran out into the yard. I could run faster than she could. That’s why she let Reesie out of the chicken yard. Reesie was my big-beaked, underpaid, two-legged (with spurs) babysitter.
My days were pretty boring. I couldn’t read, and there was only so much to listen to on the radio. “Stella Dallas,” “Ma Perkins” – good gracious. That wasn’t good stuff for a five-year-old.
Momma Dolly would put Reesie up before Pops got home. He’d be awful tired from working hard all day, but he would always play with me. We would get out in the big side yard, and he would throw the ball to me. I would drop it most of the time, but I would pick it up and throw it back. Dot and Montie would come home and chase me all over the yard, catch me and put me on the ground and tickle me. Mother would get home, hug me and kiss me, then she would go and help cook.
Well, one really hot day in July, it finally happened. Momma Dolly forgot to put Reesie up that night. Pops decided to take the garbage out to the garbage can in the alley before he went to bed. Pops had on only his summer BVDs when he met Reesie halfway down the back walk. Reesie climbed up one of grandfather’s legs and back down the other, flapping his wings and digging in those spurs. The garbage went one way and Pops went the other.
My mother, my aunts and Momma Dolly were all running around the kitchen hollering at the top of their lungs. This scared me to death and I started crying – after all I was only five.
Things calmed down a little bit and they got Pops into the house. There was lots of blood on his legs; his BVDs were torn, and the trap door was hanging halfway loose in the rear. They started treating Pops’ wounds, crying, talking and jabbering all at once. They told me I’d better go to bed, so I did.
The next morning I woke up early. I slipped on my short pants – that’s all I wore. It was July in Mississippi, and I was only five – if you’re following the story.
I went out to the kitchen fully expecting to find breakfast cooking. I fully found nothing. The stove wasn’t even on. Hearing some voices in the back yard, I walked to the back porch and looked through the screen door.
You would never see such a sight like that if you lived to be 10.
There was mother, Momma Dolly, my two aunts, and Pops standing in a circle. Pops was holding old Reesie by the neck and holding him way off the ground.
Pops had a big ax in one hand and Reesie in the other. Everybody was shouting at Pops and Pops was shouting some Welsh words back at them. I started to go back to my bedroom. I’d always been taught that when Pops drank beer, ate Limburger cheese and shouted Welsh words, it was time for me to go to bed.
I went onto the sleeping porch, a bedroom with 10 windows, and peeked out into the back yard just in time to see the ax cut Reesie’s head off.
Reesie got up and walked straight as an arrow out to the side street. He turned around and walked straight back. He looked sort of funny without his head, but it didn’t seem to bother him much. He bumped into the clothesline pole and then ran into the garage and fell down.
He didn’t get up this time.
The next day was Sunday and we had baked rooster for dinner – Reesie for sure. Nobody ate much. I didn’t eat any ‘cause I was too excited. All I wanted to do was get in bed and go to sleep. I was only five, but I knew my dream was about to be answered.
Finally, they (by now you know who “they” are) got through fussing over me. After a double portion of chocolate pie and a glass of milk, I finally go to bed.
There was no way I could go to sleep. All I could see was the big street full of cotton wagons, those garbage trucks in the alley, that big ol’ side yard, and no Reesie to keep me on the front porch. My dream was about to come true.
I could go anywhere in the whole world tomorrow. Maybe I could go over to the next street across the alley. Maybe even over to the railroad track and wave at the trains as they go by.
I’ve got it all figured out.
I won’t get pecked on the legs. I can outrun Momma Dolly. And even if they catch me, what can they do? After all, I’m only five.
On our side of the river were the school buildings and all the houses where people lived. They tell me lots of things in case I ever get lost like my name is Billy and I live at 340 Cherry Street and my phone number is 1218. They tell me all of this because I’m just five years old.
“They” are a lot of people: my mother Ruth, my grandmother Momma Dolly, my grandfather Pops, and my two aunts Dot and Montie. We all live together.
My mother works downtown; Pops is a plumber; and my aunts go to high school. That leaves Momma Dolly and me at home. And Reesie. I could play on the big front porch, but I couldn’t go in the front or side yards because of Reesie. I could play on the small back porch, but I couldn’t go in the back yard because of Reesie. Did I tell you who Reesie was? No, I guess I didn’t.
Reesie is a big, reddish brown rooster that thinks he owns the world. At least he walks like that. When you are three feet tall, a two-foot tall rooster looks pretty big. I’m redheaded, too. Do you think that makes any difference to Reesie? Oh, no. We ain’t brothers because Reesie don’t want any!
Momma Dolly lets Reesie out of the chicken yard the first thing every morning. No dogs, cats, men, women or postmen – nobody comes in the yard when Reesie is out. I had tried to make friends with Reesie. If I tried to feed him, he’d peck me on the hand, and it bled. If I tried to pet him, he’d peck me on the arm and it bled. If I tried to step off the porch, he’d peck me on the leg and it bled.
It wasn’t exactly that he was a bad rooster. He had 12 or 15 wives that seemed to like him well enough. They played tag in the chicken yard all the time.
Reesie loved Momma Dolly and she was the only one who could come out of the house when Reesie was out. Let me sorta give you the lay of the land so you will see how they had me hemmed in.
Out past the front porch was the big ol’ road called Cherry Street. On the side of the house was a big ol’ yard with a great big ol’ pecan tree right in the middle. There were lots of flowerbeds, then another street past the side yard.
In the back of the house were a small back yard and a chicken yard and a garage. Behind that was an alley, then another street with houses on our side, and a cotton field on the other side. Behind the cotton field was a railroad track.
There were all kinds of reasons that kept me out of all these beautiful places to play. In 1932 the cars whizzed up and down the street at 25-30 miles per hour. There were mule-drawn wagons carrying cotton past the house every hour on the way to the gin. They said Cotton was King here, but I never saw him.
Momma Dolly said I couldn’t play in the front yard because it was too close to the street.
I couldn’t play in the back yard because it was too close to the alley. The garbage trucks ran up and down picking up garbage and trash.
I wanted to get out in the big old side yard and run and kick and play and dig. Oh, my. It was too close to the street in the front, the street on the side and the alley in the rear.
Momma Dolly couldn’t chase me when I ran out into the yard. I could run faster than she could. That’s why she let Reesie out of the chicken yard. Reesie was my big-beaked, underpaid, two-legged (with spurs) babysitter.
My days were pretty boring. I couldn’t read, and there was only so much to listen to on the radio. “Stella Dallas,” “Ma Perkins” – good gracious. That wasn’t good stuff for a five-year-old.
Momma Dolly would put Reesie up before Pops got home. He’d be awful tired from working hard all day, but he would always play with me. We would get out in the big side yard, and he would throw the ball to me. I would drop it most of the time, but I would pick it up and throw it back. Dot and Montie would come home and chase me all over the yard, catch me and put me on the ground and tickle me. Mother would get home, hug me and kiss me, then she would go and help cook.
Well, one really hot day in July, it finally happened. Momma Dolly forgot to put Reesie up that night. Pops decided to take the garbage out to the garbage can in the alley before he went to bed. Pops had on only his summer BVDs when he met Reesie halfway down the back walk. Reesie climbed up one of grandfather’s legs and back down the other, flapping his wings and digging in those spurs. The garbage went one way and Pops went the other.
My mother, my aunts and Momma Dolly were all running around the kitchen hollering at the top of their lungs. This scared me to death and I started crying – after all I was only five.
Things calmed down a little bit and they got Pops into the house. There was lots of blood on his legs; his BVDs were torn, and the trap door was hanging halfway loose in the rear. They started treating Pops’ wounds, crying, talking and jabbering all at once. They told me I’d better go to bed, so I did.
The next morning I woke up early. I slipped on my short pants – that’s all I wore. It was July in Mississippi, and I was only five – if you’re following the story.
I went out to the kitchen fully expecting to find breakfast cooking. I fully found nothing. The stove wasn’t even on. Hearing some voices in the back yard, I walked to the back porch and looked through the screen door.
You would never see such a sight like that if you lived to be 10.
There was mother, Momma Dolly, my two aunts, and Pops standing in a circle. Pops was holding old Reesie by the neck and holding him way off the ground.
Pops had a big ax in one hand and Reesie in the other. Everybody was shouting at Pops and Pops was shouting some Welsh words back at them. I started to go back to my bedroom. I’d always been taught that when Pops drank beer, ate Limburger cheese and shouted Welsh words, it was time for me to go to bed.
I went onto the sleeping porch, a bedroom with 10 windows, and peeked out into the back yard just in time to see the ax cut Reesie’s head off.
Reesie got up and walked straight as an arrow out to the side street. He turned around and walked straight back. He looked sort of funny without his head, but it didn’t seem to bother him much. He bumped into the clothesline pole and then ran into the garage and fell down.
He didn’t get up this time.
The next day was Sunday and we had baked rooster for dinner – Reesie for sure. Nobody ate much. I didn’t eat any ‘cause I was too excited. All I wanted to do was get in bed and go to sleep. I was only five, but I knew my dream was about to be answered.
Finally, they (by now you know who “they” are) got through fussing over me. After a double portion of chocolate pie and a glass of milk, I finally go to bed.
There was no way I could go to sleep. All I could see was the big street full of cotton wagons, those garbage trucks in the alley, that big ol’ side yard, and no Reesie to keep me on the front porch. My dream was about to come true.
I could go anywhere in the whole world tomorrow. Maybe I could go over to the next street across the alley. Maybe even over to the railroad track and wave at the trains as they go by.
I’ve got it all figured out.
I won’t get pecked on the legs. I can outrun Momma Dolly. And even if they catch me, what can they do? After all, I’m only five.
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