He poured himself a straight shot of Crown and walked out on the patio.  Standing there watching the sun slowly fall in the western sky he wondered just how many more he would have of both.  One was semi under his control while the other was completely out of control, but as to the difference - he was hard pressed to understand.

 

What a surreal place this was he thought as he slowly sipped on the whiskey, watching a bird glide slowly past; a little brown animal with wings against the powder blue sky.

 

Born over a half-century before, he’d seen it all, at least all he’d wanted to by now.  The stereo that had been playing in the background, suddenly made sense to him as Elvis began to sing “Amazing Grace,” singing of “when we been here 10,000 years bright shining as the sun.” He wondered about the “here,” and where exactly it might be, as he pulled the pack of cigarettes from his pocket, thinking of his many bad habits. With well over half his life behind him he’d been thinking lately about giving up some of them, and as always before just shrugged and said out loud but to himself, “some little bug going to get us all someday,” and lit a cigarette.

 

Knowing that some fancy pointy-headed psychologist living in the big city would apply some asinine word to his point of view he laughed, and headed back to the kitchen for another shot. It was in the middle of this journey that he got the feeling that he’d been there before, walking through that same patio door, striding across the living room floor, feeling the same fan brush his collar with cool air, just as he stepped into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator to reach up into the freezer for that same bottle of Crown he’d drank out of so many years ago.

 

He’d had these “feelings” before at various points in his life, but this one felt not quite like those, and for some reason the thought sped through his head that – “he might not be alone.” Belle his red-headed wife of 12 years had told him that morning that she was having a “staff meeting” after work today and would be late, so supper would be up to him, which probably meant a ham sandwich and some chips.  Bottom line: he’d been thinking he was by himself, at least till now.

 

Stopping his hand just before touching the bottle, he withdrew it from the freezer, and stepped backward a little, sliding up into one of the new bar chairs Belle had just bought.  Looking up on the wall he saw where it was only 6, Belle was still at a least an hour away, and wasn’t this whole thing just a “silly” thought?  He, like all of us - didn’t like strange new thoughts about old things interfering with his normal day-to-day living.  It just wasn’t very pleasant, usually.

 

Like they say in books and in the movies, “he felt his presence before he actually saw him.”  He was an old guy, at least 70, sitting on the stool right next to him.  “How’re you doing,” he said, running his words together, and turning his head in my direction giving me a straight frontal shot of his face.

 

But I didn’t recognize him at all, never seen him before.  “Alright I reckon” was my response to him, and I thought – “how strange,” cause normally I’d been looking for my gun by now.  But I guess I knew by then that this was not just some local yokel who’d wandered into my house.  For starters it was hard to do, for we lived in the country, and had no neighbors for miles. 

 

“The world getting to you lately, huh?” His words drifted in the air as if suspended from invisible strings, as I tried to sort out his question, and perhaps more importantly, his presence.  Now I know what all you guys will say, “just another time travel story by ice,” but really guys – this ain’t no story I made up; it really did happen just as I’m telling you.

 

Yeah, Yeah, I was drinking and all, but still, booze don’t really do that to you does it?  You know, dreaming up strangers on stools, who talk to you and all.  I spend a whole lot of time, sitting and drinking, sitting and just thinking about you, if I didn’t spend so much time sitting and drinking, we’d still have the love we once knew.

 

Now I know what you’re thinking but that’s not the case; Pup and me are doing fine, this story pertains to the guy in the story not me.  So don’t start thinking we are having problems, cause we’re not; but the guy in this story, well … he was going through some bad times with his Belle.  Seemed she'd fallen hard for a Yankee from up North, and was leaving on a jet plane, although he wasn’t supposed to know it, you know.

 

The old guy scooted on his stool making a scraping noise and bringing me back to reality, or at least my version of it. “So, what are you going to do after she leaves?” 

 

His question made me think, and as I was thinking, it struck me that I did know this old guy.  His name was Leo, or at least that’s what it was back in the day … when I knew him.  “Leo Doudy,” I said aloud.  “Where have you been fella?”  He just looked at me and smiled as his eyes damn near sparkled.  Finally, he said, “oh, I’ve been around here and there, you know.” 

 

Delaying almost as long as he had, I answered his question about “what are going to do after she leaves.” 

 

“I have no idea,” was my honest answer, and the one I gave him.

 

“Same thing happened to me back in 59, I’d been married for 25 years when all of a sudden, she had to go find herself.”

 

“So what did you do old-timer,” I asked.

 

Accepting my old-timer comment for the compliment it was, he moved the toothpick in his mouth from the left side to the right side, and said, “I could sure use a drink.”

 

Pouring him a shot of Crown, I wiped some imaginary dust off the counter, and looked him in the eye and said, “okay man what’s going on here, I haven’t seen you in 40 years and by all rights you should be 90 or a hundred years old, but here you are looking late sixties, maybe 70?”

 

Laughing he said, “no man, you have me confused with my Uncle Leo, I’m his spitting image but I ain’t him.”

 

“Then, I said, in a measured, but forceful tone, “just what the fuck are you doing out here in the middle of nowhere telling me what’s on my mind?”

 

Well I’m here to tell you, that my statement kinda set him back a little, but just as quickly he bounced back with “hey you called me, I didn’t call you.” 

 

“What do you mean,” I asked, while at the same time noticing that Belle had just pulled up outside.  “Before he could answer I nodded in that direction, and told him I’d be right back. 

 

Walking out to the pickup, I met my wife coming around from the drivers side, and giving her a big hug I said, “glad to see baby,” you’re never going to believe this but I’ve been having a conversation with a man I haven’t seen in over 40 years.”

 

“Oh crap Ice, you’ve been dreaming up another post for the blog, right?”

 

“Yeah, but how’d you know?”

 

“Well let’s see – it’s Thursday and we are both thinking about taking off tomorrow and making this a 4 day weekend, and you’ve been drinking, and let’s see… I could hear your music when I pulled up, hmmm….. pretty obvious to me darling.”

 

“Okay, I said, laughing, let me email it to you and see if you think it’s fit for publication on the blog.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The new residencia

 

Editor – ICE

Staff – “where did everyone go?”

 

Damn! Take a few days off and the entire staff goes to the beach!  I bet my Exec VP – “Six feet of blond hair stacked 33311 stories high in downtown Burns Flat, Oklahoma,”

 

--------led the charge-------

 

I know I know… where the hell have I been and what makes me think I can just shayshoo back into the stream without so much as a “Howdy-Do!”

 

HOWDY-D0!

 

Now that - that’s out of the way….

 

Sorry everyone.  My apologies – I just needed a break from everything – and since I couldn’t turn off the rest of the world, I opted for what I could turn off.  Blogstream.  Which is one of the great things about it…. “you can shut it down.”  Wouldn’t it be nice to be able to turn off the rest of the world that easily?

 

 Blogstream is something I love, and reading the many different stories/authors is a true delight, and writing them takes me away on a  “Magic Carpet Ride” – to a place that often causes me to wish – “to just fucking stay there!”

 

My parents and my son came to visit last week for a week, and although the time was blemished by our screwball neighbors with the pit bull – and the demise of our Air Conditioner, we still managed to have a decent time, even though - to my every lasting consternation and puzzlement, the week was not nearly as relaxed as it usually is. Might have been that “Mitsy,” my Mom and Dad’s little poodle was slowly dieing after 15 years of being a real entity to my parents. Yeah, that could have been it….

 

No, I couldn’t turn off the rest of the world; the broken down air conditioner, my parents long time companion, Mitsy, dieing, my sorry ass neighbors and their sorry ass pit bull, or the crap going on with my job. 

 

But that was last week and this is this week.

 

So tonight I’ve finally arrived to the point where I can turn off the world and “turn on” blogstream…..

 

So with just a little “Crown,” and an assist from “Mr. Corona,” and his partner who will have to be “unidentified” for the moment, I’ve entered into the night of May 19^th, in the year of 2 thousand and warp speed 6. 

 

Wanna come along?

 

WARNING: reading this blog-piece and even halfway following the logic of the author is dangerous to your sanity.

 

Okay… so you’ve been warned.

 

Let’s have a “party of the mind”.

 

The time is exactly 8:48 p.m. as I type this.  Oops! “time”… that elusive thing we all talk and wonder about, has gotten away from me, while I danced with my wife as she informed me that “this” (this night) was the best Friday night in a long, long time.  I agree.

 

Henry Mancini is playing his piano, and the song is “You don’t know me,” and I agree.  But neither do I (know me), so I guess that makes two of us, you know…. Me and you, me being the writer and you being the write-te. 

 

Now the “Eagles” are giving me “The Best of Their Love,” as I begin to drift a little.

 

Ever thought about the fact that “nothing,” and I do mean “nothing,” ever - “lasts“ – in this place (place being this world)?

 

Everything comes to an end – sooner or later.

 

“I can’t stop loving you,” by Mr. Ray Charles….. damn, there will never be a Ray Charles anymore, except for his music, which come to think of it…. was Ray.

 

So what are we?  What are you?  If Ray had his music – what do we have? 

 

It is patently obvious what the celebritys have.  They have their music, their acting skills, their athletic abilities, their political skills, or whatever it is they possess that makes them a celebrity, but alas, for the rest of us..

 

Sure we can tout our children, spouses, grandchildren or out and out successful lives, but just like celebrities, we come up lacking, or so we think.  We never really know.

 

Now where was I?

 

Oh yeah, Ever thought about the fact that “nothing,” and I do mean “nothing,” ever - “lasts“ – in this place (place being this world)?

 

Everything comes to an end – sooner or later.

 

Editor’s note: god I love “copy and paste.”

 

“The End,” is especially disappointing when one is having a good time and all of a sudden – “it’s over.”

 

Like when a great song ….ends, or a fantastic book …ends, hell you could go on forever (no you couldn’t  - for – “remember” everything ends).

 

A little “Barry White,” on the speakers……….

 

As of late I’ve been noticing something about the abrupt ending of a good time – often I am ready for it, ready to move on to the next thing.  Odd…..

 

A really strange thing happened to us (Pup and I) last night. “It blew my mind,” - to re-coin a popular phrase of some 20 years ago, or maybe more. Note: you will have to ask Pup about her reaction.

 

We got a letter (yeah a real one - wrapped in paper with stamp and all) from a friend of ours who told us an incredible story. 

 

She wrote that she was “going away” for a little while and if we was to get to wondering where she might be, we were to “just know” that it was a better place and that she would be fine.

 

But, before she got to that part - (see above) – she spun some words on us that really tore it down, and put it back together, in just one sitting.

 

Seems she has this friend, a young lady of about 32 I think, who she (my friend) has known for just over a year.  Her friend, (let’s call her Susan), came to my friend’s house, one night last week with a small wound on her hand, I say “small wound,” but my friend, (let’s call her Colleen), writes that there was “plenty of blood,” but still…… a nick on the hand “is a small wound.”  Why I spent so much time on that, and why that last sentence went “on and on,” is beyond me, although it might be because I’m listening to Don Mclean’s “American Pie.”

 

Anyway, I digress, so – Susan has been wounded, (the general assumption is that a gun has done the damage) and Colleen had to cope with being “Doctor for a moment,” (my daughter the Doctor) and tend to her stricken friend, all the while eyeing Susan’s “tag along friend,” – Andy, who Colleen also knew, and always thought just a little strange.

 

After the wound was tended to, Susan, according to Colleen told a quite unbelievable story about being able to “move around in time,” or put in its own “unbelievable” phrase – “Being able to Travel in Time.”

 

Colleen assured us that she didn’t (for a minute) believe any of this crap, and was sure she was getting conned somehow. 

 

However, she did agree to try it out, and to her amazement and shock ---- “It worked!”

 

Seems that some machines in the future had communicated with some old black and white television sets in the 50’s, and with the help of these “futuristic machines,” – Susan’s ancestors had built a “Time Machine,” that could actually transport physical things, (like human beings, dogs, sacks of fertilizer, or whatever, back and forth in the “timestream,” and that if we thought “Blogstream” was good, then we really needed to try timestream.

 

At this point (in the letter) – I was wondering - who was getting conned now - … know what I mean?

 

Colleen ended her letter by telling me that perhaps I could write a blog about her adventure, to which, I thought – “I’ve already done that.”  My story “The Neighbor” was generally along those lines, only from a different perspective.  And damn if the characters in my blog, didn’t have the same names as my friend – friend’s name, and her friend’s name, and her friend’s name. Wonder how many of you “followed” that last exchange of words?  I myself got lost a couple of times, and had to retype it both times.

 

But alas! I had two stories now, and both of them were churning through my head like, like, …. Hmmm….

 

I looked at Pup and said, “what do you make of it?” 

 

But she was staring intently at the envelope; you know, that thing that was wrapped around the letter?

 

“What are you looking at,” I asked?

 

She just handed me the envelope, telling me to look at the postmark, which I did…..

 

It was “Postmarked” – May the 13^th…… 1946.

 

Now how did that happen?

 

Hey Bloggers!  Glad to be back after my little vacation, and after I post this I will be swimming in the ol stream for a few days trying to catch up, which is not used on fries entirely, some folks use mayo on their fries)…..

 

Looking forward to reading the “back issues” of your blogs and maybe, maybe……. Catching up!……….

 

ice

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Just a note to let you know that I posted a "Guest Blog" Sunday, May 7th - over at "Needs More Cowbell"....

hoping to see you over there!

ice

tHe nEw rEsIdEnCiA   eDiToR – iCe   dEpUtY eDiToR – pUP   eStAbLiShEd - 833333333   things look a little screwy to you?   Yes!  Without a doubt.   Forget it just get on with it.   A week of my life “zapped” right out from under me.  A week in Huntsville, Alabama for training.   Jesus on a Stick!   You have not “lived” till you’ve been under the mercy of a gov’t bureaucrat assigned the job of assigning training to helpless gov’t bureaucrats like me.   God, I hate that word (bureaucrat), and to have to type it three frigging times – in one paragraph - is a damn disgrace.   Last Sunday morning, April 23, 2006, I headed out to Huntsville via Little Rock so I could pick up a co-victim for the “training” we were to receive.    Come onto me ye with no sense, and soon…you will not be able to make head or tails of anything.   My co-victim’s name?  Charlie.   Charlie likes to ride with me when we go to training for two reasons.   Reason #1 – so I can do most of the driving and get him through the big cities (those over 5000) and no… I didn’t leave out a zero.   Reason #2 – cause he doesn’t like to fly.   I don’t particularly have a problem flying, heck the stats say it’s safer, but it’s easier to drive with all the crap I have to carry with me, i.e., two briefcases, laptop computer, 34 phone books in case I have to call out a contractor – oh yeah the job goes on even when in training – one large suitcase with enough clothes to last a week plus a spare in case I drop my coffee in my lap - at breakfast.   So…. It’s just easier to drive.   Plus… I get to ride with Charlie.   He’s a gas.   Sounds a little like the ol “Charlie Brown” song, ….remember that one?   Charlie thinks I’m “hard of hearing.”   Why?   Cause his false teeth are so loose in his mouth he mumbles when he talks and sometimes I’m forced to ask him what he said, cause … I just can’t understand what he’s attempting to say.  So… when I ask him to repeat what he just said, he (thinking I’m hard of hearing) --- repeats himself by YELLING at me.   Watching us go down the highway like this….. has got to be the funniest thing to the “fly on the wall.”   Sometimes I feel like Ollie to his Stan.   I had psyched myself out to “enjoy” this trip because I was returning to a place I’d lived 30 years ago.  A “Homecoming”… of sorts.   The drive down wasn’t bad except for 10 harrowing minutes as Charlie (who was driving) tried to maneuver us through “Sunday” traffic in Memphis, which, as you might suspect – was fairly light, but, uh, as I watched his tense expression coupled with his  “white knuckles,” I began to look for a place we could pull over.   Finally, I coaxed him in to taking an exit from the freeway and pulling into an empty parking lot, and “letting me drive.”    Ended up driving 530 miles of the 600, and was pretty “ragged” by the time we pulled into Huntsville.   But….. I was still in fairly high spirits.   After all…. It was a “Homecoming”.   We got there at about 6p.m. which equaled 11 hours on the road….   Charlie wanted to check into the motel and then go get something to eat.    Me?   I wasn’t going anywhere once I checked in, except to the shower and from there to the bed.   We stopped at “Subway” and got sandwiches and --- then went to the motel.   Motel….. hmmm.   My first clue had been the fact that the “motel” had a strange name.   “The Tom Bevill Center”….   Now us gov’t types don’t stay at the “real pricey” places, but, we do get to (most of time) stay in some pretty nice places, i.e. “Hilton Hotels” where a “cooked to order” breakfast is “free” every morning, and you have about 8 “dainty” pillows on your bed, with a nice little brochure w/candy also on the bed when you check in.   But this… “The Tom Bevill Center” was no Hilton…. Or Holiday Inn for that matter, closer to a Motel 6 you might say.   The motel is owned by the gov’t in general, and the “Corp of Engineers” specifically.   Now we all know how bad the gov’t is, so to give you an idea how screwed up the Corp is – just multiply by 3 and double it.

I didn’t like the sound of it when I made my reservation, but I had no choice.  When we go to “training” they book the rooms in "blocks" and we have to stay wherever they book us. “Book em DanO”.  Was that the famous line of Hawaii 5 – 0 - ?   Anyway, after checking in, I started “moving in.”   We went back out to the Van and got our suitcases, and all.    Upon opening the door to my room I thought I’d walked into the broom closet by mistake and was wondering to myself why they would lock the broom closet, when I noticed that there were no brooms in the room.   After closer inspection I realized that I was in my room.  The place I would be living in - for 5 nights.   The room was not much bigger than our utility room back home, and without a doubt the smallest motel room I’d been in since the last Motel 6 I’d been in, some 30 years ago.    Yeah, I know, a “Homecoming” of sorts…. Yeah…..   I could tell right off that I was going to have to “unpack” and place everything in a particular spot, in other words I was going to have to act like I was back in the Army again, living in the barracks.    I thought I might have to take my unpacked suitcase out to the van, but finally I found a spot for it  - in the bathtub.  I figured “what the hell,” so I have to move it every time I shower, it could always be worse, right? – and it was, for – for some reason the shower started leaking that night, after I took my shower and re-placed the suitcase in the bathtub, and the next morning I had a wet suitcase.   At this point my spirits had started a slow slide to the bottom of the pit, which was not helped by the fact that the number of stations on the TV. - I could count on one hand, and of course the remote control only worked  - if you stood directly in front of the set, and was no further that 4 inches away from it.   No “Pay for View Movies,” no HBO, Movie Channel, or even TNT.  At first I thought my eyes were deceiving me when I read the dinky list of channels available to me, but I finally accepted what I was seeing as reality.   The next morning we went to the little restaurant in the “motel” for breakfast, but…. we found out two disappointing things.   1.     the restaurant did not open at 6 a.m. as the sign said.  They had changed it to 7:30 am, but had not changed the sign.   2.     The only “breakfast” they served was “Continental Style,” oranges, apples, other assorted fruit and oatmeal.  Hmmm….    So… we decided we’d go look for a place to eat.  The day before when we were coming in, I’d seen a “Denny’s,” and although it was nothing like Denny’s used to be, they did have fried eggs and bacon, and it was within a couple of miles, so we had time to get there, eat breakfast and get back in time for our “first class.”   And….”oh that first class!”   Within 10 minutes most of us knew we were in one of those “gov’t twilight zones,” …. Oh yeah, the dreaded “class that has nothing to do with your job.”   The “instructors” were both “retired” Corp of Engineer employees……   Both of them men, and both – well into their 70’s, one of them hard of hearing and the other one prone to telling “funny (real old) jokes,” to loosen you up before he began reading from his book.    Actually his recitation from the book was funnier than his jokes, since he kept losing his place, and we kept having to show him where he’d been before he lost his way.   That is - those of us who managed to stay awake.   The “air conditioning” was sputtering in our classroom and the temp hovered between 80 and 85 degrees most of the time, which effectively took out about 75 percent of the class, (me included) after about 30 minutes.   Our two instructors took turns at putting us to sleep, and btw, themselves too.  Typically, I would look to the back of the class and see the instructor “not presently instructing” sleeping at the computer table, “presumably “ working on some pressing problem, while his partner droned on and on …   .and on.   Neither one of these 2 dolts smoked, nor ever got thirsty, nor believe it or not ever needed to go to the bathroom because they would drone on and on, for a hour, for a hour and a half, for……    Generally speaking, once they zoned past an hour and a half we would all start to go to the bathroom, and we did this like “women.”  In groups.   At 9 a.m. on Monday morning, our first morning of training, I remember thinking – “I will not make it.”   Btw… one poor guy had flown all the way from Korea to attend the class.  The last time I saw him was Wednesday afternoon – hanging from the 4th story balcony reciting something in Korean, as the Fire Department tried to coax him down.   Now as I write these words I wonder if I did (make it), or am I still in that very warm classroom, still listening to those guys – one reading from the book and the other one snoring….   Teaching us crap that had absolutely noting to do with our jobs.   But… I am not.  Thank the lord!   I’m back home and back at work and although I should be very happy to be away from Huntsville…   I’m not.    For I am a “recovering Homecoming guy”.   Bear with me folks; I should be ok in another day or two.   ice