Well hello there…. my it’s been a long, long time

How I’m doing ...oh well I guess I’m doing fine

It’s been so long now… and it seems that it was only yesterday

Ain’t it funny how time slips away ….

 

April 5th, 2079

 

That song was playing when I read your communiqué, and you know how much I love the song, it’s been ”playing in my head”…. all day - since I heard it early this morning.  I remember thinking - when it was playing on my razoreo, “that nobody could sing that song the way Elvis did", and even though he’s been dead for nearly a century…  his music just keeps going on - and on, which is what I want to do.

 

That you’ve chosen to go another way is impossible for me to  absorb, for I’ve always thought that when it came right down to it, you’d take the “heart renewal” and come with me.  What an opportunity!  Why could you not see this, as I? 

 

Today as I stand poised for my greatest adventure, I do so without the one person I so wanted to come with me.  Do not insult me by telling me “the rest of the family is okay with this”; they are all devastated by your decision.  It is “you” – who's the only one “okay” with this decision, which is no different from our life together, so how can I be surprised?

After all, you always put yourself first, didn’t you?

 

Excuse the bitterness my sweet, but it is the sweet truth isn’t it?  And I can just see you now, getting ready to say that thing you always said, “I’ll make it mine, it’ll just take time”.  You always thought you were due an answer, even though there might not be one.  Yeah, I can see you making this decision, I guess I could all along, but I just wanted to “fool myself” for my own benefit.  You’ve given up on finding the answer and convinced yourself that by - “giving up looking for the answer” – then ”the answer” will be provided to you, as it should be.  What a crooked line of logic my love; it goes nowhere and you have to give up tomorrow to get it.  My eyes cry for you.

 

But, it’s not for me to bide you farewell, as you step off into eternity, on a sour note, …and you know this. So you won’t be surprised to hear me tell you one more time, “that nobody.. nobody - ever did it like you”.

 

Love, Pr

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THE NEW RESIDENCIA…   war is hell and all those who have had to endure it - try to concentrate on the good times – so they can forget that war is hell.   Someone once told me that Vietnam “would make a man out of me”.  Well I doubt if it did that to me, kinda thought I’d already attained that plateau, but I’ll tell you what it did do; it scared the shit out of me.   NAM…….. Continued from 26th of February, 2006   My thoughts as we fly high over the treetops, are as jumbled as the air that swirls around me; the sky is loaded with blackish clouds, churning along side us on missions of their own it seems, and within the darkening of an approaching storm,  random flashes of lightning - illuminate unseen crevices in this - my unchosen world.    Sometimes it seems as if I’ve been here forever, and that I’ll never leave.  Sometimes it doesn’t pay to think too much about it, but that is not the case today, for an eerie, yet familiar feeling has weighed in, and I sense that the others feel it too.   We are supposed to be enroute to Song Mao, and knowing that Squeaky will have to veer off course to look for the laundry truck carrying Cat, I wonder if the Sgt Major will notice, and if he does, will he cause trouble.   “Tyler” - Squeakys voice invades my helmet, interrupting my thoughts – “it’s a ¾ without canvas right”? He’s asking about the truck Cat is in; a three quarter ton utility truck, commonly referred to as a ‘three quarter”, with separate racks over the cab and the bed, that usually had canvas covers drawn over them, but in this case, only the cab is equipped with the cover; the bed is not covered and only has the metal, skeleton racks, which would leave anyone riding in the back exposed, and easily seen from above.     “Yeah”, I answer back, and feel the chopper start to descend in altitude, as I scan the terrain below looking for the road.    We are cruising at about a hundred knots (120 mph) I’m guessing, and as we descend I feel the chopper increasing its speed.    Squeaky loves flying low, but it tends to make most pilots and crew a little nervous because the Huey is so vulnerable to small arms fire, which is one reason to fly faster when at a lower altitude.    I’m surprised that the Sgt. Major has not said anything yet, but it may be because he is unaware of what is going on, which is hard to believe; what is more likely is that he’s reluctant to jump to conclusions, after the last conflict with Squeaky.      Although “technically”, Squeaky, a Warrant Officer, outranks the CSM, (Command Sgt. Major), for “officers” are always higher in the military pecking order than enlisted, it’s a “gray line” of authority that is concentrated mainly to the area of the Warrant Officer’s specialty, i.e. flying a helicopter.   On the other hand a CSM is at the “highest rank” an enlisted man can go, (except for Sgt Major of the Army), has a vast span of experience, and generally works directly for “bird rank officers” (Colonels), and higher, which in a sublime way adds to the enormous respect they already get from officers, and enlisted men alike.   So… on the ground a Warrant Officer, especially a young Helicopter Pilot, was usually no match for the more seasoned CSM, even if he technically outranked him; however, when it came to issues associated with flying the helicopter - that distinction was reversed.   That these thoughts are in my head because I am anticipating trouble from the Sgt Major is a given; but I could only hope that he would choose to not make an issue out of the “flyover” we were planning on giving Cat.   A “flyover” was one of the words Squeaky and other pilots, used for any maneuver performed with the chopper that “stretched the envelope” a little, like flying low and fast over a boat in the water, or a vehicle on land.    “Flying low and fast” over a laundry truck carrying a buddy was a definite “no-no”, and if discovered by proper authorities could result in discipline action against the guilty party, although it was generally “winked” at in most cases.

Briefly I thought of saying something to Squeaky about forgetting Cat, and going on; especially since it had been on my suggestion that he’d decided to do it anyway.    That he was also compromised by the fact that he was flying without a door gunner, (I didn’t count), might have been enough for him to abandon the plan.   But, I didn’t say anything.   As we continued to lose altitude and pick up speed, I was wondering if Squeaky was ever going to find the road.   To call it a “road” was actually a stretch of some sorts, more like a  “two-lane dirt trail” than anything, with soft shoulders that had tipped more than one vehicle into the ditch on past occasions. That is, when a ditch was there, for more often than not there were “water laden rice paddies”, that went right up to the edge of the road, obliterating the ditch completely.   Indeed, the biggest danger on the road to Cam Rahn was running off the road and sliding into a ditch or worse, a rice paddy.    As for running into the “enemy”, although it was always possible, and had happened on occasion in the past, those types of incidents usually did not occur on this road, there was just too much firepower concentrated in Phan Rang and Cam Rahn, and of course we owned the air space.   The most dangerous section of the drive was about 20 miles outside of Cam Rahn; called the “coconut grove”, it was a small cluster of coconut trees on both sides of the road, where once in awhile snipers camouflaged in the trees, would get off a shot or two at passing vehicles.   Finally the road appeared below me, and I could see a few trucks below, although we were still a little too high for me to pick out Cat’s.  Speaking into my mike, I said, “lower”.   This time the bottom fell away from us as Squeaky took us down quickly, almost in a dive, and as the adrenaline kicked in, I quickly leaned out of the gunner’s compartment, and looked around into the passenger section at the Sgt Major and the Chaplain; they were staring straight ahead and not moving.   Dropping back into my seat, I was tempted to say something to Squeaky about the Sgt Major’s strange silence, but decided to let it go, figuring that the smart thing to do would be to heed the old adage, “let sleeping dogs lie”.   As we came in low over the road, I couldn’t help but notice the beauty of the lush, green rice paddies, with the farmers out in them, working them, and probably fishing for frogs.  A few of them when hearing the chopper looked up, but most paid little attention to us, so accustomed they were to the unique noise of an American Helicopter.   This section of the road was empty, and getting my bearings a little, I realized that the “coconut grove” was not far from where we were, and wondering if we were ahead of them, I thought of asking Squeaky to double back.    “Hey butt-head, is that them up there”?   Squeaky’s question had come at the same time I’d seen the truck.  It was stopped in the middle of the road, and worse, it was in the middle of the coconut trees.  Not a good place to stop at all, and under normal circumstances nobody would stop there.   I couldn’t tell if it was Cat’s truck or not, but one thing for sure was that it was in trouble.  I could see a couple of guys underneath the vehicle, with M-16’s, and as we roared over them I saw them both firing toward the trees on the left side of the road.    “Shit”, I heard Squeaky say, then from Roberts the Co-Pilot; “Damn, they’re shooting at someone”!   Leaning as far out as my harness would allow I tried to see what they were shooting at, but couldn’t see anything.  Looking back at the truck I could see that both sections of the windshield was shot out, and both doors were wide open.  “Fuck” - I yelled, while at the same time, Squeaky, Roberts and the Sgt Major were all yelling at the same time, and I couldn’t understand anyone.   “Shut-Up! Shut-Up! Shut the fuck up”! --- it was Squeaky trying to restore some calm, and I realized that I’d been yelling “fuck” over and over, and when I stopped, I could hear Sgt Major Billings voice, telling Squeaky to “get out of here, now”.   “Shut-Up Sgt Major”, Squeaky yelled, and then; “Tyler I saw where the son of a bitch is, let me roll this mother fucker around a bit, - suddenly the chopper tilted hard to the left causing me to feel something akin to no gravity, as I felt like I was riding along side the chopper instead of in it - and picking up Squeaky’s voice I heard him say, “we’re going back, lower this time, you’ll be able to fire level into the trees, get that fucking gun ready to go”.   All I could think of was, 17 frigging days left in Nam…..

 

April 5^th, 2079

 

 

My dearest friend,

 

Received your communiqué this a.m., and words cannot describe the pleasure it gave me.  To know that you are doing well and are at your departure time, posed to continue your quest, is heartwarming to say the least.  As for me, you are correct in assuming that I’ve decided to forego the “heart renewal”, which actually was an easy decision.  For, another 40 years of this life is not something I desire.  Next month, as you know, I will celebrate 98 years on this planet and as far as I am concerned, that will be enough, or said another way, “that will be all I can stand”.

 

The rest of the family has accepted this decision, and from granddaughter, just last night, came these words, “and from this valley that you’re leaving, we shall miss your bright eyes, and sweet smile, for you’re taking with you part of the sunshine that has brightened our pathway for so long”.  Those are sweet sentiments, and of course, I recognized the paraphrasing of that old song, as you will, and to continue it,  “I do not hasten my adios, but will wait for it with the patience one acquires with my kind of age”.

 

When I was a young man, and age did not cause gravity to hold me still for long periods, I always sought to learn the truth about this life, with, as you well know, no success.  It is now my belief that we shall never learn the truth we all speak of, as long as we walk this planet, for it is not meant to be.  By making this statement I in no way intend to take away from your far different approach, for I wish you only the best, and hope that you will find what we’ve both searched for, all these years.  In any event you will also not be walking this planet, so success based on my belief may indeed be reachable, yes?

 

However, the question my belief has taken me to is  – “what lies over yonder hill”?  That query lies dormant each night in my dreams, and when I awake, I know only another day without the answer; an answer that I believe has caused me to choose this direction. 

 

For I realized many years ago that this life is my journey, and that its conclusion will bring me to the place that I’ve spent a lifetime searching for.  I must admit that it is intriguing that we are pursuing the same thing in two very different ways, but then again, as previously stated, it is not unusual for us to travel different paths.  I remember when we were children how differently we sometimes sought the same things, and later in life when we still pursued life differently, although it sparked some terrific debate, it never affected our friendship, and for that I am most proud.    

 

However, you should know that my decision is not one that was made lightly, or without thoughtful introspection; for it has been simmering inside me for years, like a phantom ache underneath the breastbone, that one doesn’t notice all the time, but that - like the sun, will always rise again.  You should also know that it brings with it, a certain amount of peace; a peace that I believe is to prepare me for the next journey - not all that different from the one you are about to embark on.  As a side note I hope you appreciate the significance of this communiqué being written in English?  It’s been so long since I wrote anything in English, that I felt this, possibly my last communiqué with you should be in the language we both started with, yes?

 

In a way I envy your journey, for it will take you far away from this place we’ve been for so long, to places we’ve only dreamed about, and which under different circumstances I’m sure I would appreciate. The fact that my past decisions have precluded such an option for me, sits well with me and I have no regrets, except that I will not be with you as you continue your search. 

 

I’ve read that your journey will take nearly five years, but upon reaching it, and after your two years there, that technology will enable you to return in half the time.  So.. in all you will be gone for just under ten years.  That is good, for I’m sure the family will miss you terribly while you’re gone, as will I. 

 

Lastly, I do plan on seeing you again, someday, somewhere, so for now it’s not good-by, but “until we meet again”. 

 

Good-by old friend, wife, and mother of my children, … I send you off with all my love.

 

L.

THE NEW RESIDENCIA   ESTABLISHED – 11 minutes ago Editor – Ice Dep Editor – PuP Vice Pres – Daze Exec VP – Six Exec VP Circulation- Earl Snerdly Political Hack – I.C. Mann Ace Reporter – Johnnie Scoop Reporter – Scratchomo Janitor – Icky Chain-e Asst. Janitor – Orge W. Brush Jr.   THE WEEKEND   “Drop it motherfucker”.   When I heard those words and that voice, from somewhere just over my right shoulder, and from another time and place, it was the first time I’d heard him in almost 30 years.    The voice is strong, and authoritative as hell, while still being level and calm.   I've recognized it "instantly".    It’s “Cat”.   And, as he walks in front of me, never lowering his shotgun from it’s bead on Buck, he looks at me and flashes those still white teeth, while saying, “What in the fuck are you doing”?     “Tripping on your fucking ass.. 'brother' where in “hell” did you come from"?   Before he could answer we were interrupted by the shrill sound of a siren.  A siren like - might be hooked up to a child’s tricycle, the kind that would get louder the faster it was pedaled.    Around the edge of Susie’s trailer he came, careening in a long weaving arc; the little naked man from the office, riding a beat up looking 3-wheeler that sounded as if the muffler might be missing.    Someone had mounted a little red light on the handlebar, and it was swirling in a computer generated warp speed of some kind.   Cat cut his eyes that way - for a second, and then back to Buck and said; “What is that”?   I watched as the little man straightened out a little and roared our way, thinking I might have to jump if he kept coming that fast.  But he eased up on the gas a little, and came to a rather dusty stop about 10 yards in front of us.   “Barney Fife in the Nude” I said to Cat in answer to his question.   Just then I saw Diane and John approaching,  making me remember at the same time about  Susie.   She was sitting on the ground where she had landed, rubbing her leg but otherwise looked ok.   Diane had my towel, so I met her and grabbing the towel, I wrapped it around my middle and walked back to Cat as Diane pestered me with questions about what was going on.   The little naked guy was getting off the 3-wheeler and “god” I wished that he had - had clothes on… just so I could of watched him – “hitch up his pants”.   As it was I got a good view of his scrawny ass with a little bit of toilet paper stuck between the crack of his ass…. Gawd!    He was carrying a “billy-club” about a foot long, and in the process of puffing out his chest as he walked toward Cat.   I was watching John and Susie.    Watching them “saunder off around the corner of their trailer, vanishing from sight, as a crowd of naked folks “rolled in” from the other direction.  I guess her leg was fine, she didn’t seem to be limping or nothing.   Then I seen “real” red lights, and blue for that matter, as a Sheriff’s car pulled up, both deputies, the “man” and the “woman”, getting their eyes full of the joggling breasts, asses, and dicks.   As they pulled up, the little naked guy turned to look at them and tripped over something - falling head first to the ground, with a loud “thump”.    Walking by him, I looked down and saw a little blood over his left eye, and a large rock - right near his head.   “Shit – the little fucker had knocked himself out”, I thought.   I went over to where Cat was and stood behind him about a foot, and said, “never expected to see you in a nudist camp”.    “Fucking kids back at the convenience store told me this was a free trailer park, told me to just drive in and make myself at home”.   “What did you think of all the naked people you passed coming in,” I asked.   “Thought they were making themselves at home”, he said, flashing his grin, as we both laughed.   And laughed.   Till the Deputies walked up, guns drawn, telling us to back up, and for Cat to drop the shotgun; Buck had long ago dropped his gun.   I must say, even if they were young, they seemed very professional; she kept her gun on Cat and me, while the other Deputy kept his on Buck.   “Ok everybody”, she said, “let’s put our little hansie’s up against that trailer, pointing toward Susie’s trailer.   As Cat and I turned toward Susie’s trailer I whispered to him; “you do know what - up against the wall red neck mother - means, don’t you”?   He just grimaced a little and said, “been there, done that”….. and I thought to myself - “27 years since I’ve seen this guy, geez….”

Important Note:   “Nam” will be continued in the next issue.   ..ice

 

 

 

SPECIAL EDITION OF THE NEW RESIDENCIA   Editor - ice           Music….. sweet music flowing over me as I sit here thinking.  Thinking about things going on in the world, in this country, on the ol stream, and in my life.    How did I get to this juncture?  Of late I’ve been imagining myself at a theatre, with a large screen in front of me, just like the movies, eh?  But the movie playing here is – “The Life and Times of Me”.   In one corner (of the screen) perhaps the upper left quadrant, I can see myself in Vietnam, in an Army helicopter; I’m looking outside at the sky, as the chopper moves through air full of black rain clouds; there’s flashes of lightning in the distance, and I’m sitting in the door gunner’s seat, while Squeaky is up front in the pilot’s seat, and through our intercom system - “Born to be Wild” is blasting away, while my thoughts are a strange mixture of “runaway youth - facing eternity”.   When I’m not watching my own private screening of Ice in motion, I’m worried about this country and where we’re really headed.  Forget all the political bull-shit talk going on, (back and forth and back again), because the real reason that we (the good ol USA) seems adrift, is that “nobody” knows which levers to pull, or what buttons to push, and we just continue to stumble through the world, always stubbing our toe, because we’re always sticking our nose in somebody else’s business.    Kinda sorta like the problems on blogstream, which involves someone sticking his/her nose where it doesn’t belong, and then being offended by the deserving smack it receives.    Without getting personal, it amazes me that there is always someone around who thinks someone else is getting a little too much “unwarranted” attention, and therefore needs to be brought down a notch or two.  What “gall” to imagine oneself better than someone else, or for any person to “think” that they might be privy to a more perceptive observation than everyone else.    Please! Spare me your rescue attempts; I’m fine as I am, doing what I want, even if it involves reading Colo’s blog and drinking green kool-aid… if I want.

In another corner, the bottom right quadrant, I see myself walking through a crowd of pre-school kids, in our living room in Nuremberg Germany, with a camera in one hand and cigarette in the other as I try to keep from stepping on a kid. I’m dressed in my favorite attire, back then; black t-shirt, and tight black jeans. It’s my oldest son’s 4th birthday party, and for every kid that I’m dodging on the floor, there is a set of parents somewhere on the premises that someone should be watching.       I see Carrie sitting on the side of the couch, eyes dancing, looking, and smiling, with a drink in one hand and a cigarette in the other. Next to her is Danny and he’s wearing the sailor cap that I keep on my dresser, the one that was given to me when I was in Nam. I can tell he’s on his way to being in la-la land later on in the day, and I know I’ll join him there, along with many of the others. The year is 1974, and we are all in our “terrible twenties”, and we are for the most part being terrible.   In the upper right corner of the screen I see a black Harley, roaring down a lonesome highway, with an even lonelier man guiding it through an uncharted journey, and I know it’s me searching …  “searching for answers”…. just like always.   The bottom left quadrant is by far the most interesting, for it’s blank.  Nothing is showing in its little corner of my world, my life. That is - until after staring at it for the longest time, I start to see a picture; it’s a picture of an unfinished painting.   The scene is of mountainous country side, and there is a lone figure trekking up a long curving highway that seems to go right past clouds and high up into space - among bright stars in a suddenly dark night.           What is it with the mental picture, this theatre, the quadrants?  It’s not a dream to interpret because I’m awake when viewing all this, unless life itself, perhaps, is a dream?   I wonder if this is my “life in review”, but I know it’s not, for there are too many missing chapters.  So… the reason will remain a mystery, and the painting will for now, remain unfinished.   Ah, sweet “Santana”, taking me back to that “outdoor” concert in Germany, when we could of left our “booze and hash” at home because of the “over-abundance” of both, at the concert.   Santana was scheduled to start at sundown, but the “party” started several hours before, as the “warm up” band took us on an incredible trip thorough rock and roll history, and I’m sure I saw Santana himself, dressed all in black, sitting at the end of our row, as he patiently waited for the hash pipe to make it’s way down to him.   Never had I heard music so pure as that night, nor since, much to my dismay, but then again it could have been the drugs, or perhaps another dream, but I like to think it was “youth” riding a monstrous wave, and not giving a fuck.     ice