Walking Home after Dark 20140710

            *            *            *            * Taming Uncle Beast

            What happens next strikes me as odd, considering the tension in the little vestry room.  Harmon drags Betty Sue out onto the "stage" and we all parade out after him right past pastor Wrs who is still soothing his flock.  We take our seats.  Harmon leads Betty Sue to the pew we're sitting, guides her in by the hand and she sits down between Jake and me.  Trey is on my other side.  Betty Sue take my hand and Jake's hand.  Her hand seems suprisingly small, like a child's, and cold in spite of the heat of the day. My legs are sticking to the pew with sweat.  I don't rememeber ever noticing that Betty Sue has tiny hands before.  I look down at her feet and they are tiny, in little fancy sandals that look as if they are silver and tourquoise.  I hadn't noticed them before. Her nose is tiny, too.  I feel like an elephant sitting next to her, and I am not a huge person.

            Pastor Wrs continues saying calming words to the restless congregation, and Harmon walks up and stands beside him.  He is beaming.  (I am not writing this as it happens, because I am holding Betty Sue's hand between both of mine, but I continue, later, to write in the first person present, because that is how I started this chapter, which was a continuation of the previous FPP chapters.)

            Harmon takes over, says a few more soothing words, and gently leads the topic of conversation back to God in Iraq.  I follow him at first, because I really want to hear what he has to say, but I keep thinking about Betty Sue, Shannon and the severed hand.  If you find a severed hand, what do you do with it?  I want to ask Betty Sue but I'm afraid to whisper to her, since we're in the front pew, so it will have to wait.  I want to as her about her sandals, too.

            The next thing I know, we're leaving the church and Harmon has his arm around Betty Sue as we emerge into the brilliant sunshine.  I know he, Jake and Trey are looking for Shannon, and I am looking too, but we don't see him.

            We walk down past the campground to Dfg, the restaunant Harmon had promised to take us to after the sermon, and he does as he promised and buys as all, including Betty Sue, a huge brunch. Obviously, he must have gotten paid.  Did he tell them about being defrocked?  In the light of the morning's events, I don't want to ask that. 

            The food at Dfg is really good, just as Harmon said it would be, fresh and cooked just right, and with more food than anyone could eat, eggs, grits, home fries, bacon, ham, steak, toast, juice coffee.  They bring us some little fancy omelets and biscuits with gravy.  Waffles with berries.  Every waitress arrives at our table with a new treat.  After a few minutes, I push my plate away and so does Betty Sue, but Harmon, Jake and Trey keep shoveling it in.  Trey stops next, and then Jake, but Harmon is like an eating machine. 

            The waitresses seem to love him. They all gather around and watch.  At one point, when he is wolfing down a huge piece of apple pie with icecream and chocolate sauce, they all start clapping and cheering.  When he takes the last bite, he stands up and bows very low and everyone laughs.

            But when we get back to the dock on the river where we'd left the raft tied up, it's gone.  Amigo is gone with it, as Jake had left him in the tent, as he often does when we leave the raft and can'tt ake him.  He does that becuase he doesn't want kids throwing rocks at him or taunting him. 

            The harbormaster, a wizened old black guy named Rodney Jones, tells us some huge redhead came by in a jacked up pick-up truck and cut the raft loose and peeled out in a shower of stones before he could stop him.  He apologizes profusely, bowing his head.

            Harmon hires Rodney Jones to take us down river in pursuit of the raft, and Rodney ("call me Rod") leaves his harbormaster desk and takes us in a small mororboat.  We fill it to point where it looks as if water will come over the gunnels, but Rod doesn't complain or seem worried.  I worry instead about his responsibilties and his job, but no else seems concerned.

            Luckily, we haven't gone too far when we spot the raft hung up on a fallen tree.  After we all clambor aboard through a mess of branches, Harmon gives the old man a big tip and he motors back toward his post.

            I was worried that Shannon would have slashed the new tent but I guess he was so eager to get going that he didn't take the time for that.  ((Last night, I saw my first fireflies and now I am hearing my furst cicadas!!)  I let Aigo out and he slobbers all over my face and lifts his leg on one of the branches in the schmaz over the the water.

            The tent is caught in a cage of branches from a fallen tree.  A couple of broken branches are pressed against the tent and again, I worry that the new tent will be ripped.  It is my job to hold back the branches around the tent as Jake, Harmon and Trey pole the raft upstream against a strong pocket of current. Betty Sue tries to help, but at first, she's mostly getting in the way.  Even with all three of the guys poling, it doesn't look like we're going to free ourselves.  The raft twirls inside the branches and heads back toward the the broken snags. 

            I shout that we're going to lose the tent.  Betty Sue is screaming something, and Jake is yelling orders.  I don't think I'm strong enough to deflect the branches at the speed we're going, so I quickly deflate one side of the tent instead, by unhooking the main curved poles at the ends. As I am doing my side, Betty Sue miraculously comes to her senses and follows suit with her side and the tent goes down just as the largest of the broken branches bears down on where the tent had been moments earlier.  Betty Sue and I hit the deck and roll to the side.  

            We sit up to find ourselves apparently wedged even more deeply into the tangle of branches.  I'm thinking that if we had loppers, we could maybe clear enough to go under the tree, but just then, with a great wrenching and grinding sound, we spin free and head downriver. 

            A huge blast on an airhorn almost knocks me down and just about busts my eardrums. I look up to see that we're headed into the path of one of the biggest boats I've ever seen on the river.  More mad shouting, poling and paddling and we spin by the boat on their port side.  Someone is yelling profanities at us, but I'm so relieved to still be alive I don't care  (Sometimes, people yelling profanities really upsets me).

            I start laughing.  Then I stop and look around to make sure we're safe, and, seeing clear water ahead, start laughing again.  I am thinking of all the time we'd been peacefully drifting down the river, when so little had happened as to be almost boring and then, to have so much excitement in so little time seems weird and somehow hysterically funny.  Everyone stares at me, and then, one by one, they all start laughing too.

            And then Betty Sue starts crying.  Her hysterical laughter morphs into hysterical tears.  She is saying something, but I can't make it out.  Finally, I hear her say, "It's all my fault.  If it wasn't for me, none of this would have happened!"

            And I say, "Is it your fault that Shannon tried to kill you?"

            "Well, no, maybe . . .  I mean, if I'd never hooked up with him.  He used to be so nice to me.  And being with him was interesting and exciting.  But Tiny," she says, sobbing loudly, "He's probably going to come after me, and maybe after all of us.  I think he's gone crazy."

            "It's the drugs," Harmon says, quietly, in his deep voice.  "They do make people forget who they really are and what they really want in life.  They can't remember what's truly important."

            "I was doing drugs, too," Betty Sue says, hanging her head.  "But I don't think I entirely forgot who I was.  Maybe a little though," she said, looking sheepishly at me.  "Sorry I stole your hideout, Tiny," She added, after a slight pause. 

            She looks so sad that I went over and gave her quick hug. 

            We settle into business of drifting downstream, staying as close to the bank and trees to our starboard side as we can to allow boats to pass.  We have baloney sandwiches for lunch and take turns taking naps.  I catch up on writing down what happened earlier on the mini Ipad.

            I am just wondering where Betty Sue is going to sleep when Jake brings it up.  "This was supposed to be a solo raftig trip," he says, in his cranky voice, "and now we have five people.  That's ridiculous.  And no bedding for Betty Sue.  Pretty soon, we'll have to build an addition on the raft.  I was supposed to be meditating and considering my life, which is hard to do with a hoarde of people.  Y'all should build your own raft and let me continue on alone.  But I suppose we should stop in the next village and either ship Betty Sue home or get her a sleeping bag." 

            Betty Sue and Harmon are in the tent napping.  I was listening carefully for any sounds that might indicate that they weren't actually napping, but I'd heard nothing until Jake made his grumpy announcement.

            "I'm not going home," Betty Sue said, popping her head out the front door of the tent.  "I want to stay with you guys.  I'm afarid of Shannon, he might try to kill me if I go home."

            So a little while later, we put into port and Betty Sue and Harmon walk up to the general store   Trey and I follow along behind them, while Trey digs around in his shorts and comes up with enough money for an icecream which he buys t and presents to me.  I take a lick and give it back to him and he grins, licks and hands it back.  We sit on a stone wall in front of the Harristown General store and put that cone away in record time.  Trey smiles at me funny and it makes  my insides feel weird.  But he doesn't say anything, which makes me happy and relieved. 

            Jake and Amigo stayed with the raft, to discourage kids, Shannon and anyone else from causing a problem.  I feel a little guilty coming back all full of icecream with none for him. 

            Harmon and Betty Sue come back with a new sleeping bag for Betty Sue and ham and cheese, both tied up in string.  Apparently, homemade ham, cheese and sausages are a specialty of the Harristown General Store.  They also have a big greasy brown bag of homeade crackers, so once we head downriver again, we sit around eating chunks of ham and cheese on the homemade crackers.  They are thee best I have ever had, all of them, the ham, the cheese and the crackers.  The cheese is shrp and soft, the ham sweet and spicy, but not too spicy and the crackers firm ebough to hold cheese and crackers but flaky, too. 

            Just as we're finishing dinner, it starts to rain, and I realize, other than a few showers early on, we've had no rain on this whole trip.  Amazing.  Jake gets out his poncho and sends the rest of us into th tent to bed.  He says, "Killer and I will take the first wtach."  Then he says that Peggy Sue is to sleep in the middle between Harmon and Trey. 

            Right away, I know he is trying to protect her from Shannon.  But that leaves me alone on the outside edge of the people pile--inside the tent, though.  But if Shannon has it in for me, which he might, I'll be unprotected.

            The four of us lie in the tent on our backs, staring up at the roof of the tent.  It isn't fully dark yet, and even in the rian, we can tell as we go under clumps of trees and out into the open.  Jake, sitting in the rain, is steering the raft along the river bank instead of tying up.  I know he thinks it's safer not to tie up. 

            I can tell that no one is sleeping, so I lean up on an elbow and look over Trey at Peggy Sue.  It's pretty dark in the tent now, but I can see her looking back at me.  "What," I ask quietly, "happened to the severed hand you found?"

            "Um." Betty Su pauses.  I though she looked embarrassed or worried, I couldn't tell in the dark.  "Shannon fed it to one of the dogs.  He had this dog, Grizz, that would anything.  He even chewed up the bones.  Then Shannon put the dog shit with the bones in black trash bags and put them in the garbage."

            "How long ago was this?"

            "A month?  Six weeks?  No, actually, I know exactly when it was.  It was on my birthday.  Shannon  took me out to dinner.  Then we went over to his house to um . . . to um, well, we went over to his house and I stepped on something .  . . ah, sort of squishy, I thought it was a dead animal.  I bent over to look at it and started screaming. 

            "Shannon clapped his hand over my mouth.  He said, 'wait in the house.'  But I ran over to the window and saw him toss the hand into Grizzley's pen.  Grizz                is the meanest dog Shannon  has ever had, and like I said,  he eats anything.  I saw him wolf down the hand in 20 seconds flat.  He has an enormous head.  He turned his head sideways and ground on the bones and swallowed them.  And that was that!"

            "So wait," Trey said, "when is your birthday?"

            "May 13.  Friday the thirteenth, this year.  I was thinking it was a lucky day, until I found that hand."

            "How did it get there?" I ask.

            "I . . . don't . . .  know . . ." Betty Sue says, slowly.  "But . . . I'm afarid Shannon killed someone."

            "Do you now who?"

            "Um . . . no-o-o . . . not exactly, . . .but I have an idea who it might be?"

            "Who?" All four of us said at once.  Jake was listening to, from outside the tent.

            "Well, it could have been Langly Gordon, one of the other dog-breeders and trainers.  Langly was a black guy, and I met him several times.  I think he was dealing crystal meth.  He had a big red scar on the palm of his hand, and although I didn't see the hand for more than a few seconds before Shannon snatched it out of sight, I thought I saw a big scar on the palm.  However, like I said, I only saw it for a few seconds, and it was kind mangled and bloody."

            "So," said Harmon, after May 13, did you ever see Langly Gordon again?"

            "No."

            "Was there an opportunity where you might normally have seen him?  I mean, how often did you see him before that?

            "Well, the dog fights were every Friday and Saturday night, and Lang was usually, or often there.  But he didn't show up.  Then again, either did Hermon Moss, his white partner.  I wasn't sorry to not see the, because they were, as Shannon said, real scumbags.  They were scary, and I didn't like them.  But I also didn't like the idea of Shannon killing them, because if hhe could kill once, he could kill again, and I could be the next target."

            "So why did you go with him?" Trey asked, his voice rising with question and concern.

            "He essentially kidnapped me.  He told me I was going with him in no uncertain terms.  A couple times, he told he'd kill me if I left him.  I was afraid.  Really afraid.  AAnd he slapped me around a little and said he'd do a lot worse if I left him."

            "But you left him."

            "Of course.  You can't love someone who's mistreating you.  You can't love someone you're afraid of.  Not really.  I was confused at first and though I still loved him.  He'd hit me, and then apologize and I forgave him.  But then he'd do it again.  I can be stupid and I can be a slow learner, but I was starting to understand that this wasn't the life I wanted for myself."

            There was a long silence and then Betty Sue said, "I want someone like you, Harmon."

            Harmon groaned.

            Jake, sitting outside the tent in the rain, which was faling steadily on the tent, spoke up and said, "You have no idea what you're saying, Betty Sue.  You could be jumping from the frying pan into the fire."

            "Harmon would never hit me," Betty Sue said, sounding a little petulent.

            "No," Jake admitted, "he would probably never hot you.  But Harmon is no saint."

            "Are you sure you won't want to go back with Shannon?" Trey asked.

            "Positive.  I could never go back to him after he threatened to kill me."

            There was another very long silence.

            Then I said "When did you get those super cool sandals?"  And everyone laughed.

            "Shannon Got them for me for three dollars at Dollar General," Betty Sue said.

            "You're shitting me," I said.  "I thought they were some museum product or something, made by Arizona or New Mexico Indians of silver and turquoise worth like hundreds of dollars."

            "No, they're fake."

            "They're beautiful," I said, my voice full of envy. 

            *            *            *

            The next thing I know, Jake is clamboring into the tent and Harmon is going out for his watch.  I am picturing him sitting in the rain with Jake's ponch, which probably wn't civer him.  I mean, he look Hagrid in the Harry Potter movies, he's huge.  Trey and I have the next watch, and we sit close together and crap the poncho around us   I have the job of steering and Trey is watching for Shannon and river obstacles, which is difficult to do in the dark, especially when it's raining. The surfave of the water is black and pocked with rain and the trees are black and dense.  If there iis something underwater like a snag or someone hiding in the trees, how could we see them?

            Nothing happens for the first hour and I am feeling terribly dopey.  I can hardly keep my eyes open, inspite of the rain that seems in around my neck and wrists and under my butt, which is starting to feel numb.

            "Poke me," I say to Trey. 

            "Huh?"

            "Poke me, I'm falling asleep."  He is watching for underwater snags, watching for Shannon and other dangers.  But he leans over suddenly, gives me a quict wet kiss on the mouth, wet wth cold rain, and and sits up again.  We're pretty close, because we're both under the one poncho, but I sit up staright, wide awake and totally electrified.

            Just then, Amigo, who has been curled at the back of the raft beside me starts barking furiously, and the raft tips,, and Tarzan or Robin hood or someone drops from the trees onto the raft by the tent.

            *            *            *            *  End Chapter, Taming Uncle Beast

            The raft explodes into pnademonium.  People are pouring out of the tents like clowns from tiny car at a circus.  The raft wrenches to a stop, knocking everyone down.  We've run aground, because Trey was looking at Shannon istead of at we're going, and Shaonnon probably purposely chose the spot for its underwater snag.  Shannon dives for the tent, ((more dead bird, a dove and a sparrow)), and Harmon, Jake and trey all tackle him.  I see the flash of blade and scream a warning but Jake has seen it too and grabs Shannon's hand.  Shannon is big and strong.  But Jake is strong too.  

,,,

Get new phone card!!

charge Fiona's battery!

 

20140707 Walking Home after Dark  I am walking home from Rolandale int eh gark and canot see what I am writing so who knows what it says.  I am exited because I jsut sae my first fireflies. 

I hav   I have a headlanp, biy I didn't birng it because I ddidn't know I'd be walking bacl after dark and it is not just a little dark, it is bery dr, .  There are streetlamps and tothe rotehr side of the street, biut they are few and far nbetween and manu of thema re out.  And I am wlaking along Balfuck Park where there are man6y trees on both sodes of the road, which means I am walking inb deep shadow.  There is a waxing givvous moon as well as the few streetlights,

            It is a warm himid night.  There are e fireworksd going off.  random personla fireworks.    It sounds a little gunfire.    Now I can smell the fireowrks, the spendt gunpowder.  The air here is heavy with it.  It's a warm humid night, the kind if night that holds smoke.    Now1 I can see some fireworks, the kind that majke little sparkles of light just aboove the lvel of the trees.  And one that made a big BOOM and then sparkles.  They aren't professional ones, but smaller persona versions.    I wonder why they didn't shoot them off ont he 4th.m  Now they are shooting off whistling ones.  It is 8:55 OM. 

            Some black giy riding a vike neat dead bird alley cucled bacl told me to watch myself out.  Watch yourself, he repeated several times.  I've been told that before.  He introduced himself as Goerge and wished me a happy warmed me again and rode off  I walked aluttle furt4her and came upon a bist.  Several cop cars and bags of stiff.  And black men striding around.  Hyst then, keith calls,a sks where I am and says hje will walk up to .meet me.  But bu the time he comes, I should be in the farms where it's a little safter.

            I am in the farms now.

            And, dimly, in the ditance, I can see Keith coming

            ]            *            **            *

            Tuesday, july 8, 2014, 5:20 PM, I am out on my first walk, while the beef barley soup is cooking.  Actually, the beef has been cooking most of the day and now the barley is cooking and when I get ack, I will add the carrots. 

            Keith stopped at his Mom's and just arrived home as I was gettingr eady to leave to walk 15 minutes.

            My hips are stiff but so far, knock on wood, not as sore as theyw ere yesterday and the day before.

            Yet.

            *            *            *            *

            A Bag of lies

            While I was traveling, I stayed a few nights with my friend Hennie Mavis in New Hamshire.  We walked talked, cooked, ate and art together.  We blabbed nonstop.  Face to face facetime is the real thing, and we took powerful adbvantage of it.

            I had brough Ballookey's Moleskine with me in hopes I might work on the piece that I am currently involved with.  I never did get to work on it, but Hennie, who used to be in the smae group, decided to do a couple of "guest" pieces.  She called them conversations I and Concersations II.

            Which brings me to the question, when do we have the right to tell someone else's story?  This turns out to be a big issue for me.  Bigger than I expected.  I've been working on several novels, yes, at once, including one based in part on my meeting, courting and relationship with my husband Biker Buddy.  Biker Buddy has a very interesting family.  I'd like to include their stories in my novel, but they are, in fatct, their stories.  Do I have a right to use them, even if they are never planning to use them?  Especially in a work of fiction?

            However, the story of the bag of lies, while not my story, becomes my story because Hennie has made it mine.  She has included my story in hers. 

            Henie's story:  Hennie decided to take some time away from her marriage to think about who she wanted to be, in the context of her marriage and as an individual.  She rented a room with Jane and Jane's son, Ben. 

            Hennie has always had a big garden and put many things away int he freezer and fridge to be eaten later.  She labeled the bags in felt-tip pen, peaches, broccoli, green beans etc.  When food is frozen, it is not always easy to tell, and of course, the date is importnat so a person can rotate their stock, using the oldest things first. 

            However, once the bags were emptied of thei original contents, she washed and reused the bags for othr things.  It's much easier to tell what something is in fridge, especially if you intend to use it in the next few days.  I do the same thing myself.

            So Hennie, living at Janes, put various leftovers in her labeled freee bags without chnaging the labels.  For example, she put kale in a bag labeled "Peaches."  Jane's son Ben put a sign beside the bag that said, "Bag of lies."  Hennie, Jane, Ben and I all thought that was apropos.  And funny, and somehow deeper than it seems on the durface.

            Forgive me if I got some of the details wrong.

            My story;  When we lives in a trailer on Humphrey road in Cato, one of neighbors trapped, shot, and in various ways killed some of our cats.

            We'd been discussing good neighbors, Hennie and I.  These were not my idea of a good neighbor.  The man who was killing the cats had no apparent reason to do so, no baby chicks, no birdfeer etc.  He was just a curmudgeon, as far as I could determine.  Needless to say, I didn't like him.  Hennie combine the two disparate stories into a single art piece.

            She did the same with some of the other stories we'd been telling.  That second painting was rather hieronomys Boschish.  You can see it here.

            *            *            *            *

            Tuesday, July 8, 2014, 8:21 PM.  I rode over to Staples with Keith and looked at the keyboard for the iPad Mini-othe xternal keyboard.  It's onl a little bit bigger than the Psion.  It might work as a substiture. 

            Which reminds me, hello.  I need to get a new card fpr my phone.  It runs out in ten days. 

            Anyway, I rode over to Staples with Keith and now I am walking home.  I crossed Mack and am walking through the car dealership because the sidewalk is closed but I'd seen and was considering photographing some fire hydrants that are being prepared for installation. 

            The sun is very low on the horizon and the light is honey orange and tangerine. 

            I do not remember exactly where the fire hydrants were and am a little nervous when I hear certain sounds behind me after yesterday.  Oh, here are some fure hyrants.  It's only three of them, and one is turned the wrong way.  But I photograph them anyway. 

            I think my fibro is a little better than yesterday, but my hips are stiff, making iit difficult to walk fats.  More fire hyrdrants, bu5t not very good ones and it's getting dark.  By not good, I mean therels a lot of junk that would get in the picture. 

            I walk past the florst shop, no, I mean the garden store, both of the locked up tight. 

            When I was at Staples, I was fiddling with various tablets.  I touched the camera app on one and a horrible image of myself came up looking very old, tired and baggy.  I dont know how Keith can want to make love to me.  It made me feel so sad.  A terrible sense of loss.  I don't mind being who I am if I don't have to SEE me.  But seeing myself is such a shock.  I never seem to get ised to being so OLD.

            I am wlaking slow because my hips hurt, but I always think things will improve and I will be able to walk fatser, jog, climb mountains.  But when I see myself looking to old, I know I will never be beautiful again. 

            I walk (limp) past a building with mirrored glass windows and I see my whole large fat, limping self hobbling past.  I have to somehow come to terms with being old. 

            Can people do that?

            My mother had a difficult time with it and often said she still felt like she was 16 inside.  But she also reached a point where she began to celebrate her age and tell everyone how old she was with some pride and excitement.

            I look a lot older than Heidi's friend Jane.  On the other hand, I look younger than many of the people at the biology club picnic.  Of course, some of them are actually older than I am.

            I think I'd look younger, to some extent, if I were not so fat.  But I have trouble losing weight, because I like to eat more than I should. 

            Like the old lady I am, I sit down on a bench in front of the voila boutique.  My hips and back hurt and I need to rest them/stretch them before I continue.  The voila boutique is French fashions, and very expensive, but it is not open at 8:45 PM.

            I have health issues like an old person.  I guess that's because I actually am an old person, even if I don't want to be.

            Wednesday, July 9, 2014, 2:06 PM I am walking 15 minutes on Washington.  I just dropped ML off at Joyce's salon to et her hair done.  Had trouble going up, then ML wasn't there ready even though I was a couple minutes late, them slow coming back--need to allow 40 minutes, not 30.  30 is pushing it in a dangerous way. 

            Anyway, she's getting her hair done and I am walking and then she's coming over after we shop for udnerwear and then when Keith gets home around 5 PM, he's going to make dinner--spaghetti--for us.  Then HE will take her home.

            Poor guy, he's on ten, worked ten yesterday and the day before as well as today. 

            I am, gratefully, so far todayy, feeling a little bit better than I have been for several days.  I've had very bad finro since I got back from my trip.  It's much improved so far today. 

            Yesterday, I did not have to take any meds, but it still hurt.  It hurt about as much as it did the day before ON the meds. 

            Thursday, July 10, 2014, 2:35 PM I am at the Greek Orthodox Assumption Church on Marter Road in Grosse Pointe Shores.  There is a huge air-conditioned bus waiting to take us to Jackson to see Pangborn, a Korean-born artist who has an interetsing life story.  Since they are not ready to leave and since I haven't walked yet, I am walking straight out intot he ball fields (it must be a church with a school) and back, with the aim of getting 15 minutes of walking in before we leave. 

            It waes me three minutes to walk out the the fence, and I see there is a creek or river there, oddly whatish green water, and I wonder if it's the Molk River.  The sky is stunningly beautifil, amazing clouds, and when I was driving up Jefferson from Brian Powers' office, there were sailboats on fark water with bilously beautful clouds and the white sails of saliboats and I wanted a photogrpah, but there was nowhere to stop, so I pulled in to Pier Park and rain out past the tennis courts, but the sailboats were in the wrong place and there were motorboats.  I didnt' take the picture. 

            In six minutes, I am back to the bus, but it looks no different tnan when I left, so I walk out toward the road.  I don't want to miss the bus, but I don't want to sit there doing nothing either, especicially since I haven't walked.

            Friday, July 11, 2014, 4:46 PM  I am out walking to Rolandale.  My first impression when I came out was that it was beautiful day, neither too hot nor too humid. 

            I am getting a late start walking today (but yesterday, I only walked 15 minutes).  The reasons I am getting a late start are several.  The last thing is that keith called lawyer about gettin a durable power of attorny and he wants me to go with him and get my name added as well in case he's not avaialable or dies.  He'd better not die!  I mean we all have to die, but hopefully not too soon.

            So we were sitting around waiting for a call back from the lawyer who was with a client, but it's Friday afternoon and he probaby just left.  The reason I  was waiting too was to check the calendar and get it it on.  Vut I am tired of waiting and it's so late I can't imagine the lawyer is still going to call.

            While I was waiting, I ordered two shirts, white tank tops, from Cafe Press with paintings of mine.  One is the Forget-me-not and the other the Dandhill Crane in graphitint.  I got tem in 3X, which is a bummer, as I was hoping to lose weight.  But I don't seem to be losing weight.  :-( 

            I did not do my diet any favors last night at Ella Sharp.  I started out trying to be really good and then ended up eating bad food before the night was over.  I should probbaly avoid such events.

            Anyway, before that, I finally called the Microsft store in wherever is, up there, stupid place.  Tey SAID they would call us when the Surface pros came out byt they never called.  ((So here comes an ambulance and it's got its siren on and it honk honk nasal sound that it makes at intersections and some idiot pulls out right in front of it, crosswise, wating to be t-boned and killed, I guess.  Duh!)  So anyway, I called Microsoft and they said we were just spposed to show up on the 20th of June.   GRR!  That's not what we were told.

            The young woman on the phoe said she'd overnight express it to me free "to make up for the misunderstanding" (which I now think is a crock of shit.  But anyway, I went ahead and ordered everything I'd previously ordered and a slipcase and service for 2 years ((There are SIX dead starlings in dead bird alley, but when I go to photograph them, the caera won't work because it has a dead battery.  It ran out yesterday at Ella Sharp.  I wish I'd charged it.  Wahn.  A young black man asks for the time while I am staring at the dead starlings.  My timer gets messed up and I have to turn it off.  So I won't know how long I walked and will have to call it 35 minutes or 30 minutes.)  (They young black man who was very dark -akinned and had big lips and big eyes and was pretty cute, in my opinion was wearing his pants completely down over his butso his entire butt was out of the pants.  That can't be comfortable nor make walking walking easy.  The terrible price of coolness or hipmess or whatever.)

            Anyway, as I was saying, ouch.  Hips hurt after extracting broken glass from inside my sandal.  So as Iw as saying, I ordered all that stuff thinking express overnight would mean TOMORROW, but UPS doesn't necessarily deliver Saturdays and they actually don't seem over express overnight and it may not come until Tuesday so now I am all bummed out that we didn't just drive up there and get it.  I'd have it in my hands TONIGHT!  Now it may not be until Tuesdya or later, a MONTH almost from when I was supposed to get it.  And I am feeling robbed.  Cheated.  Because she said the shipping would be free and it was lsited as $16.99 on the bill.  And she did some math for me and made it see as if I'd be getting the protection plan almost free if I ordered the bundle, but I think I would have saved more money to just order what I wanted separately.  I needed  to have been there at the store with Keith.  Grrr,  I am feel angry, used, abused and cheated and spent so much time on the phone that I could have driven and back and had the thing in my hand.  I doublt that the money I saved on gas by not driving up there would be enough to make a dent in what I spent.  Grr"

            Sigh.

            I hope I like the darn thing. 

            *            *            *            * EJ End journal

            *            *            *            *

            Thurrsday, July 10, 2014, 2:43 PM

            Dear Gail, 

            Hello, how are you?  You'll never guess what I'm doing and where I am going.  At least, I don't think you will. 

            I am at Assumption Greek Orthodox Church on Marter Road in St4. Clair Shores and I am walking through their soccer field waiting (in motion) for everyone to arrive and board a large beautiful air-conditioned bus which is headed to Ella Sharpe Museum in jackson, MI.  We are going to see a show and presentation by a Korean born artist named Pangborn. 

            I haven't walked yet today, so, since the talk is this evening and there's some opening with or'deurves etc before that and a long ride each way, and I don't know when or if I'll get to walk, I am walking a little bit now.  I'm about to get on the bus, though, and wait there so that I will not miss out ((especeially since I left my stuff on the bus.)

            I don't know if I will end up talking to people, as someone(s) I know are spposedly going to be on the trip, if not, I intend to spend the three hours of driving time working on my novel, Taming Uncle Beast.

            Since I got here early, I climed a front seat.   That offers maximum view as we travel. During my 15 minutes of walking, about 15 people have loaded onto the bus, at the rate of about one perminute, but not any of my friends.

            One of my friends who is supposedly coming is KT Lowe, and I have two items for her, a book and a poem in a bottle.  I'd like to catch her before she boards the bus so she could put the items in her car and not have to lug them to Jackson and back--we're not supposed to arrive back until around 10 PM or later.  Actually, upon goggling behind me yet again, I tink maybe I see KT way in the back.  Someone else is in the way, so I'm not sure.  If it is her, and she's already ensconced, I may not give her my items until we get back tonight.

            The people on the bus are all white, almost all white, dressed nicely.  The bus driver is black.  His name is Rodney.

            A woman named Tina got on the bus and people are complaining to her that she said the bus was leaving at 2:45 and that she should be here o time.  I was told 2:30.

            I hope I am not improperly dressed.  No one told me to dress UP for this.  I am wearing my shaman bear-tooth necklace, shorts, a plaid blouse, and have my hair down.  Tina, who organized this, introduces herself to me.  Everyone is still complaining that Tina was late and that Tina lied int he email etc.  Tina says we're waiting for someone who went to the war memorial.  "Here she comes," she says, "right there."  A white car pulls up and we'll be on our way as soon as she gets here.

            Joyce, who was the first one here, is showing Tina what her email says (the wrong time) as the late person loads and Roday starts up.  I'm guessing KT is in the way back, and I will see her later.  Meanwhile, I will sit quietly in the front by myself and work on my novel.  I have the best seat in the house.

            I am way up nighy with more than 180 degrees of huge windows to stare through.  Someone in the back is waving to me I think it is Deborah Benedict and if so, she'll tell KT I am here. 

            I feel funny without a seat belt.

                        3:27 PM The women around me on the bus are talking about selling $300,000 houses as we drive down a Detroit alley with bums and their whiskey bottles.  We are at the Dominick Pangborn house to pick ip more people and there is some confsion and enger because people who are supposed to be here aren't.  We got off the freeway and drove through all these back streets and now we are sitting here getting HOT. 

            I've been woring on my novel, so far just rereading and editing what I'd written earlier, which helps me get in my mind what's going on.  Phew, it's getting hot in here. 

            The blouse I am wearing is too big for me and keeps slipping to the side, exposing my bra.  I wish I'd worn a different blouse.

            One thing I hat about bus trips is the disrespect some people show for everyone else.  There is a whole busload of people wiating for a couple people who are meanderdering slowly this way with no effort at all to hurry.    I guess we have to go to yet another place and pick up more people..  Well, since I am actually working on my novcl, it isn't totally wasted time.  And there are none of the distractions of home (phone, internet, Graham, ect.)

            These people on tis bus are almost all RICH.  I don't fit in very well.  They are talking about rich people parties and openings etc.  We have reached the Capuchin Church and another mob of people is headed this way.  Is there even going to be room for them?  Someone may have to sit with me.  I hope not.  Also, everyone but me seems to know each other. 

            Some woman who is short and dark-sjinned and looks like she could be Phillipino starts acting as a cheerleader, greeting everyone.  Maybe she's Korean, maybe she's Dominick Pangborn's wife or something.  (Everyone else knows her; I am the odd man out.   I hope we're on our way now.  I guess it will take a while coming home, too, to drop everyone offl  I think I am the only erson on the bus wearing shorts.  I wonder how many of these people are artists.

            No one did sit with me  The cheerleader sat across the aisle from me.

            4:32 PM  We passed ann Arbor.  The ladies are passing around food.  They are friendly and invite me to have some.  First, there are peanuts  I am allergic to peanuts.  Then, cheese and crackers.  I keep saying, "No thank you." Tina comes up to complain to the busdriver about the heat in the back of the bus.  This makes me happy that I sat in the front  Now that we are moving, itls fairly cool here.  I have been working on my novel.  I reread it a second time, and then started writing some new stuff.  I am not rereading the whole novel, just the most rencent part.

            After I have done a certain amount of work, I start to worry about losing it.  I have already lsot pasts of this novel as well as sevral other novels (including the whole novel.  So I save the entire file, with this letter and the novel, under a new title.  That doesn't guarantee I won't lose my work, but it will prevent me from accidentally deleting one file anyway, becuase there's  a backup.  Of course, as soon as I do new work, There will be danger of losing that.

            It is a beautiful summer day, everything is very green and lush looking, the sky is blue with puffy clouds, it is warm. 

            Now they are passing around wine and ask again, sweetly if I want cheese and crackers.  I keep saying no than you, even though I am getting hungry.  I am not sure what rovisions are made for meals.  I am getting hungry (It is 4;48 PM now) and will eed to eat something.  I look around and see many of the people, mostly older women, are fiddling with their cell phones.  I wish my Psion was a cell phone.  I could email you and email my novel segments to myself.

            The reason I am back up to the top of the story is that I realized I'd left out a character!  I have to go back through it all yet again. 

            Tina is drinking white wine, eating a cracker and telling a story about her grankids.  When she visits them, if she finds anything on the floor, she puts it in the trash.  They can only take it back if they put it away.  I can't imagine doing that at Sara's.

            There is a restroom in the back of the bus, but I don't want to have to use it, though I imagine the one at Ella Sharp will be growded when we get there.

            I wonder who paind for this bus.  It just occurred to me to wonder if Rodney, the bus driver, knows his way around or is using a GPS.  Since I'm in the front I peer down att his controls.  I don't see any GPS., but I suppose he must have one  Early on, there was some wretched popular music playing.  I didn't notice when it disappeared, but I'm not sorry. 

            We pass a Jackson Exit, so we must e getting close.  Being here makes me rememer all the times we used to come and visit you!!

            We pass another Jackson exit, and the exit is closed.  it is the Jackson Community College North campus exit.  Ah, here is the Cascade Falls/Ella Sharp exit and we are getting off.  Someone os pandhandling at the corner.

            6:30 PM I am now in the auditorium.  I am definitely underdressed for this even.  Most people are very dressed up or somehwta dressed up.  But here I am, front row center, waiting for Pangborn to speak.  I have been examining his paintings in detail and I met Pangborn and shook his hand and took a picture of him, but stupidly, I neglected to charge my camera battery and I only have one camera with me--and it has a dead battery, so I didn't get many pix.

            They had very FANCY Or'deurves, which included rare filet mignon on little flaky ie crusts with horseradith and chicken and lettuce. 

            Amy Reiman, the exercutive director at Ella Sharp is speaking now.  I guess Dominick Pangborn is from Jackson.

            Joseph Turner, Mother well, Francis Bacon, Rolita influences.  He grew up in Jacson.  He doesn't want to be boxed into doing one thing.  Surrealism is very important, to communicate from dream inner self.

            Dominic Panborn's Koren name was  Jung last name singhan first. 

            8:08 dominc Pangborn was autographing books but we got herded back to the bus before we got to get our books autographed too bad.  Now we are all sitting on the bus waiting because not everyone is here,  (90+ percent are here, one or two, as usual, are missing.)

            Nina, the cheerleader, is, as I had guessed, from the Phillipines.  She is very cheerful, loud, talkative.  I got my picture taken with her, dunno if it will come out.

            The woman that held us up way back at the third church has gone back in to retrieve some recalcitrant person.  Tina left her wine in my seat spot. 

            There is a thin moon as we are driving away from Ella Sharp.  I have to say, it was a really fun event and I had a good time, but I ate some bad food, so I may be sick for a few days.

            I never got a chance to look around at Ella Sharp. except where our event was because there was too much going on.  It is 88:15 as we are driving back through Jackson.  I think I may need to come here again without the busload of people.

            8:25 PM We're on the highway--I94.  All through Jackson, I was watching for familar sights.  But things look a little different than I remember.

            I read through Dominic Pangborn's book three times, cover to cover (I  had also read it twice a the exhibit.)  I am probably going to send it to Frankie, even though he is probably still too young for it.  That it why I want to read it multiple times.  I am really sorry that I didn't get to have Pangborn sign it.

            I enjoyed Pangborn's talk, but he did really promote himself.  It was interesting, compelling and funny, other than the obvious self-promotion bit.  He's a pretty good speaker.  He has a few tics he needs to work on.

            One of the interesting things about him is that he is the son of an unknown American soldier and a Korena mother and he traveled alone to USA and was adopted by the Pangborns of Jakson who, at the time of his adoption, had 11 other children.  I met one of them (he is on this bus).

            He want back to Korea as an adult to find his biological mother, bit she had died a year earlier.

            Did I mention there is a thin nearly full moon, waxing, out the bus window, and lovely clouds?

            I wish I'd picked up a brochure to send you.

            9:41 We just let off a load at the Capuchin curch.  It's freezing in the bus new, and I did not bring a sweater.  I've been working on my novel.  Now we are driving down the Pangborn Alley where much earlier today we saw bums.  The Pangborn alley is all painted, but probably not be Pangborn. 

            We are driving on the sidewalk with the bus because a taxi is blcing the raod.  The bus is stuck now because some idot in an SUV was being a jerk blocking the road.  It takes a lng time to extricate the bus.

            The old ladies on the bus are arguing with the bus driver, giving him directions instead of just letting him drive.

           

            *            *            *            * ELG End Letter to Gail

--

Affection is responsible for nine-tenths of whatever solid and durable happiness there is in our lives. 
C. S. Lewis

Mary