It's all about freedom Markie. Emil likes to call me Markie like he did back when I was six. Makes life worth livin'. Now I ain't talkin' about doin' anything you want 'cause some of that steps on toes. Gets in the way of other people's lives. Like some of that NRA business. Not that I've got anything carryin' a gun. Shot a few deer and ducks in my time. But those boys go overboard.
But that's not the freedom I'm talkin' about. Sometimes the mood hits me. Might be a throw back to the days when I was up and walkin' but still in diapers. Nothin' like the feelin' of runnin' buck naked through the house with my mom or dad chasin' after me. Yellin' like they think I'm gonna soak the wool Mohawk carpet and literally raise a stink. Me giggling', knowin' all the while how much power I had danglin' right in front of me. I knew I wasn't gonna pee on anything. But they didn't. Power and freedom all rolled into one.
Now that same mood still hit me when I was in my fifties. Up in the woods. No one around. Indian Summer. No bugs. Lord knows you don't want any 'skeeters or ticks around when you're gettin' weird. Me, I like to do it when I'm gatherin' fire wood. Buck naked. Well, not completely. Ever since I took ten stitches in my ankle I never fired up the saw without leather boots on. Also wore gloves and headphones. But that's about it.
Lena never caught on. But she did find it odd that I could spend eight hours droppin', sawin' and splittin' oak then come home in clothes near as clean as they were in the mornin'. Now that I think about it, maybe she did and was smart enough to not complain about havin' fewer clothes in the wash.
Thursday, November 22, 2012
Tuesday, November 6, 2012
Old White Men Talkin'
Not sure where this is gonna go. That's what makes it fun. It's election day 2012. And am fillin' out a living will form so that when I can't wipe my own butt anymore there'll be someone there to pull the trigger for me.
I've been sayin' for many months that I'd write my own funeral. But till now I've put it off. Hard to tell when the right time to grind it out will come. Put it off long enough and I'll be a droolin' idiot. Pullin' up the Emil blog seemed like the thing to do. Askin' the dead seems like the best way to get a sane perspective on life. After all, Emil's been there, done that and had time to let it compost a bit.
It ain't easy gettin' Emil to start talkin' again. Since he died he's slowed down a might. S'pose time doesn't mean as much when you're beyond it. So the planning and preparing for the trip is on my shoulders. Somehow I've got to get him on good water, not another soul in sight - oops, I guess that's an accidental joke seeing as how I'm gonna be floatin' my boat with a dead man - and a pack of Luckies in his shirt pocket. Also better not forget to put fluid in the Zippo. Emil says a waft of lighter fluid adds a little something special to that first drag.
"What say we fish Wedge Lake? It was good water back in the '60s and seems to be even better since they put size limits on the pike. Since it's my call I'm thinkin' we try the year 2000. Finish out that last night when you wimped out. Said you're ribs made you a danger in the canoe. Hell, the sun was out. Two and a half hours of it left before twilight on the best water either one of us has been on. Sound good to you?"
Who was I to say no? It was a fine night. Only problem was not bein' able to fit Al in the canoe with us. Sure is kind of odd. We were gonna leave Al back in camp but just couldn't do it. So we conjured up a bigger canoe, a twenty foot Minnesota III. Seein' as how this was to be Emil's story and both me and Al would mostly keep our mouths shut and throw spinners, why keep Al off his favorite lake?
So the three of us paddled off, up lake to the northeast, past the birch where Al's red and white Mepps still hung after waiting patiently for thirteen years and started fishing the little point where I caught my first Canadian walleye. Then Emil started talking about bein' dead.
"Gotta tell you it's some kinda weird shit over on the other side. If it wasn't, nobody'd wanta be born. Don't be lookin' at me that way. Ain't nothin' new in infinity. Everything's always been there. Always will be. Churns around, gets recycled. I'm here now. There now. Everywhere now. All at the same time. That's what infinity's about you see. Everything's infinite. Except it don't look that way when you're lookin' out at the world through a pair of eyes.
It's a lot like dreamin'. Nothin' on the other side seems to make sense unless you think about it a lot. Even then it's guesswork.
That don't make much sense does it? Let's try 'er this way: Remember what you said about Vietnam? That the only ground us Americans controlled was the mud under our boots? Well, bein' dead's a lot like that. You can't see or know nothin' except what's right where you are. And let me tell you, there are some serious problems with that.
You see, it's also doggy heaven on the other side. And raccoon heaven, wolf, coyote, you name it, if it craps on the ground it's over there. And if you can only see where your foot is at the moment, not where its comin' down... let's just say you step in it a lot. Don't always smell like roses when you're dead.
And that's why there's such a long line to be born again. Life in the light might have its shortcomin's but at least you've got a pretty good idea what's on the road ahead. I'd let on more than that but I ain't got it figured out yet.
So here's the kicker. Most every religion has its Holy, its Heaven, Nirvana, somewhere out there on the other side that's better than here. But it ain't. No sir. You want the holy? Well, she's right there on the upside of the sod. Right now. Ain't nothin' any holier than floating on Wedge Lake, black water below, spruce and birch risin' above. Or splittin' wood. Sittin' on a stump with a cup of steam-risin' coffee in hand, on an early spring mornin', a grouse off a hundred yards drummin' away 'cause he's lonely. You want holy? Clean the house, eat an apple right off the tree."
The deep chill of the rain cleaned air went right into my bones. Damn the ribs hurt. But seein' as how Emil was in the canoe we fished 'er out. And darned fine fishin' it was. Remember that Emil was a died in the wool pike fisherman. But we couldn't get away from the walleyes. One bay to the next. Walleyes all the way. Past the rainbow reeds and into the deep cut bay where there's never any fish. But it's just so darned pretty we worked it anyhow.
She's a half bowl. Steep sided from the black water level up. The sunlight bouncing off the glassed out lake lit the spruce trees from the bottom up. An explosion of jade. We reeled in and simply sat there. Spellbound. Nothing to say. The only sound, Emil's zippo clacking open. I could swear the soft crackle of burning tobacco actually echoed off the wall of trees. Then Emil's popping inhales. Felt like we could sit there forever.
I have days like this now and then. Used to have them a lot. Even when I was a kid I took the ideas of fair play and we're all in this together as the way this country was supposed to operate. Why not? That's what we were taught in school.
Two years in the Army, especially my time as a grunt in Vietnam gave those feelings an explosive boost. Then decades on the job did nothing so much as expose what we'd been taught as no more than lip service. Thats just the way she was and just the way I felt about it. For about fifteen years I constantly floated in hot water. Couldn't keep from shooting my mouth off.
Then it changed. Not so much that I felt any different but my head was sore from beating it on the wall. With no obvious effect.
" What happened? I used to get a kick out of your spunk and then watching you go down in flames. Didn't have much effect I know. But you sure as hell got the little big boys to sweat on a regular basis. Even Fred Smith, the big man, that one time. Yeah, you were chicken but not gutless.
So what does happen to the ordinary guys who see the truth but don't want it to bring them down? Guess they go fishing and take a leak in the woods now and then.
By the by, I ever tell you how I used to spot fish before the days of electronics? Easy as pie so long as your glasses are tied on and you don't mind a wet head. And don't ever try it when the boat is movin' , 'specially near a reef. Not only did I end up seein' double but learned it ain't only sharks that are drawn by the smell of blood. 'Course the leeches came in handy for walleye fishin'. The good with the bad I guess."
I've been sayin' for many months that I'd write my own funeral. But till now I've put it off. Hard to tell when the right time to grind it out will come. Put it off long enough and I'll be a droolin' idiot. Pullin' up the Emil blog seemed like the thing to do. Askin' the dead seems like the best way to get a sane perspective on life. After all, Emil's been there, done that and had time to let it compost a bit.
It ain't easy gettin' Emil to start talkin' again. Since he died he's slowed down a might. S'pose time doesn't mean as much when you're beyond it. So the planning and preparing for the trip is on my shoulders. Somehow I've got to get him on good water, not another soul in sight - oops, I guess that's an accidental joke seeing as how I'm gonna be floatin' my boat with a dead man - and a pack of Luckies in his shirt pocket. Also better not forget to put fluid in the Zippo. Emil says a waft of lighter fluid adds a little something special to that first drag.
"What say we fish Wedge Lake? It was good water back in the '60s and seems to be even better since they put size limits on the pike. Since it's my call I'm thinkin' we try the year 2000. Finish out that last night when you wimped out. Said you're ribs made you a danger in the canoe. Hell, the sun was out. Two and a half hours of it left before twilight on the best water either one of us has been on. Sound good to you?"
Who was I to say no? It was a fine night. Only problem was not bein' able to fit Al in the canoe with us. Sure is kind of odd. We were gonna leave Al back in camp but just couldn't do it. So we conjured up a bigger canoe, a twenty foot Minnesota III. Seein' as how this was to be Emil's story and both me and Al would mostly keep our mouths shut and throw spinners, why keep Al off his favorite lake?
So the three of us paddled off, up lake to the northeast, past the birch where Al's red and white Mepps still hung after waiting patiently for thirteen years and started fishing the little point where I caught my first Canadian walleye. Then Emil started talking about bein' dead.
"Gotta tell you it's some kinda weird shit over on the other side. If it wasn't, nobody'd wanta be born. Don't be lookin' at me that way. Ain't nothin' new in infinity. Everything's always been there. Always will be. Churns around, gets recycled. I'm here now. There now. Everywhere now. All at the same time. That's what infinity's about you see. Everything's infinite. Except it don't look that way when you're lookin' out at the world through a pair of eyes.
It's a lot like dreamin'. Nothin' on the other side seems to make sense unless you think about it a lot. Even then it's guesswork.
That don't make much sense does it? Let's try 'er this way: Remember what you said about Vietnam? That the only ground us Americans controlled was the mud under our boots? Well, bein' dead's a lot like that. You can't see or know nothin' except what's right where you are. And let me tell you, there are some serious problems with that.
You see, it's also doggy heaven on the other side. And raccoon heaven, wolf, coyote, you name it, if it craps on the ground it's over there. And if you can only see where your foot is at the moment, not where its comin' down... let's just say you step in it a lot. Don't always smell like roses when you're dead.
And that's why there's such a long line to be born again. Life in the light might have its shortcomin's but at least you've got a pretty good idea what's on the road ahead. I'd let on more than that but I ain't got it figured out yet.
So here's the kicker. Most every religion has its Holy, its Heaven, Nirvana, somewhere out there on the other side that's better than here. But it ain't. No sir. You want the holy? Well, she's right there on the upside of the sod. Right now. Ain't nothin' any holier than floating on Wedge Lake, black water below, spruce and birch risin' above. Or splittin' wood. Sittin' on a stump with a cup of steam-risin' coffee in hand, on an early spring mornin', a grouse off a hundred yards drummin' away 'cause he's lonely. You want holy? Clean the house, eat an apple right off the tree."
The deep chill of the rain cleaned air went right into my bones. Damn the ribs hurt. But seein' as how Emil was in the canoe we fished 'er out. And darned fine fishin' it was. Remember that Emil was a died in the wool pike fisherman. But we couldn't get away from the walleyes. One bay to the next. Walleyes all the way. Past the rainbow reeds and into the deep cut bay where there's never any fish. But it's just so darned pretty we worked it anyhow.
She's a half bowl. Steep sided from the black water level up. The sunlight bouncing off the glassed out lake lit the spruce trees from the bottom up. An explosion of jade. We reeled in and simply sat there. Spellbound. Nothing to say. The only sound, Emil's zippo clacking open. I could swear the soft crackle of burning tobacco actually echoed off the wall of trees. Then Emil's popping inhales. Felt like we could sit there forever.
I have days like this now and then. Used to have them a lot. Even when I was a kid I took the ideas of fair play and we're all in this together as the way this country was supposed to operate. Why not? That's what we were taught in school.
Two years in the Army, especially my time as a grunt in Vietnam gave those feelings an explosive boost. Then decades on the job did nothing so much as expose what we'd been taught as no more than lip service. Thats just the way she was and just the way I felt about it. For about fifteen years I constantly floated in hot water. Couldn't keep from shooting my mouth off.
Then it changed. Not so much that I felt any different but my head was sore from beating it on the wall. With no obvious effect.
" What happened? I used to get a kick out of your spunk and then watching you go down in flames. Didn't have much effect I know. But you sure as hell got the little big boys to sweat on a regular basis. Even Fred Smith, the big man, that one time. Yeah, you were chicken but not gutless.
So what does happen to the ordinary guys who see the truth but don't want it to bring them down? Guess they go fishing and take a leak in the woods now and then.
By the by, I ever tell you how I used to spot fish before the days of electronics? Easy as pie so long as your glasses are tied on and you don't mind a wet head. And don't ever try it when the boat is movin' , 'specially near a reef. Not only did I end up seein' double but learned it ain't only sharks that are drawn by the smell of blood. 'Course the leeches came in handy for walleye fishin'. The good with the bad I guess."
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)