A couple of years ago I noticed my pants were gettin' a little snug. Struck me as odd that the cotton in my Wranglers had shrunk that much. Needless to say I sat down right away and penned a letter. Wasn't to the Wrangler people. Wrote it to myself. Mailed it on the weekend when I was down in Grand Marais and picked it up in my box the following week. Went something like this:
Dear Wideload,
Time to get up and move it. You're more than a few degrees south of chubby. Keep it up and you'll be dead in a couple of years and they'll need a fork lift to carry the casket.
One who cares (and doesn't like what he sees in the mirror)
The idea bein' I'd accept criticism from an outsider. 'Specially someone I respect as much as I do myself. Also nice to get mail once in a while. Easy for me to write off my puffing when I hiked down to the stream as nothing more than old age creeping up on me. In fact a lively brain like mine could explain most everything and make reality exactly like I wanted it even if it wasn't. All was fine 'til I was struck out of the blue with a bolt of personal honesty. Hate that when it happens. No way to sneak around the truth so I decided it wasn't too late to get myself into shape before the undertaker carved and pumped me into a fine looking cadaver.
So, I took up walking (way more appealing than cutting down on my eating). Hiking when I want to feel more manly. Not sure what the difference is but I've been told there is one. Might have to do with packing a lunch. Yeah, some of my excursions call for a break or two. Walk an hour, sit for five minutes and move on. Maybe carry a book and binoculars. Bought me a small daypack and a couple of pairs of fancy white tennis shoes with blue stripes made by a company in Germany. Don't walk every day but some hikes push twenty miles.
Usually I stick to the roads. Here to McFarland and back's an up and downhill ten miler. One day when my oats were up I continued on down the Border Trail to East Pike. There I stood mid-shore on my favorite lake, no rod, no canoe. All dressed up for the picnic but forgot the basket. Just stood there a minute staring across a half mile of glassed out water, thought, "there it is," turned around and pounded back uphill towards home. Ate my lunch a mile back alongside John Lake. Never walked rod-less again. Bought a four piece spinning rod to stow in the daypack. Also packed a few spinners and snap swivels. Some lures small enough for trout, a couple for bass. Should I pass along a stream or lakeshore I'd be ready. Felt a whole lot better with an option. It's good to be able to say no once in a while when yes is just as likely.
Don't have many creative thoughts when I'm heading down the road. Seems like I need other people around me before the idiocy floats to the surface. Tried writing but nothing comes out worth reading. Even bores me. Could be that humor, which is the way I'd go if I could write, goes hand in hand with pain, misery and stupidity. Like the other day when I broke a personal record. In a quiet life like mine, personal bests are a big deal. Keeps me motivated. Gettin' better all the time (at least till I don't). Happened on the rise coming out of the valley just past my driveway. Farted on thirteen straight right foot strikes. Near as many as the sixteen left footers I did last fall. Like a one cylinder engine as I chugged my way up the rise. A good writer could make something of that. Maybe even the theme of an entire novel. A saga. But not me. But I did make note of it in my journal. Right after a comment about noticing a wind knot in my fly line leader and maybe should put on a new one when I'm feelin' up to it.
Reflecting water. Those words kept coming back to me on my return from East Pike. Outside of an occasional tiny zephyr the water was truly glassed out. Near upside-down, right side-up confusion of the far shore. Seen it before and never gave it much thought beyond, "That's pretty neat. Maybe I should try a handstand to see if it looks the same?" Never before caught the connection between the reflection of the water and the reflection I get lost in while out on a walk. Also, the dreams I used to have when I was younger. Don't have them as much anymore. Spent most of my dream time from my years in the war 'til I retired either back in the war or out on the water. The water dreams ran the gamut from being iced out to catching large fish. Yeah, I sure liked to catch those dream fish but it seemed I didn't have much control over what was on the end of my line. 'Til I gave it some thought. Reflected on it. Seems those dreams were trying to tell me something. And it wasn't the figuring it out that mattered near as much as changing what needed changing in my life. Reflection's fine but a man's gotta go deeper than the surface. Put those thoughts into action. Did some things right. Some I screwed up big time. Long story short, guess I'm a little slow on the uptake in more ways than you can shake a stick at.
Had thoughts lately of headin' up McFarland way, catch the Border Trail and wander on over to Ely. Can't be more than a hundred-forty miles or thereabouts. A week with close to fifty pounds on my back. What's that to a sixty-three year old man besides maybe death and being eaten by feral hamsters? Once there I'd take a short shopping, eating and sleeping break then head back. See the other side of the trees I'd passed. Or maybe catch a bus back to Hovland.
Anyhow, what I'm getting around to is a walk I took after shoveling out the driveway the other day. Should've known better. Worked up a sweat in the hour and a quarter it took me to clear the snow but felt pretty good. Stuffed my shovel in a snow bank and set off south down the McFarland Road. Probably was above zero but not by much. Half hour out. A little more on the return. A smart man would've started out north. Wasn't much of a wind in the beginning but slowly built on the outbound. When it was at my back I payed the breeze no mind. Sure did on the way back. Near to froze my nose but more important, my privates. My pecker pain got my attention when it started to thaw. Guess that's one of those good-bad things. Bad that it hurt like the devil. Good that the pain said it was still attached. Might not do that again.
Saturday, November 21, 2015
Friday, November 13, 2015
Emil To Archie
Dear Archie,
Been splitting wood lately. Nothing says life in the northwoods like getting ready for winter in late April. Don't know what it is about splitting wood but I sure enjoy it. Birch is the best. Burns pretty good and has a light berry smell when the maul pops it open. Don't go at it with a vengeance like a young man would. There's enough hours in a the day and days in the week to cull all I need without breaking my hump. Somedays I split the lengths next to the stump they came from. Others I simply throw in the wheelbarrow and pile alongside the cabin. Whichever strikes my fancy. Need to buck up and split around four cords. Should I spend the winter ten'd be more like it. Seeing as how I enjoy the work so much I might just keep splitting till I think of something better to do.
Finally bought a stereo system and a length of antenna wire. Strung the wire between a couple of uprights I'd screwed onto the lookout roof. Now I not only have music but also the news. Can't say the news is an improvement in my life.
She's looking like it'll be a late spring up here on Aspen Brook. The water's flowing up and over the bank in places, there's still two foot drifts here and there in the woods and all the lakes remain frozen tight. When the flow goes down and the water clears I just might try to see if the trout are still there. Bought a used split bamboo spinning rod down in Duluth. It'll be fun to see how it works.
Must have been some kind of winter up here. Almost sad I missed most of it. Makes me feel like a coward to pass the frozen months worrying the bass down in Florida. Also spent the holidays down in the cities. Almost didn't make it out of here in December. The driveway looked like a tunnel when I finally headed south. To this point I've been hand shoveling the entire sixty rods of driveway. I keep plenty of food in the cabin so there's usually no hurry finish the job. Even with the shoveling it doesn't hurt that I store a load of firewood in the truck's box. Four wheel drive is good but the extra weight helps a lot. By mid-December last winter my back told me in no uncertain terms to bite the bullet and put a blade on the front of the truck. Don't like to do that but probably will.
So, did I ever think of death when I was in training or combat? Yes and no. When it'd come to mind I'd stuff it down. And when we were in contact, there was no need to think of it. Death was there with us every inch of the way, not some idea in our heads. Mostly I'd think of staying alive and how best to do that. Even when I had to stick my neck out I was careful. Not slow, careful. My job was to keep the wounded alive and I couldn't do that if I was dead. Hell, I wanted everyone of us to pull through, especially me. Sounds selfish and maybe it is. But that's just the way it was and still is. I went to war with the idea of not dying. So Archie, that's my advice to you. Do your job to the best of your ability but most of all keep your mind on staying alive and come home in one piece. Then, over the years that follow, learn to deal with the ghosts who come back with you. You may not yet know about them but you will.
Should you have a few free moments now and then, give some thought to the canoe trips we did. Got a feeling the woods we passed through were a hell of a lot more peaceful than the ones you must be in by now. Also, consider another trip when you get home. A day, a week, I'll take whatever you can spare.
As always,
Emil
Been splitting wood lately. Nothing says life in the northwoods like getting ready for winter in late April. Don't know what it is about splitting wood but I sure enjoy it. Birch is the best. Burns pretty good and has a light berry smell when the maul pops it open. Don't go at it with a vengeance like a young man would. There's enough hours in a the day and days in the week to cull all I need without breaking my hump. Somedays I split the lengths next to the stump they came from. Others I simply throw in the wheelbarrow and pile alongside the cabin. Whichever strikes my fancy. Need to buck up and split around four cords. Should I spend the winter ten'd be more like it. Seeing as how I enjoy the work so much I might just keep splitting till I think of something better to do.
Finally bought a stereo system and a length of antenna wire. Strung the wire between a couple of uprights I'd screwed onto the lookout roof. Now I not only have music but also the news. Can't say the news is an improvement in my life.
She's looking like it'll be a late spring up here on Aspen Brook. The water's flowing up and over the bank in places, there's still two foot drifts here and there in the woods and all the lakes remain frozen tight. When the flow goes down and the water clears I just might try to see if the trout are still there. Bought a used split bamboo spinning rod down in Duluth. It'll be fun to see how it works.
Must have been some kind of winter up here. Almost sad I missed most of it. Makes me feel like a coward to pass the frozen months worrying the bass down in Florida. Also spent the holidays down in the cities. Almost didn't make it out of here in December. The driveway looked like a tunnel when I finally headed south. To this point I've been hand shoveling the entire sixty rods of driveway. I keep plenty of food in the cabin so there's usually no hurry finish the job. Even with the shoveling it doesn't hurt that I store a load of firewood in the truck's box. Four wheel drive is good but the extra weight helps a lot. By mid-December last winter my back told me in no uncertain terms to bite the bullet and put a blade on the front of the truck. Don't like to do that but probably will.
So, did I ever think of death when I was in training or combat? Yes and no. When it'd come to mind I'd stuff it down. And when we were in contact, there was no need to think of it. Death was there with us every inch of the way, not some idea in our heads. Mostly I'd think of staying alive and how best to do that. Even when I had to stick my neck out I was careful. Not slow, careful. My job was to keep the wounded alive and I couldn't do that if I was dead. Hell, I wanted everyone of us to pull through, especially me. Sounds selfish and maybe it is. But that's just the way it was and still is. I went to war with the idea of not dying. So Archie, that's my advice to you. Do your job to the best of your ability but most of all keep your mind on staying alive and come home in one piece. Then, over the years that follow, learn to deal with the ghosts who come back with you. You may not yet know about them but you will.
Should you have a few free moments now and then, give some thought to the canoe trips we did. Got a feeling the woods we passed through were a hell of a lot more peaceful than the ones you must be in by now. Also, consider another trip when you get home. A day, a week, I'll take whatever you can spare.
As always,
Emil
Saturday, October 17, 2015
Letter to Emil
Dear Uncle Emil,
Did dying ever enter your mind before you were shipped overseas? Don't know why but it hasn't entered mine. I know it's a possibility but the thought hasn't really gotten hold of me yet. It's more something I make jokes about.
Like when we were going through our AIT graduation ceremony. Now, that was funny. Some guy who claimed to be our battalion commander - don't know if he actually was 'cause we'd never seen him before. For that matter we'd never seen our company commander or even our platoon leader - stood up on a stage and called us diamonds in the rough. We were down below sitting in the auditorium. Sure didn't seem all that military. No flags or marching around, soldiers singing about killin' a Vietcong, blood-thirsty displays of us getting on line, bayonets fixed, charging dummies that look like Spiro Agnew, none of that good stuff. Nope we just sat there, in an auditorium. No movie, no play, just the guy up front telling us we need the polishing of combat to make us into finished diamonds or maybe corpses, depending on how it all worked out.
Anyhow, before the man walked out on stage to thunderous silence, I said a couple of things out loud that got me a few 'shut up Archie's'. One of 'em was "I wonder what size body bag I take?" Don't know why that'd upset anyone seeing as how that question had no doubt crossed the mind of most every man-jack in the place. Can't say I was all that eager to crawl into one of the bags just to find out. On the other hand it was an honest question. Should I ever be slid into one I probably wouldn't be aware enough to check out the size label.
A minute later I added, "Just think guys, in three weeks we'll be on our way to Vietnam." Didn't go over big either. Like I said, we know where we're going but sure don't want to think about it. Hogs to the slaughter. Not a one of us seems excited about where we're going. But then, no one talks much about it. We had this one guy who took a stand. Went on a hunger strike to either protest the war or show that he wasn't all that happy about having to take part in it. Hard to separate fear and morality. He stopped eating for about a week then disappeared. I suppose he'll spend the rest of his enlistment in the stockade. Don't know why but his protest pissed me off. A lot of others also. It's not that I think this is a good war because I don't. But I just can't help thinking he chickened out. Wasn't able to suck it up and do something completely stupid that might cost him his life. Kind of like he spit at us because we were going. That's not exactly it but it sure is part of how I feel. I wish I wasn't here but I am so I might as well finish what I started. And if I don't go, someone else will take my place. Yeah, I guess we're screwed, glued and tattooed.
Archie
Did dying ever enter your mind before you were shipped overseas? Don't know why but it hasn't entered mine. I know it's a possibility but the thought hasn't really gotten hold of me yet. It's more something I make jokes about.
Like when we were going through our AIT graduation ceremony. Now, that was funny. Some guy who claimed to be our battalion commander - don't know if he actually was 'cause we'd never seen him before. For that matter we'd never seen our company commander or even our platoon leader - stood up on a stage and called us diamonds in the rough. We were down below sitting in the auditorium. Sure didn't seem all that military. No flags or marching around, soldiers singing about killin' a Vietcong, blood-thirsty displays of us getting on line, bayonets fixed, charging dummies that look like Spiro Agnew, none of that good stuff. Nope we just sat there, in an auditorium. No movie, no play, just the guy up front telling us we need the polishing of combat to make us into finished diamonds or maybe corpses, depending on how it all worked out.
Anyhow, before the man walked out on stage to thunderous silence, I said a couple of things out loud that got me a few 'shut up Archie's'. One of 'em was "I wonder what size body bag I take?" Don't know why that'd upset anyone seeing as how that question had no doubt crossed the mind of most every man-jack in the place. Can't say I was all that eager to crawl into one of the bags just to find out. On the other hand it was an honest question. Should I ever be slid into one I probably wouldn't be aware enough to check out the size label.
A minute later I added, "Just think guys, in three weeks we'll be on our way to Vietnam." Didn't go over big either. Like I said, we know where we're going but sure don't want to think about it. Hogs to the slaughter. Not a one of us seems excited about where we're going. But then, no one talks much about it. We had this one guy who took a stand. Went on a hunger strike to either protest the war or show that he wasn't all that happy about having to take part in it. Hard to separate fear and morality. He stopped eating for about a week then disappeared. I suppose he'll spend the rest of his enlistment in the stockade. Don't know why but his protest pissed me off. A lot of others also. It's not that I think this is a good war because I don't. But I just can't help thinking he chickened out. Wasn't able to suck it up and do something completely stupid that might cost him his life. Kind of like he spit at us because we were going. That's not exactly it but it sure is part of how I feel. I wish I wasn't here but I am so I might as well finish what I started. And if I don't go, someone else will take my place. Yeah, I guess we're screwed, glued and tattooed.
Archie
Friday, September 25, 2015
Bumbling Around II
Thoughts like these have passed through my head for decades. Could be it's time for Emil to bring them out in the open. As usual I don't know where this will go. Good chance it'll be erased when I'm done. Done that before. Not fun but when something sucks, it sucks.
Woke up this morning thinking about what it'd be like if I hadn't. As far as I know, not waking up happens but once in a lifetime and with luck, once is enough. Anyhow, death was on my mind. Not unusual when you're gettin' on in years. Not unusual at any time for that matter. Dying's the one thing I know for sure will happen. S'pose there's a comfort in knowing but I can't say I feel all that comforted when I think of it. But that's not the gist of where I wandered from there.
What may or may not happen after I die is the interesting part. Anyhow that's where the thought left me till I was back from shopping down in Grand Marais and eyeballin' the loom of a paddle I was carving. Been into making paddles lately. Don't have a need for more than three or four but they're fun to carve. Start out with boards, saw 'em into strips, glue 'em up and carve 'em out. Carve's a fine word. Sounds like I go at it with knives, spokeshaves and planes. All hands on and eyeball true. Well, that's partly true. Throw in the band saw and belt sander and you're gettin' close. Still, it's all handwork and the finished product is eyeball true. Also's a good builder of concentration. Can't let my mind wander too far or I'll just have a little more kindling for the wood stove.
I've got a pretty good idea what'll happen to my body. Become one with the worms and microbes, eventually, if I'm lucky, the left nut of a moose. But the pea brain that lives in my head, the one who pays attention so the saw band stays outside the line, most anything might happen to that fella after his body craps out. Maybe nothing, maybe on a cloud honkin' away on a kazoo. Frankly I kind of doubt the latter. Maybe all of me'll break up and become parts of other things. It's a big universe out there, over time a person could get spread out pretty thin. Maybe all the way to nothing. So maybe a person's not completely dead till the last atom breaks up into something else. Back when I was a kid, my old man'd occasionally ask me what I was thinkin'. Instead of the embarrassing truth I'd usually say, "Nothin'." Could be I already knew where my future lay.
Most every trip into town I pay a visit to the library. The printed word's important to me. 'Course there's words and there's words. Good writing makes me stop and think for a while. Pause a moment and stare off into the woods lost in thought. Sometimes it's just a sentence that could as easily have been left out of the story. Like a mention of a plains Indian tribe, could have been the Comanches, and their belief on time. Seems they figured time never moved or didn't exist in the first place. That it's always now, people and things move but not time. Had that thought myself. Don't know how Einstein and all the physicists would take to the no time idea. Same goes for the four dimensions they claim we live in. All those things, length, width, depth and time are just ideas. Just our human way of explaining the real world. Adding onto it. Not the same as running a doug-fir sliver into my index finger when I'm checking the round of a canoe paddle loom. Damn that smarts. Doesn't mean our scientific way of explaining things ain't apropos but does mean it's a human thing and may or may not have any relation to anything. Except maybe my band saw and all the other tools I'm using that wouldn't exist unless we were figuring stuff out mentally.
Or for that matter, all the contraptions we use to make war. Like the one my nephew Archie is caught in the middle of. I've heard shit happens and not all of it can be used to help plants grow.
Woke up this morning thinking about what it'd be like if I hadn't. As far as I know, not waking up happens but once in a lifetime and with luck, once is enough. Anyhow, death was on my mind. Not unusual when you're gettin' on in years. Not unusual at any time for that matter. Dying's the one thing I know for sure will happen. S'pose there's a comfort in knowing but I can't say I feel all that comforted when I think of it. But that's not the gist of where I wandered from there.
What may or may not happen after I die is the interesting part. Anyhow that's where the thought left me till I was back from shopping down in Grand Marais and eyeballin' the loom of a paddle I was carving. Been into making paddles lately. Don't have a need for more than three or four but they're fun to carve. Start out with boards, saw 'em into strips, glue 'em up and carve 'em out. Carve's a fine word. Sounds like I go at it with knives, spokeshaves and planes. All hands on and eyeball true. Well, that's partly true. Throw in the band saw and belt sander and you're gettin' close. Still, it's all handwork and the finished product is eyeball true. Also's a good builder of concentration. Can't let my mind wander too far or I'll just have a little more kindling for the wood stove.
I've got a pretty good idea what'll happen to my body. Become one with the worms and microbes, eventually, if I'm lucky, the left nut of a moose. But the pea brain that lives in my head, the one who pays attention so the saw band stays outside the line, most anything might happen to that fella after his body craps out. Maybe nothing, maybe on a cloud honkin' away on a kazoo. Frankly I kind of doubt the latter. Maybe all of me'll break up and become parts of other things. It's a big universe out there, over time a person could get spread out pretty thin. Maybe all the way to nothing. So maybe a person's not completely dead till the last atom breaks up into something else. Back when I was a kid, my old man'd occasionally ask me what I was thinkin'. Instead of the embarrassing truth I'd usually say, "Nothin'." Could be I already knew where my future lay.
Most every trip into town I pay a visit to the library. The printed word's important to me. 'Course there's words and there's words. Good writing makes me stop and think for a while. Pause a moment and stare off into the woods lost in thought. Sometimes it's just a sentence that could as easily have been left out of the story. Like a mention of a plains Indian tribe, could have been the Comanches, and their belief on time. Seems they figured time never moved or didn't exist in the first place. That it's always now, people and things move but not time. Had that thought myself. Don't know how Einstein and all the physicists would take to the no time idea. Same goes for the four dimensions they claim we live in. All those things, length, width, depth and time are just ideas. Just our human way of explaining the real world. Adding onto it. Not the same as running a doug-fir sliver into my index finger when I'm checking the round of a canoe paddle loom. Damn that smarts. Doesn't mean our scientific way of explaining things ain't apropos but does mean it's a human thing and may or may not have any relation to anything. Except maybe my band saw and all the other tools I'm using that wouldn't exist unless we were figuring stuff out mentally.
Or for that matter, all the contraptions we use to make war. Like the one my nephew Archie is caught in the middle of. I've heard shit happens and not all of it can be used to help plants grow.
Thursday, September 10, 2015
Bumbling Around
Going through one of those times in life where I'm not gettin' much done. A while back I built a lean-to on the side of the cabin. My outdoor work space. She's not much more than a twenty foot long shed roof with post supports, a deck floor atop a half dozen small piers and a couple of power outlets. Still had a pile of unused lumber and plywood so I threw together a sixteen foot work bench. Next I bit the bullet and headed down to Duluth. There I bought the tools I shoulda had when the cabin went up. Guess that's the story of life in a nutshell. Table saw, band saw and joiner. Put those together and they add up to tables, shelves, cabinets, canoe paddles and a coffin should I feel the need.
While working, my mind drifts. Not all the time, when the saws are fired up it pays to know where my fingers are. Being naturally lazy I find it easier keeping them on my hands than playin' hide and seek with finger tips on the ground.
Today, I had my mind on eyes. Mainly the color of them. Like most Minnesotans I was raised to look a person in the eye and in my growin' up years, did my best to do so. Then I heard the eyes are the windows of the soul. Put the fear of God in me that someone should know what I'd been thinking about. I knew where my thoughts had been even if I'd never physically joined them. Didn't want to let those cats out of the bag. So, over time, my eyes took to dropping and wandered everywhere but straight ahead. Came to know the condition of shoe leather way better than the color of another's eyes.
Over time I came to outgrow my fears. Worked my darndest to look a person in the eye. And almost succeeded. Turned out it's not easy doing three things at the same time. At least for me it ain't. I can listen to a person and look right at their eyes but have no clue what color they are. Tried it once but lost the gist of what the cop was saying. Turned out the right answer to the question, "Are you listening to me?" wasn't "Sorry officer, my thoughts strayed when I looked into your deep blue eyes." Wasn't sure whether he'd come upside my head with his night stick or ask me on a date. Can't say either one appealed to me.
Anyhow, that's how I got into noses. Like the eyes a person's nose says a lot about character. And's nowhere near as dangerous to stare at one. So, next time we meet and it appears I'm looking you in the eye, I'm not. Take no offense, it's just the way I am.
While working, my mind drifts. Not all the time, when the saws are fired up it pays to know where my fingers are. Being naturally lazy I find it easier keeping them on my hands than playin' hide and seek with finger tips on the ground.
Today, I had my mind on eyes. Mainly the color of them. Like most Minnesotans I was raised to look a person in the eye and in my growin' up years, did my best to do so. Then I heard the eyes are the windows of the soul. Put the fear of God in me that someone should know what I'd been thinking about. I knew where my thoughts had been even if I'd never physically joined them. Didn't want to let those cats out of the bag. So, over time, my eyes took to dropping and wandered everywhere but straight ahead. Came to know the condition of shoe leather way better than the color of another's eyes.
Over time I came to outgrow my fears. Worked my darndest to look a person in the eye. And almost succeeded. Turned out it's not easy doing three things at the same time. At least for me it ain't. I can listen to a person and look right at their eyes but have no clue what color they are. Tried it once but lost the gist of what the cop was saying. Turned out the right answer to the question, "Are you listening to me?" wasn't "Sorry officer, my thoughts strayed when I looked into your deep blue eyes." Wasn't sure whether he'd come upside my head with his night stick or ask me on a date. Can't say either one appealed to me.
Anyhow, that's how I got into noses. Like the eyes a person's nose says a lot about character. And's nowhere near as dangerous to stare at one. So, next time we meet and it appears I'm looking you in the eye, I'm not. Take no offense, it's just the way I am.
Monday, September 7, 2015
Letter Two - Archie to Emil
Uncle Emil,
We just marched in from our first bivouac. Can't say it was all that much fun. Not that it was a misery. More that we didn't do anything worth doing. Hiked around a bit, ate food out of green cans and slept on the ground. Never thought to bring a fishing pole. Didn't matter, the only water we saw was in our canteens.
Turns out our cycle is going to be cut a week short because of Christmas. Then we'll be sent home on leave before heading to advanced training. Can't say I mind that at all but it makes me wonder if the Army actually gives a damn about the war in Vietnam. Could be I'm wrong but I doubt training was shut down for a couple of weeks over the holidays during WWII. Somehow it seems like even the drill sergeants want life to be normal. Also go to bed each night being thankful they're not the suckers over in Southeast Asia being shot at.
Only two weeks to go. We chant about our time left each time we march anywhere. What we don't chant is how much time till we head wherever it is we're heading. If the rest of the trainees are like me they don't give much thought to the future. And if they do, that future doesn't involve ending up in a body bag. About all I worry about is getting through each day with as little misery as possible. A little short-sighted but the long view shows thunderheads on the horizon. Reminds me of the storm we weathered on the unnamed lake in Manitoba. Not sure where this storm's heading but it doesn't look good. However, there's plenty of time to dwell on that when the time comes.
I'd write more often but my mind and pen are usually elsewhere. Lauren sends me letters nearly every day and I try to do the same for her. When my thoughts turn homeward, most of them are on her. Our letters are as close as we can come to conversation and conversation's about all we have at the moment. When I wrote earlier about being at the end of a dead end road it was her ultimatum that finally put me there. Said she wouldn't see me till the end of fall semester (I wasn't registered) and I'd squared myself with my family (that's a long story I don't want to get into). So there I was, no school, no relationship with Lauren, not registered for the draft, out of money, no future that I could see. Turned out the draft was my lifeline. Hah, sure didn't see that coming.
And now, here I sit on my bunk, learning to be a trained monkey just like you said. There's a whole universe of humor in that. Oh well, maybe it'll all work out and I'll end up in Hawaii keeping the beaches safe for vacationers. Could say I'm depressed but I'm not. Just floating along, full to bursting with loss. Two years seems like forever. Throw in the possibility of going to war and it's … guess I don't know what it is. And don't want to think about it.
Archie
Only two weeks to go. We chant about our time left each time we march anywhere. What we don't chant is how much time till we head wherever it is we're heading. If the rest of the trainees are like me they don't give much thought to the future. And if they do, that future doesn't involve ending up in a body bag. About all I worry about is getting through each day with as little misery as possible. A little short-sighted but the long view shows thunderheads on the horizon. Reminds me of the storm we weathered on the unnamed lake in Manitoba. Not sure where this storm's heading but it doesn't look good. However, there's plenty of time to dwell on that when the time comes.
I'd write more often but my mind and pen are usually elsewhere. Lauren sends me letters nearly every day and I try to do the same for her. When my thoughts turn homeward, most of them are on her. Our letters are as close as we can come to conversation and conversation's about all we have at the moment. When I wrote earlier about being at the end of a dead end road it was her ultimatum that finally put me there. Said she wouldn't see me till the end of fall semester (I wasn't registered) and I'd squared myself with my family (that's a long story I don't want to get into). So there I was, no school, no relationship with Lauren, not registered for the draft, out of money, no future that I could see. Turned out the draft was my lifeline. Hah, sure didn't see that coming.
And now, here I sit on my bunk, learning to be a trained monkey just like you said. There's a whole universe of humor in that. Oh well, maybe it'll all work out and I'll end up in Hawaii keeping the beaches safe for vacationers. Could say I'm depressed but I'm not. Just floating along, full to bursting with loss. Two years seems like forever. Throw in the possibility of going to war and it's … guess I don't know what it is. And don't want to think about it.
Archie
Tuesday, September 1, 2015
Promised Land - Letter to Archie
Emil's was a mixed marriage. He was raised a Lutheran, took his communion as a symbol. Lena took hers as nothing less than the body and blood of Christ. And took her Catholicism like her eucharist, body and blood. Being an easy going soul, Emil had no problem switching religions in order to marry the love of his life. Went to mass every sunday from the day of their wedding to that of her funeral. Then he was done. Didn't pass through the double doors of any church unless someone was being baptized, married or had passed on to his or her greater reward whatever that might be. When the time came, Emil figured his reward would be to learn the answers to life's most important questions, such as: "Whatever happened to my blue, argyle sock? I know it went into the washing machine but it sure didn't come out of the dryer", or "Whatever happened to my ball on the thirteenth hole down in Alex? I know I drove it in the fairway. Me and the Otte brothers searched for fifteen minutes. Backed up golf traffic to the tenth hole. Damned if we could find it."
Yeah, Emil took life like he found it. Sifted through the important moments to see if a grain of truth might be found on the screen. Felt the same way about his years in church. "There's some truth in nearly everything, even religion. But you've gotta dig through the trash kinda like an archaeologic dig. A body has to move a lot of dirt to find the one pottery chip that'll tell you how it was made and something of the hand that made it."
All well and good but those early years in sunday school stuck with him. Brought up smidgeons of bible lessons most every day. Might have a humorous spin. Might be serious. Either way I found his take entertaining. Even got me thinking once in a while. One of 'em came in a letter he sent.
Dear Archie,
Holy Moses, you wrote. I was beginning to think you were dead. Your's was the first envelope I've received in a long time that didn't have a bill in it. Felt like slicing it open right there in the post office but figured it best to wait a while. Savor the idea it might be worth reading for at least a few hours. Anticipation is good. Once back at the cabin I put it on the end table in the lookout. Saved it for a treat along with my after dinner coffee and one of the english toffee cookies I'd bought at the bakery.
Built the table from the scrap pile under the cabin. She's about two and a half foot square with a full sized shelf beneath. Good spot to stack books. Legs are coupled two by fours of varying wood varieties Top and shelf, left over birch floor boards. Almost pretty if you squint just right. The lamp atop's another salvage job. Rescued it from the land fill. Rewired, polished and topped with a new shade. Works like a charm and only cost five bucks more than a new one.
I finally did read your letter. Three or four times even. Good you finally came to grips with the Draft. Can't be free unless your conscience is clean. Well, mostly clean. No matter what there's always a few skeletons rattling around in there. And now you're enjoying your freedom by becoming a trained monkey. That's the way she goes when you're in the Army. Also another thing you'll have to come to grips with. Everything balances out in the long run, sometimes even in the short. At the end of the bad you'll find some good. Unless, of course, you die before that happens. Wouldn't bring that up but with a war going on I figure you're already aware of the possibility.
I was thinking about balance just the other day. That maybe the Old Testament got the Moses story a little topsy-turvy. Those things happen now and then even in a good book. Maybe God figured the Israelites couldn't handle the real truth. Too tough on 'em. The way the Bible tells it you'd think Moses was one great guy. Well, he wasn't and that's the gospel truth. In fact he was butt-ugly repulsive. Not the way he looked. As looks go he was a knockout. Tall, muscular, maybe even swarthy. Not sure about the last as I don't actually know what swarthy means. Might not be good seein' as how the word's got a wart in the middle. No, Moses was repulsive in the same way magnets can repulse. Opposite poles attract, like ones repel. Some call the force an aura. Most of us have a little bit of an aura. Moses, he had one in spades.
Anyhow, when Moses was born he repulsed his parents 'cause of the like auras. They took one look, screamed out "Monkey!", threw him in a basket - yeah, Moses was the original basket case - and dumped him in the river to get him out of sight. Maybe be adopted by river rats and raised as one of their own. On the other hand, the Egyptians were polar opposites from the Hebrews and it was natural the royal ladies'd see our hero come drifting along and pull the baby out of the rushes. Thought him the cat's pajamas and if you've ever read much about the ancient Egyptians you know how they felt about cats, 'specially the ones in pajamas.
Time passed and Moses grew to be a big man in the big pond of Egypt out there on the desert. Had no problem persecuting Hebrews since he found them as butt-ugly repulsive as they found him. Let me tell you it took him by surprise when the angel of God popped up in a vision while Moses was eating his breakfast of Sphinx Toasties cereal, banana and orange juice and told him he was a Hebrew. Boy was Moses conflicted. So conflicted he went and asked his step-father, the Pharaoh, to let the Hebrews go. Moses figured if they were gone he wouldn't feel so bad about himself. Of course the Pharaoh laughed it off with a "Get real Moses you ain't no Hebrew. You're a mummy-to-be just like the rest of us. And just who do you think'll build our pyramids if we turn the Hebrews loose? And just who'll run the delis? I know for sure it won't be me. Heck, without the Hebrews you and me'll end up wandering the desert for all eternity wrapped in strips of bed sheets with no place to rest our weary fleshless heads. How do think that'll look? And what'll it do to all those B grade movies?"
Moses fell head over sandals for the Pharaoh's line of logic. Fell so hard his aura also did a flip-flop. Began to see the Hebrews in a different light and they, in turn, took a shine to him. And the Egyptians saw him as he really was. Yup, the honeymoon was over and Moses soon found himself doin' overtime as bottom man on the block hoisting crew. Came to know the other end of the whip and found it not to his liking. Pissed him off something fierce. Got so mad his aura did another flip but he was so covered in muck it was hard to tell. However, Moses felt the change this time and slowly figured out how to switch it on and off.
Next time when Moses went to see the Pharaoh he fired up his negative side. Pharaoh took one look and said, "Moses, long time no see. Where you been?" Moses did a "Hiya-ho Phar-e-oh" and just asked for the Hebrews to be set free. But that got him nowhere. Said a simple, "You'll be sorry," and skedaddled. That night he bore down on the negative and sucked in a cloud of grasshoppers. 'Course they ate up all the crops and of course the Pharaoh didn't like that one bit. But he had money in the bank and didn't worry a whole lot where his next meal was coming from. Next day Moses went through the same spiel and Pharaoh, of course, did the same. Moses left with a simple, "You'll be sorrier." Next fell a plague of frogs and whatnot. Chariots slidin' in the frog slime caused one big time traffic jam come rush hour. 'Course Pharaoh didn't much care 'cause he lived where he worked.
This went on for a while, Pharaoh sayin' no and Moses sayin' "sorrier" all the time. Here's where the Bible gets it wrong. Over the next few weeks the plagues kept gettin bigger and the animals came from all over. Cats, dogs, kinkajous, gnus, sheep, even holy cows ( I know, I know, not a one was bad enough on its own to change Pharaoh's mind. But figure they were crushing down on the Egyptians and Hebrews and the result was not good at all). Pharaoh, he didn't mind at all. Had his street crews sweep up the mess, barbecue the beasts and held country-wide parties to eat the spoils. Good time was had by all. Till the first rhino fell. Yup, the rhino was the straw. Camel's backs broken, people crushed, houses flattened and the smell was something awful. Don't know if you've ever enjoyed the fragrance of festering, sun-rotting rhino but even if you have, try to imagine a couple hundred thousand of them perking away on the streets of old Thebes. Well, Pharaoh didn't have to imagine and he called for Moses. Told him to gather up all the Hebrews and blow the coop. And take the stink with him.
Incidentally, that's how Moses parted the Red Sea. Fired up his repulsive side and the water just scampered aside to get out of the way.
So that's my convoluted advice to you about going to Vietnam. Don't prejudge. There's balance in everything. There's bad in the good and good in the bad. What seems your darkest hour can be the turning point in your life. Less, of course, you get killed in the process. But even that might have its upside. Not sure what that might be but I have my hopes.
By the by, just finished reading The Grapes of Wrath. Kind of a promised land story the way Steinbeck told it. Got me thinking of promised lands and how they've played out over the years. 'Bout all I can say for sure is sometimes they're there, sometimes they're not and I have my doubts about the promised part.
Yours in good fishing,
Emil
All well and good but those early years in sunday school stuck with him. Brought up smidgeons of bible lessons most every day. Might have a humorous spin. Might be serious. Either way I found his take entertaining. Even got me thinking once in a while. One of 'em came in a letter he sent.
Dear Archie,
Holy Moses, you wrote. I was beginning to think you were dead. Your's was the first envelope I've received in a long time that didn't have a bill in it. Felt like slicing it open right there in the post office but figured it best to wait a while. Savor the idea it might be worth reading for at least a few hours. Anticipation is good. Once back at the cabin I put it on the end table in the lookout. Saved it for a treat along with my after dinner coffee and one of the english toffee cookies I'd bought at the bakery.
Built the table from the scrap pile under the cabin. She's about two and a half foot square with a full sized shelf beneath. Good spot to stack books. Legs are coupled two by fours of varying wood varieties Top and shelf, left over birch floor boards. Almost pretty if you squint just right. The lamp atop's another salvage job. Rescued it from the land fill. Rewired, polished and topped with a new shade. Works like a charm and only cost five bucks more than a new one.
I finally did read your letter. Three or four times even. Good you finally came to grips with the Draft. Can't be free unless your conscience is clean. Well, mostly clean. No matter what there's always a few skeletons rattling around in there. And now you're enjoying your freedom by becoming a trained monkey. That's the way she goes when you're in the Army. Also another thing you'll have to come to grips with. Everything balances out in the long run, sometimes even in the short. At the end of the bad you'll find some good. Unless, of course, you die before that happens. Wouldn't bring that up but with a war going on I figure you're already aware of the possibility.
I was thinking about balance just the other day. That maybe the Old Testament got the Moses story a little topsy-turvy. Those things happen now and then even in a good book. Maybe God figured the Israelites couldn't handle the real truth. Too tough on 'em. The way the Bible tells it you'd think Moses was one great guy. Well, he wasn't and that's the gospel truth. In fact he was butt-ugly repulsive. Not the way he looked. As looks go he was a knockout. Tall, muscular, maybe even swarthy. Not sure about the last as I don't actually know what swarthy means. Might not be good seein' as how the word's got a wart in the middle. No, Moses was repulsive in the same way magnets can repulse. Opposite poles attract, like ones repel. Some call the force an aura. Most of us have a little bit of an aura. Moses, he had one in spades.
Anyhow, when Moses was born he repulsed his parents 'cause of the like auras. They took one look, screamed out "Monkey!", threw him in a basket - yeah, Moses was the original basket case - and dumped him in the river to get him out of sight. Maybe be adopted by river rats and raised as one of their own. On the other hand, the Egyptians were polar opposites from the Hebrews and it was natural the royal ladies'd see our hero come drifting along and pull the baby out of the rushes. Thought him the cat's pajamas and if you've ever read much about the ancient Egyptians you know how they felt about cats, 'specially the ones in pajamas.
Time passed and Moses grew to be a big man in the big pond of Egypt out there on the desert. Had no problem persecuting Hebrews since he found them as butt-ugly repulsive as they found him. Let me tell you it took him by surprise when the angel of God popped up in a vision while Moses was eating his breakfast of Sphinx Toasties cereal, banana and orange juice and told him he was a Hebrew. Boy was Moses conflicted. So conflicted he went and asked his step-father, the Pharaoh, to let the Hebrews go. Moses figured if they were gone he wouldn't feel so bad about himself. Of course the Pharaoh laughed it off with a "Get real Moses you ain't no Hebrew. You're a mummy-to-be just like the rest of us. And just who do you think'll build our pyramids if we turn the Hebrews loose? And just who'll run the delis? I know for sure it won't be me. Heck, without the Hebrews you and me'll end up wandering the desert for all eternity wrapped in strips of bed sheets with no place to rest our weary fleshless heads. How do think that'll look? And what'll it do to all those B grade movies?"
Moses fell head over sandals for the Pharaoh's line of logic. Fell so hard his aura also did a flip-flop. Began to see the Hebrews in a different light and they, in turn, took a shine to him. And the Egyptians saw him as he really was. Yup, the honeymoon was over and Moses soon found himself doin' overtime as bottom man on the block hoisting crew. Came to know the other end of the whip and found it not to his liking. Pissed him off something fierce. Got so mad his aura did another flip but he was so covered in muck it was hard to tell. However, Moses felt the change this time and slowly figured out how to switch it on and off.
Next time when Moses went to see the Pharaoh he fired up his negative side. Pharaoh took one look and said, "Moses, long time no see. Where you been?" Moses did a "Hiya-ho Phar-e-oh" and just asked for the Hebrews to be set free. But that got him nowhere. Said a simple, "You'll be sorry," and skedaddled. That night he bore down on the negative and sucked in a cloud of grasshoppers. 'Course they ate up all the crops and of course the Pharaoh didn't like that one bit. But he had money in the bank and didn't worry a whole lot where his next meal was coming from. Next day Moses went through the same spiel and Pharaoh, of course, did the same. Moses left with a simple, "You'll be sorrier." Next fell a plague of frogs and whatnot. Chariots slidin' in the frog slime caused one big time traffic jam come rush hour. 'Course Pharaoh didn't much care 'cause he lived where he worked.
This went on for a while, Pharaoh sayin' no and Moses sayin' "sorrier" all the time. Here's where the Bible gets it wrong. Over the next few weeks the plagues kept gettin bigger and the animals came from all over. Cats, dogs, kinkajous, gnus, sheep, even holy cows ( I know, I know, not a one was bad enough on its own to change Pharaoh's mind. But figure they were crushing down on the Egyptians and Hebrews and the result was not good at all). Pharaoh, he didn't mind at all. Had his street crews sweep up the mess, barbecue the beasts and held country-wide parties to eat the spoils. Good time was had by all. Till the first rhino fell. Yup, the rhino was the straw. Camel's backs broken, people crushed, houses flattened and the smell was something awful. Don't know if you've ever enjoyed the fragrance of festering, sun-rotting rhino but even if you have, try to imagine a couple hundred thousand of them perking away on the streets of old Thebes. Well, Pharaoh didn't have to imagine and he called for Moses. Told him to gather up all the Hebrews and blow the coop. And take the stink with him.
Incidentally, that's how Moses parted the Red Sea. Fired up his repulsive side and the water just scampered aside to get out of the way.
So that's my convoluted advice to you about going to Vietnam. Don't prejudge. There's balance in everything. There's bad in the good and good in the bad. What seems your darkest hour can be the turning point in your life. Less, of course, you get killed in the process. But even that might have its upside. Not sure what that might be but I have my hopes.
By the by, just finished reading The Grapes of Wrath. Kind of a promised land story the way Steinbeck told it. Got me thinking of promised lands and how they've played out over the years. 'Bout all I can say for sure is sometimes they're there, sometimes they're not and I have my doubts about the promised part.
Yours in good fishing,
Emil
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