I HOLD THESE TEN TRUTHS

TO BE SELF EVIDENT AND

BEYOND BULLSHIT

    We try to make sense of what our values and principles are and with every decade of our life they change or become modified to fit our lifestyle. Before we have children we live a spontaneous lifestyle but, once children are introduced into our lives we then become cloistered unsexed monks minding a mission for the young who, when they reach their teens, unite and become obstinate partisans against you and humanity over the age of 20. Sorry….this blog is not about teens or the similarities they have with mall zombies, but about what we learn about life. I have discovered in my 64 years of befuddled life that there are only a few absolutes. I have seen them tested over and over again and the final analysis never changes. Here are some Charlieisms that I’m leaving to my grandkids before Facebook teaches them right from wrong.

1st………Half the people you deal with are constantly screwing you over.

2nd.…….The other half of the people you deal with are in line waiting their turn.

3rd…….People are either takers or givers. Those in the middle are on respirators.

4th.…….Sex can either destroy a career or make one

5th.…….Marriage is a formidable institution. Some feel safe and secure within, while others are climbing the walls.

6th……..We would give our lives for our children and our children keep testing that belief.

7th……..Love can heal all ills except bringing home the clap.

8th……..Women are not beautiful until plus size.

9th……..Men are not at their peak until they’re bald with a full gray beard. Dimples too.

10th……Happiness is the most expensive commodity in life, because you often pay such a high price for it.

                              STILL WINTER               

    She stood under the sagging limb of a large pine tree and listened. She focused her mind and senses and listened until she filtered out the piercing wind and the occasional crack of a tree limb laden with snow. Finally, her concentration went beyond the sound of snow gently settling on the landscape. She stood totally still…..every few moments she would tremble from the cold but it would pass. She could feel the long, slow heart beats deep in her chest. She continued to listen into the bleak surroundings listening for the opportunity that would lead to a kill.

She had lost her new born before mid-winter and now it was the freezing heart of the season and she still could not accept the lost. Confusing…..alive and then dead. The cold had killed him. She had mourned a still born from two years ago but this lost was full of life and then the cold came. The invading, merciless chill of nature. She had seen the remains of others resulting from “night death” when the cold was so thick in the lungs that some were unable to breath it out and it froze there in their chest. Dying alone in the dark cold…..confused and then peaceful.

She listened. Her eyes closed to the numbing wind. Quiet….concentrating….then a ‘snap’! She opened her eye’s. To her right. Another ‘snap’! She slowly crouched to conceal her profile. Long moments passed. There in the tree line! She slowly made her way across an open area towards the opposite tree line. She stopped every few feet to listen. Halfway across the clearing she saw movement! She moved faster now, her heart pounding and her blood rushing through her body bringing needed warmth to her muscles. She sprang at the very last moment and tore through the sparse bushes and low hanging tree limbs. The doe fell under her impact but regained it’s footing and began to flee, but, she was on the deer just as fast and brought her down with a throat kill. Then she fed. 

Later, she laid by the kill and watched the steam rise from the bloody wounds. She laid there not moving. She listened. She focused her mind to all the sounds around her. Soon the wolves would smell the blood and show in numbers to great for her to fight. She listened to the sounds of the still winter and waited.

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Love Eternal

A day finally came, not to pass them by

As true as life, it was time to die

Their time passed and so they fade

These souls entwined as they laid

Embraced forever, in each others hold

Lovers arms that gently fold

The spirit of their love shall ever endure

Ages gracefully and strengthens pure

Eye to eye in frozen bliss

Lost forever in this eternal kiss

The memory of them long passed to space

As now they share, their eternal embrace

This photo was taken in Italy in 2007. The grave is over 5,000 years old.

There is no greater bond than love.

Charlie 2011

“It’s cold.”

“I know. Move closer to the window, it’s warmer there.”

“The season’s never gotten this cold so early before.”

“I know. Are you warmer now?”

“Some,” she said. He stood there close to her, blocking the chilly wind. It had been a sad nesting season with the lost of all three of their fledglings. Sad for their loss and sadder still for the emptiness she now felt. “Are you feeling stronger today?” his mate asked.

“Yes. Much stronger,” he lied. He was in his fourth season…..too old to survive another winter much less a strenuous migration. “Do you feel the warmth from the window yet?”

“Oh yes, much better now,” she answered. “There is so much light inside and I can see them moving and hear their sounds.”

He shuttered for a moment and then worked his wings to fluff the insulation of his chest down. He was getting weaker. “You must fly now. South to the warm waters,” he said. She kept silent and continued to look into the window. “Soon the snow will be here and then it will be too late. You must fly now.”

“I will stay with you. You have always been my protector and I won’t leave without you.”

“It is my time and you still have another nesting season ahead of you.” He knew she would have no problem finding a mate next spring and then maybe a chance of healthy fledglings. “Now go!” he said and then he flew off. After awhile, he settled on the limb of a barren oak and perched there for the rest of the day. He wanted to fly back to make sure she was gone, but, he was too tired.

Three days later, the first snow fell. It was a light snow and the sounds of excited children could be heard throughout the neighborhood. It was overcast and the windy chill was a harbinger of still more snow to come. By evening, all the young were sheltered warm in their homes awaiting the next snowfall. With the last of his strength, he had found their abandoned nest and collapsed in the familiar comfort of what they had built together that warm spring.

His heart was beating slowly now and the cold was no longer a discomfort. He thought of his mate and the two wondrous seasons they had shared together….most of their lifetime. In his last moments he felt a gentle commotion. He opened his eyes and saw her in the nest.

“I’ve spent days looking for you. I still want to stay with you.”

“Why?” he quietly asked.

“We have spent most of our life together. It is only right that we finish it together.” She knelt down beside him and gently laid her head on his back.

The snow came later that night and left a frigid blanket that covered everything. Under the snow were two dead sparrows. Both of no real importance to the world. But even in their last moments, these simple creatures knew and experienced what many simply call instinct……the loyalty of love.

                                                                                                                                                                                                        CHARLIE 

We all reach a point in our lives when our brain cells run out of warranty. We begin with minor issues like where did I put the car keys and advances on to later wondering where I put the damn car and once you’ve found it, then trying to figure out where you were going! It is all a part of life and all of us will have to deal with it at some point.

My memory has now devolved to the “bunny slope” of my brain. Sometimes I walk into the kitchen to do something and can’t remember what it was, so I just get a beer and sit back down and watch TV. Seems I drink a lot of beer now while things burn up on the stove.

First thing we all worry about is that it may be Alzheimer’s. The similarities are scary in that Alzheimer’s is a type of dementia that causes problems with memory, thinking and behavior….all the traits of getting older! So, how can you tell when your memory is starting to go to shit? Well, often a clear conscience is usually a sign of a bad memory, or half the time you’re on the computer you’re using ‘spell-check’. Another shock is to be told that NBC cancelled Bonanza!

Reminders become important. ‘Post Notes’ because part of your everyday life along with forgotten shopping list crammed in the bottom of your pockets or purse. Family birthdays and anniversaries are easy to remember as the family starts reminding you a month ahead of time so to have ample gift buying time. When the water stops coming out of the shower head it’s a reminder to pay the water bill.

I do get frustrated now-a-days about my memory when it comes to mostly remembering names. Actors, writers, estranged in-laws, grandkids and the cute cashier at Walgreens. I’ve tried all kinds of memory exercises such as ‘object association’ where you associate a persons name with some characteristic of that person. An example would be if you met someone named Fred. You noticed that his wife is ’zombie ugly’ and could pass as the walking dead….so, you associate the name Fred with his wife’s dead pallor and there you have it! Fred…dead. Just my luck I would call the Walgreen’s cashier ‘all-ass’ instead of Alice.

The true aggravation of memory loss is that, inside every older person, a younger person is wondering what the crap happened? The simplest way to deal with it is to not let it get to you. Accept it. I know it’s easier for me to call ‘what’s her name’ just Wifey and honey than to dwell over the dilemma. One more solution I have found is that my life is a lot better having all my bills automatically paid each month on line through my bank. Just wish I could remember the password. 

They just call her Gert. No one knows for sure, but all the street bandits, hookers and junkies just call her Gert. Might have been Mary, Sue or Cindy in the day, but that day’s long spent. Now Gert just spends her days making the rounds scoping out her trash cans, dumpsters and drink can pickups. Gert gets by.

Long lost in the decades is some old high school yearbook that might of shown a glossy of a smiling prom queen or gyrating cheerleader that might of looked familiar. Hard to say now. Maybe, long lost in some damp basement is buried a wedding album, undisturbed under boxes of rotting clothes. A flowing gown cascading off the shoulder’s of an innocent bride with over rouged cheeks, Gert?…..maybe. A husband’s plot, tucked away in a vine covered corner of a wasted cemetery…….maybe. A daughter who tries not to dwell on a bewildered and time lost mother that no longer knows her……maybe this is Gert, or Mary or Cindy. Doesn’t matter, Gert gets by.

She makes her rounds. Old stained pillow from the trash can on 44^th…..broken cell phone in the alley off Hinds street…..faded ball cap, half a pack of stale dinner rolls and a stalk of limp celery in the dumpster behind Dell’s Café. A good start for the day.

She heads to the park over at South Bend and finds her favorite bench. If someone is sharing the bench, she just sits down and starts talking to herself until they get up and move on. Once the bench is hers, she piles her assets next to her leaving no room for anybody else. She takes out the stale pack of rolls and starts crumbling up the bread and tossing it out on the sidewalk for the sky rats that start to descend and cluster around her ankles. She talks and scolds them while making up names for the birds. Soon she takes her nap while her little friends stand guard.

Gert slowly walks down the middle of the sidewalk that runs along Dumont. She stops ever so often to pick through a trash bin pulling out cans and unfinished lunches. The food is always fresh long Dumont.

The sun is now setting behind the Madison Building. Gert collects discarded newspapers on her way to the 22^ave subway entrance. There were snow flurries off and on all day and the newspaper would add insulation under her coat tonight. She carefully maneuvers the stairwell down to the subway platform and then walks a short distance until she reaches the restrooms. She drags her treasures into a stall with her and then a few minutes later, she pulls them all out again. She washes quickly at the sink being ever watchful for strange intruders that might walk in. She now leaves the restrooms and walks about two more blocks down the platform until she reaches her night bench. As the 302 rushes by, she organizes her assets safely next to her and then sits down and relaxes.

Gert watches the people hurry back and fourth. Listens to all the languages….so many languages. She takes out the newspapers and stuffs them inside her coat. She looks for a moment at some of the pictures under the headlines but she no longer has her glasses so it doesn’t matter anyway. Most like Reagan was still president.

It’s getting late now. Her head starts to sag and nod and finally she drifts into a guarded sleep. A short distance down the platform, a young man calls out to a woman, “Mary!” For a brief flicker of a moment, lost in her sleep world….Gert smiles.

                                                                                                                 PINEVILLE

   Many years ago when I was in retail management, I was a district manager for the southeastern part of the U.S. One of my functions was to close unproductive stores. One such store was located in a small coal mining town in southwest Kentucky alone the Appalachian trail region. The population was only about 1,200 people and most could chart their linage back four or five generations to this town.

   Two of the coal mines had shut down and most everybody was living on the cuff. A small mall had opened in a town about 35 miles away and the remaining town folk were buying their needs there and thus my little 48 year old department store had seen it’s final days. When I closed a store it usually took about three weeks of doing transfers, asset liquidations, terminations and a mountain of paperwork. I also had to resolve any tax issues with the local government, which in this case was the mayor and his four councilmen who were all family. I stayed at the “Colonel Boone” hotel and endured the meatloaf at the small town café every night. There were no movie theaters and the only bar was in Hazard, 45 miles away.

   Living in this small mountain community was like a time warp into another place and decade. Everybody knew each other and who was doing who and how often. Half the kids didn’t finish high school and every boy’s future was ordained by the family tradition of becoming a coal miner at 17. There were several other coal jobs like “coal pickers” and “shovel sharpers” for those 14 to 16, but getting into the mines for the big money, you had to wait until 17. Sad to say, times were now against those old traditions.

   Every day you heard terms like “back in da holler,” or “his daddy’s a shineman”, or “the black lung got em, bless his heart.” Another thing you often heard was nonstop slander of “them Washington fellas”. To that very day, the older locals would talk about the day “them Washington fellas” sent army buses into town in 1943 and rounded up all the men between 18 and 35 in the hollers that were not working the mines. In the town square, under military guard, they got processed and then all the men folk were loaded on the buses and sent to war. The resentment, even after all those decades, was still as strong then as it was the day it happened in 1943. What kept this fervor alive was the fact that half these men never returned home.

   My store was on Main street, (yes, Main street). Down two blocks from me was the towns funeral parlor, (yes, parlor). My store shared a common delivery alley in the back with the funeral parlor and furniture store. Each morning I drove through that alley to get to a side street where I parked my car. Okay…..here it comes……some mornings there would be a corpse, wrapped in an old stitched quilt or blanket and left laying on the small loading dock of the funeral parlor.

   Come to find out, it was a common practice for many of the “clans” that lived up in the more isolated hollers to bring their dead to town at night in a borrowed pick-up and leave the deceased on the loading dock with a scratched note giving the name, date of birth, maybe a SS#, what happened and when they died. Also there would be some money. The mortician told me once, that the body of an old man was left one night with a leather bag containing a hundred silver dollars. Makes you think.  Children and babies were never left. The clans figured they never really had a life so a death certificate was not important, so they were given a “quilt” burial. As soon as they died they were wrapped in one of grandma’s quilts, put in a hole and covered up. Gives you a sense of sad loneliness but it had been their custom for generations.

   The undertaker would do the embalming and then take the paperwork over to an old retired doctor who signed off on the death certificate and then the undertaker would put it all in an envelope and along with the body he would place everything in a cardboard casket and that night he would place it back on the loading dock and by morning it was gone. This was the Appalachian way.