Going to get married in June of next year, and my ‘country’ boy doesn’t know the first thing to be a cowboy. So with the holiday coming I figured a favorite image that he thinks is cowboy life in the mountains is becoming my love, also. Happy Holiday everyone!!
When I was growing up as a child, I had always wondered why I was so different than my family members. Part of me was lost in the winds of my elders, while part of me was still locked in the modern struggle of edging a survival out of. From the moment I was born, I had been different—the truly most gentle man taught me to respect everything that the Mother provided. I recall his large, gentle hand holding me as if to say he was there always for me. In death, he has always been there for me.
I have very fond memories of my great, great, great, Khinatio HiKretoHiNoir Tenyson, even if he was a man that hardly spoke any English, and was silent unless he wanted to point something out to you. Khinatio Ten, or Grandfather Ten as I had so called him, taught me the way of the horse. He also sometimes answered to Grandfather Jam—I think I got to see him laugh more than most people.
Grandfather Ten had a darker side, some could say he was a mean, spiteful, drunk, and they could be right. Wouldn’t a person be so, if they had outlived their child and wife? I can recall a memory of the great man horse whipping one of my cousins because that cousin had caused a horse great pain. I can remember times that same man had provided a strong shoulder for a cousin or his twin brother to cry on. Grandfather Ten had always been there for me and Uncle Pet.
Great, great, great, Khinatio HiKretoHiNoir Preta was Grandfather Ten’s identical brother, I think only Anora—their sister, my aunt—-and I were the only ones to really tell the two apart. He spoke better English than I have ever been able to, and it’s funny, out of all the family, at least my side, no one else has kept up with their teachings.
ever in that place where sometimes you hear a song and it gets suck. Well, I got one of my favorite songs: “I’m having Daydreams about Night Things.” Only its twisted: instead of the above title its—I’m having nightmares about dead things… and that’s the only part that’s stuck. Its all thanks to the TV show: The Walking Dead and my sister who got me hooked on it.
NOW of course, thanks to DISH I can’t even watch it at the house.
Had a strange day dream the other day, probably had a lot to do with me still loving the subject matter, and a lot to do with he’s transferring back stateside. It was so vivid I had to pull over to the side of the road and cry. I sometimes have dreams that come true, and I don’t know if I want this one to be one, too.
My sister got married just this last Tuesday, and it was about that day, well days after, anyways. Tony—the new husband—had invited me to a Hells Angels cook-out. It’s not the first biker club cook out I’ve been to, so I’m not worried about that. I saw a strange black truck with military plates on it—I’m used to those too, I used to live near a base, and a range, so I’m not worried about that.
I remember coming down the front steps as a shadow beyond the doorway was coming up the front stoop. It was almost as if I knew who it was, and there he stood, in his Class-A uniform, and worry in his features, when he looked me over. I remember I wanted to hit him, but I didn’t as he pulled me into his arms, even before his bag hit the stoop behind him.
The nice things about dreams is you can skip things, and I just remember blinking and we were in the backyard, with a bunch of young and old bikers; just like company picnic, I suppose it was. He had removed his jacket, and unbuttoned his shirt at the throat—I’ve always fallen hard for that look, his especially.
I don’t remember the music, but he hummed our song by Michael Bolton, “When a Man Loves a Woman.” He’s got that deep voice of his that always makes my knees go weak. I remember him inquiring about my ring he had given me, and it was then I noticed he still wore his. I have it, its on my keyring—I don’t wear rings, he knows that. It could be that we share a past even before we were married those many years ago.
Its strange, he’s not due till September, late anyways, and here he was, standing there looking at me with those eyes of his. I don’t know, maybe I have been wishing he was here already, wishing he didn’t have the family he’s had. But I’ll give you this, the Army has my thanks—turned a stubborn boy into a man.
Even for a dream, it was pretty true to him, he’s one of the few cowboys I have known to make something of themselves—and he got out of the rodeo, without being killed or crippled. Maybe that’s what I love about him—he had enough sense to hold onto something and build something for the better.
For me when I was growin’ up driving was described to me as “drivin’ is like Sex.” And in the same sense, either ridin’ in a car or on a horse: “take it slow you’ll get a bigger bang for yer buck—much like Sex and Love.” But caring for horse was never like sex, but it was very much like love: “Love a horse like you would love yer sweetheart—they’ll be yer friend for the rest of your life.”
Thanks to a group of cowboys and Indians, I now have more respect for my lovers and my driving ability than I think anyone else. And to them, I now have a respect for the people who have always tried to help me in their own little ways.
Not much of a December, is it.
The only plus of this holiday is that the evenings are always a sight to see—too bad I can’t put my feet up and sit outside and watch the sun go down like in warmer weather.
But I got these guys to warm up my Thursdays, and forget about such a crappy holiday at least for a day.
Then I got Jimmy Stewert for a month and a half—by then the holidy spirit should be gone and back to the grind stone.
You know how when yer sick and nothing’s ever right at least, you think it’s in your head? yeah, we’ve all been there—Indiana’s like that. It can’t ever make up it’s mind because when it rains its like a cold just coming on.
Well, silly me, is listten’ to old country, trying to concentrate on Criminal Law and Procedure I; chapter four of the text book, and instead is reading Suits Fan Fiction. The other thing is, who really wants to read all that LAW and then BRIEF cases? I guess today, with being sick, I kind of know how MIKE feels when things are piled on him from not only HARVEY but also LOUIS.
The only good that came from this day is watching suits when I couldn’t really get back to sleep.
The new rec center on the campus…i.e. I pay my 100 bucks, and I can use it, just like everyone else who lives campus. I might use it, because my big sister helped build it, out of respect for her. I also might use it for, I don’t know, for a chance to be something other than being a nobody’s child, and having to work my ass off just to make anything of myself. Yeah—thanks college, you know how to really fuck a person over.
Well, we all survived, slept through our alarms, and wondered why we do that every time. I’ll tell you why, its keeping something we had in high school alive, even though we’re all growing up and we’re the only ones still around and not a fuck up. Okay, I’ll admit I was a fuck up when I moved here, but at least I found other fuck ups to be friends with and didn’t fall in with the normal crowd.
Where all our dreams were dropped and stomped on…oh yes high school. where everyone across the nation had all exprienced something in simpiliar to the hell we all attended. So like the lacky that I am, I return, not for the squeekie halls, not for the bad taste in your mouth, but because there are good people here…good friends.
Well we’re drinking, each has their choice. Mine whiskey and pop hers vodaka and pop…yeah we’ve grown so much. Gone are our days of drinking all night, now are those days of of being a stable drinker. Once in a blue mood we drink.