Everything Under the Sun

Sunday, February 9, 2014

There are more than a few theories regarding the purpose of dreams and what they could mean if we are able to ascertain the meaning (assuming there is meaning to be found) in our dreams. In primitive societies, dreams are a means by which shamans and medicine men communicate with the spirit world. there are accounts throughout history of how holy men in tribal communities have been able to foretell future events by carefully studying the disparate details of their dreams so as to arrive at a relevant explanation of events yet to come as related possibly symbolically. The importance of dreams in certain societies can be shown to be especially revelatory. In 1875, During a major ceremonial event between the various tribal groups of the Sioux and the Cheyenne nations, the great chief and much respected holy man, Sitting Bull revealed a vision to those attending the important occasion. Sitting Bull intoned, "The Great Spirit has given our enemies to us. We are to destroy them. We do not know who they are. They may be soldiers." Given the harrassment and the arrogant demands of the U.S. military, there can be no doubt in the minds of those who heard Sitting Bull that that was who he was referring to. Within a couple of weeks, thousands of Sioux and Cheyenne warriors would wipe out General Armstrong Custer and his army at the Battle at Little Bighorn (Custer's Last Stand) thereby giving much credence to Sitting Bull's revelation.

Psychology offers other reasons for the purpose of dreaming and how we might be able to make sense of our passion-winged ministers of thought. A Jungian psychologist would suggest that dreams relate to an archetype of one sort or another. Freudian psychologists always point out that everything is connected to the libido, or rather, is symbolically male or female. The cannon is the phalus, the bag is the vagina, and the plow is intercourse, etc. Some people claim that they don't dream, which is unlikely (unless they suffer from a sleep disorder). There are some people who say that they don't dream in color. Maybe they're color blind. But in all seriousness, more likely, it is because the colors in their dreams quickly fade upon awakening.

As for my own experiences, one morning not so long ago, I awoke from an especially strange dream that was, due to its vivid details, easily recalled. It was twilight and I was standing in front of an abandoned cabin in the midst of a fog. Nearby were other people also facing the cabin. Just then a figure emerged from the cabin and walked calmly toward us. As the figure came more into focus the details revealed the head of a coyote (or a jackal) but the body of a man. When the coyote-man came within several feet of me, he stopped and stood perfectly still. I looked at the other people, whom I didn't recognize, expecting that someone may want to say or do something, but they looked at me with that look that said, "This is your dream. Its your call." So with some trepidation, I walked around the figure examining and wondering what to do. It didn't seem to pose any threat, so I slowly approached the coyote-man and opened its mouth and peered inside expecting to see a person's face, assuming of course that the figure was wearing a mask. Even after I had determined that it wasn't a mask, I was still unsure. Then I stepped back and glanced at the other people and said, "If this is a prank, you've done one helluva job." Then the coyote-man spoke,"What have you learned from this?" His soft spoken self composed tone of voice reminded me of the wandering character in the Kung Fu series from the 70s that starred David Carradine. I answered, "I realize this is going to sound cliche, but could it be that one should not always take something at face value?" Actually, I thought it was a clever pun on my part. He then replied, "You can believe what you want to believe or not believe what you don't want to believe. Either way, it doesn't matter." And then I awoke.

Upon reflection and some research, I came up with this analysis. The figure very much represents Anubis the Egyptian god of the dead who is associated with the process of mummification. So far so good. But what does the appearance symbolize and what did the conversation mean. Anubis in a person's dream could mean that the person needs spiritual guidance and (or ) is seeking clarification on an issue. Now that would make sense because of the conversation. But that's the puzzling part. So let's see, Anubis (assuming that that was whom I spoke to), appears to be saying that it doesn't matter what we believe because our beliefs are inconsequential to Universal Truths since humans are presumably programmed or "hard-wired" (in the DNA) with a limited ability to use their minds to their fullest potential. We've heard it said that humans use less than ten percent of their brain power. That may be true when considering that all the major religions believe that each one of them has the keys to heaven and to believe otherwise is to be an infidel, a heathen, or a non-believer. Hmm. If we used at least 10 percent, maybe we would realize for example, that both the Republican Party and the Democratic Party are really just two sides of the same coin. You see how this works...It just doesn't matter what you believe!

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Thursday, February 6, 2014

Jump!

It was many years ago on the very day that I got my drivers’ license, back in the day when a gallon of gas was 50 cents and the Watergate Scandal was the biggest political bombshell to hit the nation in modern times, that I roared out of town in my cool dad’s very cool 1968 360 Go Pac Javelin and headed for my family’s cabin in the mountains. It was summertime and I was looking forward to doing all of the things I normally did when I was on the mountain which included fishing, canoeing, swimming, and horseback riding. But that trip would prove to be quite different from the other times that I had spent there, not because of the fact that I now had a much desired drivers’ license, which allowed me considerably more freedom to go wherever I wanted, but because of a momentous event which very nearly cost me my life.

The area where I spent many happy summers was and still is the location of a tremendous amount of natural beauty. There are canyons and caves and waterfalls everywhere. Not far from our cabin is one waterfall that a conquistador supposedly ‘discovered’ while looking for the legendary "Fountain of Youth". Often, I would go there with friends and family and we would climb down the side of the canyon to the pool and swim out under the cascade to feel the water tumble over our bodies in cool torrents. Sometimes it was risky if the water was flowing too copiously from the ledge but the thrill was always worth the risk.

Just before going to the mountain, I had watched the movie, “Butch Cassidy and The Sundance Kid”. Not only did it star two of the coolest actors of Hollywood at that time, but the story was, for me personally, one that reflected a sort of adventurous lifestyle that I could relate to, one that I had been fortunate enough to experience in spades while growing up during those halcyon summers that I spent on the mountain exploring meadows and forests learning about nature. In one of the scenes of the movie, the two famous outlaws escape being caught by a posse by jumping off of a mountain cliff into a whitewater river. I was so impressed by that scene that I resolved to do something similar in order to experience the thrill of jumping from such a dangerous height. The waterfall under which I had enjoyed swimming numerous times offered the challenge I sought.

It was a beautiful hot summer day when I arrived at the waterfall
with two of my brothers. As we were walking toward the fall, I told them that I had planned to jump from it. They must have thought that I would not actually jump from a height of more than a hundred feet, or surely they would have immediately stopped dead in their tracks and tried to convince me that it was not a good idea. But since they must have assumed that I wasn’t crazy enough to do that, they didn’t protest but rather continued to walk excitedly to the trail leading down the side of the canyon to the base of the cascade for a refreshing swim while I stood above the canyon pool considering the jump. As I stood on the ledge patiently waiting for them to swim out to the cascade, I watched the billowy clouds lazily drifting across the azure blue sky. I looked down at the dark emerald green pool and was mesmerized by the reflections of the canyon wall on its surface. A soft breeze stirred the surface of the pool and shimmered with sparkling reflections of sunlight. The sound of the churning waterfall reverberated and encouraged me.

After my brothers had swum out to the base of the fall, I stepped closer to the edge next to and just above the waterfall and yelled down to them to check to make sure that it was deep enough and to see if there were any submersible objects such as tree limbs. Evidently I was more concerned about those things than the impact of my body slamming against the water’s surface. Even then I suppose they thought that I wasn’t foolhardy enough to do it but they went through the motions anyway and yelled back that it was safe to jump and then without hesitation, as if on cue, that is exactly what I did.

As I fell feet first at approximately hundred miles an hour, I flailed my arms wildly and, no doubt, I appeared as someone who imagined that he could fly. I had most certainly crossed the Rubicon. In that moment I realized that what I had done was a very brave thing, indeed, if not a foolish thing. When I hit the water, even though it was at a slight angle, I felt as if I had been whacked across the back with a two by four. I plunged through the water in an arc and every bit of air had been expelled from my lungs. Then I came to a halt in a cloud of bubbles. For a brief moment I was dazed and had no idea in which direction I should swim. Then I saw the bubbles move in a certain direction and quickly I followed after them. It seemed like an eternity as I swam to the surface and was very nearly gripped with panic. When I finally broke through the surface of the water, I threw my body toward the sky like a breaching whale and inhaled so forcefully that one of my brothers later jokingly described the momentous event (as that is surely what it was), as one in which it appeared as if the trees might be uprooted by the extreme force of air being drawn into my chest. As I settled upon the surface, I began to cough violently as water sprayed from my lungs. It’s a miracle that I survived anyway, but I would have likely drowned as I had not one iota of energy left to swim to shore without assistance. One of my brothers had brought along an inflated inner tube and I wrapped my arms around it and in fits and starts I maneuvered toward the shoreline. When I reached the shore, I collapsed on a bed of gravel and although the sharp edged rocks made it uncomfortable to rest, at least I reckoned that I was none the worse for wear, or so it seemed. A few minutes later, I got up and somehow mustered the strength to pull myself out of the canyon.

Fortunately I made it to the car and we sped to the nearest hospital in the valley where the only available doctor, who just so happened to be on call, was also on the links and would not be available for a while. I could hardly hold my body up but I calmly waited in the emergency room until several minutes had passed when I couldn’t wait any longer. So we left the hospital. When we arrived back at the cabin, I went straight to the bunk room and lay in bed for a couple of days to recover.

Some months later when I was back on the mountain I stopped by to say hello to an elderly farming couple who often let me fish in their pond. I was very surprised when the old man announced to me that I was a “living legend” and that people on the mountain were still talking about my "amazing death defying leap". He further stated that I was lucky to have survived such a jump without any apparent injury. Then he mentioned that for as long as he could remember, only two other people had jumped from that specific spot above the waterfall. One of the jumpers died and the other person was paralyzed. I knew that jumping off of the waterfall was risky but it never occurred to me that it would make me a celebrity of sorts. In hindsight, had I known about the fate of the two other individuals, would I still have done what I did? At the least, I think it would have given me pause to consider when such an act is brave or if it is something else, stupidity perhaps.

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Friday, August 10, 2012

A Frequent Flyer Story

If you are someone who does business without territorial constraints and who often travels across the country or around the globe in your quest to seal a sweet deal, then it is likely that you are a so-called "frequent flyer" and perhaps a member of the Mile High Club, as well. Assuming that you are a seasoned air traveler, then you will surely appreciate this story.

These days, it seems exceptional fortitude is a must for traveling any great distance by air, especially if you travel in coach class. Years ago, I remember when air travel was much less painful than a visit to the dentist's office. The seats were bigger and the food was fairly decent, and sometimes even actually delicious. The aisles were wide enough for two average sized people to easily squeeze by without being accused of being untoward and consequently slapped or even worse. The passengers generally dressed with a certain amount of panache and the flight attendants were freshly scrubbed and not ill-tempered. The airports were never nearly as crowded and security was much less intimidating. In a word, air travel was "civilized". But those days are long gone for most air travelers, unless you're a top producer or a CEO traveling on the company's dime. Then of course you get the Barclounger with real Corinthian leather and your own entertainment center with surround sound and a 42 inch plasma HDTV, not to mention the really special spanking fresh flight attendants, a fountain of sparkling Moet, and a juicy filet mignon steak with Bearnaise sauce.

Anyways, I told myself the last time that I would not fly "cattle class" trans-continentally ever again, because it's just damn grueling. Besides the jet lag that you know you're going to experience, you might as well just prepare yourself for the likelihood of stress induced trauma from traveling in cattle class. Your only hope of avoiding such an ordeal is if you make a reservation and the airline overbooks and you happen to be fortunate enough to get bumped to business class. But that's like winning the pools.

In any event, on my flight back to the land to whence I had come, I noticed people boarding the jet plane with carry-ons bigger than Fat Albert, cumbersome things such as guitars, golf clubs, and what might have also been a kitchen sink. Christ! It was almost as bad as traveling across the desert in a intercity bus surrounded by ripened migrant workers and their livestock. But the most interesting aspect of the flight was a rather peculiar hippie sitting across the aisle from where I sat (the one who had brought the guitar on board) who apparently was not enjoying the flight at all (and who could blame him) because other than those times when he went to the lavatory, he kept a blanket draped over his head and body during the entire flight even when he ate his meals. I can only guess that the hippie was making a statement about the indignity of traveling in cattle class or maybe he was simply bonkers from tripping too much...in cattle class. Have another theory? Be sure and leave a comment.

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Sunday, July 29, 2012

Florida Blues / part 5

Florida Blues / part 5

(conclusion)

Hanging out with the crazy disco duck and his funky friends was a welcome respite indeed for Roy but when he had reached the point when another beer would have put him in the danger zone of his limited cash reserve, he made his exit quietly without a word to anyone and walked out of the club to Leon’s wheels. Luckily, the car door was unlocked. He shoved some of the clutter off of the back seat and lay down. During the brief moments before drifting off into dreamland, he weighed the options for how best to get home, but concluded that he didn’t really have any viable options to begin with.

A couple of hours later, Leon stumbled back to his car, fell onto the front seat and was out for the count. The first to awaken some hours later was Roy, only because he was the first one to notice a sharp tapping noise on the window. He blinked and rubbed his eyes and stared at the automobile’s ceiling. Then he heard it again. He sat up and that’s when he saw the police officer tapping the windshield with his billy club. He reached over the front seat and nudged Leon. “Hey, wake up.”

“ What…? What is it, man?” answered Leon groggily, with half closed eyes.

“There are cops all around us.”

Leon sprang up like a jack in the box. “What the hell is going on, man?” he almost yelled.

One of the police motioned to them to get out of the car. Surrounding them were several patrol cars and half a dozen cops. The sun was just coming up and the air was slightly cool. A pea soup fog was moving across the huge parking lot, making visibility beyond a radius of fifty feet impossible.

“You guys got any I.D.?” asked the officer holding the billyclub.

Roy and Leon handed their drivers’ licenses to him.

“I suppose you don’t know that you are trespassing?”

“No officer,” replied Leon. “That is… we didn’t know.”

“Uh huh”, replied the cop.

The fact that Leon was a local resident was definitely to their advantage. Several minutes later, the officer returned the licenses and told them to hit the road. Leon was very anxious to put as much distance between them and the cops as quickly as was possible, but the dense fog and the after effects from the previous day’s consumption of alcohol prevented him from doing so. After making a wrong turn or two, he found the exit to the main road and breathed a sigh of relief. “Whew! It’s a good thing those cops didn’t look in the glove box. That 45-caliber’s in there and it ain’t registered.”

Roy shook his head in disbelief and wondered how he had survived thus far. In actuality, he knew that he should have parted company when they were in Key West, but that would’ve only created other complications to his way of thinking. At any rate, he was still a long way from home and with virtually no money. He looked at Leon and said, “I need to get a road map. Could you stop someplace where I can buy one?”

“No problem,” replied Leon.

After Roy had bought the map, Leon then drove to the on ramp of the expressway that went through Miami. Roy was understandably anxious, now that he was actually confronted with the glaring reality of the tiring journey ahead of him, but he had no other choice. He had been given the proverbial lemon. Somehow, he would just have to make that proverbial lemonade. After studying the map for a minute or two, Roy refolded it and stashed it away. “Well, this has been the most enjoyable vacation I’ve had in a long time,” said Roy, ironically.

Leon smiled wryly and said, “I’ll bet.”

Roy nodded toward the expressway and said with mock seriousness, “The next part of this journey should prove to be just as interesting.” Leon clapped his hand against the dashboard and they both laughed heartily.

“Just go with the flow, bro and never say die.” said Leon.

“Leon my man, that…was a most interesting road trip, sure enough.” They laughed some more, and then Roy got out of the car and the soul brother drove away. Suddenly the troubling uncertainty of what Roy now faced was weighing heavily on his mind as he walked dejectedly to the on-ramp with his thumb held out. Three rides later, he arrived at the turnpike between Miami and Ft. Lauderdale. He stood at the entrance of the turnpike with his sketchbook, on which he had painted, in bright green, a smiley face shamrock smoking a clay pipe and the words, TAKE A BREAK. LET ME DRIVE. It was St. Patty’s Day, and though he didn’t have any Irish ancestors that he knew of, he was hoping that the luck of the really lucky Irish would be with him.

For way too long, he stood in the broiling sun as a multitude of cars passed by. Sweat dripped non stop off his brow and into eyes with stinging persistence. The heat had just about withered him. He was dizzy and dehydrated when a couple of jet setters on their way to the Rockies to ski pulled over in a late model 4-wheel drive vehicle. Thirty minutes later, Roy was driving while John and Jane Jet-Setter played backgammon and fooled around in the semi-private rear section of the car. Roy hadn’t eaten in almost two days except for just a bag of potato chips and an orange. His stomach was making so much noise that the jet setters must have noticed. Eventually, they told Roy to pull into the next rest area because it was time for lunch. Roy wondered what kind of lunch they had packed for the trip. But more importantly, he wondered if there was enough for a third person.

“We’re grilling hamburgers”, said one of the jet setters. “There should be an outdoor grill at the rest stop.”

They found an ideal spot nicely shaded with a view of flowering orange trees in a grove. John and Jane marveled at Roy’s bottomless pit of a stomach. Roy gobbled down almost three times the amount of food that the jet setters ate.

“You sure do have an appetite. When did you last eat?” said Jane.

“I don’t exactly remember,” Roy said as he continued to ravenously devour hamburgers, beans, and potato salad. Afterwards, Roy felt like taking a nap, but the jet setters were ready to hit the road again. John took over the driving and Roy stretched out in the back of the car and fell asleep. Relatively speaking, traveling with John and Jane lacked suspense, which was just fine as far as Roy was concerned. He’d had more than enough surprises, and then some, to last for quite awhile. Luckily for him, their route to Colorado would include driving through Pascagoula, Mississippi. Roy had relatives living in Pascagoula, so that’s where they dropped him off. He stayed there for a few days, safe at home, so to speak, among those that he knew, though only because on one or two occasions he had met them when families got together for weddings or funerals. Most of his relatives who lived there were considerably older.

When it came time to leave, one of the relatives took him to the bus station, gave him a fifty spot and of course the obligatory words to the wise farewell speech which, in so many words, was that he should phone well ahead in advance to let others know what his plan was the next time he wanted to visit.

Upon his arrival home late on a Sunday, he found out that his mother, who had also been on vacation elsewhere (which explained why he had no recourse), had called the police who then put out an all points bulletin alert that very same day when he arrived home. To her credit though, she remained calm which was unusual considering how much she generally worried about things. In spite of the sunburn, the weight loss, and the frazzled nerves he was none the worse for wear.

As it turned out, the desk clerk at the Gulf Breeze Inn had committed an unfortunate error (to say the least). His father had apparently been at the hotel the whole time. When Mr. Baldwin checked with the desk clerk to see if Roy had arrived, the woman explained that since she couldn’t read Mr. Baldwin’s handwriting, naturally, she assumed that he wasn’t staying there. Roy was astounded at the incredulity of such a chance occurence.

“Well, how do you like that,” he said as he grinned. “Still, it’ll be a helluva story to tell my grandchildren some day, and if I don’t have grandchildren to tell the story to, I can always tell someone somewhere about the time I went to Key West for some fun in the sun, but had a hair raising trip to the twilight zone, instead.”

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Thursday, July 19, 2012

Florida Blues / part 4

Roy found the hotel where his father said they would be staying. He walked into the lobby and paused to catch his breath under a ceiling fan that was stirring the sultry air. Assorted huge palm plants were stationed around the wicker and rattan furniture. It reminded him of a movie that he had seen with Humphrey Bogart. He strolled over to the front desk.

   “Welcome to the Gulf Breeze Inn. How may I help you?” asked front desk clerk.

   “I’ve just arrived in Key West and I’m meeting my family who’s staying here. The name’s Baldwin.”

The desk clerk opened the registration book and thumbed through the pages. “Do you know when they checked in?”

   “It was a few days ago,” replied Roy.

   The clerk slowly moved her fingers down a couple of pages. As she did so, Roy felt a vague uneasiness steal over him.

   “Is it possible that a different name was used?” the clerk asked.

   Roy gave her a curious look as if to convey what to him seemed to be an absurd question.

   “People do that, you know,” she added.

   “He wouldn’t have any reason to do that. Besides, my family is expecting me to meet them here,” answered Roy.

   The desk clerk searched again and after a minute or two, she closed the registration book and said, “I’m sorry, but no one has registered by the name of Baldwin, at least not in the past few days.”

   “That can not be”, Roy replied incredulously .

   “I’ve looked very carefully”, she affirmed.

   “Well, this is not such a large hotel. Maybe you’ve seen him. He’s a middle-aged man of average height and wears black-framed glasses. You would've probably seen him with three teenage boys.”

   For a brief moment she paused to think and then replied, “I haven’t seen anyone that fits that description.”

   “I suppose he could have used a different name, but highly unlikely.”

   It was evident from his expression that he was surprised at what he had just said. “May I have a look at the register?” he asked. “I’m sure I'd recognize his handwriting.”

   “I’m afraid that’s against hotel policy, sir, for security reasons you understand. I wish, though, for your sake that I could.”

   Roy was familiar enough with Mr. Baldwin’s hand writing that if the man had, for whatever mysterious reason, signed the register using a different name, Roy would probably have no problem spotting it. If only the desk clerk would let him have a quick look at the signatures of the registered guests. Unfortunately for Roy, that was not going to happen.

   Out of the hotel and into the blinding light of the broiling Key West sun he slowly walked disheartened and stunned. To a casual observer, he must have appeared as someone who enjoyed confused conversations with himself as he shuffled dejectedly across the parking lot. Fortunately, when Roy got to the car, Leon was still passed out. Roy fidgeted for a minute or two as he contemplated his next move. He opened his wallet and counted the bills but what he saw just made him more depressed. He wondered if he had misunderstood some of information he had been given as he started the car and drove towards no place especially while venting loudly and perhaps causing other motorists and pedestrians to think that he suffered from some sort of mental disorder. He tried to imagine the sort of hotel his family would stay at in a place as unique as Key West. Still, if Mr. Baldwin had checked out of the Gulf Breeze Inn, he would have most assuredly left a note at the front desk. It just didn’t add up. Nothing made sense and now he was unsure as to what he should do next. In spite of the long shot odds and the lack of a better idea, he drove from one hotel to another looking for his family while the hours slipped by. What modicum of hope there may have been was turning to disappointment and despair. When the sun had almost completely arched across the sky, he knew then that his visit to Key West had come to its tiring end. Leon was right. There were too many damn hotels.

   Bleary eyed and groggy, Leon awoke from his slumber and took over the wheel and back to the mainland they drove. It was a fairly quiet and uneventful ride, except for the occasional outburst from Roy as he naturally continued to try to sort through the details of the information that he had been given, such as when his family were supposed to have arrived and where they would be staying. He had gone over every detail a number of  times. Eventually, he concluded that he had not made a mistake. So how could this have happened, he thought.

   It was almost dusk when they drove into a hotel parking lot in Homestead. “A woman that I was supposed to go to the beach with today works at a club in this hotel. I gotta go in there. I got some 'splainin’ to do,” said Leon in a mock Ricky Ricardo voice as he got out of the car. “C’mon, we’ll have a few beers and listen to the band.”

   “What the hell, I sure don’t have anything else to do.” At least it would help him to forget about the dilemma he was faced with, if just for one evening. Luckily and ironically for him, it was “happy hour”. Maybe he’d have some fun after all, as some compensation for all of the aggravation he'd been put through, he thought.　The band wasn’t half bad and although he was the only white guy in the joint, no one made him feel unwelcome. Leon’s friends, who were mostly military guys and bar flies, were jumpin’ and jivin’ like Soul Train veterans. Roy also kicked up his heels a couple of times, though only at the urging of some of the rather insistent patrons. He definitely stood out like a sore thumb. It made him feel self-conscious at first but the booze gave him courage and made him forget that he was the only "honky" in the joint. Otherwise, he might have felt as if he were overstepping the boundaries of what he would allow himself to do normally. His adventure so far, however, wasn’t a total disaster. But his journey was far from over.

(...to be continued)

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Sunday, July 8, 2012

Florida Blues / part 3

The story you are about to read is true. From a collection of short stories entitled, The Little River Outlaws and Other Stories of Adventure.

   About half way to Key West, they picked up a couple of bedraggled looking backpackers. As the dharma bums were cramming themselves and their backpacks into the cluttered back seat, a patrol car came into view heading toward them from the opposite direction.

   “Man! Are you cats ever lucky,” said Leon . “You know it’s against the law to hitch hike on this highway, don’t you? That cop driving by coulda fined yo asses mightily, and thrown ya in the pokey too.”

   The rucksack wanderers watched unconcernedly as the patrol car drove away.

   “Didn’t know that,”said dharma bum 1.

   “Besides,” continued Leon, “there ain’t too many places to spend the night between here and Key West, unless you wanna take your chances being eaten alive by the mosquitoes or perhaps a hungry alligator. Most of the islands between here and there are too swampy. Anyhow, the hotels and motels are mostly in Key West.”

   “So we’ve learned”, replied dharma bum 2. Roy wondered if Leon was having a bit of fun at their expense.

   That was the last of any conversation for quite a while. During that time of reflection and quiet introspection, Roy had noticed a gloominess come over Leon. He seemed to be brooding about something. It made Roy uncomfortable.

   Eventually it was Leon who interrupted the silence. “I hope ya’ll know how to swim,” he said.

   A puzzled expression formed on Roy’s face.

   One of the rucksack wanderers leaned forward and said, “What?”

   “What I said was, I hope ya’ll know how to swim.”

   Both dharma bums looked at each other with the same expressions that Roy had on his face.

“ ‘Cause I’m gonna drive this heah vehicle into the drink just before the next bridge”, continued Leon in a tone that suggested complete seriousness.

   The dharma bums chuckled.

   “You think I’m jivin’, don’tcha?”

   They laughed again half-heartedly. “I don’t know. Are you?,” asked dharma bum 1.

   Leon didn’t reply.

   Roy kept his cool but, no doubt, he was concerned.

   Suddenly, a bridge loomed into view. Leon gripped the steering wheel tightly and stared straight ahead with a look of iron-willed determination. Tension and suspense were building up to such a fever pitch that, at any moment, Roy was ready to bolt as were certainly the other passengers in the back seat.

   When the moment of truth was at hand, Leon slowly turned the car away from the road. At that instant when the vehicle had completely left the blacktop and was on the gravel shoulder, he veered it quickly back onto the asphalt and drove onto the bridge. “I just realized that if I didn’t live to see tomorrow, my wife would get all of that insurance money. That would not be cool,” he said.

   Thank goodness for that, thought Roy.

   The backseat boys did not understand the relevancy of that statement, but laughed nervously, anyway.

   Roy only smiled, but it wasn’t because he was amused. In any case, he couldn’t be sure if it was some sort of sick joke or if their driver was truly a deeply troubled individual. Perhaps it was a combination of both, he thought.

   Leon had obviously become a likely road hazard should he continue to drive. At the first opportune moment, when he pulled into a filling station to get a snack and the nerve-wrecked hitchhikers had quickly departed, Roy politely but firmly suggested that he should take the wheel. When they got back to the car, Leon slumped onto the front seat on the passenger side. Roy heaved a sigh of relief as he started the car and drove onto the highway. While he was eating some potato chips, Leon slid on to the floorboard and rested his head against the seat and passed out.

(...to be continued)

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Sunday, July 1, 2012

Florida Blues / part 2

"The story you're about to read is true. Only the names have been changed to protect the innocent" (to slightly paraphrase George Fenneman). It is from a collection of short stories entitled, The Little River Outlaws and Other Stories of Adventure.

“I gotta drain the radiator. I’m about to spring a leak,” the inebriated would-be smoothie announced. Then, suddenly he veered the vehicle into a gas station and brought it to a screeching halt. He threw the car door open and jumped out of his seat and walked briskly toward the rest rooms. When the boozy driver got back in the car several minutes later, he said, “I was just thinkin’… Actually, I’m kinda in the mood for a road trip. Tell you what, you buy me a tank of gas and I’ll give you a ride to Key West...Deal?”

   The fact that the driver was driving under the influence, as it were, plus the fact that Roy would be giving a total stranger, in effect, a substantial amount of his limited immediate funds to transport him approximately a hundred and fifty miles were concerns clearly worth considering. He wondered if it was worth the risk. He thought it over, but only for a second. “Okay… I can do that.”
So they filled up the gas tank, and cruised down the highway toward the abode of pirates.

   Apparently, the driver was embarrassed about the clutter in the car and felt the need to explain the reason for the mess. He said that it was because he was moving to a new apartment. He mentioned that he was a cook in the Navy and that he was married but had recently separated. Then, all of a sudden, he burst into a harangue about how his wife had become addicted to heroin, unbeknownst to him. When he found out that she was a smack addict, she had already “split the scene”. He ranted on about how he suspected that she was “shacking up somewhere in Miami with one of her associates” and even though he claimed that he loved her, he said that he would “put her in the ground” if he ever located where it was that she was staying. To make his point more fully understood, he reached under the seat and pulled out a chrome-plated 45-caliber handgun and began to wave it around.
   How the woman’s heroin addiction could have escaped the detection of the angry man, to begin with, was never questioned. Roy wasn’t about to go there. But throughout the sordid story, the driver continued to wave the gun around menacingly. Fortunately, for Roy’s sake, the mad man eventually calmed his nerves and put the gun away.

   The scenery along the highway to Key West was like a souvenir post card, cobalt blue sky and huge billowy clouds that were scattered across the horizon. It was plain to see why pirates were fond of the Florida Keys. If a buccaneer needed a place to cool his heels for a while, it could easily be done hiding out among the many islands of the Florida Straits, where a captured ship could be stripped of anything of value, while enjoying the balmy sea breeze that blew across the Keys. Included among the larger Keys were countless smaller ones, many of them so small that one could not sit down without dangling one’s feet in the water. For the variety of sea birds in the Florida Straits, however, those miniature islands provided safe havens to rest on. Linking the numerous Keys were the numerous bridges, some of them several miles long, from which hundreds of fishermen tried their luck. Occasionally, a large oblong shape in the turquoise water just beyond the bridge would attract Roy’s attention. “Are those dark torpedo shaped objects down there what I think they are?”

“Yep…probably sharks. They’re just waitin’ around for someone or something to fall into the sea.”

Roy laughed slightly uneasily and looked down at the clear water for another shark and wondered. He reasoned that, if they were sharks, they were obviously there because they were either attracted to the fishermen’s bait or perhaps to the fish that were being attracted to the bait, itself.

(...to be continued)

http://royalgardentravel.com/adventures.php

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