we're all gonna feel the power
we're all gonna break from the crowd
we're all gonna see the glory
just a little bit down the line
we're all letting go of our anger
just a little bit down the line
we're all gonna live forever
but we're all gonna feel the pain
we're all gonna be together
just a little bit down the line
talk to red heart angels
just a little bit down the line
talk with familiar strangers
just a little bit down the line
just a little bit down the line
just a little bit down the line
just a little bit down the line
G
CG
GD
CG
capo1
4/25/10
4/24/10
Texico (Draft): Grace Of The Aged
Getting old, passing through life, learning lessons, inspiring. However we describe it, it is undeniable that physically we are diminished by the years. Some have more fight than others and spend their ever shorter life battling the aches, pains, and wreckage of their bodies. But what of the mind? The same destruction comes to our minds, and our souls, and the battle needs to be joined in those areas too. Describing how we attack aging or declaring how we are going to fight all the way to the end seems misguided in a way. Surely, we are meant for, and have been promised, everlasting life. The fight can come from that instinct and taken to its fleshly absurdity.
L. Dean Fitzgerald is an old man in the present tense of the story. However, he has an easy peace about the inevitable decline. Acknowledgement is ever present, but it does not seem to become a central complaint or reason for empathetic pleadings. Wisdom is the benefit of the aged man or woman. Created by experiences and long periods of considering. Mistakes are remembered with passing regret, but remembering and regretting are mainly activities of the foolish and beaten. In Texico, we have a post succession, and principled, Texas and a lost Mexico becoming a nation. We are about 30 years forward from the present day which allows for a completely empty historical record. This is the basis of the fiction and is like an empty canvass for an author. God willing, I will live these three decades myself, but I will explore the effects of aging in the 40s, 50s, and 60s, from an outsider's perspective. Hopefully, writing the story of an aged man, among other aged men and women, will lead to thoughtful imagining of the road to the casket--or urn of ashes--or desert tomb.
In Texico, age and time will be a central feature of the story. The story of the initial rumblings of succession, the executed plan to leave the United States, the merging of Texas and Mexico, the rapid and astounding economic and diplomatic success of Texico, and the current reality of the nation will be told as betrayal and fearless love bind and divide the characters.
L. Dean Fitzgerald is an old man in the present tense of the story. However, he has an easy peace about the inevitable decline. Acknowledgement is ever present, but it does not seem to become a central complaint or reason for empathetic pleadings. Wisdom is the benefit of the aged man or woman. Created by experiences and long periods of considering. Mistakes are remembered with passing regret, but remembering and regretting are mainly activities of the foolish and beaten. In Texico, we have a post succession, and principled, Texas and a lost Mexico becoming a nation. We are about 30 years forward from the present day which allows for a completely empty historical record. This is the basis of the fiction and is like an empty canvass for an author. God willing, I will live these three decades myself, but I will explore the effects of aging in the 40s, 50s, and 60s, from an outsider's perspective. Hopefully, writing the story of an aged man, among other aged men and women, will lead to thoughtful imagining of the road to the casket--or urn of ashes--or desert tomb.
In Texico, age and time will be a central feature of the story. The story of the initial rumblings of succession, the executed plan to leave the United States, the merging of Texas and Mexico, the rapid and astounding economic and diplomatic success of Texico, and the current reality of the nation will be told as betrayal and fearless love bind and divide the characters.
4/21/10
Eleven Eleven
see what you find in the back pages of your life
when daylight comes and you thank Him for the light
He might want you to write
He may want you to fight
He may want you to close your eyes
and thank Him, and ask Him, one more time.
speak to me, i beg you, i want to know
wanna know, wanna know, wanna know, oh Lord i want to know
I'll do what i am told
unload my cargo
end up in San Antonio
fallen cold, no hero, a complete fiasco
too late to be up at night, it's a bit past eleven
should hang it up tonight, as tired as i been
really thought we'd win
they had the better men
i shouldn't try and pretend
they wouldn't bend, up by ten, couldn't defend
G
CCCG
CG
CG
C
DD7G
when daylight comes and you thank Him for the light
He might want you to write
He may want you to fight
He may want you to close your eyes
and thank Him, and ask Him, one more time.
speak to me, i beg you, i want to know
wanna know, wanna know, wanna know, oh Lord i want to know
I'll do what i am told
unload my cargo
end up in San Antonio
fallen cold, no hero, a complete fiasco
too late to be up at night, it's a bit past eleven
should hang it up tonight, as tired as i been
really thought we'd win
they had the better men
i shouldn't try and pretend
they wouldn't bend, up by ten, couldn't defend
G
CCCG
CG
CG
C
DD7G
4/17/10
Wine Cost 35 Bucks
never heard of no wine cost 35 bucks
daily shipment comes in from the big trucks
man you funny is what she said to me
blessed her when she shook out an early spring sneeze
i don't blame you for taking it back
she kept on talking as we walked past the snacks
no wine is worth that much cash
get you some mad dog if you want to get smashed
get you some mad dog
get you some mad dog
get you some mad dog
if you want to get smashed
GEmGD
daily shipment comes in from the big trucks
man you funny is what she said to me
blessed her when she shook out an early spring sneeze
i don't blame you for taking it back
she kept on talking as we walked past the snacks
no wine is worth that much cash
get you some mad dog if you want to get smashed
get you some mad dog
get you some mad dog
get you some mad dog
if you want to get smashed
GEmGD
Mindless Motions
up before 6, my body's aching
ignoring all the pain i've been taking
we can all see the wages of time
we can all see the wages of time
top of the day and i'm needing something
get a quick bite and keep on humming
mindless motions keep me here
mindless emotions keep me here
afternoon wind gets everything dirty
don't drink like i did in my thirties
no need to stop on the way home
no need to stop on the way home
harvest covers a peaceful table
sharing stories, reading poems, thinking about fables
i wonder if i'm breaking down
i wonder if i'm breaking down
we can all see the wages of time
we can all see the wages of time
CG
FC
GC
GFC
*co-written with kent deville
ignoring all the pain i've been taking
we can all see the wages of time
we can all see the wages of time
top of the day and i'm needing something
get a quick bite and keep on humming
mindless motions keep me here
mindless emotions keep me here
afternoon wind gets everything dirty
don't drink like i did in my thirties
no need to stop on the way home
no need to stop on the way home
harvest covers a peaceful table
sharing stories, reading poems, thinking about fables
i wonder if i'm breaking down
i wonder if i'm breaking down
we can all see the wages of time
we can all see the wages of time
CG
FC
GC
GFC
*co-written with kent deville
4/15/10
Billy's Got To Go
james coburn seems the real pat garrett
riding around the streets of low down lincoln in the rain
with the women he had a heavy hand
got shaved and bathed by servant girls
coburn gonna make 'em sigh
coburn gonna make a show
coburn gonna make 'em run for cover
billy's got to go
never took his thoughts off billy the kid
he was scared, and brave, and confident, and ashamed
smirked at him with his cutting eyes
before he drew his gun and shot the man of fame
coburn gonna make 'em sigh
coburn gonna make a show
coburn gonna make 'em run for cover
billy's got to go
coburn gonna make 'em sigh
coburn gonna make a show
coburn gonna make 'em run for cover
billy's got to go
billy's got to go
billy's got to go
E
AE
B7A
B7A
B7
EAE
riding around the streets of low down lincoln in the rain
with the women he had a heavy hand
got shaved and bathed by servant girls
coburn gonna make 'em sigh
coburn gonna make a show
coburn gonna make 'em run for cover
billy's got to go
never took his thoughts off billy the kid
he was scared, and brave, and confident, and ashamed
smirked at him with his cutting eyes
before he drew his gun and shot the man of fame
coburn gonna make 'em sigh
coburn gonna make a show
coburn gonna make 'em run for cover
billy's got to go
coburn gonna make 'em sigh
coburn gonna make a show
coburn gonna make 'em run for cover
billy's got to go
billy's got to go
billy's got to go
E
AE
B7A
B7A
B7
EAE
4/4/10
The Bread Rose Just Right
Leaving the church Friday night after Good Friday service, where our pastor thankfully reminded us of the goodness, even greatness, of the day, I was feeling like a scoundrel. We left Him there and ran. We lied and doubted. We are weak souls. Shallow souls. This is the ever-nagging pull of the cross. Our awe at the Man who did take it. He had the same soul and understands our weakness. As does the Creator, who created it all. The fact that this Man was also God, as proven by the Resurrection and the Holy Spirit, gives you an appreciation for our God's courage, imagination, and perfectness. But, still, I was low and unworthy on Friday night. The $40 burger dinner afterwards at Fuddruckers didn't really help matters. Buns were a bit too sloppy and the tomotoes were suspect. Cranky, I was. A cheerleader routine later that evening had me smirking and by the time my wife joined in, I was picking out the music. The Traveling Wilbury's closed the performance with Where Were You Last Night. Songs from explorers. Never did completely shake the blues of the good, even great, night and went to bed occupied and sad.
Dead Saturday was a relief. Sure, Jesus has decended and is now facing down Satan, but the pain and blood is unseen. Seeing Him suffering man's rotten sin, is tough. Through our eyes and understanding. Pitiful good Friday. The actual act of dying witnessed by His own mother, and many others. Eleven cowardly diciples missed the event. Tangling with the devil is next. No one had a chance to write about that battle. Son of God is not as understood by us. If he took the beating, hanging, stabing, and burial of the previous day for us, imagine the weight of Saturday. Dead Saturday. I even went an extra 5 minutes on the bike machine in humble inspiration. We prayed longer for our Saturday late-morning meal to the point of distraction and sacrifice. Omlettes with buttery mushrooms and onions. I snuck a meaty piece of bacon. The smell of the breakfast kitchen was too much. A sip of coffee as my oldest prayed for Jesus. I sensed the women, all three, understood what was happening. Through the Saturday we tried to keep busy. Basketball, climbing, shopping, groceries, running, cheering, winning, catching-up, movie (the wimpy kid), popcorn, greasy shirt, showers, curlers, let the bread rise. Wanted to go to sleep early. Don't want to think about the last stages of the fight that started on Friday night.
Dreamed worriedly last night and woke to a cool, windless Easter morning. The Red Wheel Sweet Cinnamon French Braid turned out nice after a full night of rising. Yes, the bread rose just right. Everything settled. Jesus is gone. Come back and gone. He went on, back then, to appear to thousands. Humans since able to breathe in the Creator, the Savior, the Son of God, the Son of Man through the Holy Spirit. Easter is the day of validation. Everything is gonna be alright. He come and gone. Gone where I'm going to go. Like a big brother that takes off for life. Ever lasting life. I draw a huge knife from it's safe place and slice it across the main stalk of the broccoli. My in-laws like a choppier salad. Light, jazzy, and late, worship at Our Savior Lutheran await followed by a grateful lunchtable in the north Collin County countryside. Chocolate and ham destined to be the main memories of the day. Grandpa Jim collected around $35 in can money through the year to be hidden in plastic eggs. We'll scatter them around one acre of the 7-acre spread. Stockwell Acres. MaMa will watch from the porch and smile. Perhapes wave a hand. "Go on and get 'em. Ha!". She understands the battle that was fought and won. She is still fighting death, as we all are. This is her 95th Easter morning. I wonder how she made her macaroni and cheese so crusty.
Dead Saturday was a relief. Sure, Jesus has decended and is now facing down Satan, but the pain and blood is unseen. Seeing Him suffering man's rotten sin, is tough. Through our eyes and understanding. Pitiful good Friday. The actual act of dying witnessed by His own mother, and many others. Eleven cowardly diciples missed the event. Tangling with the devil is next. No one had a chance to write about that battle. Son of God is not as understood by us. If he took the beating, hanging, stabing, and burial of the previous day for us, imagine the weight of Saturday. Dead Saturday. I even went an extra 5 minutes on the bike machine in humble inspiration. We prayed longer for our Saturday late-morning meal to the point of distraction and sacrifice. Omlettes with buttery mushrooms and onions. I snuck a meaty piece of bacon. The smell of the breakfast kitchen was too much. A sip of coffee as my oldest prayed for Jesus. I sensed the women, all three, understood what was happening. Through the Saturday we tried to keep busy. Basketball, climbing, shopping, groceries, running, cheering, winning, catching-up, movie (the wimpy kid), popcorn, greasy shirt, showers, curlers, let the bread rise. Wanted to go to sleep early. Don't want to think about the last stages of the fight that started on Friday night.
Dreamed worriedly last night and woke to a cool, windless Easter morning. The Red Wheel Sweet Cinnamon French Braid turned out nice after a full night of rising. Yes, the bread rose just right. Everything settled. Jesus is gone. Come back and gone. He went on, back then, to appear to thousands. Humans since able to breathe in the Creator, the Savior, the Son of God, the Son of Man through the Holy Spirit. Easter is the day of validation. Everything is gonna be alright. He come and gone. Gone where I'm going to go. Like a big brother that takes off for life. Ever lasting life. I draw a huge knife from it's safe place and slice it across the main stalk of the broccoli. My in-laws like a choppier salad. Light, jazzy, and late, worship at Our Savior Lutheran await followed by a grateful lunchtable in the north Collin County countryside. Chocolate and ham destined to be the main memories of the day. Grandpa Jim collected around $35 in can money through the year to be hidden in plastic eggs. We'll scatter them around one acre of the 7-acre spread. Stockwell Acres. MaMa will watch from the porch and smile. Perhapes wave a hand. "Go on and get 'em. Ha!". She understands the battle that was fought and won. She is still fighting death, as we all are. This is her 95th Easter morning. I wonder how she made her macaroni and cheese so crusty.
3/30/10
Graveyard Wisdom
they'd give anything if they had my cough
or a kingsize bed that was nice and soft
pure envy runs through their veins
everyday seems the same
the same, the same, the same
they all wish they could go to work
experience the frustrations that lurk
day after day they wish
a talk, a lunch, a kiss
one kiss, one kiss, one kiss
seasons change like a kaleidoscope
though the years they learn not to hope
death touches all the races
the colorless resting places
but there's no rest in this place
they long to hold another and taste sweet honey
see the sun fall asleep and have a pocket full of money
smell all the smells of the dirt
feel the pain of being hurt
it's the pain that hurts
or a kingsize bed that was nice and soft
pure envy runs through their veins
everyday seems the same
the same, the same, the same
they all wish they could go to work
experience the frustrations that lurk
day after day they wish
a talk, a lunch, a kiss
one kiss, one kiss, one kiss
seasons change like a kaleidoscope
though the years they learn not to hope
death touches all the races
the colorless resting places
but there's no rest in this place
they long to hold another and taste sweet honey
see the sun fall asleep and have a pocket full of money
smell all the smells of the dirt
feel the pain of being hurt
it's the pain that hurts
3/22/10
My Shiny Used Car
chip on the paint and there ain't much tread
but i like the color and there's room for my head
drove the small one but there's not much juice
had a smooth ride but the steering was loose
worked the numbers with the money guy
kept sending him back to give my numbers a try
finally got him when i put a grand down
gonna make it drive straight and fix that sound
my shiny used car
got a deal on a used car
took it off the lot, my other one's about to rot
my shiny used car
think someone ever smoked in here?
spilled a milkshake or dropped a beer?
smells good to me and drives like a dream
got a sunroof and the stereo screams
leather's overrated anyway
hot in the summer and likely to fade
dark tinted windows and two high-tech keys
from the minds of the japanese
my shiny used car
got a deal on a used car
took it off the lot, my other one's about to rot
my shiny used car
my shiny used car
got a deal on a used car
took it off the lot, my other one's about to rot
my shiny used car
but i like the color and there's room for my head
drove the small one but there's not much juice
had a smooth ride but the steering was loose
worked the numbers with the money guy
kept sending him back to give my numbers a try
finally got him when i put a grand down
gonna make it drive straight and fix that sound
my shiny used car
got a deal on a used car
took it off the lot, my other one's about to rot
my shiny used car
think someone ever smoked in here?
spilled a milkshake or dropped a beer?
smells good to me and drives like a dream
got a sunroof and the stereo screams
leather's overrated anyway
hot in the summer and likely to fade
dark tinted windows and two high-tech keys
from the minds of the japanese
my shiny used car
got a deal on a used car
took it off the lot, my other one's about to rot
my shiny used car
my shiny used car
got a deal on a used car
took it off the lot, my other one's about to rot
my shiny used car
3/19/10
Hochatown Hoot
good evening. thanks for listening to the Hochatown Hoot on KEWL 107.1, Southeastern Oklahoma's destination for culture, music, and news. this is lane ramsey with local news. Adabel police took a man to jail early this morning at 2:30am. the man, 32, is accused of assault of a minor. evidently, the man slapped the 7 year old boy after the boy asked him a question at a card game. "I ain't your daddy, boy," was heard before the alledged assault. police are still investigating while the man sits in the McClacklin County jail. further, the man was immediately ambushed at the scene by three women. hospital officials confirm he had multiple deep cuts around both knees and possibly bone fractures to the face and left arm. several teeth were missing, but dental records will determine if they were already gone. needless to say, he has alot to think about. he will face the judge tomorrow morning. an indictment is pending.
in other news, the Pine Meadow Church of Christ in Spear Head was burglerized and vandalized overnight. $150 and a book of stamps were taken and several windows broken. Chief Rolf Knubing gave a statement earlier in the day. Please listen to the audio of that statement:
"This AM we are investigating the apparant burglery and the sickening destruction that occured down at the Church of Christ. We are currently persuing new leads after several tips and are busy trying to bring the matter to a conclusion. in fact, we encourage others who have relevant information regarding the church staff to call the Police Department at 585-979-7012. Or let one of us know if you see us."
when briefly asked questions, the chief claimed "the investigation was still pending" on all inquiries. although no arrests have been made or charges filed, a press conference phone call is scheduled for wednesday morning at 9:00 AM. the church's part-time accountant and maintanence man have retained the same lawyer, interestingly enough, from Powderly, Texas. he is scheduled to arrive tonight. he will meet with local prosecuters in the morning.
be sure and get your entries into the 4th Annual McClacklin County Story Contest by April 1st. open to age 6 and above. must be a current county resident. be aware, you may be asked for official documentation prior to the official awards ceremony. in the event you are not able to provide the needed documentation, including picture id, the next highest vote count will win the award. several categories will be recognized including, elementary children, middle school children, high school, women's open, men's open, and the coveted Boren Prize. as in years past i will serve as one of the judges. this year's event sposored by River Shore Cabins, Francis's Candy Factory, Winey Girls Wine Bar, Jimmy's Go-Carts and Putt-Putt, Jane's Whisky Store, and, of course, KEWL 107.1. the awards ceremony will be held at the Hochatown Assembly of God outdoor amphitheater, facing the highway, on April 15th at 7:00PM. a tea party rally will follow that will march from Jimmy's to the Shell station. Bring your flashlights. this is lane ramsey, giving you the Hochatown Hoot.
in other news, the Pine Meadow Church of Christ in Spear Head was burglerized and vandalized overnight. $150 and a book of stamps were taken and several windows broken. Chief Rolf Knubing gave a statement earlier in the day. Please listen to the audio of that statement:
"This AM we are investigating the apparant burglery and the sickening destruction that occured down at the Church of Christ. We are currently persuing new leads after several tips and are busy trying to bring the matter to a conclusion. in fact, we encourage others who have relevant information regarding the church staff to call the Police Department at 585-979-7012. Or let one of us know if you see us."
when briefly asked questions, the chief claimed "the investigation was still pending" on all inquiries. although no arrests have been made or charges filed, a press conference phone call is scheduled for wednesday morning at 9:00 AM. the church's part-time accountant and maintanence man have retained the same lawyer, interestingly enough, from Powderly, Texas. he is scheduled to arrive tonight. he will meet with local prosecuters in the morning.
be sure and get your entries into the 4th Annual McClacklin County Story Contest by April 1st. open to age 6 and above. must be a current county resident. be aware, you may be asked for official documentation prior to the official awards ceremony. in the event you are not able to provide the needed documentation, including picture id, the next highest vote count will win the award. several categories will be recognized including, elementary children, middle school children, high school, women's open, men's open, and the coveted Boren Prize. as in years past i will serve as one of the judges. this year's event sposored by River Shore Cabins, Francis's Candy Factory, Winey Girls Wine Bar, Jimmy's Go-Carts and Putt-Putt, Jane's Whisky Store, and, of course, KEWL 107.1. the awards ceremony will be held at the Hochatown Assembly of God outdoor amphitheater, facing the highway, on April 15th at 7:00PM. a tea party rally will follow that will march from Jimmy's to the Shell station. Bring your flashlights. this is lane ramsey, giving you the Hochatown Hoot.
Owl Eyes
she sees everything day and night
she sees through the confusion
eyes big and wide and clear
she sees no illusions
with intuition, she finds her way
the truth, the lies
always there, perched above me
with her owl eyes
spotted in a crowded room
never took my eyes off her beauty
spoke of peace and rest to come
i watched as she spoke truley
then she vanished into the night fog
everything was dripping with sweat
my heart broke like a midnight drum
i missed the eyes i just met
she had owl eyes that knew me
she had owl eyes that wanted me
she had owl eyes that loved me
she had owl eyes
woke from a dream, startled
took a deep breath and sighed
pulled the covers up, warm and morning smells
took a look at my sweet owl eyes
she had owl eyes that knew me
she had owl eyes that wanted me
she had owl eyes that loved me
she had owl eyes
she sees through the confusion
eyes big and wide and clear
she sees no illusions
with intuition, she finds her way
the truth, the lies
always there, perched above me
with her owl eyes
spotted in a crowded room
never took my eyes off her beauty
spoke of peace and rest to come
i watched as she spoke truley
then she vanished into the night fog
everything was dripping with sweat
my heart broke like a midnight drum
i missed the eyes i just met
she had owl eyes that knew me
she had owl eyes that wanted me
she had owl eyes that loved me
she had owl eyes
woke from a dream, startled
took a deep breath and sighed
pulled the covers up, warm and morning smells
took a look at my sweet owl eyes
she had owl eyes that knew me
she had owl eyes that wanted me
she had owl eyes that loved me
she had owl eyes
3/14/10
The Night I Saw A Day
brother looked wired on caffeine
cab full of offspring, one of them snoring
growing tall and sturdy
could'a swore he called me uncle ross
walked the streets and back alleys
skipped the dark trail by the river
cold, dark, and lonesome it looked
ran across the road like desperate cats
stood in line at a chicken place
then we fed the poor and hungry
they snubbed their noses and sneered
but they did take time to enjoy the feast
activities commence
rosy kiss from the lips of a queen
the skin smooth and cool to the touch
tight muscles relaxed and breathing slow now
we need to bleed the poison
unburden the mind, make it light
drink wine in a juice glass
understand the talk, understand the eyes
phone calls late at night
must rescue another distressed dame
comfort and courage when we meet
the night i saw a day
cab full of offspring, one of them snoring
growing tall and sturdy
could'a swore he called me uncle ross
walked the streets and back alleys
skipped the dark trail by the river
cold, dark, and lonesome it looked
ran across the road like desperate cats
stood in line at a chicken place
then we fed the poor and hungry
they snubbed their noses and sneered
but they did take time to enjoy the feast
activities commence
rosy kiss from the lips of a queen
the skin smooth and cool to the touch
tight muscles relaxed and breathing slow now
we need to bleed the poison
unburden the mind, make it light
drink wine in a juice glass
understand the talk, understand the eyes
phone calls late at night
must rescue another distressed dame
comfort and courage when we meet
the night i saw a day
3/7/10
Tell It To The Judge
propped up on the stand
answering to the man
get away with what you can
tell it to the judge
told me she loved me so
didn't care about my dough
how could she stoop so low
tell it to the judge
she left me for my pal
my pal now had my gal
at night i heard 'em howl
tell it to the judge
i think i went insane
something's wrong with my brain
don't remember my own name
tell it to the judge
God's gonna bless their souls
even though their souls were cold
how could she stoop so low
tell it to the judge
believe what i say is true
went crazy cause i was so blue
wouldn't hurt 'em if i only knew
tell it to the judge
answering to the man
get away with what you can
tell it to the judge
told me she loved me so
didn't care about my dough
how could she stoop so low
tell it to the judge
she left me for my pal
my pal now had my gal
at night i heard 'em howl
tell it to the judge
i think i went insane
something's wrong with my brain
don't remember my own name
tell it to the judge
God's gonna bless their souls
even though their souls were cold
how could she stoop so low
tell it to the judge
believe what i say is true
went crazy cause i was so blue
wouldn't hurt 'em if i only knew
tell it to the judge
3/5/10
For Wilmer
You know the man seeks You continuously
soon You'll take his soul and set it free
i know he won't go without a fight
Lord please be good to him tonight
always quick to offer a helping hand
a 4 star general in the battle of the land
his body's getting weak, the end's in sight
Lord please be good to him tonight
he's seen the heartache and despair of life
married 70 years to a lovely wife
taught his family wrong from right
Lord please be good to him tonight
if i should live a life as long as his
be around to see my kid's kids have kids
i know i'll hold Your word up to the light
Lord please be good to him tonight
i offer You a poem to serve as a prayer
i know You'll listen and i know You'll care
just one request before Your child takes flight
Lord please be good to him tonight
soon You'll take his soul and set it free
i know he won't go without a fight
Lord please be good to him tonight
always quick to offer a helping hand
a 4 star general in the battle of the land
his body's getting weak, the end's in sight
Lord please be good to him tonight
he's seen the heartache and despair of life
married 70 years to a lovely wife
taught his family wrong from right
Lord please be good to him tonight
if i should live a life as long as his
be around to see my kid's kids have kids
i know i'll hold Your word up to the light
Lord please be good to him tonight
i offer You a poem to serve as a prayer
i know You'll listen and i know You'll care
just one request before Your child takes flight
Lord please be good to him tonight
Texico (Draft): L. Dean Fitzgerald
L. Dean Fitzgerald, 73 years old. Narrator. One of the founding fathers of Texico and current Secretary of Truth. Grey hair, peppered with dark brown. Usually has some stubble due to shaving once or twice a week. Although fighting normal age maladeys, he is in good shape and credits a significant stretching program began in his early forties and a life-long diet consisting primarily of foods of the ground or raised on the ground. The choice had served him well. Hearty fish is eaten as well and his wife, Annabelle, assured that his two girls learned similar eating habits. His grown daughters, Shelby Lynn and Ava Rose, were accomplished and famous in their own right. Shelby as an actress, popular in America and Texico. Ava Rose for her incredible Soccer career that culminated in two World Cup Championships for the nation of Texico. Soccer was king in Texico and the women led the way. Ava Rose had led the way. More on these two later. Much more later on Annabelle Leigh, the wife, and the former Annabelle Leigh Funderburgh. Married for over 50 years to L. Dean, she is a timeless beauty whose fiery Christian (Lutheran) convictions took over her life and drives her daily activities. As if her time to help other people is ticking down. Which it is. She is a beloved, and famous, figure in Texico and the world for her efforts and ability to compassionately lead. L. Dean loves his wife emensly. And respects her. And he finds her very beautiful.
He was the son and stepson of many. He currently carries out Fitzgerald patriarchal duties along with older and wiser brothers Jess Ross and Willie Bryan. All the Fitzgerald brothers are proud native Texicans but enthusiastically enjoy the company of a large group of American kin. Peace has found the Fitzgeralds. And propserity. The three were major land owners and made a fortune together when Texico was young. Most of their land was in the province of West Texas and the abundance of power below and above the ground made their natural gas and wind power company, called HighWind Inc., a very powerful and wealthy international force.
He was the son and stepson of many. He currently carries out Fitzgerald patriarchal duties along with older and wiser brothers Jess Ross and Willie Bryan. All the Fitzgerald brothers are proud native Texicans but enthusiastically enjoy the company of a large group of American kin. Peace has found the Fitzgeralds. And propserity. The three were major land owners and made a fortune together when Texico was young. Most of their land was in the province of West Texas and the abundance of power below and above the ground made their natural gas and wind power company, called HighWind Inc., a very powerful and wealthy international force.
Sons and daughters now run the show, inheriting all the headaches, inspirations, and achievements of daily operations. It remains a very successful company. L. Dean continued a busy pace after terminating himself from employment and walking out of his office one day. He was 50, had published several books, wrote folk songs, and followed his girls around for a the next decade.
He and Annie spent the next 10 years following them around the world before they both made him a grandfather within two months of each other. Each now had three children. L. Dean and Annie have continued to to be very proactive and helpful grandparents. The grandchildren range in age from 15 to 2 years. Shelby, 2 older boys and a youngest daughter, Ava Rose, 2 older girls and a youngest son. Health was graciously abundant and hope lives in the heart of the L. Dean Fitzgerald family. They all live very comfortably, but the vast majority of the original family fortune was used to create the world's largest, and most respected, charitable organization. The name is Feed His People Services. Annie actively leads the organization while L. Dean has committed the past 13 years in service to the people of Texico.
He has served as Vice President, Secretary of State, and now, Secretary of Truth. He has always maintained a steady writing schedule and remains an influential cultural figure in Texico. Retirement was long ago deemed irresponsible and unlikely. He views it as giving up on life and instead prefers constant mental stimulation and physical exertion. Thoughtful, bold, and easy-going, possessing a healthy apathy. Considered a trusted confidant by many and an internationally respected representative of Texico. Fiery when nessesary, collaborative by nature, and eternal thinking always. Wears a smile and encourages others. Classic dresser, avoiding trends and tight fitting clothes. Walks with a solid posture and loves to drive. Comfortable alone or with a small group. Tolerates large crowds, but usually looks for an opportunity to disappear quickly. Carefully impulsive. Hates arrogance and usually displays a humble spirit. Has a signature old Texas accent that can be embelished when appropriate.
He has served as Vice President, Secretary of State, and now, Secretary of Truth. He has always maintained a steady writing schedule and remains an influential cultural figure in Texico. Retirement was long ago deemed irresponsible and unlikely. He views it as giving up on life and instead prefers constant mental stimulation and physical exertion. Thoughtful, bold, and easy-going, possessing a healthy apathy. Considered a trusted confidant by many and an internationally respected representative of Texico. Fiery when nessesary, collaborative by nature, and eternal thinking always. Wears a smile and encourages others. Classic dresser, avoiding trends and tight fitting clothes. Walks with a solid posture and loves to drive. Comfortable alone or with a small group. Tolerates large crowds, but usually looks for an opportunity to disappear quickly. Carefully impulsive. Hates arrogance and usually displays a humble spirit. Has a signature old Texas accent that can be embelished when appropriate.
2/27/10
New York Elusive: Birdland
Birdland is a place that bleeds jazz. Cassady bopped here. Miles blew here. Miles was silent here. The atmosphere was full of musical expectation when I arrived, alone, for the 9 PM show. I was there an hour early after dropping off the girls at the New Amsterdam Theater to see the Broadway production of Mary Poppins. Highly anticipated by them, the show did not disappoint as I found out later. As for me, the three hour getaway was an opportunity for observation and experience. I had no plans beyond walking them to the show, and after one more rejection of my wife's invitation to experience Mary Poppins with them; I was walking the streets of Times Square.
All of humanity seemed represented. Everyone with a destination. Seemingly not me. I was content to see, to hear, and to taste the heart of Manhattan. After wandering fully engaged and alive, I took a back street and spotted Birdland. The familiar place was noticed by accident but immediately remembered from the book I was currently reading-Desolation Angels by Kerouac. The $30 cover only caused a brief pause and was partly overcome by the footnote of the hostess, "That also includes a free drink ticket," she proudly informed me.
"Here you go." I quickly handed over the cash not wanting to give the impression that $30 was a big deal. Earlier in the month, $30 would have been a huge amount as we continued our paycheck to paycheck, suburban, family of four existence. Thankfully, our current month's paycheck had been deposited a couple of days prior and were a loaded gun. My father’s generosity and ashes to ashes perspective provided additional traveling funds. God had continued to provide and we continued to worry. Hopefully, middle age will bring more trust as we find ourselves on the downhill path of life. Maybe we can coast a bit more. Reflect on what we've become, on what we've created, and the miracles we've seen. We've been trusted. No worries or anxieties engulfed me that night as I sat at Birdland's bar, my girls tucked safely in their Broadway seats six blocks away.
Perhaps the finest bartender in New York greeted me with a warm smile and an eager look as he quickly locked into my needs. "What can I get you my friend?" he asked while leaning over the bar, looking me right in the eyes, and glowing. I captured his full attention. This struck me as unique due to my earlier New York service industry experiences.
"How 'bout a Stella?” I inquired with my normal slow paced, Texas drawl.
"Coming right up my friend." he said and thirty seconds later I had an ice cold Stella Artois, a frosted glass, and an unordered ice water.
I surveyed the place from my barstool perch. The stage was the first thing I noticed. No question about the main attraction at Birdland. Anyone who took the stage would enjoy a focused, and quiet, audience. The tables were arranged in a semi circle on three levels. Shadowy waiters and waitresses were efficiently serving delicious looking and smelling courses. Half full bottles of wine littered the room. But this was a musician's place. Everything took a backseat and we were reminded at five till 9 by the emcee introducing the night's performance that any noise during the hour-long set was reserved for those on the stage. What a place! The host continued with the introduction, "Tonight we are once again honored to have Regina Carter and the Peacemakers at the historic Birdland." The band entered from behind the stage with an array of instruments and coolly took their places. Then Regina walked out with a violin and unmistakable style. The next hour was pure listening silk as the tight group traded solos and made music as if playing as one. Clearly, they were talented and familiar with each other. Regina, for her part, was excellent at taking the spotlight, giving it up, regaining it, and in the end, not needing it. The music was the thing and didn't need light. I closed my eyes through most of the performance. A scotch finale, purchased with my drink ticket, had me exiting Birdland loose and satisfied.
Unfortunately, my final impression was forged by the gift booth on the way out. The sad sight of t-shirts, snow globes, coffee mugs, and key chains gave me a brief pause. Snow globes? Was this the Birdland of old or a cash cow trading on the legendary reputation of prior years? Regina and her band mates delivered a tremendous show, but an authentic experience seemed elusive. My youngest daughter collects snow globes.
2/21/10
Hearing You
i hear you through the wind under the door
shouting my name over and over
"can you hear me?" you plead while preparing
preparing for sleep and eternal rest
listen, listen to the voice of this night
it clearly tells you to be quiet
silence will help you understand the wise words
telling, teaching, begging, laughing, moaning
how long will you sleep tonight?
how many dreams will you forget?
when you awake open your heart to the new
always new
always promise
always hope
always faith
always
always
sleep my baby
i hear you
shouting my name over and over
"can you hear me?" you plead while preparing
preparing for sleep and eternal rest
listen, listen to the voice of this night
it clearly tells you to be quiet
silence will help you understand the wise words
telling, teaching, begging, laughing, moaning
how long will you sleep tonight?
how many dreams will you forget?
when you awake open your heart to the new
always new
always promise
always hope
always faith
always
always
sleep my baby
i hear you
2/14/10
Hoboken
last night i went to hoboken
to see a hobo i knew
he was lost in the fog and dancing
asked me if i had a brew
took him to a pub called o'gormans
and drank til one or two
the bartender called the police
when i beat a man with my shoe
he had called me a stinking bum
when i bumped into his girl
took a swing at my friend, the hobo
and both my fists became curled
"i might stink like a rat", i had said
"and i know i'm full of rum.
but no one's gonna hit my buddy,
no one's gonna call me a bum."
that was my first mistake
being so thin skinned
the man was just protecting his lady
and we were butting in
but i was full of booze
and that man, he was too
two simple minded drunks
fighting with our shoes
the police pulled me off the man
his woman spit in my face
they cuffed me and read me my rights
then took me out of that place
sitting in the jailhouse now
bottom front tooth broken
wondering if my hobo friend
made it back to hoboken
to see a hobo i knew
he was lost in the fog and dancing
asked me if i had a brew
took him to a pub called o'gormans
and drank til one or two
the bartender called the police
when i beat a man with my shoe
he had called me a stinking bum
when i bumped into his girl
took a swing at my friend, the hobo
and both my fists became curled
"i might stink like a rat", i had said
"and i know i'm full of rum.
but no one's gonna hit my buddy,
no one's gonna call me a bum."
that was my first mistake
being so thin skinned
the man was just protecting his lady
and we were butting in
but i was full of booze
and that man, he was too
two simple minded drunks
fighting with our shoes
the police pulled me off the man
his woman spit in my face
they cuffed me and read me my rights
then took me out of that place
sitting in the jailhouse now
bottom front tooth broken
wondering if my hobo friend
made it back to hoboken
2/8/10
Two Wooden Oars Part III
trading off on each side of the boat, deville, stubborn and burning still, continued at a lesser pace. hawkeye's neck was as red as a robin. we got through the medium waters then a final wind burst and we struggled to the shore. only two hundred yards from where deville had two hours earlier called us to attention. each of us made a dry landing, dover commenting again on the wonder of it all. each of us exited the craft leisurely and carefully. but land was welcome and more appreciated than before. by me for sure. i looked back and saw from where we came. the cove we were in protected us from the fierce wind out on the open water. where we started. where we cursed. where we gave up. where we kept going. where we found it. we could do anything now. a weight was lifted. the world seemed lighter then, easier. it was too good of a feeling not to be temporary. so we enjoyed it while it lasted.
the half mile hike to deville's fishing cabin seemed inadequate. the by sea drama would cleary not play out in the by land part of our day's challenge. when we arrived we could still not enter the heavily thought of cabin. the keys had to be retireived from the parked truck. dover and deville did the final walk and we eventually gained entry into the well build and tidy structure. entry was welcomed with a rush to the cold beer and a recounting of the story. hawkeye played some heavy metal, catfish pleaded for a change to some cajun blues. we decided it was a story of water and land. catfish baited. catfish caught. catfish still alive.
the spark plug needed was found on a 70's era moter deville had in his shed. after some modifications to make it "fit right", it started the moter when we returned. as the sun gave its last light of the day i was, strangely, not worried that we would break down again. duncan and dover had demanded my partnership with deville to retrieve the stranded boat and return the injured craft to its trailer home. i jumped at the chance. i had to see how this story would end.
we drifted slowly by the shoreline and when deville was confident we were good to go, he hit it hard and we roared to the open water toward the slip. he backed the truck, lowered the trailer, hooked up the boat, secured it expertly, and gave one last curse. we drove back to the cabin with expectations of rest and food to come. the final ray of light was squeezed out of the days sun as we pulled up. thank you day.
deville, not to be unprepared, had already slow-cooked a deer shoulder roast while we were out. no doubt he had hit it with an arrow just months previously. heart shot. potatoes, carrots, gravy, hot bread, coffee and apple pie completed the enourmous feast. the night ended quickly. time seemed unimportant. we were alive. that was important. why did we not turn into a Spur Gazette headline? we would have likely made the dallas morning news. living is more fun. it should be. it can be.
as i drifted off that night, i was so happy to be sleeping. about to dream. as we remembered who did what, before lights out, i glanced up above the often used fireplace. there, situated at right angles framing the hour fast clock, two wooden oars.
the half mile hike to deville's fishing cabin seemed inadequate. the by sea drama would cleary not play out in the by land part of our day's challenge. when we arrived we could still not enter the heavily thought of cabin. the keys had to be retireived from the parked truck. dover and deville did the final walk and we eventually gained entry into the well build and tidy structure. entry was welcomed with a rush to the cold beer and a recounting of the story. hawkeye played some heavy metal, catfish pleaded for a change to some cajun blues. we decided it was a story of water and land. catfish baited. catfish caught. catfish still alive.
the spark plug needed was found on a 70's era moter deville had in his shed. after some modifications to make it "fit right", it started the moter when we returned. as the sun gave its last light of the day i was, strangely, not worried that we would break down again. duncan and dover had demanded my partnership with deville to retrieve the stranded boat and return the injured craft to its trailer home. i jumped at the chance. i had to see how this story would end.
we drifted slowly by the shoreline and when deville was confident we were good to go, he hit it hard and we roared to the open water toward the slip. he backed the truck, lowered the trailer, hooked up the boat, secured it expertly, and gave one last curse. we drove back to the cabin with expectations of rest and food to come. the final ray of light was squeezed out of the days sun as we pulled up. thank you day.
deville, not to be unprepared, had already slow-cooked a deer shoulder roast while we were out. no doubt he had hit it with an arrow just months previously. heart shot. potatoes, carrots, gravy, hot bread, coffee and apple pie completed the enourmous feast. the night ended quickly. time seemed unimportant. we were alive. that was important. why did we not turn into a Spur Gazette headline? we would have likely made the dallas morning news. living is more fun. it should be. it can be.
as i drifted off that night, i was so happy to be sleeping. about to dream. as we remembered who did what, before lights out, i glanced up above the often used fireplace. there, situated at right angles framing the hour fast clock, two wooden oars.
Two Wooden Oars Part II
broken spark plug. deville had never heard of such a thing. "this just doesn't happen. spark plugs don't break." he assured. "i can't believe i don't have an extra spark plug." he wondered aloud. He had diagnosed the problem after furiously pulling the cover off the engine and digging through the often dug in mass of metal and wires. at that moment i allowed a quick, but unsuccessful, promise to learn more about basic engine care and maintanence. what if i was caught-up alone in the desert or somthing? i irrationally wondered. although a solo west coast trip to see the great pacific waters had long been anticipated, it was likely years off. deville cursed along. hawkeye serving diligently as right hand man to the captain. deville knew he was thrust into the position of savior and he tried everything to get that thing going.
catfish was despondent and unbelieving. "you mean this engine is broke again?" he had been on the same lake with deville four months prior. he'll never forget the late night breakdown that preceeded a three hour row across the entire lake with a kids plastic paddle and a piece of partical board. same engine. bad battery. same predicament. this was too much for catfish to absorb.
i, unknowingly, added to his burden with the obvious reminder, "man the fish are primed to be caught, the bait is taking its hold. come on deville, your reputation as the west texas super hero is on the line." catfish moaned and cursed in his soul. i felt i was living some dream. some test to justify faith in others. as if it could be justified. deville called out for a bottle cap. i handed him the steel modelo top and saw fear in his eyes as he grabed it from my hand. he claimed that this was going to work. and it did. breifly and almost tragically.
deville's repeated attempts at a solution yielded passing hope as he used the bottle cap with his right limb and hit the starter with his left, stretched over the entire length of the boat. we all kept out of the way as he deperately performed this spectacle. like kids. suddenly and without warning, deville got the engine cranked. incredible i thought. he steered away from the tree stump we had drifted to, saved hawkeye's life with his now free right hand and had us out into open water, heading for the boat slip and a final resolution to the spark plug debacle. we'll be back to our fish hunt in no time. he was very relieved. a hero from the land of dust. catfish was estatic, remembering the ordeal of the summer. no one knew how deep the seed of gratefulness was planted in dover's heart. he had stared down either death or disfigurement at the hands of that tree stump. the maneuver had been swift and upon recounting, a truly ugly scene was avoided due to the actions of deville. he was looking at the driver like an angel, sent to save him at this moment. which of course he was. "you guys don't realize how close i was to falling out onto that tree. you could be searching the bottom for me right now. knocked out. drowned." he still felt the adreneline in his veins.
"dover, i'd a tried for about fifeteen minutes," joked catfish, "but i have a family to protect. i couldn't put myself at risk like that." we could make light now. even hawkeye laughed loudly. i piled on the innocent insults. true, the baited west side would go unfished, but we would avoid a second White River Lake situation. Then the engine died, not to be resurrected again without finding land. land was way off. the wind was way high. white caps punished the small boat.
it was very predicatable, looking back, as deville told us to "grab that oar and hand me the board."
duncan was beside himself. "fix it deville!" he screamed. "i can't belive this. twice! on the same boat in the same lake! damn! damn!" on and on. "you didn't put two new oars in the boat after last time?"
"nope", replied deville, caring nothing about catfish's misery. pointing across the white caps, against the direction of the wind, he said, "we need to head over to that beach. we have to." it was way off and inconcievable that the desired beach could be reached. we were being blown violently the other way. quickly drifting out to the dreaded middle. right then fellings of dispair, despondency, soberness, and dread engulfed the boat.
you read about lake drownings all the time. ONLY THREE OF FOUR MEN MISSING. ONE CONFIRMED DEAD AS HE WASHED UP ON THE NORH MARSH, i could envision the headlines. however, for all, a feeling of excitment rose up. adventure. "we have to", deville had said. this is the statement we responded to. trying will not work unless it works. it was a singular mission and we had to. go across the lake, against a significant wind, to the pointed at spot. dover paddled with incredible vigor. some new strength had been found. he was exausted by the end. catfish, having been through this before, knew the needed effort. my fitness club membership was paying off as i took my turn and smoothly powerd the boat, finding a rythym and sticking to it until well after a burn screamed. deville wouldn't give up the particle board until it was evident we were going to make it. only then did he let anyone take a turn. the pure awkwarness and extreme uncomfort of trying to use the board in the back of the boat was ridiculous and i stopped shortly after my completely ineffective turn started. same for duncan and dover. we went back to trading the kid's plastic paddle in the front. through the roughest part and becoming assured of success, our efforts were going to be rewarded.
by this time, completely exhausted, catfish was over the disappointment of the lost fish, "we could have died out there. great work guys. deville, how the hell did you use that board for an hour straight. you didn't stop."
"just paddling." said deville to know one in particular. he was moving something to somewhere. staying busy on the crowded boat. That is when our hope truley came back. when it was clear. when it was evident. i think of hope as the best thing in the world. would faith be attainable without hope? and vice versa? God's gift to us. another gift to us. we worked harder after hope. worked together after hope. we got to hope through faith. faith in another and others.
"i can't belive no one's fell off this boat.", hawkeye said softly.
catfish was despondent and unbelieving. "you mean this engine is broke again?" he had been on the same lake with deville four months prior. he'll never forget the late night breakdown that preceeded a three hour row across the entire lake with a kids plastic paddle and a piece of partical board. same engine. bad battery. same predicament. this was too much for catfish to absorb.
i, unknowingly, added to his burden with the obvious reminder, "man the fish are primed to be caught, the bait is taking its hold. come on deville, your reputation as the west texas super hero is on the line." catfish moaned and cursed in his soul. i felt i was living some dream. some test to justify faith in others. as if it could be justified. deville called out for a bottle cap. i handed him the steel modelo top and saw fear in his eyes as he grabed it from my hand. he claimed that this was going to work. and it did. breifly and almost tragically.
deville's repeated attempts at a solution yielded passing hope as he used the bottle cap with his right limb and hit the starter with his left, stretched over the entire length of the boat. we all kept out of the way as he deperately performed this spectacle. like kids. suddenly and without warning, deville got the engine cranked. incredible i thought. he steered away from the tree stump we had drifted to, saved hawkeye's life with his now free right hand and had us out into open water, heading for the boat slip and a final resolution to the spark plug debacle. we'll be back to our fish hunt in no time. he was very relieved. a hero from the land of dust. catfish was estatic, remembering the ordeal of the summer. no one knew how deep the seed of gratefulness was planted in dover's heart. he had stared down either death or disfigurement at the hands of that tree stump. the maneuver had been swift and upon recounting, a truly ugly scene was avoided due to the actions of deville. he was looking at the driver like an angel, sent to save him at this moment. which of course he was. "you guys don't realize how close i was to falling out onto that tree. you could be searching the bottom for me right now. knocked out. drowned." he still felt the adreneline in his veins.
"dover, i'd a tried for about fifeteen minutes," joked catfish, "but i have a family to protect. i couldn't put myself at risk like that." we could make light now. even hawkeye laughed loudly. i piled on the innocent insults. true, the baited west side would go unfished, but we would avoid a second White River Lake situation. Then the engine died, not to be resurrected again without finding land. land was way off. the wind was way high. white caps punished the small boat.
it was very predicatable, looking back, as deville told us to "grab that oar and hand me the board."
duncan was beside himself. "fix it deville!" he screamed. "i can't belive this. twice! on the same boat in the same lake! damn! damn!" on and on. "you didn't put two new oars in the boat after last time?"
"nope", replied deville, caring nothing about catfish's misery. pointing across the white caps, against the direction of the wind, he said, "we need to head over to that beach. we have to." it was way off and inconcievable that the desired beach could be reached. we were being blown violently the other way. quickly drifting out to the dreaded middle. right then fellings of dispair, despondency, soberness, and dread engulfed the boat.
you read about lake drownings all the time. ONLY THREE OF FOUR MEN MISSING. ONE CONFIRMED DEAD AS HE WASHED UP ON THE NORH MARSH, i could envision the headlines. however, for all, a feeling of excitment rose up. adventure. "we have to", deville had said. this is the statement we responded to. trying will not work unless it works. it was a singular mission and we had to. go across the lake, against a significant wind, to the pointed at spot. dover paddled with incredible vigor. some new strength had been found. he was exausted by the end. catfish, having been through this before, knew the needed effort. my fitness club membership was paying off as i took my turn and smoothly powerd the boat, finding a rythym and sticking to it until well after a burn screamed. deville wouldn't give up the particle board until it was evident we were going to make it. only then did he let anyone take a turn. the pure awkwarness and extreme uncomfort of trying to use the board in the back of the boat was ridiculous and i stopped shortly after my completely ineffective turn started. same for duncan and dover. we went back to trading the kid's plastic paddle in the front. through the roughest part and becoming assured of success, our efforts were going to be rewarded.
by this time, completely exhausted, catfish was over the disappointment of the lost fish, "we could have died out there. great work guys. deville, how the hell did you use that board for an hour straight. you didn't stop."
"just paddling." said deville to know one in particular. he was moving something to somewhere. staying busy on the crowded boat. That is when our hope truley came back. when it was clear. when it was evident. i think of hope as the best thing in the world. would faith be attainable without hope? and vice versa? God's gift to us. another gift to us. we worked harder after hope. worked together after hope. we got to hope through faith. faith in another and others.
"i can't belive no one's fell off this boat.", hawkeye said softly.
1/28/10
Two Wooden Oars Part I
we were floating, anchored, and not thirsty. the day was in full glory. baited, the fish seemed sleepy and apathetic to our advances. an hour earlier we had dropped in, without incident, on the eastern side of white river lake. plenty of room as the resurgent lake of 19% capacity loomed ahead. the truck and trailer parked, we sped off in full engine-thrusting splendor. ready to slay the hated, but loved, catfish. blue cat. channel cat. any cat. catfish duncan had made some chum and we sped over to our initial locale and he milk-jugged it into the water. less messy as he went along. the promise was catfish. the irresistable, almost mystical, allure of this rotted chum would bring the fish to us. big wally's finest. almost seemed unfair when duncan explained how it worked. "basically, i was told give it thirty minutes.", he claimed. "we got all day boys. we're gonna eat good tonight. hawkeye, you got a hushpuppie receipe?"
"shut up catfish. you don't know what the hell you're doing.", hawkeye shot back. with a smirk he went back to fixing his seemingly always broken rig. hawkeye dover was a planner. the day had a plan. the night had a plan. his life had a plan. it had gone pretty much to plan. he had reached the american destination. yet something was missing in his soul and he knew it. time to move on. missing his wife emensely, hawkeye couldn't wait another hour for the catfish in that spot to awake. deville, the captain and owner of the craft, seemed uncaring and jumped at the chance to drive the boat. it started without incident.
before setting off to another spot, we agreed to refresh our can warmers and find a spot to settle. this was a two man boat. four grown men had to communicate and awareness was key if an overboard situation was to be avoided. life jackets? they were under somthing, but accesible. i reeled my hook of horror from the water, found a spot, enjoyed a cold draw of mexico, and enjoyed the views of the western ridge of white river lake.
catfish modified his slinging technique and baited the entire west side as deville slowly crept north. the fish were being set up for the slaughter. they would curse the day they went for the internet chum. fried catfish roamed in and out of the minds of all the boat dwellers.
"let's take a look around and drop the rest on the other side.", yelled catfish on the way over to the rather beautiful eastern shore.
deville recounted, "we used to campout along here when it was a real island." no doubt he had searched for treasure as a youth. deville the pirate. an ageless man of experiences and stories. he cares. he prepares.
we found a tree that used to be old. now, older, deader, it was the perfect place to set up the catfish trap. anchors away. and away, and away. hawkeye finally hooked us on the bottom, but his average angler skills were evident. deville laughed, encouraged, instructed, spit, and was satisfied when dover finally hit a rock on the bottom of the shallow, shaded point. deville was a teacher and saw things to their final conclusion. really, it's what makes him confident. he knows he will end the day. with accomplishments behind. quickly he caught our first fish. a blue cat. cold as ice to the touch. a perfect creature of the deep, muddy texas lake. the excitment generated raised spirits and gave hope to all with a hook. he was cold and full. tonight, a day later, we'll eat him along with others caught and cleaned over the past year.
the bait seemed to be working. we all felt it. i watched my fishing pole closely as i shifted to find relief for my aching back. again, accomodations, while appreciated and expected, were tight. dover was giving all of us refresher baits, although he never got the hang of it. deville caught another. "holy smokes! another one!", he yelled as he spilled nothing while quickly grabing the rod. i was struck by the quickness. channel cat this time, which seemed to indicate some sort of victory in catfish's mind.
"they're starting to hit it! they're starting to hit it!", he cried to no one while the awkwardness of his pissing balance treatened to get us all. only his jeans took a soaking but he cared little as the second cat was captured. we stayed in the same spot for another thirty minutes. catfish was timing us. the baited west side awaited and we were sure the haul was going to supply that night's feast. fish fry and hushpuppies at sundown i silently thought.
"diddy, scoot over. we got to roll.", deville said while i hunkered down for the blast over to the west side. it was chilly. a perfectly grey and cold early afternoon. windy, as always on the great plains of texas. even a few white caps were seen in the deep of the middle.
we roared toward the other side, deville opening up the throttle. my leather field jacket was performing as promised. keeping me dry, warm, and protected from the elements. beads of water defected off the hide as we sped along. hassled earlier by catfish, i couldn't understand the mocking city smear. true enough, i do prefer loafers, but always have. they are three years old and the jacket is obviously and authentically worn. it has protected the owner many times as i walk to work. over and over. and over. right then, it was fulfilling it's worst-case scenario mission. then the engine died. a loud crack was all that was heard before the abrupt quiet of the engine.
"shut up catfish. you don't know what the hell you're doing.", hawkeye shot back. with a smirk he went back to fixing his seemingly always broken rig. hawkeye dover was a planner. the day had a plan. the night had a plan. his life had a plan. it had gone pretty much to plan. he had reached the american destination. yet something was missing in his soul and he knew it. time to move on. missing his wife emensely, hawkeye couldn't wait another hour for the catfish in that spot to awake. deville, the captain and owner of the craft, seemed uncaring and jumped at the chance to drive the boat. it started without incident.
before setting off to another spot, we agreed to refresh our can warmers and find a spot to settle. this was a two man boat. four grown men had to communicate and awareness was key if an overboard situation was to be avoided. life jackets? they were under somthing, but accesible. i reeled my hook of horror from the water, found a spot, enjoyed a cold draw of mexico, and enjoyed the views of the western ridge of white river lake.
catfish modified his slinging technique and baited the entire west side as deville slowly crept north. the fish were being set up for the slaughter. they would curse the day they went for the internet chum. fried catfish roamed in and out of the minds of all the boat dwellers.
"let's take a look around and drop the rest on the other side.", yelled catfish on the way over to the rather beautiful eastern shore.
deville recounted, "we used to campout along here when it was a real island." no doubt he had searched for treasure as a youth. deville the pirate. an ageless man of experiences and stories. he cares. he prepares.
we found a tree that used to be old. now, older, deader, it was the perfect place to set up the catfish trap. anchors away. and away, and away. hawkeye finally hooked us on the bottom, but his average angler skills were evident. deville laughed, encouraged, instructed, spit, and was satisfied when dover finally hit a rock on the bottom of the shallow, shaded point. deville was a teacher and saw things to their final conclusion. really, it's what makes him confident. he knows he will end the day. with accomplishments behind. quickly he caught our first fish. a blue cat. cold as ice to the touch. a perfect creature of the deep, muddy texas lake. the excitment generated raised spirits and gave hope to all with a hook. he was cold and full. tonight, a day later, we'll eat him along with others caught and cleaned over the past year.
the bait seemed to be working. we all felt it. i watched my fishing pole closely as i shifted to find relief for my aching back. again, accomodations, while appreciated and expected, were tight. dover was giving all of us refresher baits, although he never got the hang of it. deville caught another. "holy smokes! another one!", he yelled as he spilled nothing while quickly grabing the rod. i was struck by the quickness. channel cat this time, which seemed to indicate some sort of victory in catfish's mind.
"they're starting to hit it! they're starting to hit it!", he cried to no one while the awkwardness of his pissing balance treatened to get us all. only his jeans took a soaking but he cared little as the second cat was captured. we stayed in the same spot for another thirty minutes. catfish was timing us. the baited west side awaited and we were sure the haul was going to supply that night's feast. fish fry and hushpuppies at sundown i silently thought.
"diddy, scoot over. we got to roll.", deville said while i hunkered down for the blast over to the west side. it was chilly. a perfectly grey and cold early afternoon. windy, as always on the great plains of texas. even a few white caps were seen in the deep of the middle.
we roared toward the other side, deville opening up the throttle. my leather field jacket was performing as promised. keeping me dry, warm, and protected from the elements. beads of water defected off the hide as we sped along. hassled earlier by catfish, i couldn't understand the mocking city smear. true enough, i do prefer loafers, but always have. they are three years old and the jacket is obviously and authentically worn. it has protected the owner many times as i walk to work. over and over. and over. right then, it was fulfilling it's worst-case scenario mission. then the engine died. a loud crack was all that was heard before the abrupt quiet of the engine.
1/23/10
New York Elusive: T-Shirts
the first thing i noticed at the airport was the t-shirts. what compels the need to send a message, no matter how witty or bland, on a t-shirt? 'cold beer', 'class flirt', 'Anna', swoosh, 'only God can judge me'. either it's meant to distract other humans or attract other humans. maybe it's a subconcious, modern day, form of community. i saw one with manufactured pink kiss marks all over it.
my own electric blue microfiber nike golf shirt rendered me off the radar and part of the older community. almost invisible. however, it held a small degree of distraction itself and a full day of travel will always attract my most comfortable clothes. just as well. old is good. it means you've lived, experienced, failed, succeeded, and overcome. you are here. whatever here is. anything past 33 is bonus time anyway. Jesus never saw 39 going on 40. of course, time measurements are confining for us. for now. really, a day is like a thousand years and a thousand days is like a year. mainly, time for us gives comfort and, perhaps, motivation. "been there and done that" or "i'm on my way".
we're now in the air and on our way to New York City for the first time. my oldest daughter is performing at Carnegie Hall with her youth chorus. she sings like an angel and her t-shirt claims 'i fashion. despite her weak stomach, she is comfortable on stage and expertly partented, by her mother especially. her little sister adores her. her own muted, and more decorative, light blue t shirt reinforces her willing, and classy, understated nature. the female trio, and i, are in good hands as silent prayers of strength and peace ascend from all around. both the girls have scarves draped around thier slender necks that compliment the t-shirts perfectly and niether have ever been in an airport, on a plane, or to New York City.
this family trip had been planned for a year. my wife is not a comfortable air traveler. her soul is clinched right now as we are somewhere above the louisiana delta on our way to New York via Atlanta. For me, to be above anything is welcome after a 7 hour delay at the airport following, and preceeding, heavy rains and incredible lightning strikes hammering all of north texas. during a brief break in the clouds, we finally went above the harsh storm and have left the wet woes behind. the sky is blue now and we're traveling smooth through the air. her soul is clinched and her eyes are closed. both daughters have already decided air travel is "boring" and "takes forever". i agree. we encountered line after line, had to practially undress and allow a body search, waited, found hope, lost hope, waited, ate, waited, rushed, buckled, lifted off, and waited. they envision more of the same before and after our stay in New York and they worry about the upcoming boredom.
patientely waiting is a discipline. certainly not something that comes natural to the current version of ourselves. our technology, need for consumption, and closely monitored clocks have created a soup of anxiety. cluthching cell phones and carry on bags, the degree of desperation, dispair, and defeatism was alarming at the airport. announcement after announcment informing us about delay after delay were met with groans, grimaces, and sadness.
"this is the biggest mess i've ever seen in my life.", a stranger yelled into her phone while ordering lunch at an airport restaurant. she ordered a hamburger and fries without making eye contact with the waitress and still on the phone. she did make brief eye contact a moment later as the waitress was leaving to put in the order.
"maam?", she whirled around and shouted, "i want extra lemons".
"sure." the waitress said without expression and disappeared. the stranger apologized to the person on the phone.
"really?", i thought "the biggest mess? ever?"
"i can't believe this.", a man with heavily gelled hair said loudly to no one. take a look outside and believe it i thought. you can't believe what you see? no doubt successful on time arrival at his destination was extremely important. the weather seemed only his most recent excuse for failure. you know the type. we all know the type. the world is against them. as if the world can be against anything or anybody. tough way to live. on the whole, mother nature seems neutral. inspirational and deadly at the same time. always present. looming like the stars themselves, affecting every earthly scene. our food, our fuel, our air. our fun, our challenge, our benchmark. however, it is not ours. we are its. for a time. then we become it. forever, if we choose. maybe the mother of nature did eventually show us some favor because we are finally in the air and on our way to New York. but the city feels elusive. like it's repelling us or hanging a sign telling us to stay away. too bad, wanted or not, we're going to arrive.
"what time is it?", my wife asks, "when are we going to get to Atlanta?"
"in almost and hour.", i reply, "hang in there honey." she looks at me with misirable eyes. i reach out and take her hand. she hates this. i wish i could take away the anxiety. i try to distract her with conversation and parenting rituals. she is a powerful woman with a powerful will. she takes the good with the bad. so do i. we'll rest one day. forever. but rest now is fleeting. hard to come by. she is a powerful woman. her tshirt displays a diamond studded glowing cross.
my own electric blue microfiber nike golf shirt rendered me off the radar and part of the older community. almost invisible. however, it held a small degree of distraction itself and a full day of travel will always attract my most comfortable clothes. just as well. old is good. it means you've lived, experienced, failed, succeeded, and overcome. you are here. whatever here is. anything past 33 is bonus time anyway. Jesus never saw 39 going on 40. of course, time measurements are confining for us. for now. really, a day is like a thousand years and a thousand days is like a year. mainly, time for us gives comfort and, perhaps, motivation. "been there and done that" or "i'm on my way".
we're now in the air and on our way to New York City for the first time. my oldest daughter is performing at Carnegie Hall with her youth chorus. she sings like an angel and her t-shirt claims 'i fashion. despite her weak stomach, she is comfortable on stage and expertly partented, by her mother especially. her little sister adores her. her own muted, and more decorative, light blue t shirt reinforces her willing, and classy, understated nature. the female trio, and i, are in good hands as silent prayers of strength and peace ascend from all around. both the girls have scarves draped around thier slender necks that compliment the t-shirts perfectly and niether have ever been in an airport, on a plane, or to New York City.
this family trip had been planned for a year. my wife is not a comfortable air traveler. her soul is clinched right now as we are somewhere above the louisiana delta on our way to New York via Atlanta. For me, to be above anything is welcome after a 7 hour delay at the airport following, and preceeding, heavy rains and incredible lightning strikes hammering all of north texas. during a brief break in the clouds, we finally went above the harsh storm and have left the wet woes behind. the sky is blue now and we're traveling smooth through the air. her soul is clinched and her eyes are closed. both daughters have already decided air travel is "boring" and "takes forever". i agree. we encountered line after line, had to practially undress and allow a body search, waited, found hope, lost hope, waited, ate, waited, rushed, buckled, lifted off, and waited. they envision more of the same before and after our stay in New York and they worry about the upcoming boredom.
patientely waiting is a discipline. certainly not something that comes natural to the current version of ourselves. our technology, need for consumption, and closely monitored clocks have created a soup of anxiety. cluthching cell phones and carry on bags, the degree of desperation, dispair, and defeatism was alarming at the airport. announcement after announcment informing us about delay after delay were met with groans, grimaces, and sadness.
"this is the biggest mess i've ever seen in my life.", a stranger yelled into her phone while ordering lunch at an airport restaurant. she ordered a hamburger and fries without making eye contact with the waitress and still on the phone. she did make brief eye contact a moment later as the waitress was leaving to put in the order.
"maam?", she whirled around and shouted, "i want extra lemons".
"sure." the waitress said without expression and disappeared. the stranger apologized to the person on the phone.
"really?", i thought "the biggest mess? ever?"
"i can't believe this.", a man with heavily gelled hair said loudly to no one. take a look outside and believe it i thought. you can't believe what you see? no doubt successful on time arrival at his destination was extremely important. the weather seemed only his most recent excuse for failure. you know the type. we all know the type. the world is against them. as if the world can be against anything or anybody. tough way to live. on the whole, mother nature seems neutral. inspirational and deadly at the same time. always present. looming like the stars themselves, affecting every earthly scene. our food, our fuel, our air. our fun, our challenge, our benchmark. however, it is not ours. we are its. for a time. then we become it. forever, if we choose. maybe the mother of nature did eventually show us some favor because we are finally in the air and on our way to New York. but the city feels elusive. like it's repelling us or hanging a sign telling us to stay away. too bad, wanted or not, we're going to arrive.
"what time is it?", my wife asks, "when are we going to get to Atlanta?"
"in almost and hour.", i reply, "hang in there honey." she looks at me with misirable eyes. i reach out and take her hand. she hates this. i wish i could take away the anxiety. i try to distract her with conversation and parenting rituals. she is a powerful woman with a powerful will. she takes the good with the bad. so do i. we'll rest one day. forever. but rest now is fleeting. hard to come by. she is a powerful woman. her tshirt displays a diamond studded glowing cross.
1/13/10
Texico (Draft): Narrator Development
My roots extended deep into the Texico land. As the great great grandson, great grandson, and grandson of cotton farmers and cattle ranchers, the Fitzgerald’s history with the dirt was well known. Mud and dust were overcome, conquered, and left behind but the steely resolve remained as the recent generations toiled in other areas. The technology and financial services industries were attacked with equal stubbornness and single mindedness. My generation of Fitzgerald’s had fathers and mothers who helped lead the urban migrations that transformed the economy of Texas during the last decades of its American association. The current resurrection of the once, and now, mighty agricultural industries brought a comforting satisfaction and peace to all who shared the benefits and burdens of the Fitzgerald past. My corporate financial background and influential charge into the culture wars of the 20teens uniquely positioned me as a valuable ally and advisor to every Texico president since the birth of the country.
My current responsibility as Secretary of Truth allowed a wide range of authority and, with the enthusiastic blessing of the President; I eagerly embraced the opportunity to defend the social and cultural fabric of Texico. I possessed a healthy apathy on most trivial matters, preferring instead to concentrate on reestablishing the culture and freeing the Church to perform its called functions. Education, healthcare, and missions were my main points of interest. I was not impartial. Neglect, abuse, and mediocrity had ruined these institutions in America and I was determined to continue Texico on another path. The eventual American government takeover of education and healthcare failed to improve the quality of either and turned both into massive entitlements that forced huge tax increases. The math didn’t work. Material incentive for excellence was destroyed and the once-great economy collapsed under the weight of elitist, but naïve, good intentions. Missions were never considered a diplomatic tool in an America that relied on perceived envy, protection for hire, and empty talk to persuade the rest of the world. Goodwill access and the free market of ideas turned Texico into a legitimate mediator throughout the world. Not persecution and unseemly tactics. Come as you are, bring your personal honor and integrity, and worship what and who you want. If you want to know my testimony, ask. And some did.
I was busy spreading the Gospel. It was religious capitalism and Christianity was dominating the morality market. Christian churches owned and operated the vast majority of schools from Preschool through higher education and owned and operated all the hospitals. We had the best doctors in the world and the finest quality schools. Even the domestic corporations couldn’t compete. The Churches weren’t profit-driven and proved too well-organized and passionate, although there did remain competition within the Church due to various denominations. Many countries were turning from the socialistic ways of the past into the newer pure capitalistic model. However, old traditions died hard due to corruption and fear. A few elites were making too much money the old way and they were very resistant. Indeed, bloody civil battles had been fought abroad as revolutionaries from other places sought to replicate the Texican success. The signing of the Texico Papers in 2014 established the government’s role in the economy. The role was very limited and was mostly neutral enforcement efforts. Don’t allow the inevitable government greed to take hold and don’t allow the entitlements that pacify the populous. Your health and education were your responsibility and people in this prosperous land were willing to pay. Taxes were extremely low relative to other nations and what income the government did take in was primarily based on consumption. A penny of every dollar spent was sent to Austin. The fortunes of the government depended on the fortunes of the economy and the fortunes of its people. And of visitors to Texico. Indeed, the tourist industry was thriving. The Mayan coast was quickly replacing the California coast as the major creative media coast. Of course, imports were taxed at the same rate the other government taxed our exports. This made negotiating easy and our ability to gain access for our missionaries and businesses was enhanced by our trade policy. We, the government, stayed out of the way and let our people thrive and influence the people around them. Shiftlessness was shunned. Those in need had their pick of private and religious organizations to reach out to for help. Usually, the organizations were already reaching out to them anyway. They were competing for the opportunity to help.
My job was to make sure these organizations were able to operate without unneeded restraints and enhance their ability to be effective around the world. L. Dean Fitzgerald was a name synonymous with Texico and to own the name was a blessing and a curse. “Fitz, when are you going to hang it up and wander off to Del Carmen to live out your days?” the President had asked me right after I accepted the Secretary of Truth job. “I don’t tan real good J.T., and I quit drinking years ago. Besides, Mrs. Fitzgerald don’t like those Yucatan hurricanes in the summer. Maybe we’ll go to the mountains. Hey man, I’m almost seventy five, if I’m going to make a hundred, I gotta start walking the hills. Annie’s tired of sand.” “Well”, he had said, “I got you in Austin for another six. We got hills ‘round here.” After considering his last comment I had replied, “That sounds like a song J. T., wanna go fishing? It may be our last chance for those six years.” I haven’t been fishing since.
My current responsibility as Secretary of Truth allowed a wide range of authority and, with the enthusiastic blessing of the President; I eagerly embraced the opportunity to defend the social and cultural fabric of Texico. I possessed a healthy apathy on most trivial matters, preferring instead to concentrate on reestablishing the culture and freeing the Church to perform its called functions. Education, healthcare, and missions were my main points of interest. I was not impartial. Neglect, abuse, and mediocrity had ruined these institutions in America and I was determined to continue Texico on another path. The eventual American government takeover of education and healthcare failed to improve the quality of either and turned both into massive entitlements that forced huge tax increases. The math didn’t work. Material incentive for excellence was destroyed and the once-great economy collapsed under the weight of elitist, but naïve, good intentions. Missions were never considered a diplomatic tool in an America that relied on perceived envy, protection for hire, and empty talk to persuade the rest of the world. Goodwill access and the free market of ideas turned Texico into a legitimate mediator throughout the world. Not persecution and unseemly tactics. Come as you are, bring your personal honor and integrity, and worship what and who you want. If you want to know my testimony, ask. And some did.
I was busy spreading the Gospel. It was religious capitalism and Christianity was dominating the morality market. Christian churches owned and operated the vast majority of schools from Preschool through higher education and owned and operated all the hospitals. We had the best doctors in the world and the finest quality schools. Even the domestic corporations couldn’t compete. The Churches weren’t profit-driven and proved too well-organized and passionate, although there did remain competition within the Church due to various denominations. Many countries were turning from the socialistic ways of the past into the newer pure capitalistic model. However, old traditions died hard due to corruption and fear. A few elites were making too much money the old way and they were very resistant. Indeed, bloody civil battles had been fought abroad as revolutionaries from other places sought to replicate the Texican success. The signing of the Texico Papers in 2014 established the government’s role in the economy. The role was very limited and was mostly neutral enforcement efforts. Don’t allow the inevitable government greed to take hold and don’t allow the entitlements that pacify the populous. Your health and education were your responsibility and people in this prosperous land were willing to pay. Taxes were extremely low relative to other nations and what income the government did take in was primarily based on consumption. A penny of every dollar spent was sent to Austin. The fortunes of the government depended on the fortunes of the economy and the fortunes of its people. And of visitors to Texico. Indeed, the tourist industry was thriving. The Mayan coast was quickly replacing the California coast as the major creative media coast. Of course, imports were taxed at the same rate the other government taxed our exports. This made negotiating easy and our ability to gain access for our missionaries and businesses was enhanced by our trade policy. We, the government, stayed out of the way and let our people thrive and influence the people around them. Shiftlessness was shunned. Those in need had their pick of private and religious organizations to reach out to for help. Usually, the organizations were already reaching out to them anyway. They were competing for the opportunity to help.
My job was to make sure these organizations were able to operate without unneeded restraints and enhance their ability to be effective around the world. L. Dean Fitzgerald was a name synonymous with Texico and to own the name was a blessing and a curse. “Fitz, when are you going to hang it up and wander off to Del Carmen to live out your days?” the President had asked me right after I accepted the Secretary of Truth job. “I don’t tan real good J.T., and I quit drinking years ago. Besides, Mrs. Fitzgerald don’t like those Yucatan hurricanes in the summer. Maybe we’ll go to the mountains. Hey man, I’m almost seventy five, if I’m going to make a hundred, I gotta start walking the hills. Annie’s tired of sand.” “Well”, he had said, “I got you in Austin for another six. We got hills ‘round here.” After considering his last comment I had replied, “That sounds like a song J. T., wanna go fishing? It may be our last chance for those six years.” I haven’t been fishing since.
Texico (Draft): Character Development/Notes
The paper he held in his hand was meaningless. The proposed partnership was just another attempt to draw the country into a legal mire. Long ago the country refused to acknowledge the high court’s of other nations. And they no longer respected many of the nations themselves. The President’s chuckle masked a deeper frustration. Politically, he was being pressured to enter into alliances, treaties, and agreements with the persistent neighbors to the north. The ties that bind ran deep. Families, businesses, and traditions shared by the two countries were centuries old. The money was also centuries old. However, the memory of the struggle to regain independence was fresh in his mind. Although bloodless, the five years of bitter transition from the lone star state to the lone star nation was hard fought in courtrooms, boardrooms, media outlets, and foreign nations. Enemies were forged and rivalries were born. One can only speculate when the point of no return was reached, but it was reached and any argument to remain part of the United States after the point of no return was easily defeated in debate. “The Yanks want us to put the squeeze on Microsoft. They want us to join in a legal battle to break the geek monopoly. How ‘bout we let that monopoly run out of Austin. Pay attention to this wisdom folks—don’t tick off the techies. I learned that the hard way.” President James T. Barnes was familiar with the benefits of presiding over a true capitalistic system. Let the best thrive in your economy and you will win the global competition. If they eat everybody up, so be it. Make sure they follow the law and don’t compromise with compromisers. Winning the global competition is what allowed Texas to become a sovereign nation. It is what allowed the union of Texas and Mexico and the eventual establishment of Texico. But competitive complacency could never be tolerated and after thirty years the Texico nation had grown into the 2nd largest economy in the world. For a nation whose economy was driven primarily by energy, agriculture, and financial services, the chance to be the host of the undisputed technology giant of the world was a discussion President Barnes and his cabinet placed at the top of his weekly cabinet meeting agenda. No other agendas were in the room as he surrounded himself with his most trusted advisors, his most thoughtful rebukers, and the man he called his right hand man. When his cabinet was formed two years prior he carefully selected the five individuals that made up the powerful group. He then contacted all of them directly and made a few demands. “Be who you are. Give me the advice you want to give. I’ll make or not make decisions behind closed doors taking your counsel into consideration. We leave the room unified and on message. No politics in the inner circle.” If they could work under those terms, along with a healthy salary and generous benefits, they could have one of the most powerful jobs in the world. Only one declined.
The Vice President was Julio Francisco Del Rosario. He was a patriarch of old Mexico and, despite his advanced years, was a vigorous and genuine Texican patriot. His inclusion in the inner circle was a given in light of his long and mutually respectful association with President Barnes. He was universally known as Fran. And he was not timid.
Maggie Graham was a master campaigner and a major land owner and real estate developer. She had benefited greatly from Texico-style pure capitalism and was eager to spread the gospel. She was the President’s main advisor on economic issues. She was a wealthy woman. And well traveled. As Secretary of State she was responsible for relations with other nations. She was the voice and messenger. Not as same-minded with Barnes as the others, she was quick to offer dissenting opinions but had held to the pre-conditioned demands of the job. Her talent abroad was obvious and she had recently made major progress with the Brazilians on an energy agreement. It amounted to a Monroe Doctrine of petroleum. The OPEC dinosaurs were reeling from the loss of most of the North and South American continent markets. They still manipulated the American economy, but were losing their iron grip and some of their power on the world scene. Canada’s inclusion in the agreement the prior year had given the effort momentum and Brazil was the desperately needed final dagger in OPEC’s heart. Along with Canada’s and Brazil’s energy resources, advanced electric automobile technology, wind power, massive off-shore oil field discoveries, and the abundant natural gas fields of West Texas, the energy alliance could provide for the energy needs of the rest of the hemisphere and be competitive in the Eastern part of the world as well. Global competition extended to energy and the Texicans played to win. The Arabs could drown in their oil. Or sell it for a buck. We no longer cared and Graham made no apologies.
Mitchell C. Parrish served as Secretary of Defense. His was a broad job that included military defense, technology defense, disease defense, and defense of the Texico Papers, the governing documents of the nation. Parrish was a shadowy figure to the media and others, but within the cabinet and in powerful circles from Dallas to Mexico City, he was heavily sought after and listened to. His easy smile and boisterous nature equipped him with the ability to hide the disastrous affects the job was having on his health. Those in the room were not fooled as his slight frame and sunken eyes betrayed his attempted deception.
Travis B. Whitney was the Attorney General and pleaded the case of the administration in the courts of law and the court of public opinion. He was the likely successor to Barnes’ leadership in the election of 2040. Able to debate any side of any issue, his brilliant mind was legendary. However, his motives were questioned by some. His pro-American rhetoric and nostalgic writings of previous years left him a bit vulnerable, but he had proven his Texican credentials with hours upon hours upon hours of law arguments on behalf of Texico in foreign nations. The vast majority of those arguments he won. Those he didn’t, Texico ignored. The courts were just another competition. Travis B. Whitney was a winner.
I served as Secretary of Truth. The Texico Papers clearly outlined the functions of the government and along with maintaining pure capitalism, defending the nation’s interests, and determining and enforcing laws, the Papers mandated freedom of religion. Not from religion--of religion. This creed grew stronger and stronger over the years and is now widely credited with the current harmony, peacefulness, and joy that make up the Texico culture. A true servant mentality has infected the nation of 250 Million. Government sponsored missionaries from Texico were scattered all over the world. Feeding, teaching, mending, building, listening, and spreading the Word. At home, churches of all kinds thrive and benefit greatly from the hard earned prosperity of the people. In response, and compelled by love, the churches have taken over the traditional responsibilities of education and healthcare. Needless to say, Christianity dominates, but there is plenty of room for other beliefs. The local Christian evangelizers have to have somebody to convince. Cultish, imposter religions trading off the good name of Christianity are welcome too, but risk exposure due to shaky theology. The well educated population sniffs them out quickly and convincingly. My role is to make sure nothing gets in the way of the truth. “It’s true until proven wrong”, was written into the Texico Papers 30 years ago at the insistence of one of the original cultural revolutionaries, General Elias T. Woods . His foresight grows his legend each decade. Some call him an apostle and schools, hospitals, and national holidays bear his name. Dead men become legends. Live a long life and become Secretary of Truth. “Fitz, what do you think?” the President asked me. “We should meet them in New Orleans for Mardi Gras and offer them the moon. The land of plenty has plenty of room for another monopoly and the tech boys love gambling and jazz.” Everyone nodded in agreement. I was the President’s right hand man.
The Vice President was Julio Francisco Del Rosario. He was a patriarch of old Mexico and, despite his advanced years, was a vigorous and genuine Texican patriot. His inclusion in the inner circle was a given in light of his long and mutually respectful association with President Barnes. He was universally known as Fran. And he was not timid.
Maggie Graham was a master campaigner and a major land owner and real estate developer. She had benefited greatly from Texico-style pure capitalism and was eager to spread the gospel. She was the President’s main advisor on economic issues. She was a wealthy woman. And well traveled. As Secretary of State she was responsible for relations with other nations. She was the voice and messenger. Not as same-minded with Barnes as the others, she was quick to offer dissenting opinions but had held to the pre-conditioned demands of the job. Her talent abroad was obvious and she had recently made major progress with the Brazilians on an energy agreement. It amounted to a Monroe Doctrine of petroleum. The OPEC dinosaurs were reeling from the loss of most of the North and South American continent markets. They still manipulated the American economy, but were losing their iron grip and some of their power on the world scene. Canada’s inclusion in the agreement the prior year had given the effort momentum and Brazil was the desperately needed final dagger in OPEC’s heart. Along with Canada’s and Brazil’s energy resources, advanced electric automobile technology, wind power, massive off-shore oil field discoveries, and the abundant natural gas fields of West Texas, the energy alliance could provide for the energy needs of the rest of the hemisphere and be competitive in the Eastern part of the world as well. Global competition extended to energy and the Texicans played to win. The Arabs could drown in their oil. Or sell it for a buck. We no longer cared and Graham made no apologies.
Mitchell C. Parrish served as Secretary of Defense. His was a broad job that included military defense, technology defense, disease defense, and defense of the Texico Papers, the governing documents of the nation. Parrish was a shadowy figure to the media and others, but within the cabinet and in powerful circles from Dallas to Mexico City, he was heavily sought after and listened to. His easy smile and boisterous nature equipped him with the ability to hide the disastrous affects the job was having on his health. Those in the room were not fooled as his slight frame and sunken eyes betrayed his attempted deception.
Travis B. Whitney was the Attorney General and pleaded the case of the administration in the courts of law and the court of public opinion. He was the likely successor to Barnes’ leadership in the election of 2040. Able to debate any side of any issue, his brilliant mind was legendary. However, his motives were questioned by some. His pro-American rhetoric and nostalgic writings of previous years left him a bit vulnerable, but he had proven his Texican credentials with hours upon hours upon hours of law arguments on behalf of Texico in foreign nations. The vast majority of those arguments he won. Those he didn’t, Texico ignored. The courts were just another competition. Travis B. Whitney was a winner.
I served as Secretary of Truth. The Texico Papers clearly outlined the functions of the government and along with maintaining pure capitalism, defending the nation’s interests, and determining and enforcing laws, the Papers mandated freedom of religion. Not from religion--of religion. This creed grew stronger and stronger over the years and is now widely credited with the current harmony, peacefulness, and joy that make up the Texico culture. A true servant mentality has infected the nation of 250 Million. Government sponsored missionaries from Texico were scattered all over the world. Feeding, teaching, mending, building, listening, and spreading the Word. At home, churches of all kinds thrive and benefit greatly from the hard earned prosperity of the people. In response, and compelled by love, the churches have taken over the traditional responsibilities of education and healthcare. Needless to say, Christianity dominates, but there is plenty of room for other beliefs. The local Christian evangelizers have to have somebody to convince. Cultish, imposter religions trading off the good name of Christianity are welcome too, but risk exposure due to shaky theology. The well educated population sniffs them out quickly and convincingly. My role is to make sure nothing gets in the way of the truth. “It’s true until proven wrong”, was written into the Texico Papers 30 years ago at the insistence of one of the original cultural revolutionaries, General Elias T. Woods . His foresight grows his legend each decade. Some call him an apostle and schools, hospitals, and national holidays bear his name. Dead men become legends. Live a long life and become Secretary of Truth. “Fitz, what do you think?” the President asked me. “We should meet them in New Orleans for Mardi Gras and offer them the moon. The land of plenty has plenty of room for another monopoly and the tech boys love gambling and jazz.” Everyone nodded in agreement. I was the President’s right hand man.
Writer's Introduction
As you can see, I've run into the dead end of writing. But why a dead end? Maybe it's a start, middle, and finish over and over. Whatever it is, Francios Mauriac, via Shake, once quoted, "Every novelist ought to invent his own technique, that is the fact of the matter. Every novel worthy of the name is like another planet, whether large or small, which has its own laws just as it has its own flora and fauna." He won the Nobel Prize. Back when one earned the praise.
Welcome to this place. I will be inventing my own writing technique.
Welcome to this place. I will be inventing my own writing technique.
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