Tuesday, 30 December 2008
first far-away signals
After a time he was aware of the first far-away signals of sensation in his beaten fingers. The faint tingling grew stronger till it evolved into a stinging ache that was excruciating, but which the man hailed with satisfaction. He stripped the mitten from his right hand and fetched forth the birch bark. The exposed fingers were quickly going numb again. Next he brought out his bunch of sulphur matches. But the tremendous cold had already driven the life out of his fingers. In his effort to separate one match from the others, the whole bunch fell in the snow. He tried to pick it out of the snow, but failed. The dead fingers could neither touch nor clutch. He was very careful. He drove the thought of his freezing feet, and nose, and cheeks, out of his mind, devoting his whole soul to the matches. He watched, using the sense of vision in place of that of touch, and when he saw his fingers on each side the bunch, he dosed them--that is, he willed to close them, for the wires were down, and the fingers did not obey. He pulled the mitten on the right hand and beat it fiercely against his knee. Then. with both mittened hands, he scooped the bunch of matches, along with much snow, into his lap. Yet he was no better off.
Sunday, 28 December 2008
my memory as time
This event faded from my memory as time went by. One day after I came home from the countryside, I found the room stuffy and casually opened the window. Something outside caught my eye and dazzled me. It was a plum tree all scarlet with blossom set off beautifully by the sunset. The surprise discovery overwhelmed me with pleasure. I wondered why I had no idea of some unyielding life sprouting over the fallen petals when I was grieving for the hibiscus.
When the last withered petal dropped, all the joyful admiration for the hibiscus sank into oblivion as if nothing was left, until the landscape was again ablaze with the red plum blossom to remind people of life’s alternation and continuance. Can’t it be said that life is actually a symphony, a harmonious composition of loss and gain.
Standing by the window lost in thought for a long time, I realized that no scenery in the world remains unchanged. As long as you keep your heart basking in the sun, every dawn will present a fine prospect for you to unfold and the world will always be about new hopes.
When the last withered petal dropped, all the joyful admiration for the hibiscus sank into oblivion as if nothing was left, until the landscape was again ablaze with the red plum blossom to remind people of life’s alternation and continuance. Can’t it be said that life is actually a symphony, a harmonious composition of loss and gain.
Standing by the window lost in thought for a long time, I realized that no scenery in the world remains unchanged. As long as you keep your heart basking in the sun, every dawn will present a fine prospect for you to unfold and the world will always be about new hopes.
Friday, 26 December 2008
slowed down to a walk
It struck him as curious that he could run at all on feet so frozen that he could not feel
them when they struck the earth and took the weigh. of his body. He seemed to himself to
skim along above the surface, and to have no connection with the earth. Somewhere he had
once seen a winged Mercury, and he wondered if Mercury felt as he felt when skimming over
the earth.
His theory of running until he reached camp and the boys had one flaw in it: he lacked the
endurance. Several times he stumbled, and finally he tottered, crumpled up, and fell. When
he tried to rise, he failed. He must sit and rest, he decided, and next time he would merely
walk and keep on going. As he sat and regained his breath, he noted that he was feeling
quite warm and comfortable He was not shivering, and it even seemed that a warm glow had
come to his chest and trunk. And yet, when he touched his nose or cheeks, there was no
sensation. Running would not thaw them out. Nor would it thaw out his hands and feet. Then
the thought came to him that the frozen portions of his body must be extending. He tried to
keep this thought down, to forget it, to think of something else; he was aware of the
panicky feeling that it caused, and he was afraid of the panic. But the thought asserted
itself, and persisted, until it produced a vision of his body totally frozen. This was too
much, and he made another wild run along the trail. Once he slowed down to a walk, but the
thought of the freezing extending itself made him run again.
them when they struck the earth and took the weigh. of his body. He seemed to himself to
skim along above the surface, and to have no connection with the earth. Somewhere he had
once seen a winged Mercury, and he wondered if Mercury felt as he felt when skimming over
the earth.
His theory of running until he reached camp and the boys had one flaw in it: he lacked the
endurance. Several times he stumbled, and finally he tottered, crumpled up, and fell. When
he tried to rise, he failed. He must sit and rest, he decided, and next time he would merely
walk and keep on going. As he sat and regained his breath, he noted that he was feeling
quite warm and comfortable He was not shivering, and it even seemed that a warm glow had
come to his chest and trunk. And yet, when he touched his nose or cheeks, there was no
sensation. Running would not thaw them out. Nor would it thaw out his hands and feet. Then
the thought came to him that the frozen portions of his body must be extending. He tried to
keep this thought down, to forget it, to think of something else; he was aware of the
panicky feeling that it caused, and he was afraid of the panic. But the thought asserted
itself, and persisted, until it produced a vision of his body totally frozen. This was too
much, and he made another wild run along the trail. Once he slowed down to a walk, but the
thought of the freezing extending itself made him run again.
Wednesday, 24 December 2008
a second time
And all the time the dog ran with him, at his heels. When he fell down a second time, it
curled its tad! over its forefeet and sat in front of him, facing him, curiously eager and
intent The warmth and security of the animal angered him, and he cursed it till it flattened
down its ears appealingly. This time the shivering came more quickly upon the man. He was
losing in his battle with the frost. It was creeping into his body from all sides. The
thought of it drove him on, but he ran no more than a hundred feet, when he staggered and
pitched headlong. It was his last panic. When he had recovered his breath and control, he
sat up and entertained in his mind the conception of meeting death with dignity. However,
the conception did not come to him in such terms. His idea of it was that he had been making
a fool of himself, running around like a chicken with its head cut off--such was the simile
that occurred to him. Well, he was bound to freeze anyway, and he might as well take it
decently. With this new-found peace of mind came the first glimmerings of drowsiness. A good
idea, he thought, to sleep off to death. It was like salting an anaesthetic. Freezing was
not so bad as people thought. There were lots worse ways to die.
curled its tad! over its forefeet and sat in front of him, facing him, curiously eager and
intent The warmth and security of the animal angered him, and he cursed it till it flattened
down its ears appealingly. This time the shivering came more quickly upon the man. He was
losing in his battle with the frost. It was creeping into his body from all sides. The
thought of it drove him on, but he ran no more than a hundred feet, when he staggered and
pitched headlong. It was his last panic. When he had recovered his breath and control, he
sat up and entertained in his mind the conception of meeting death with dignity. However,
the conception did not come to him in such terms. His idea of it was that he had been making
a fool of himself, running around like a chicken with its head cut off--such was the simile
that occurred to him. Well, he was bound to freeze anyway, and he might as well take it
decently. With this new-found peace of mind came the first glimmerings of drowsiness. A good
idea, he thought, to sleep off to death. It was like salting an anaesthetic. Freezing was
not so bad as people thought. There were lots worse ways to die.
Monday, 22 December 2008
flowers in the wind
From the window of my room, I could see a tall cotton-rose hibiscus. In spring, when green foliage was half hidden by mist, the tree looked very enchanting dotted with red blossom. This inspiring neighbor of mine often set my mind working. I gradually regarded it as my best friend.
Nevertheless, when I opened the window one morning, to my amazement, the tree was almost bare beyond recognition as a result of the storm ravages the night before. Struck by the plight, I was seized with a sadness at the thought “all the blossom is doomed to fall”. I could not help sighing with emotion: the course of life never runs smooth, for there are so many ups and downs, twists and turns. The vicissitudes of my life saw my beloved friends parting one after another. Isn’t it similar to the tree shedding its flowers in the wind?
Nevertheless, when I opened the window one morning, to my amazement, the tree was almost bare beyond recognition as a result of the storm ravages the night before. Struck by the plight, I was seized with a sadness at the thought “all the blossom is doomed to fall”. I could not help sighing with emotion: the course of life never runs smooth, for there are so many ups and downs, twists and turns. The vicissitudes of my life saw my beloved friends parting one after another. Isn’t it similar to the tree shedding its flowers in the wind?
Saturday, 20 December 2008
the animal
The sight of the dog put a wild idea into his head. He remembered the tale of the man,
caught in a blizzard, who killed a steer and crawled inside the carcass, and so was saved.
He would kill the dog and bury his hands in the warm body until the numbness went out of
them. Then he could build another fire. He spoke to the dog, calling it to him; but in his
voice was a strange note of fear that frightened the animal, who had never known the man to
speak in such way before. Something was the matter, and its suspicious nature sensed danger
--it knew not what danger, but somewhere, somehow, in its brain arose an apprehension of the
man. It flattened its ears down at the sound of the man's voice, and its restless, hunching
movements and the liftings and shiftings of its forefeet became more pronounced; but it
would not come to the man. He got on his hands and knees and crawled toward the dog. This
unusual posture again excited suspicion, and the animal sidled mincingly away.
caught in a blizzard, who killed a steer and crawled inside the carcass, and so was saved.
He would kill the dog and bury his hands in the warm body until the numbness went out of
them. Then he could build another fire. He spoke to the dog, calling it to him; but in his
voice was a strange note of fear that frightened the animal, who had never known the man to
speak in such way before. Something was the matter, and its suspicious nature sensed danger
--it knew not what danger, but somewhere, somehow, in its brain arose an apprehension of the
man. It flattened its ears down at the sound of the man's voice, and its restless, hunching
movements and the liftings and shiftings of its forefeet became more pronounced; but it
would not come to the man. He got on his hands and knees and crawled toward the dog. This
unusual posture again excited suspicion, and the animal sidled mincingly away.
Thursday, 18 December 2008
our lives change
As we go on, we rememberAll the times we had togetherAnd as our lives change, come whateverWe will still be friends forever
So if we get the big jobs and we make the big moneyWhen we look back nowWill our jokes still be funny?Will we still remember everything we learned in school?Still be trying to break every single rule?Will little brainy Bobby be the stockbroker man?Can we ever find a job that won't interfere with a tan?I keep, I keep thinking that it's not goodbyeKeep on thinking it's a time to flyAnd this is how it feels
Will we think about tomorrow like we think about now?Can we survive it out there?Can we make it somehow?I guess I thought that this would never endAnd suddenly it's like we're women and menWill the past be a shadow that will follow us 'round?Will these memories fade when I leave this town?I keep, I keep thinking that it's not goodbyeKeep on thinking it's a time to fly
So if we get the big jobs and we make the big moneyWhen we look back nowWill our jokes still be funny?Will we still remember everything we learned in school?Still be trying to break every single rule?Will little brainy Bobby be the stockbroker man?Can we ever find a job that won't interfere with a tan?I keep, I keep thinking that it's not goodbyeKeep on thinking it's a time to flyAnd this is how it feels
Will we think about tomorrow like we think about now?Can we survive it out there?Can we make it somehow?I guess I thought that this would never endAnd suddenly it's like we're women and menWill the past be a shadow that will follow us 'round?Will these memories fade when I leave this town?I keep, I keep thinking that it's not goodbyeKeep on thinking it's a time to fly
Tuesday, 16 December 2008
feet would thaw
A certain fear of death, dull and oppressive, came to him. This fear quickly became poignant
as he realized that it was no longer a mere matter of freezing his fingers and toes, or of
losing his hands and feet, but that it was a matter of life and death with the chances
against him. This threw him into a panic, and he turned and ran up the creek-bed along the
old, dim trail. The dog joined in behind and kept up with him. He ran blindly, without
intention, in fear such as he had never known in his life. Slowly, as he plowed and
floundered through the snow, he began to see things again, the banks of the creek, the old
timber-jams, the leafless aspens, and the sky. The running made him feel better. He did not
shiver. Maybe, if he ran on, his feet would thaw out; and, anyway, if he ran far enough, he
would reach camp and the boys. Without doubt he would lose some fingers and toes and some of
his face; but the boys would take care of him, and save the rest of him when he got there.
And at the same time there was another thought in his mind that said he would never get to
the camp and the boys; that it was too many miles away, that the freezing had too great a
start on him, and that he would soon be stiff and dead. This thought he kept in the
background and refused to consider. Sometimes it pushed itself forward and demanded to be
heard, but he thrust it back and strove to think of other things.
as he realized that it was no longer a mere matter of freezing his fingers and toes, or of
losing his hands and feet, but that it was a matter of life and death with the chances
against him. This threw him into a panic, and he turned and ran up the creek-bed along the
old, dim trail. The dog joined in behind and kept up with him. He ran blindly, without
intention, in fear such as he had never known in his life. Slowly, as he plowed and
floundered through the snow, he began to see things again, the banks of the creek, the old
timber-jams, the leafless aspens, and the sky. The running made him feel better. He did not
shiver. Maybe, if he ran on, his feet would thaw out; and, anyway, if he ran far enough, he
would reach camp and the boys. Without doubt he would lose some fingers and toes and some of
his face; but the boys would take care of him, and save the rest of him when he got there.
And at the same time there was another thought in his mind that said he would never get to
the camp and the boys; that it was too many miles away, that the freezing had too great a
start on him, and that he would soon be stiff and dead. This thought he kept in the
background and refused to consider. Sometimes it pushed itself forward and demanded to be
heard, but he thrust it back and strove to think of other things.
Sunday, 14 December 2008
rest of our livesWhere
And so we talked all night about the rest of our livesWhere we're gonna be when we turn 25I keep thinking times will never changeKeep on thinking things will always be the sameBut when we leave this year we won't be coming backNo more hanging out cause we're on a different trackAnd if you got something that you need to sayYou better say it right now cause you don't have another dayCause we're moving on and we can't slow downThese memories are playing like a film without soundAnd I keep thinking of that night in June I didn't know much of loveBut it came too soonAnd there was me and youAnd then we got real coolStay at home talking on the telephone with meWe'd get so excited, we'd get so scaredLaughing at ourselves thinking life's not fairAnd this is how it feels
Friday, 12 December 2008
her garden and grow old
She has earned her nursing degree through measles, chicken pox, mumps, pneumonia, polio, TB, fevers, stitches, flu, fractured arms and broken hearts.
At one time or another her closet held housedresses, feathered hats, white gloves, skirts with short hemlines and with long hemlines, pants suits, billowy dresses of chiffon, sheath dresses, a Sunday coat and the Christmas toys she ordered from the Sears catalog.
Her heart has known the ecstasy of a man's love, the joy of children, the heartbreak of their mistakes, the warmth of life's friendships, the celebration of weddings, the magnificent blessings of grandchildren and great-grandchildren.
Who can count the floors she scrubbed, the dinners she cooked, the birthday gifts she wrapped, the spelling words she listened to, the bedtime stories she read, the excuses she heard, the prayers she whispered to God each day?
Her arms have rocked generations of babies. Her hands have prepared countless "favorite" dishes. Her knees have knelt in prayer time and time again for those she loved. Her mouth has kissed owwies that hurt. Her back has bent to bathe dirty cowboys, pick up teens' clothes, gather flowers from her garden and grow old.
She has journeyed through life with its tears and laughter, watching yesterday's sunsets become tomorrow's sunrises of hope and promise. Because of her and the man who took her hand, family life and love continue through the generations.
When a mother blows out 75 candles, blessed are they who surround her with their love.
At one time or another her closet held housedresses, feathered hats, white gloves, skirts with short hemlines and with long hemlines, pants suits, billowy dresses of chiffon, sheath dresses, a Sunday coat and the Christmas toys she ordered from the Sears catalog.
Her heart has known the ecstasy of a man's love, the joy of children, the heartbreak of their mistakes, the warmth of life's friendships, the celebration of weddings, the magnificent blessings of grandchildren and great-grandchildren.
Who can count the floors she scrubbed, the dinners she cooked, the birthday gifts she wrapped, the spelling words she listened to, the bedtime stories she read, the excuses she heard, the prayers she whispered to God each day?
Her arms have rocked generations of babies. Her hands have prepared countless "favorite" dishes. Her knees have knelt in prayer time and time again for those she loved. Her mouth has kissed owwies that hurt. Her back has bent to bathe dirty cowboys, pick up teens' clothes, gather flowers from her garden and grow old.
She has journeyed through life with its tears and laughter, watching yesterday's sunsets become tomorrow's sunrises of hope and promise. Because of her and the man who took her hand, family life and love continue through the generations.
When a mother blows out 75 candles, blessed are they who surround her with their love.
Wednesday, 10 December 2008
whined and struggled
The man sat up in the snow for a moment and struggled for calmness. Then he pulled on his
mittens, by means of his teeth, and got upon his feet. He glanced down at first in order to
assure himself that he was really standing up, for the absence of sensation in his feet left
him unrelated to the earth. His erect position in itself started to drive the webs of
suspicion from the dog's mind; and when he spoke peremptorily, with the sound of whiplashes
in his voice, the dog rendered its customary allegiance and came to him. As it came within
reaching distance, the man lost his control. His arms flashed out to the dog, and he
experienced genuine surprise when he discovered that his hands could not clutch, that there
was neither bend nor feeling in the fingers. He had forgotten for the moment that they were
frozen and that they were freezing more and more. All this happened quickly, and before the
animal could get away, he encircled its body with his arms. He sat down in the snow, and in
this fashion held the dog, while it snarled and whined and struggled.
mittens, by means of his teeth, and got upon his feet. He glanced down at first in order to
assure himself that he was really standing up, for the absence of sensation in his feet left
him unrelated to the earth. His erect position in itself started to drive the webs of
suspicion from the dog's mind; and when he spoke peremptorily, with the sound of whiplashes
in his voice, the dog rendered its customary allegiance and came to him. As it came within
reaching distance, the man lost his control. His arms flashed out to the dog, and he
experienced genuine surprise when he discovered that his hands could not clutch, that there
was neither bend nor feeling in the fingers. He had forgotten for the moment that they were
frozen and that they were freezing more and more. All this happened quickly, and before the
animal could get away, he encircled its body with his arms. He sat down in the snow, and in
this fashion held the dog, while it snarled and whined and struggled.
Monday, 8 December 2008
tank of oxygen
She secretly hopes a tank of oxygen is one of her gifts.
Through the years she has hollered, said and prayed, "Jesus, Mary and Joseph, grant me patience!" 1,245,187 times.
Her hands have hung diapers on pulley clotheslines, sterilized bottles, carried babies from the third-floor apartment, ironed sunsuits and proudly pushed baby buggies.
She has peeled more potatoes than six marines on K.P. duty.
Her hair has been set in steel curlers, permed, rinsed with Nestle's coloring capsules, and styled in pageboys, the poodle look and the beehive hairdo; been permed again and turned silver.
The "parlor" was where she entertained company, the "pantry" held the groceries, the "icebox" held a pint of ice cream, and the "wringer washing machine" was hers to use on Tuesday.
Through the years she has hollered, said and prayed, "Jesus, Mary and Joseph, grant me patience!" 1,245,187 times.
Her hands have hung diapers on pulley clotheslines, sterilized bottles, carried babies from the third-floor apartment, ironed sunsuits and proudly pushed baby buggies.
She has peeled more potatoes than six marines on K.P. duty.
Her hair has been set in steel curlers, permed, rinsed with Nestle's coloring capsules, and styled in pageboys, the poodle look and the beehive hairdo; been permed again and turned silver.
The "parlor" was where she entertained company, the "pantry" held the groceries, the "icebox" held a pint of ice cream, and the "wringer washing machine" was hers to use on Tuesday.
Saturday, 6 December 2008
his arms and sit
But it was all he could do, hold its body encircled in his arms and sit there. He realized
that he could not kill the dog. There was no way to do it. With his helpless hands he could
neither draw nor hold his sheath knife nor throttle the animal. He released it, and it
plunged wildly away, with tail between its legs, and still snarling. It halted forty feet
away and surveyed him curiously, with ears sharply pricked forward. The man looked down at
his hands in order to locate them, and found them hanging on the ends of his arms. It struck
him as curious that one should have to use his eyes in order to find out where his hands
were. He began threshing his arms back and forth, beating the mittened hands against his
sides. He did this for five minutes, violently, and his heart pumped enough blood up to the
surface to put a stop to his shivering. But no sensation was aroused in the hands. He had an
impression that they hung like weights on the ends of his arms, but when he tried to run the
impression down, he could not find it.
that he could not kill the dog. There was no way to do it. With his helpless hands he could
neither draw nor hold his sheath knife nor throttle the animal. He released it, and it
plunged wildly away, with tail between its legs, and still snarling. It halted forty feet
away and surveyed him curiously, with ears sharply pricked forward. The man looked down at
his hands in order to locate them, and found them hanging on the ends of his arms. It struck
him as curious that one should have to use his eyes in order to find out where his hands
were. He began threshing his arms back and forth, beating the mittened hands against his
sides. He did this for five minutes, violently, and his heart pumped enough blood up to the
surface to put a stop to his shivering. But no sensation was aroused in the hands. He had an
impression that they hung like weights on the ends of his arms, but when he tried to run the
impression down, he could not find it.
Thursday, 4 December 2008
what seemed to him
pictured the boys finding his body next day. Suddenly he found himself with them, coming
along the trail and looking for himself. And, still with them, he came around a turn in the
trail and found himself lying in the snow. He did not belong with himself any more, for even
then he was out of himself, standing with the boys and looking at himself in the snow. It
certainly was cold, was his thought. When he got back to the States he could tell the folks
what real cold was He drifted on from this to a vision of the old-timer on Sulphur Creek He
could see him quite clearly, warm and comfortable, and smoking a pipe.
"You were right, old hoss; you were right," the man mumbled to the old-timer of Sulphur
Creek.
Then the man drowsed off into what seemed to him the most comfortable and satisfying sleep
he had ever known. The dog sat facing him and waiting. The brief day drew to a close in a
long, slow twilight. There were no signs of a fire to be made, and, besides, never in the
dog's experience had it known a man to sit like that in the snow and make no fire. As the
twilight drew on, its eager yearning for the fire mastered it, and with a great lifting and
shifting of forefeet, it whined softly, then flattened its ears down in anticipation of
being chidden by the man. But the man remained silent. Later, the dog whined loudly. And
still later it crept close to the man and caught the scent of death. This made the animal
bristle and back away. A little longer it delayed, howling under the stars that leaped and
danced and shone brightly in the cold sky. Then it turned and trotted up the trail in the
direction of the camp it knew, where were the other food-providers and fire-providers.
along the trail and looking for himself. And, still with them, he came around a turn in the
trail and found himself lying in the snow. He did not belong with himself any more, for even
then he was out of himself, standing with the boys and looking at himself in the snow. It
certainly was cold, was his thought. When he got back to the States he could tell the folks
what real cold was He drifted on from this to a vision of the old-timer on Sulphur Creek He
could see him quite clearly, warm and comfortable, and smoking a pipe.
"You were right, old hoss; you were right," the man mumbled to the old-timer of Sulphur
Creek.
Then the man drowsed off into what seemed to him the most comfortable and satisfying sleep
he had ever known. The dog sat facing him and waiting. The brief day drew to a close in a
long, slow twilight. There were no signs of a fire to be made, and, besides, never in the
dog's experience had it known a man to sit like that in the snow and make no fire. As the
twilight drew on, its eager yearning for the fire mastered it, and with a great lifting and
shifting of forefeet, it whined softly, then flattened its ears down in anticipation of
being chidden by the man. But the man remained silent. Later, the dog whined loudly. And
still later it crept close to the man and caught the scent of death. This made the animal
bristle and back away. A little longer it delayed, howling under the stars that leaped and
danced and shone brightly in the cold sky. Then it turned and trotted up the trail in the
direction of the camp it knew, where were the other food-providers and fire-providers.
Tuesday, 2 December 2008
wistful eagerness
At last, when he could endure no more, he jerked his hands apart. The blazing matches fell
sizzling into the snow, but the birch bark was alight. He began laying dry grasses and the
tiniest twigs on the flame. He could not pick and choose, for he had to lift the fuel
between the heels of his hands. Small pieces of rotten wood and green moss clung to the
twigs, and he bit them off as well as he could with his teeth. He cherished the flame
carefully and awkwardly. It meant life, and it must not perish. The withdrawal of blood from
the surface of his body now made him begin to shiver, and he grew more awkward. A large
piece of green moss fell squarely on the little fire. He tried to poke it out with his
fingers, but his shivering frame made him poke too far and he disrupted the nucleus of the
little fire, the burning grasses and tiny twigs separating and scattering. He tried to poke
them together again, but in spite of the tenseness of the effort, his shivering got away
with him, and the twigs were hopelessly scattered. Each twig gushed a puff of smoke and went
out. The fire-provider had failed. As he looked apathetically about him, his eyes chanced on
the dog, sitting across the ruins of the fire from him, in the snow, making restless,
hunching movements, slightly lifting one forefoot and then the other, shifting its weight
back and forth on them with wistful eagerness.
sizzling into the snow, but the birch bark was alight. He began laying dry grasses and the
tiniest twigs on the flame. He could not pick and choose, for he had to lift the fuel
between the heels of his hands. Small pieces of rotten wood and green moss clung to the
twigs, and he bit them off as well as he could with his teeth. He cherished the flame
carefully and awkwardly. It meant life, and it must not perish. The withdrawal of blood from
the surface of his body now made him begin to shiver, and he grew more awkward. A large
piece of green moss fell squarely on the little fire. He tried to poke it out with his
fingers, but his shivering frame made him poke too far and he disrupted the nucleus of the
little fire, the burning grasses and tiny twigs separating and scattering. He tried to poke
them together again, but in spite of the tenseness of the effort, his shivering got away
with him, and the twigs were hopelessly scattered. Each twig gushed a puff of smoke and went
out. The fire-provider had failed. As he looked apathetically about him, his eyes chanced on
the dog, sitting across the ruins of the fire from him, in the snow, making restless,
hunching movements, slightly lifting one forefoot and then the other, shifting its weight
back and forth on them with wistful eagerness.
Monday, 1 December 2008
shooflies
Sti'Tumma had always wanted to have beautiful beaded "shooflies" attached to her saddle, on the breastplate and under the horse's tummy on the cinch. She had already made a couple for her favorite bridle! The shooflies were made from a small amount of horsehair being folded in half, wrapped with buckskin, and beadwork put over the buckskin. The shoofly would then be clipped onto the favorite spot selected by each rider. So when the horses had their tails cleaned, the hair was saved for Sti'Tumma who then went to work to make herself some beautiful and colorful shooflies. Sometimes Gilly, Sti'Tumma's sister, would do the beadwork on a dozen shooflies at a time for the trail guides. The shooflies would move with the horse and keep some of the flies from settling on the horse!
It was a beautiful Saturday morning and time to get ready to meet the scheduled trail riders at the lake for the 20-mile ride through the beautiful countryside. Her nephew and youngest brother saddled her horse while she went to select the shooflies to attach to her saddle today. Across the breastplate she clipped six, on the cinch she clipped two, and on the rear of the saddle she clipped two. She stood back to take a good look, and said to herself, "Today both Zoomer and I will look good!"
At the lake she stayed on horseback due to the pain she was feeling in her back and neck; getting off and on would only make it worse. Today she wanted to be able to complete the ride to show off all her hard work on the beautiful and colorful shooflies. By wearing her new ribbon shirt, she looked elegant upon that gorgeous horse with all the beadwork showing on the shooflies. She met the riders, gathered the riding fees, which were placed in the beaded bag tied tight to her saddle, and even had some pictures taken of her and Zoomer!
It was a beautiful Saturday morning and time to get ready to meet the scheduled trail riders at the lake for the 20-mile ride through the beautiful countryside. Her nephew and youngest brother saddled her horse while she went to select the shooflies to attach to her saddle today. Across the breastplate she clipped six, on the cinch she clipped two, and on the rear of the saddle she clipped two. She stood back to take a good look, and said to herself, "Today both Zoomer and I will look good!"
At the lake she stayed on horseback due to the pain she was feeling in her back and neck; getting off and on would only make it worse. Today she wanted to be able to complete the ride to show off all her hard work on the beautiful and colorful shooflies. By wearing her new ribbon shirt, she looked elegant upon that gorgeous horse with all the beadwork showing on the shooflies. She met the riders, gathered the riding fees, which were placed in the beaded bag tied tight to her saddle, and even had some pictures taken of her and Zoomer!
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Sunday, 30 November 2008
household
In order to protect the tiger from the hunters' arrows and spears, the magistrate ordered a large copper pendent made to hang around the beast's neck. The words "Fu Chee" were engraved on the pendent meaning Tiger Son. To show her deep gratitude, Chen Ma knelt down in front of the magistrate and knocked her forehead three times. Then she led Fu Chee back to their home in the forest.
By next winter, Fu Chee had grown into his maximum size. Chen Ma's hut was in danger of collapsin
g whenever the tiger became playful. Reluctantly, she allowed Fu Chee to make his home inside a cave nearby.
However, the affectionate tiger came back to visit his adopted mother often, always bearing a gift in his mouth -- a dead deer or a large piece of tree branch. Also, he still liked to lick her shoes and to have his ears rubbed. Chen Ma's needs were being cared for just as if her natural son was still alive!
After Chen Ma died at the ripe old age past one hundred, the hunters noticed Fu Chee guarded her tomb nightly. They left him unmolested as he had never attacked any humans or domestic animals. This went on for a number of years and then one day the tiger was seen no more.
Out of deep respect and admiration for the filial tiger son, the hunters erected a small stone monument at Chen Ma's tomb with Fu Chee's story engraved on it. Henceforth, Fu Chee became a household legend in that part of Shanxi Province.
By next winter, Fu Chee had grown into his maximum size. Chen Ma's hut was in danger of collapsin
g whenever the tiger became playful. Reluctantly, she allowed Fu Chee to make his home inside a cave nearby.
However, the affectionate tiger came back to visit his adopted mother often, always bearing a gift in his mouth -- a dead deer or a large piece of tree branch. Also, he still liked to lick her shoes and to have his ears rubbed. Chen Ma's needs were being cared for just as if her natural son was still alive!
After Chen Ma died at the ripe old age past one hundred, the hunters noticed Fu Chee guarded her tomb nightly. They left him unmolested as he had never attacked any humans or domestic animals. This went on for a number of years and then one day the tiger was seen no more.
Out of deep respect and admiration for the filial tiger son, the hunters erected a small stone monument at Chen Ma's tomb with Fu Chee's story engraved on it. Henceforth, Fu Chee became a household legend in that part of Shanxi Province.
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Saturday, 29 November 2008
tears in her eyes
Chen Ma armed herself with her son's hunting spear and threatened to gut anyone who dared to harm her beloved pet.
"I've lost both husband and son. This tiger is the only companion I have now. I shall go to the magistrate and request to adopt him as my son."
The hunters thought the old woman had become mad and jeered at her. But since she was so determined, they dared not kill her tiger without the magistrate's permission. So they followed Chen Ma and her tiger all the way to the official's judgment hall.
"Venerable Mother," said the magistrate. "Your request is most unusual. Are you not afraid that some day the tiger might revert to his wild nature and devour you?"
"Honorable sir," replied the old widow with tears in her eyes. "What is there to fear? I have lived too long. The only worry I have now is being left utterly alone. Please let me adopt this young tiger, for he has become like a son in my affections."
The kindly magistrate did not have the heart to refuse such an ancient woman's pleading. So he had his assistant draw up a document for the tiger's adoption.
"I've lost both husband and son. This tiger is the only companion I have now. I shall go to the magistrate and request to adopt him as my son."
The hunters thought the old woman had become mad and jeered at her. But since she was so determined, they dared not kill her tiger without the magistrate's permission. So they followed Chen Ma and her tiger all the way to the official's judgment hall.
"Venerable Mother," said the magistrate. "Your request is most unusual. Are you not afraid that some day the tiger might revert to his wild nature and devour you?"
"Honorable sir," replied the old widow with tears in her eyes. "What is there to fear? I have lived too long. The only worry I have now is being left utterly alone. Please let me adopt this young tiger, for he has become like a son in my affections."
The kindly magistrate did not have the heart to refuse such an ancient woman's pleading. So he had his assistant draw up a document for the tiger's adoption.
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Thursday, 27 November 2008
Tiger Son
Once there was an elderly widow, Chen Ma, who lived with her only son inside a forest in the Shanxi Province. Her son was one of the tiger hunters licensed by the local magistrate, following the same profession of his father and grandfather before him. His share of the profits from the sale of tiger skins, meat and bones was sufficient to keep the small mud hut well provisioned for himself and his old mother.
All was well until a particularly bitter winter. During a snowstorm, Chen Ma's son was separated from his fellow hunters and became food for a hungry tiGREss.
After her initial shock and grief subsided, Chen Ma took stock of her own utterly desperate situation -- an old woman left all alone. She went and implored the magistrate to provide her with compensation for the loss of her son, who was her only source of support. The magistrate decreed that henceforth, she would have a small share of profits from the kill of each tiger by the hunters. Needless to say, his decision was not taken well by the hunters, who had plenty of mouths of their own to feed -- both old and young.
So, when the hunters succeeded in killing the tiGREss that ate Chen Ma's son, they decided not to give her a share of the profits. Instead, they brought her the tigress' newborn cub. He was a small quivery ball of golden fur with wobbly legs and toothless gums. The rope they tied around his neck was so tight that it was practically choking him. Instantly, Chen Ma's heart went out to this helpless creature, whose jade-green eyes were glistening with tears.
After the hunters left, the tiger cub wobbled to where Chen Ma sat and lay at her feet. She bent down to rub his ears and he licked her shoes with his soft tongue.
All was well until a particularly bitter winter. During a snowstorm, Chen Ma's son was separated from his fellow hunters and became food for a hungry tiGREss.
After her initial shock and grief subsided, Chen Ma took stock of her own utterly desperate situation -- an old woman left all alone. She went and implored the magistrate to provide her with compensation for the loss of her son, who was her only source of support. The magistrate decreed that henceforth, she would have a small share of profits from the kill of each tiger by the hunters. Needless to say, his decision was not taken well by the hunters, who had plenty of mouths of their own to feed -- both old and young.
So, when the hunters succeeded in killing the tiGREss that ate Chen Ma's son, they decided not to give her a share of the profits. Instead, they brought her the tigress' newborn cub. He was a small quivery ball of golden fur with wobbly legs and toothless gums. The rope they tied around his neck was so tight that it was practically choking him. Instantly, Chen Ma's heart went out to this helpless creature, whose jade-green eyes were glistening with tears.
After the hunters left, the tiger cub wobbled to where Chen Ma sat and lay at her feet. She bent down to rub his ears and he licked her shoes with his soft tongue.
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Tuesday, 25 November 2008
nearby villages
The elderly widow looked at the tiger baby and sighed. "They told me to butcher you, to salt and smoke your flesh for my meat supply. Your skin would make warm boots for my feet; your bones are good for making Tiger Bone Wine to ease the pain in my joints. But oh, how can I bear to kill you? You are so young and vital, while I am so old and frail."
And so, Chen Ma untied the rope from the little tiger's neck and fed him a paste of cooked roots with her fingers. Her son had a good supply of grains and roots in the attached shed and she planned to stretch the food out to last the winter.
When the store o
f the firewood was running low, Chen Ma was unable to keep her bedroll on top of the kang warm (a kang is a bed base built of bricks with space for a small fire). So she slept curling against the baby tiger, whose soft fur was cozy and warm.
Once ever so often, women from nearby villages would bring sewing for Chen Ma to do. She was very handy with a needle. They paid her for her labor with dried venison and small sacks of grain. At first they did not find the little tiger's presence alarming; he was no bigger than a piglet. However, when spring came, he had grown into the size of a calf, showing a full set of teeth and claws. The women told their hunter husbands and the men came to kill the young tiger.
And so, Chen Ma untied the rope from the little tiger's neck and fed him a paste of cooked roots with her fingers. Her son had a good supply of grains and roots in the attached shed and she planned to stretch the food out to last the winter.
When the store o
f the firewood was running low, Chen Ma was unable to keep her bedroll on top of the kang warm (a kang is a bed base built of bricks with space for a small fire). So she slept curling against the baby tiger, whose soft fur was cozy and warm.
Once ever so often, women from nearby villages would bring sewing for Chen Ma to do. She was very handy with a needle. They paid her for her labor with dried venison and small sacks of grain. At first they did not find the little tiger's presence alarming; he was no bigger than a piglet. However, when spring came, he had grown into the size of a calf, showing a full set of teeth and claws. The women told their hunter husbands and the men came to kill the young tiger.
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Sunday, 23 November 2008
this time
But Sliver Pete was unconcerned and made it a point to look bored. He had holstered his gun and started his walk back to the saloon when he noticed the body of the Preacher begin to move. Now Sliver Pete had never failed to kill with his first shot and he watched, fascinated, as the Preacher stood up and again pointed his borrowed gun. So Sliver Pete had to shoot him again, actually two shots just to be sure. The Preacher fell like a cut tree, straight down with his face in the dirt.
Sliver wiped his forehead with his gun hand still holding the gun and his eyes steady on the body of the Preacher. But what he hadn't expected to happen happened yet again. The crowd gasped as they saw the Preacher struggle once more to his feet.
This time Sliver Pete didn't even give the Preacher a chance to aim. For the first time in his life there was fear in his expression. Two gun shots rang out and the Preacher pitched over.
The crowd edged back from the street. There was something decidedly unnerving and otherworldly about
this gunfight when a man wouldn't stay dead. It occurred to them maybe the Preacher had spoke the truth about his conversation with God. The same thing had occurred to Sliver Pete, because with a pale face he very slowly approached the body. He was 20 feet away when the Preacher again struggled to his knees and then his feet, this time holding out his hand palm up as if to say, "You owe me that money". The Preacher's black eyes bored into and through Sliver Pete and understandably Sliver responded with panic, this time aiming at the Preacher's head. It was his last bullet.
As the shot rang out Preacher Dan's hand slapped his forehead and his body swung a complete circle before falling face down into the dirt. Nobody and nothing moved except a corner of the Preacher's black jacket caught by a gust of wind. Sliver Pete was shaking so bad he simply couldn't tear his gaze off that body and the crowd looked from him to it and didn't know which was more incredible. They'd never seen Sliver Pete so afraid nor witnessed a dead man come back to life before.
Sliver wiped his forehead with his gun hand still holding the gun and his eyes steady on the body of the Preacher. But what he hadn't expected to happen happened yet again. The crowd gasped as they saw the Preacher struggle once more to his feet.
This time Sliver Pete didn't even give the Preacher a chance to aim. For the first time in his life there was fear in his expression. Two gun shots rang out and the Preacher pitched over.
The crowd edged back from the street. There was something decidedly unnerving and otherworldly about
this gunfight when a man wouldn't stay dead. It occurred to them maybe the Preacher had spoke the truth about his conversation with God. The same thing had occurred to Sliver Pete, because with a pale face he very slowly approached the body. He was 20 feet away when the Preacher again struggled to his knees and then his feet, this time holding out his hand palm up as if to say, "You owe me that money". The Preacher's black eyes bored into and through Sliver Pete and understandably Sliver responded with panic, this time aiming at the Preacher's head. It was his last bullet.
As the shot rang out Preacher Dan's hand slapped his forehead and his body swung a complete circle before falling face down into the dirt. Nobody and nothing moved except a corner of the Preacher's black jacket caught by a gust of wind. Sliver Pete was shaking so bad he simply couldn't tear his gaze off that body and the crowd looked from him to it and didn't know which was more incredible. They'd never seen Sliver Pete so afraid nor witnessed a dead man come back to life before.
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Friday, 21 November 2008
turned down
"Is that so? Let the Lord decide. That is, if you care to take your fight to the street where it's right and proper and you're not afraid to meet your maker," said the Preacher.
"Why, you don't even own a gun," sneered Sliver, "And you wouldn't know to shoot one anyhow." He literally spit out the words.
"I'm no match, that fact's assured. But God said I'd have that money tonight and you won't make him a liar." The Preacher's eyes narrowed with serious intent. "So long as someone here sees fit to loan me his gun, whomever remains standing will have spoke the truth."
Because Sliver Pete had never turned down a gunfight in his life and the Preacher was handed a gunbelt with two guns by the bartender, they ended up outside at opposite ends of the street. A small crowd gathered, not so much to witness Sliver Pete kill another man, but in sympathetic support of a foolish preacher who was about to die for the sake of his church.
The two men stood there a seeming eternity, each with their gun hand poised and ready. Then gun fire rang out and the look and smell of gun smoke filled the air. Sliver Pete blew away the smoke at end of his gun barrel as he saw the tall figure of Preacher Dan hit the dirt. Cries of anguish came from womenfolk in the crowd.
"Why, you don't even own a gun," sneered Sliver, "And you wouldn't know to shoot one anyhow." He literally spit out the words.
"I'm no match, that fact's assured. But God said I'd have that money tonight and you won't make him a liar." The Preacher's eyes narrowed with serious intent. "So long as someone here sees fit to loan me his gun, whomever remains standing will have spoke the truth."
Because Sliver Pete had never turned down a gunfight in his life and the Preacher was handed a gunbelt with two guns by the bartender, they ended up outside at opposite ends of the street. A small crowd gathered, not so much to witness Sliver Pete kill another man, but in sympathetic support of a foolish preacher who was about to die for the sake of his church.
The two men stood there a seeming eternity, each with their gun hand poised and ready. Then gun fire rang out and the look and smell of gun smoke filled the air. Sliver Pete blew away the smoke at end of his gun barrel as he saw the tall figure of Preacher Dan hit the dirt. Cries of anguish came from womenfolk in the crowd.
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Wednesday, 19 November 2008
The voice
Sliver Pete jumped to his feet, sliding his chair back with a squeal. But just as quick the Preacher leaned over and retrieved the gun, wiping it with his jacket hem and sleeve. "Sorry 'bout that," he said, handing it back.
"Better sorry than dead," growled Sliver Pete. But there was a noticeable sigh of relief from the room as he holstered the 45 and sat back down.
After that things seemed to pick up speed as the bets got bigger. Mike McGREw pushed away from the table. "Too rich for my blood," he said. Now there were three left at the table, including Sliver and the Preacher, and Sliver Pete was winning big time. He had a small mountain of bills and coins and, recklessly, was playing for bigger and bigger stakes.
If Preacher Dan felt pressure he didn't show it although all his Church money was fast going to Sliver Pete. At last, just before dusk, the last call of cards came and Sliver had won it all. He wrapped his burly arms about the pot and began drawing it to him.
"Just a moment
." The voice was soft and deadly and a startled Sliver didn't at first realize it came from the Preacher who added, "You been cheating all night and if you take that money now you can add thievery to the deed."
Sliver's hand went to his gun, but knowing the Preacher didn't carry a gun he held it there like a threat. "I don't cheat and I don't let no one call me one neither. Not even a preacher."
"Better sorry than dead," growled Sliver Pete. But there was a noticeable sigh of relief from the room as he holstered the 45 and sat back down.
After that things seemed to pick up speed as the bets got bigger. Mike McGREw pushed away from the table. "Too rich for my blood," he said. Now there were three left at the table, including Sliver and the Preacher, and Sliver Pete was winning big time. He had a small mountain of bills and coins and, recklessly, was playing for bigger and bigger stakes.
If Preacher Dan felt pressure he didn't show it although all his Church money was fast going to Sliver Pete. At last, just before dusk, the last call of cards came and Sliver had won it all. He wrapped his burly arms about the pot and began drawing it to him.
"Just a moment
." The voice was soft and deadly and a startled Sliver didn't at first realize it came from the Preacher who added, "You been cheating all night and if you take that money now you can add thievery to the deed."
Sliver's hand went to his gun, but knowing the Preacher didn't carry a gun he held it there like a threat. "I don't cheat and I don't let no one call me one neither. Not even a preacher."
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Monday, 17 November 2008
examined it
The man called himself Preacher Dan. He said he hadn't come to stay but he was in our town on the Lord's business to get money to build a church. He'd already acquired most of it, but people were surprised when he said he planned on making the remainder by playing cards and that God had told him he would win the rest that he needed in just one night. Although such behavior was improper for a preacher nobody questioned it. He had a quiet manner and quick smile and, anyway, strangers never stayed too long.
That afternoon the card game started early. Among the four players around the table was Sliver Pete. Sliver Pete was his mean self, slouched in his chair with a whisky at his elbow. I was told Preacher Dan didn't say a word the first hour although he smiled readily enough if anyone caught his eye.
The first two games were won by Mike McGREw and Tom Eider, town regulars. The purse was small. There was static in the air like just before an electric storm. The third game the purse grew bigger and Sliver Pete won this round. He smiled for the first time and Preacher Dan smiled back.
"Nice going." the Preacher said. "I see the Lord's in need of help tonight."
Sliver Pete smirked.
But Preacher Dan wasn't finished. "I been eyeing that gun of yours. May I see it?"
The room GREw suddenly quiet as Sliver Pete's smile vanished as quick as a Bluetail fly beneath a horse's tail swat. "No man touches my gun but me."
"Oh. I didn't mean anything by it," the Preacher grinned. "You know I'm not a man. Just a messenger of God. Don't usually cotton to guns either, but I hear you're right handy with one and I sure wanted to see the smoker that's done the damage."
Perhaps it was the hint of admiration in his voice, or maybe God intervened to soften Sliver's mood, but to everyone's surprise, Sliver Pete unholstered his Colt 45 and put it on the table. His eyes glowered about the room as if daring anybody to disapprove.
Preacher Dan calmly retrieved the gun and examined it thoroughly, looking up the barrel and bouncing it gently in his hand to weigh it. Suddenly, unaccountably it slipped from his fingers onto the floor. Kerplunk...
That afternoon the card game started early. Among the four players around the table was Sliver Pete. Sliver Pete was his mean self, slouched in his chair with a whisky at his elbow. I was told Preacher Dan didn't say a word the first hour although he smiled readily enough if anyone caught his eye.
The first two games were won by Mike McGREw and Tom Eider, town regulars. The purse was small. There was static in the air like just before an electric storm. The third game the purse grew bigger and Sliver Pete won this round. He smiled for the first time and Preacher Dan smiled back.
"Nice going." the Preacher said. "I see the Lord's in need of help tonight."
Sliver Pete smirked.
But Preacher Dan wasn't finished. "I been eyeing that gun of yours. May I see it?"
The room GREw suddenly quiet as Sliver Pete's smile vanished as quick as a Bluetail fly beneath a horse's tail swat. "No man touches my gun but me."
"Oh. I didn't mean anything by it," the Preacher grinned. "You know I'm not a man. Just a messenger of God. Don't usually cotton to guns either, but I hear you're right handy with one and I sure wanted to see the smoker that's done the damage."
Perhaps it was the hint of admiration in his voice, or maybe God intervened to soften Sliver's mood, but to everyone's surprise, Sliver Pete unholstered his Colt 45 and put it on the table. His eyes glowered about the room as if daring anybody to disapprove.
Preacher Dan calmly retrieved the gun and examined it thoroughly, looking up the barrel and bouncing it gently in his hand to weigh it. Suddenly, unaccountably it slipped from his fingers onto the floor. Kerplunk...
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Saturday, 15 November 2008
Sliver Pete
I've never told this story before, but just the same I'm telling you now.
I was a boy of 8 in 1885 and I lived in a small town out west with my baby sister and my folks who ran the local delivery stable. It might not have been such a bad place except for one man.
His name was Sliver Pete and we thought him the meanest, ugliest, most cussed hombre that ever packed a gun and it was well known he carried a Colt 45. He didn't much like to work, was a cowpoke a few months out of the year and the rest of the time he played and cheated at cards and killed anybody who called him on it. Then for recreation or just pure spite he killed every sheriff that ever tried to arrest him. There wasn't a soul that didn't fear Sliver Pete, even my Father.
The townspeople ended up offering a reward of $20,000 to anyone who could either run Sliver Pete out of town or put him in his grave. Mind you, that was a fortune in those days but when Sliver Pete heard there was a price on his head he just laughed and shot up the saloon and then the bakery. He said he was worth much more money than that. And when stranger after stranger came to collect the reward they came to stay because Sliver Pete put them in the town cemetery.
One very windy day the stagecoach arrived in town with an unusual passenger. I was there to witness it because it was my duty to water the stagecoach horses. The stagecoach door swung open and a single man, tall and gaunt and dressed in a brown/black coat and hat, with a white collar, stepped out. I had seen pictures of Abraham Lincoln and that is who this man reminded me of, although I knew Abraham Lincoln would not have been wearing a preacher's clothes. He waved the coachman away as he reached for his own trunk off the roof of the coach. The trunk was wrapped in a blue cloth that flapped in the wind although partially tied with a rope. Just as he got it to the ground a gust tore at the material and I clearly saw the writing on its side. He grabbed the cloth and stuffed it back into place, glancing straight at me. Then he smiled a slow smile, winked, and put his index finger to his mouth as if to say we shared a secret. That's the only incident I saw myself and all the rest I heard secondhand through either my folks or my friends.
I was a boy of 8 in 1885 and I lived in a small town out west with my baby sister and my folks who ran the local delivery stable. It might not have been such a bad place except for one man.
His name was Sliver Pete and we thought him the meanest, ugliest, most cussed hombre that ever packed a gun and it was well known he carried a Colt 45. He didn't much like to work, was a cowpoke a few months out of the year and the rest of the time he played and cheated at cards and killed anybody who called him on it. Then for recreation or just pure spite he killed every sheriff that ever tried to arrest him. There wasn't a soul that didn't fear Sliver Pete, even my Father.
The townspeople ended up offering a reward of $20,000 to anyone who could either run Sliver Pete out of town or put him in his grave. Mind you, that was a fortune in those days but when Sliver Pete heard there was a price on his head he just laughed and shot up the saloon and then the bakery. He said he was worth much more money than that. And when stranger after stranger came to collect the reward they came to stay because Sliver Pete put them in the town cemetery.
One very windy day the stagecoach arrived in town with an unusual passenger. I was there to witness it because it was my duty to water the stagecoach horses. The stagecoach door swung open and a single man, tall and gaunt and dressed in a brown/black coat and hat, with a white collar, stepped out. I had seen pictures of Abraham Lincoln and that is who this man reminded me of, although I knew Abraham Lincoln would not have been wearing a preacher's clothes. He waved the coachman away as he reached for his own trunk off the roof of the coach. The trunk was wrapped in a blue cloth that flapped in the wind although partially tied with a rope. Just as he got it to the ground a gust tore at the material and I clearly saw the writing on its side. He grabbed the cloth and stuffed it back into place, glancing straight at me. Then he smiled a slow smile, winked, and put his index finger to his mouth as if to say we shared a secret. That's the only incident I saw myself and all the rest I heard secondhand through either my folks or my friends.
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Thursday, 13 November 2008
masterpiece
Another three, four months passed and finally half a year went by. Senior Bartoli, the patron, marched in demanding of Monsieur l'Abbaye, the master artist, to see his portrait, "You must be finished by now and today I will see it!" he shouted, shaking with frustration.
Stepping from behind the cloth as though surprised by such anger, Monsieur l'Abbaye said calmly. "That's fine. You needed only to request it." And he pulled aside the 20-foot curtain.
Guiliano Bartoli stood for a minute and then his mouth fell open, his eyes turned red and he grabbed what few hairs he had left on his head. He did a little hop, and then a twitch, and his eyebrows contorted as though bewitched. Guiliano Bartoli obviously did not like his portrait, not a bit. Guiliano Bartoli threw a fit.
"How absurd, how obscene. What does this mean? You'll not receive one Florine, do you hear? You're not an artist, maybe a thief or a madman. Get out of my sight! You'll leave my house tonight or I'll throw you out!"
So what had Monsieur l'Abbaye drawn that was wrong? He couldn't see it, he'd fussed and fixed for so long. It was his masterpiece. He wasn't sorry, no, not at all, that he had drawn to his heart's content for 20 feet tall. No matter what
anybody could say, Monsieur Signy l'Abbaye had drawn it his way. Perhaps his patron couldn't tolerate his obsession with cubist expression, but Picasso would have been proud.
If truth be told Monsieur l'Abbaye wasn't crazy, surely. He'd simply been born 500 years too early!
Stepping from behind the cloth as though surprised by such anger, Monsieur l'Abbaye said calmly. "That's fine. You needed only to request it." And he pulled aside the 20-foot curtain.
Guiliano Bartoli stood for a minute and then his mouth fell open, his eyes turned red and he grabbed what few hairs he had left on his head. He did a little hop, and then a twitch, and his eyebrows contorted as though bewitched. Guiliano Bartoli obviously did not like his portrait, not a bit. Guiliano Bartoli threw a fit.
"How absurd, how obscene. What does this mean? You'll not receive one Florine, do you hear? You're not an artist, maybe a thief or a madman. Get out of my sight! You'll leave my house tonight or I'll throw you out!"
So what had Monsieur l'Abbaye drawn that was wrong? He couldn't see it, he'd fussed and fixed for so long. It was his masterpiece. He wasn't sorry, no, not at all, that he had drawn to his heart's content for 20 feet tall. No matter what
anybody could say, Monsieur Signy l'Abbaye had drawn it his way. Perhaps his patron couldn't tolerate his obsession with cubist expression, but Picasso would have been proud.
If truth be told Monsieur l'Abbaye wasn't crazy, surely. He'd simply been born 500 years too early!
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Tuesday, 11 November 2008
coming well
Signing the contract, they sealed the aGREement.
Immediately the master artist threw a high curtain in front of the wall, a curtain through which Senior Bartoli couldn't see at all. He tried to peek, but Monsieur l'Abbaye insisted on total privacy for his artistic techniques.
A week passed. "How is it coming?" asked the hopeful Senior Bartoli.
Answering him from behin
d the curtain, Monsieur l'Abbaye said, "It's coming quite well. You know, at the age of eight I was apprentice to the GREat Ambrogio Lorenzetti. I could never dishonor his name. He taught me the art of grinding pigment, laying plaster, sometimes slowly, sometimes faster. He taught me how to draw and, most important, not to hurry. My training was rigorous and after certification even more vigorous. Senior Bartoli, a masterpiece... takes a while at least."
Reluctantly, Senior Bartoli withdrew.
A month passed. "How is it coming?" Senior Bartoli asked.
"It's coming well," said Monsieur l'Abbaye, again from behind the curtain. Along with his words came the strange sounds of swooshing, clanking and slapping. "You know you're fortunate it's I painting your portrait. Only buon fresco will do. It's four coats of lime plaster. First layer the trullisatio, followed by the arriccio, then the anenato and finally the intonaco not to mention the part where I draw. But it's the best plaster process I ever saw. Senior Bartoli, it will last forever, but alas, it's a time-consuming endeavor."
Sighing deeply, the patron again withdrew. Just how long would this take? Who knew?
Immediately the master artist threw a high curtain in front of the wall, a curtain through which Senior Bartoli couldn't see at all. He tried to peek, but Monsieur l'Abbaye insisted on total privacy for his artistic techniques.
A week passed. "How is it coming?" asked the hopeful Senior Bartoli.
Answering him from behin
d the curtain, Monsieur l'Abbaye said, "It's coming quite well. You know, at the age of eight I was apprentice to the GREat Ambrogio Lorenzetti. I could never dishonor his name. He taught me the art of grinding pigment, laying plaster, sometimes slowly, sometimes faster. He taught me how to draw and, most important, not to hurry. My training was rigorous and after certification even more vigorous. Senior Bartoli, a masterpiece... takes a while at least."
Reluctantly, Senior Bartoli withdrew.
A month passed. "How is it coming?" Senior Bartoli asked.
"It's coming well," said Monsieur l'Abbaye, again from behind the curtain. Along with his words came the strange sounds of swooshing, clanking and slapping. "You know you're fortunate it's I painting your portrait. Only buon fresco will do. It's four coats of lime plaster. First layer the trullisatio, followed by the arriccio, then the anenato and finally the intonaco not to mention the part where I draw. But it's the best plaster process I ever saw. Senior Bartoli, it will last forever, but alas, it's a time-consuming endeavor."
Sighing deeply, the patron again withdrew. Just how long would this take? Who knew?
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Sunday, 9 November 2008
The master artist
Monsieur Signy l'Abbaye was a master artist in his day, who in 1392 was ready to retire. It was the month of May. But Guiliano Bartoli, a rich Italian patron, sent for him saying, "I'd like a portrait of myself on my banquet room wall. Could you paint it? It's 20 feet tall."
Contemplating this request, Monsieur l'Abbaye shook his head. "I'm ready to retire, so I'm not available for hire. I'm sorry. I simply can't paint your portrait." But seeing the disappointment in Senior Bartoli's eyes, he continued, "Well, there's a possibility if you can find it in your heart to allow me to explore the limits of my abilities. Not for money mind you, but for food and a bed instead. Furthermore, you need not even pose because my memory's excellent. Already I can see your portrait and how to derive it. But I insist, Senior Bartoli, while I work your portrait stays private -- even from you!"
This is strange, thought the patron, but he also thought about how highly the artist had been recommended. "Of course," he said "Anything you wish, but I insist upon paying you at least something for your effort. Let's draw up a contract."
Now a glint came to Monsieur l'Abbaye's eyes as he gazed upon that 20-foot wall and thought of all that space, such a wonderful place for schemes and things to give imagination wings. Because, unknown to Senior Bartoli, or anyone else for that matter, for all of his career (which was 45 years) Monsieur L'Abbaye had yearned to paint in his own way. And what way was that? Certainly not the style of Byzantine or of Proto-Renaissance. No. Monsieur Signy l'Abbaye had hungered to break free of restraints. But the guild, his craft and livelihood, would never have allowed it so he followed their rules although never proud of it. Of course he didn't reveal this to Senior Bartoli.
Contemplating this request, Monsieur l'Abbaye shook his head. "I'm ready to retire, so I'm not available for hire. I'm sorry. I simply can't paint your portrait." But seeing the disappointment in Senior Bartoli's eyes, he continued, "Well, there's a possibility if you can find it in your heart to allow me to explore the limits of my abilities. Not for money mind you, but for food and a bed instead. Furthermore, you need not even pose because my memory's excellent. Already I can see your portrait and how to derive it. But I insist, Senior Bartoli, while I work your portrait stays private -- even from you!"
This is strange, thought the patron, but he also thought about how highly the artist had been recommended. "Of course," he said "Anything you wish, but I insist upon paying you at least something for your effort. Let's draw up a contract."
Now a glint came to Monsieur l'Abbaye's eyes as he gazed upon that 20-foot wall and thought of all that space, such a wonderful place for schemes and things to give imagination wings. Because, unknown to Senior Bartoli, or anyone else for that matter, for all of his career (which was 45 years) Monsieur L'Abbaye had yearned to paint in his own way. And what way was that? Certainly not the style of Byzantine or of Proto-Renaissance. No. Monsieur Signy l'Abbaye had hungered to break free of restraints. But the guild, his craft and livelihood, would never have allowed it so he followed their rules although never proud of it. Of course he didn't reveal this to Senior Bartoli.
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Friday, 7 November 2008
jokes and laughter
Today Sti'Tumma would begin the trail ride by trailing the riders. She took her time, although Zoomer wanted to be in the lead of the pack. What a lovely day, open views for nice photos, and she noticed that the riders were taking some lovely shots. Zoomer was becoming impatient, so Sti'Tumma let him walk a bit faster to get to the head of the riders. She was almost to the beginning of the riders when a pair of riders, an elder cowboy and his wife, moved up to talk to her. The lady asked, "We were wondering if you are a medicine lady, you have all the scalps with beadwork on them displayed on your saddle. And we wanted to know how you got anyone to actually touch the scalps to put the beadwork on them."
Sti'Tumma started chuckling, and then broke out in laughter! Her younger brother, the lead
trail guide for today, stopped the group to check on his sister. Sti'Tumma decided this was a good spot to take a break and talk about the shooflies she was so proud of. By the time the riders started off again on the ride, the whole Country Trail Ride crew were amazed at how many of these city cowboys and cowgirls didn't understand the Native Americans at all, they still believed there was scalping and raiding going on within the reservation! Scalps, what a joke, now every trail guide would want to be decorated with the "scalps" displayed on their horse to show their "honor within the Tribe"!
Since that ride, and all the jokes and laughter about the medicine lady and her scalps, Gilly has been able to have a dozen "imitation scalps" beaded and ready for sale at each trail ride during the lunch break at the wonderful and remodeled old campsite.
Sti'Tumma started chuckling, and then broke out in laughter! Her younger brother, the lead
trail guide for today, stopped the group to check on his sister. Sti'Tumma decided this was a good spot to take a break and talk about the shooflies she was so proud of. By the time the riders started off again on the ride, the whole Country Trail Ride crew were amazed at how many of these city cowboys and cowgirls didn't understand the Native Americans at all, they still believed there was scalping and raiding going on within the reservation! Scalps, what a joke, now every trail guide would want to be decorated with the "scalps" displayed on their horse to show their "honor within the Tribe"!
Since that ride, and all the jokes and laughter about the medicine lady and her scalps, Gilly has been able to have a dozen "imitation scalps" beaded and ready for sale at each trail ride during the lunch break at the wonderful and remodeled old campsite.
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Monday, 3 November 2008
Lovers
Lovers have more reason than ever to celebrate this Valentine's Day, as a new scientific theory has suggested a healthy and loving relationship is good for the heart.
Research suggests that being involved in any type of healthy and close relationship may have a lot of positive health benefits, Julie Damp, a cardiologist at the Vanderbilt Heart and Vascular Institute in the United States, said in a press release on Tuesday.
"There are a couple of different theories behind why that might be," she said.
Most of the theories seem to be related to the fact that people who are married or in close, healthy relationships tend to be less likely to smoke, are more physically active and more likely to have a well-developed social structure.
In addition, they are likely to have lower levels of stress and anxiety in their lives.
"There is a theory that people who are in loving relationships may experience neuro-hormonal changes that have positive effects on the body, including the cardiovascular system," Damp said, explaining there are certain hormone levels in the body that vary depending on individuals' levels of stress and anxiety.
Chocolates and red wine are popular gifts for lovers, and studies have suggested they are also good for the heart.
Research suggests that being involved in any type of healthy and close relationship may have a lot of positive health benefits, Julie Damp, a cardiologist at the Vanderbilt Heart and Vascular Institute in the United States, said in a press release on Tuesday.
"There are a couple of different theories behind why that might be," she said.
Most of the theories seem to be related to the fact that people who are married or in close, healthy relationships tend to be less likely to smoke, are more physically active and more likely to have a well-developed social structure.
In addition, they are likely to have lower levels of stress and anxiety in their lives.
"There is a theory that people who are in loving relationships may experience neuro-hormonal changes that have positive effects on the body, including the cardiovascular system," Damp said, explaining there are certain hormone levels in the body that vary depending on individuals' levels of stress and anxiety.
Chocolates and red wine are popular gifts for lovers, and studies have suggested they are also good for the heart.
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