Day 52
Playing hide ‘n’
seek with the “Weeble-wobbles”
I
just never “grew up”, I reckon. Saw a myriad of “adults’; purposely chose not to join!
Our
girls were very young when Santa Claus brought them a car garage complete with
lift and second story for parking. We had a ball with that “kid’s” toy; the
“people” who ran the garage and drove the cars looked like miniature eggs the
size of pigeon or dove egg. They fit so handily into the “old man’s” mouth as
we turned the automotive-type toy into a wild game of “hide ’n seek”;
eventually, after the “children” caught on to the old guy’s “tricks”, they
would push his stomach to make the “Weeble-wobble” people pop out of his
mouth’s hiding place.
Yeah.
Okay. I know! Never put anything in
your mouth not meant for consumption. Okay!
I’m not
completely an “idiot”; I never let the kids put them in their mouths. Good grief!
Anyway,
there were “adults” present; can’t anybody else be in charge? Please?
I
think “rules” are made for only one reason: So an immature Rebel, Rascal, Rogue
can break them! And, I do! Every time the “adults” are not looking my way!
Yeah! I confess my transgressions and openly admit: I’m a recalcitrant bum,
but, I’m good at it---I…practice! A lot!
So? Okay! We (uh---er…”I”) refused to abide by
some inane (insane?) rules!
Okay!
So what? Nobody actually is
“perfect’---and…I certainly never even tried!
Sorry!
Guess I got just a bit defensive, there! Yeah! I reckon so!
Time to amend my ways (probably way too late
for that) but, here goes:
“Hey! Kids! Who
wants to join me jumping off the roof into the pool?!”
Ah! Cookie Jar “Transgression”-gun Memories!
Plus: Part 4 of 6 "Mountain Stirrings"
from Station Master (Amazon books)
Donnie
had just begun his life; the world was a big unknown, full of promise even
though the boy had been handed a shaky start. He felt sorry for himself; until
he conquered that excuse with intense resolve to make the most of his
circumstances and move forward, things would not, could not, get better. When,
and, if, he took that step, then, the boy would fill a man’s shoes.
Logan
suddenly let his thoughts come out as spoken words, not fully intending to
launch a sermon on the young man’s vulnerable, tender, ragged emotional state,
but, with his own tattered feelings exposed to some realities where he seldom
allowed himself to tread, it just came out.
“Donnie,
my friend!” Logan began in an effort to console the boy while salving his own
tattered feelings in the process. “People sometimes find themselves in
situations they might rather choose to avoid. The secret, if there is, indeed,
one, is to make the best of whatever might come your way. Forget about making
others do your bidding; they have free will and choice in all matters of life,
just like you do. And, in perfect honesty and all truthfulness, think candidly
about how much worse off other people might be “If” you could determine their
outcomes.”
He
paused to let that sink in. Then, “Might be something worth interrogative
contemplation.”
Donnie
turned to face the man, eager for more of the worthwhile information.
“Everybody
gets to follow their own dream; their conscience; make their own discoveries
and decisions on issues. A lot of the evil of the world is resultant of people
who are dissatisfied with their conclusions and where they find themselves.
‘Victims’ can be as easily ‘self-created’ as resultant of another’s actions;
what we can do is not be like them;
learn to make the best of any situation; determine our own destiny.”
The
man laughed an easy, genuine humor. “Hell! Boy! I’m the very last person ought
to be dispensing advice on life; four decades and I can’t honestly say that I
can even take care of myself. Take this advice
with the proverbial grain of salt; keep in mind that it’s probably exactly what
you paid for it.”
Logan
considered terminating his lecture, then, as was his want and reflective of the
manner in which he had always lived, he threw caution to the wind; the boy
could determine what to take from the offering and discard the rest. The man
plunged ahead with his understanding.
“Dare
dream big, then, even, bigger! Be afraid only to dream too small; there would
be an un-forgivable transgression against life’s process. Reach for the
stars---and…beyond! Well beyond! Challenge life; especially your own beliefs;
be brutally honest. If they can’t stand the scrutiny of honest examination,
find some that can’t be shaken. Personal, religious, relationships,
business---whatever. Refuse to believe the lies even, and, especially when everybody
else does. Run like Hell from those idiots. ‘What other people think of me is
none of my business’. Be ruthless!”
He
laughed, again. “Son, you’re probably looking at the world’s oldest real-life
Hedonist.
“Follow
your dreams. Slide on the rainbow and see where it leads. Live! Chase
butterflies just for the fun of trying to catch the quintessence of their
myriad color, the reality of true beauty---Personified! Rope a flying unicorn
and take a mythical buck-a-roo ride through the eternal cosmos. That sun up
there is ninety-three million miles away and it looks like we could just reach
out and touch it. Those billions of galaxies, trillions of stars, black holes,
Mandelbrot’s ‘fractal geometry’ theory, all of it, well beyond belief, much
less, imagination.”
He
paused, noticing Donnie’s curious expression. Logan smiled at his own private
joke.
Then,
continued. “Yeah. Benoit is a friend of mine; a Frenchman; look him up on the
net.
“That
eternal expanse out there is where God
exists, son; and, in here.” His fingertip touched his chest at the level of his
beating heart. “Come here on a clear full-moon night and you can reach the
glow, run a finger through the delight and savor the sugar-sweet of lunar ice
cream.”
Donnie
swallowed, hard; ice cream was his very favorite; he was already learning to
dream.
“And,
don’t forget to ‘Love’ and be loved, all along the way.
“It’s
one fantastic journey, my friend. Don’t dare miss it!” He intoned with effect.
“The
very best thing we all can do is Good!
To one another through pure, unconditional Love!
For each other. That sounds difficult, but, all that is required is commitment
and honesty.”
He
laughed, yet again. “Of course, being a little less narcissistic aids the
process considerably; a great many people have real issues when they have to
face the reality that life does not revolve around them or exist only for their
pleasure.
“Trails
crisscross our lives. Some are Interstates that carry the majority of the
population, all going ‘somewhere’ in a big hurry, many never knowing the How? Or Why? Of the journey and too preoccupied to bother to ask. Then,
some find the four lane roads to the cities, two lane highways to the burgs and
rural communities. For a few intrepid adventurers wide paths open for
exploration where few have tread before. Then, there are a very few real
drifters, like me.
“I
chose the nearly indecipherable ‘traces’ through the jungle; those indistinct,
non-descript whispers of direction which can, and, often do, lead to
spectacular adventurous destinations.”
Logan
gestured to Long’s Peak. “Like the glorious splendor laid before us right here.
“Take
notice of the gift of Nature, the beauty, the symmetry, congruity, logic,
purpose, freedom, liberty of the offering. It’s ‘free’ for the enjoyment, ‘if’
we seek, respect and partake.”
He
gave the wide-eyed boy who stared in awe at his mentor a gentle pat on the
shoulder.
“Don’t
be afraid! Do the right thing, like you practice where your mother is
concerned.
“And,
maybe, even though he doesn’t seem to deserve it, you might now, cut your dad a
little slack; sounds like his life isn’t very pleasant, either. Yeah! I know!
He made his bed. But, spread some of that special understanding and maybe a
modicum of ‘love’ on his path in life. You might just find that generosity
reaps huge rewards; sometimes where you least expect them.”
When
Logan concluded, he offered, “Sorry about the sermon, kid. It ain’t even
Sunday. Is it?”
“No!’
Came Donnie’s smiling reply. “But, thanks anyway. I appreciate what you said.”
Logan
got to his feet; Donnie continued to stare into the vacant space between
himself and Long’s Peak, lost somewhere in a time and space of his own
choosing.
Glancing
at the sun, he calculated the time at nearing eleven thirty; about time to head
out.
“I’m
heading back, now, boy,” Logan announced. “Coming?” he inquired, passively.
The
boy turned to look at the man, slowly shaking his head.
“No,
thanks! Mister.” He said, determined, sticking out his chubby hand which Logan
clasped. “Thank you for the treats and water…and, your time,” he added. “I
think I’ll just sit here and watch the mountain for a while; think about
things; let the old man cool his heels in the car.”
He
laughed, genuinely. “Hell!” He swore. “I guess he wouldn’t abandon me---again!”
“Suit
yourself, young man,” Logan advised. “My bet is: you’ll be alright.” He nodded
and turned, taking his leave without further “adieu”.
Logan
had nearly reached the end of the paved path on his way down to the Jeep before
Donnie realized that the man had inadvertently forgotten his leather jacket,
gloves and ball cap which the boy still, gratefully, wore. Shaking himself from
his reverie and self-imposed pathetic sadness, the boy quickly climbed to the
pinnacle boulder, wide eyes searching the downhill trace for his recent
benefactor. Finally, with persistence, the youth caught sight of the man, nearly
having reached the parking lot; he would never make it to the lot before the
man departed. Even after the brief rest, the boy was exhausted from the climb
up the mountain and just getting back on top of the boulder for his search
brought his ragged breath in gasps.
Donnie
tried to yell “Hey! Mister!” in an attempt to get the man’s attention, the
distance only about a half mile, or so, but the brisk breeze swallowed his
raspy, indecipherable tones carrying them off to the southeast to dissipate
amongst the peaks. Frantically, he took off the leather coat and waved it over
his head, but the distant man was already entering his red vehicle and did not
see the boy’s agitated antics as he desperately tried in futility to capture
Logan’s attention.
As
the vehicle pulled away, Donnie resigned himself to the facts at hand and sat
down to catch his breath. Putting his frigid arms back in the coat’s sleeves,
an errant gust of cold wind caught the exposed leather flap and twisted the
material inside out. Then, the boy noticed an inner zippered pocket. Once he
regained control of the obstinate jacket, the boy opened the hidden pocket
immediately discovering the envelope which contained the letter Logan had
written to his mother that very morning while still at the reflecting lake
site.
The
address, inscribed in pencil and printed in block letters, read:
Mrs. Logan
(Aleda) Williams Sr.
4537 Desert
Arroyo Circle Ct.
Bluebonnet, TX
75111.
Donnie
glanced at the return address:
Logan Williams
Jr.
c/o Philippe
Mendoza
P.O Box 79
Cortez, CO 81321.
Seeing
that there was no postage stamp affixed, Donnie vowed to get one and mail the
letter.
Back
at the Jeep, Logan hopped in, grabbed another bottle of water and a fresh
Granola bar; Donnie’s dad had disappeared, could not be seen anywhere on the
site and was not in his car. Probably best that the two did not meet; better to
mind one’s own business. Very good advice!
He
should be in Estes Park by two in the afternoon, at the very latest. Perfect!
There
was a scenic turn-out about half way down the east slope of the mountain going
into the town and that point afforded some spectacular views including a
mountain stream cascading a couple of hundred feet over a cliff to disappear
behind some outcroppings; eventually it continued to Estes park and ran in a
rock bottom river through the town, directly under a wood deck built over the
babbling thunder at the local Pizza Hut where he had enjoyed many a fine treat
over many years; sounded like a supper plan; his mouth watered. Logan planned
to stop at the turn out and make some preliminary sketches which he could later
flesh out at his leisure, as was his habit. Smiling at the ease with which the
day shaped up, he smiled, thinking that it is, indeed, all the little things
which make the old adage, oh, so true: Life is good!
Pulling
out of the parking slot and twisting off the cap of the plastic water bottle,
Logan switched on the dashboard radio before he took a swallow. High atop the
mountain, one might easily conclude that radio-wave reception should be
unhampered and myriad stations reaching around the world could come in crystal
clear, such musings, like many “self-evident” truisms, are errant in either
their premises, their determinations, or, more often, both. Harsh, crackling
static met Logan’s ears, as if to prove the point.
At
night, such waves travelled much less harassed by weather and static than
during daylight hours; still it took a mighty strong signal to cover great
distances, in the first place. Such secondary interferences could only occur if
the wave length might be capable of reaching a distant destination. FM
frequencies often fared better than their AM cousins though each could be
expected to encounter myriad difficulties. The Jeep had only an AM receiver; if
nothing was received within several moments, chances of getting any news before
reaching the town of Estes park were pretty slim, if existent, at all. Exiting
the parking area began an immediate steep, unrelenting and continuous downhill
drive which quickly captured the vehicle surrounded by vertical cliffs, leaving
any radio reception a vacant hope.
Catching
a slight clearing in the irritating static crackle just as Logan exited the
parking lot, he heard several broken words over toned with scratchy squelch
which made no sense: world---towers struck---plane---The
president---(garble)---. Then, the signal faded completely, even barring
grating static as the Jeep descended the slope at a steep angle and the
surrounding mountain peaks swallowed the tiny conveyance; mighty Long’s Peak
disappeared from view immediately as sheer cliffs loomed to the south. Of course, Logan could manage to turn around
and retrace his path to the parking area, but, then, he knew, only more
aggravating static would return. Anyway, in a few hours, he’d be down the
mountain, in the town, and the news, with whatever unimaginable catastrophe it
might entail, would still be fresh enough for consumption.
(Tomorrow---Part 5 of 6)
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