Excerpt from "I'm not madd anymore": Crowbar Rhythm ©
Crowbar Rhythm
"They find him, slouched over the bar, of course. He looks half-dead, drooling and sloppy and toilet-cake stanky. Jack chummies up to him and prods him to come outside and check out our 'punkin pie 200-proof' moonshine.
He can hardly stand up, so Roy and Jack act as drunk crutches and slither him out the door. His stupor makes it easy to waddle him to the back lot. He wants that moonshine!
I see them coming. I unlock the deep trunk of my Monte Carlo and flip the flaps of a worn-out empty booze box from my basement. It doesn’t matter; he won't make it that far.
"Hey Franklin", I yell cheerfully, like we’ve been old buds for years. My crowbar is behind the box. I reach for it and feel my sweaty wet fingers wrap around the cold iron ridges of my “Striker”. My ribcage begins to vibrate in rhythm with each blast of my banging heart.
He is almost here; I can hear him mumbling and scuffing his feet behind me. We have practiced this over and over. I know what to do."
Audio: "Crowbar Rhythm", Part One
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Excerpt from "Celoron Girl": Fishing With Dad©
Fishing With Dad
It’s 6:30 in the morning and we’re fishing on Gull Lake in River Valley, Ontario, Canada. The engine is off and my Dad preps his line with a fresh-smelling minnow.
I watch him as the glint of the William’s Wabler disappears off the side of our flat-bottom steel boat. The famous lure beckons the first walleye of the day.
“I’m sorry for what I did,” my Dad whispers.
Right now, there are only two sounds in the whole world: the soft crunch of ice in the beer cooler, and my Dad’s voice. I clearly hear what he said.
“Sorry? For what? Did you fart again?” I chuckle nervously.
I look up at him. His stone face and steel-blue eyes rip into my heart. A gut-sick whole opens and flushes all my blood below my knees.
“I’m sorry for what I did when you were younger,” he whispers again.
Audio: "Celoron Girl" Excerpt: Fishing With Dad
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Essay: "Ineffable"
Ineffable
When you read something on your phone or computer and don't know what a word means, do you double-click it, dropdown, search google for the meaning of the word? I do.
A message from Richard Rohr starts every day for me. This word, "ineffable," was in his email today. I have heard this word previously but only guessed its meaning contextually.
The word ineffable means that there are no words, as in: "I am just speechless, I just can't find the words to describe how I feel about..." what?
Zoom! And my brain was off, compiling a list of people and things that are ineffable to me, feelings that are so deep, I can not explain or describe with mere words, like:
* how quickly and completely and totally unexpectedly I fell in love with Gordon,
* how I continue to fall in love with Gordon 13 years later,
* how deeply I loved Laura and my Mom and Ray,
* how much I love my children, although I must admit, I can find a trove of words to describe that love out of my mouth, but can't find the words to describe what I feel in my heart for them.
* my highest gratefulness to God for the granite bridge of support and hard-rock love I get from my best friend of 38 years, Jeannie Beatty
However, there are two events that are truly ineffable for me:
1. November 10th, 1979, the day of the crash. Onlookers were horrified when they saw me dead in the driver's seat. But after almost seven minutes, they were mortified and moon-eyed when my bloody head snapped back up from the headrest. I turned to see their faces, plastered with morbid curiosity, just inches away from me.
"This is NOT AN F-ing ZOO!" I scratchy-screamed at them.
That was the very first time I ever remember saying the f-bomb out loud, ever. I was 24. Guess I was in-f-able prior to that.
2. I remember the teensiest thing about that almost seven-minute trip. It's 44 years later and the ineffable feeling of transmorphing into a pellucid glowing egg-shaped ball of love still radiates like the Son inside me every single day. It is a light that cannot be hidden under a bushel basket.
I know there's something more after we leave our bodies here. Consciousness continues, at least for almost seven glorious minutes, and the desire to return to the world is vanquished.
It's ineffable.
What's ineffable for you? Let me know. I'll print it.
Thank-you for taking your time to read this today❤️.
Audio, Essay: "Ineffable"
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