From the Pacific came 1000's of separate broadcasts in the critical development of the massive conflict, WWII

Saturday, August 17, 2024

"The man comes alive"

   A Mrs. in a business suit and worn house slippers had taken two buses and talked an ATVer into cabbing her to the campsite.  People stared at the box of donuts and newspaper like they were the lost ark.  "But only when he gets to go fishing.  This I had to see," the woman said by way of introduction.

  "YOU. YOU TOLD THEM WHERE WE ARE?"  The mechanic hit his still fattened lip on the hood of the truck as he squinted his eyes to aim the question.  Two middle aged men sucked in their guts and flexed arm muscles in their tank tops.

  From the creek a shrill giggling woman started saying "I DID IT!  I DID IT!  I CAUGHT ONE!"  But a boy came storming from the brush saying, "They cheated!  They cheated!" A girl ran over to him asking, "They did?"

  "They cheated!  I saw them."

  No sooner had the woman placed the donuts on a limpy-legged porch table when an elderly man smacked the hand of a child reaching for the box.  A mother picked up the child and went away.

  "YOU told them?" The mechanic pointed the rachet at each of the other men in the camp.

  One removed his dress shirt from the back of a sagging porch chair, snapped it like a bullfighter, pronounced it dry enough and put it on, buttoning only the top.  He fished a tie out of his pants pocket and hung it around his neck like an athlete's towel.

  The woman who'd arrived took a couple steps towards the cold campfire and asked no one "Did you think" but the question was interrupted by a mini van coming to a stop at the campsite.  A teenage boy hopped out.  "ALL RIGHT.  GROOVY!  Leave it to my sister to join a commune."

  "Oh my God," was all I could say.

  The day wore on in the unusual fashion of worlds colliding.  Coming back to unified nation was a tragi-comedy unfolding in awkward moments and the bravery it takes to shed occupied by fears. 

  "We're just random people!" I quickly fell into never-ending argument with my brother.

  "Is this a socialism thing?" My mother got out of the minivan next asking.

  My father eyed the half dressed middle ager with an undisguised look of suspicion and accusation from the driver's seat.

  "My dear, a democracy needn't be a socialism," the handsmacking elderly guy assured my mother.

  "WHY?" The mechanic bopped the rachet against the radiator and slipped his reading glasses down from his forehead.

  "I'm here for my son," the woman was warming her hands motioning in front of the cold campfire.

  "It wasn't cheating," a young man in really tight jeans came from the creek holding up two Trout on a dry cleaner's clothes hanger.  "To help someone is not cheating." The dry cleaners advertising paper hung off the sides of the hanger.

  "MOTHER?!!!" The guy's stride did not falter as he held the fish up high and kissed both of the woman's cheek.  The woman's hands clutched a lot of extra sweater and shirt on the man's sides.

  "Is he really gone?" She looked him in the eyes and asked then reached up and took the hangered fish.  "Where are the dishes?" She asked the rest of us without taking her eyes off her son.

  "It was awful.  But here we are!"

  "Yes, here we are," my own mother said, "Your family is here, or don't you care?"

  "Of course I care," I heard myself say but felt more like I was in an audience at a golf game than really feeling I care; I'm amazed; I am grateful.

  A younger sibling asked the elderly man, "Can I have one?" He replied, "Yes, you may.  One." I had started to grab him up and saw the newspaper.  War over.

  "Just like that.  Everybody off the rollercoaster," the elderly man said to my dumfounded look.


  From the Trailhead direction the Cub Scout guy came crashing on a kids A T V.  Some people who had been jogging around the campground ran over.  "What gives?" The Cub Scout guy asked.  It registered in my head that it was a Sunday.

  "We radio'd because he, the, him," they blatantly looked at the young man who'd caught the fish.  "He," and one of the joggers leaned close and whispered behind a hand held to ear.

  "First of all," the Cub Scout guy began a deeply flushing faced lecture mixed with the stumblings of too frustrated to speak properly.  "I invited some of you up here to study for your exams." A gaggle of people came out of the forest then.  In various stages of dressed and still dressed from the night before, wrinkles and pleat lines pressed into slightly crumpled, but

  "Here we are," one spoke like a rep.  These were clearly not cubscouts.

  "Is there an issue here Officer?" The had-been giggling girlwoman came from under the tarp strung between trees worrying the lower part of her sweater and carrying floured fish in a glass casserole dish.  "Morning Miss.  Not that I'm aware of and, er, I'm not an officer here, er, in this forest."

  "Is this a forest?" A ripped at the knee jean wearing getting a beard guy asked his coffee cup.  I'd seen him do Shakespeare near the story-telling campsite earlier in the trip.

  "Indeed," a woman who could look old and young at the same time snagged the coffee.

 My father shook his head and mustered the newspaper up higher on the steering wheel.  The mothers looked at each of their children.  The middle aged guy had buttoned shirt and tied tie.  He pointed at the fish catcher and commanded, "In there, NOW." His eyes motioned to the tarped tent.

  Raised voices.  Did you screw her?

  What do you care?  And even if you do, it's not really your business or place Sir.

  People are dying

  Tell me about it

  People are dying from SEX boy.

  Boy?

  A silence.

  Better than ape or animal I suppose.  I haven't been referred to as a child in a long while.  It's kind of amusing.  Really.  No I did not screw her.  Is she who you cheated on your wife with?  Boy?  I'll confess to having thought about as any oversexed manimal would I suppose but we were getting you breakfast.

  The young man reappeared outside the tarp.  Brushed flour on his hands onto his skinny black jeans, then brushed those off with steady slender strong hands.  "Breakfast ready Mother?"

  "We brought our own," my mother put her hands on her kids' shoulders and pushed each towards the mini van, including me.

  While we were eating bagels with cream cheese Forest Service workers started showing up since word had gone out over the radio.  Soon there were like 20-30 people gathering at the campsite.
























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To me, the best

part of Thanksgiving is the marching bands.  Those ones in the Macy's parade are mountains!