Bikers and Elves

"Flashback"

A poem by Vol Lindsey

Sam was always out there
riding the roads,
findin' out all kinds of good stuff
like how the wind feels in your hair
and how to get comfortable
in the rain.
Says that's how he met the elves.
They were on motorcycles
I think it was them
made Sam move out on his own like that.

He was camped beside a lonely road
next to the fire, drinkin' coffee
with bourbon, against the frost
he knew was coming,
when they rode up.

He could tell they were elves
by their laughter,
says "sounded just like bells"
And those elves talked to him all night
in the quiet
under the stars.
They thought he would understand,
and he did.
He says "Them elves,
they know."
Says he learned the truth that October
in the quiet under the stars.
When they were done
he began to laugh.
He laughed so hard
the stars could hear him,
and they laughed too.
Even some of the rocks around the camp
cracked up and rolled down the slope.
He laughed till he ran out of breath
and just when he thought it was over,
he'd start right up again.

Laughed two solid days and nights,
laughed long after the elves were gone.

More Garden

Fried green tomatoes anyone??? X.

Delayed By Mother Nature

We've had a lot of unkind weather this year. First we were deluged with way to much water. Next came about 2 weeks of 90 to 100 degree heat, which I thought was going to fry everything. Now we've got the heat and water.

It seems like this year anything that came up volunteer is doing better than what we have planted. A lot of things died during all the rain. Some more due to the hot spell. What's left is about a month behind what it should be. Hopefully we will have a decent harvest in spite of some horrible weather.

That packet of high dollar giant pumpkin. There were 8 seeds in the packet @ 2.00 per seed. Four produced a plant. None have as yet yeilded a pumpkin :^( X.

A Short Story About Chance, Luck And Kharma-Final Part

I recently looked up the meaning or difinition of Chance, Luck, and Kharma. Here is what I found.

Webster says chance is something that happens unpridictably without intention or cause. What the ancient Greeks believed was contrary to that. They believed that nothing occurs at random, but everything for a reason and by necessity. Almost in line with what kharma means.

Webster says that luck is a force that brings either good or bad fortune. Another source says that luck is either good or bad fortune attributed by some to reasons of faith or superstition, which happens beyond ones control.

Webster says that kharma is what the Hindu and Buddhist believe to be the force generated by a persons actions that determine the nature of the persons next existence. Other sourses say that the effect of all deeds actively create past, present and future experiences, thus making one responsible for one's own life, and the pain and joy it brings to others. In religions that incorporate reincarnation, kharma extends through one's present life and all past lives as well. It is cumulative. And so it appears the belief that I held for many years about the hippies inventing kharma is a bunch of whooie. Kharma is much like some of the biblical quotes such as, an eye for an eye, or, you reap what you sow. Or some of the common day slang like, what goes around comes around. Basically you have control over your life because your actions will determine what happens to you and others in the end. Whether you are willing to own up to it, is another matter.

For some time after I heard about Butch's death, I felt a loss and emptiness inside. I was upset that Maria, his second wife, had not contacted myself or any of Butch's friends about the severity of his illness or the death itself. It was a about six months after his death that we found out, from one of his relatives, who themselves had just been made aware he had passed.

One day I decided I needed to say goodbye to my friend, so I fired up my old Road King and headed for Topeka. It was the fall of the year and as I rode along, I thought about some of the hunting trips I had made out to Colorado with Butch. I found his headstone in the new part of the cemtery. And as I walked up to it I was stopped in my tracks by what I saw. There across the top of the stone was Butch's full name, Richard Chance Wilson. All those years that I had known him, I wasn't aware his middle name was Chance. There were a number of things rushing through my brain. One was, with such a cool name as Chance, why would anyone go by Butch. Another thought that crowded that one out was that maybe that is why Butch had decided to take me on as a friend. Did he befriend me just to increase his odds by putting Chance and Luck together. Then I had this strange feeling that Butch was standing there by me, smiling. I've had those experiences before, where I felt the presence of a spirit. And I believe his spirit was there with me, so I could say my goodbyes.

On one of our last trips to Canada fishing, Butch had talked about his belief in riencarnation. He said he believed we were friends in a past life in which we both died young. He thought we were given more time this go round so we could realize some our dreams. I too believed in reincarnation. Partly because of some of the dreams I had as a young person that dealt with lives I had lived in older times. And just an overwhelming feeling that we kept going from one life to another until we got things right. Sort of a progression if you will. Anyway, I hope that I can be less self indulgent and more giving the next time around.

Most of the time I can see my blessings and the good things in my life and other times I feel like the dog in that old humorous lost dog ad.

"Lost dog: Labrador and Pit Bull cross, blind in right eye, only three legs, left ear missing, recently castrated. Answers to Lucky."


Fiction ? By Xavier

A Short Story About Chance, Luck And Kharma-Part 5

After returning to the real world Roger, Woodrow, Butch and I all sort of scattered to the wind. Roger was in St. Louis working for the phone company. Woodrow ended up in Wisconsin with the local fire department. Butch and Janie moved to Grand Junction Colorado where he worked highway construction. And I married and moved to Enid Oklahoma where I sold veterinarian supplies in that part of the state.

Butch and I saw each other about once a year. We would go on fishing trips to Ontario or Manitoba Canada. Butch and Janie had twin boys and one girl. And seemed happy until the last time we went on our annual fishing trip. After picking up Butch and heading out of town, Butch asked me to pull off the road for a minute. He said, " instead of going fishing this year, why don't we go to Vegas". So off we went. I'm not sure why I went along with his idea, but next thing i know we're in Vegas. In those days Butch was a heavy drinker and so was I. Somewhere between the casino running and the women chasing we got seperated. And Butch ended up in jail and had to call Janie to wire money so he could get bailed out. I would have given anything to seen Janie's face when he called her.

It wasn't to long after that when Janie packed up the kids and moved back to Kansas. Butch married an hispanic lady about a year later. I didn't hear from him to much after that.

The last time I talked to Butch was in 1991. He called me and was well into his cuffs and was slurring every word. Said he had been diagnosed with colon cancer and needed me to tell him my military service number. His number was one digit behind mine and that's all he could remember. He couldn't remember his number. He told me he was living in Topeka Kansas. I told him to keep me posted. That was the last time I talked to him.

That evil I spoke of earlier, which followed us home had claimed it's first victim from Hanover. Butch died about 2 months after I talked to him on the phone.It wasn't long before Roger got prostate cancer. Woodrow got colon cancer. I got diabetes and cancer. The evil culprit was Agent Orange a powerful herbicide used to defoliate the jungles of Vietnam. It makes me angry every time I think about it. Our own government had used biological warfare on it's own troops. And then in recent years they have the nerve to criticize Sadam Husein for using biologic agents. Don't get me wrong, I love my country, I just don't have any good feelings about the ones who have been running it.

I would venture to say that more Vietnam vets have died from Agent Orange than died on the battle fields. Every time I pick up a newspaper I see where another vet has died as a result of his exposure to that terrible herbicide.

So, what does all this have to do with chance and luck and kharma? You'll have to wait for the final part.

Fiction ? By X.

A Short Story About Chance, Luck And Kharma-Part 4

If you have never been thru Marine Corps boot camp I'll try to give you a little peek at what goes on. They arrange it so you arrive about 2:00 A. M. It starts immediatly as you step off the bus from the airport. The D. I.'s are screaming at the top of their lungs telling you to line up on the yellow footprints on the the asphalt. It goes nonstop from that point on. You are marched to a barracks where you are issued all of your military clothing, then to another where you remove and package your civilian clothes and ship them home. Somewhere in this mayley your head is shaved down to bare skin by barbers who have no feelings and very dull clippers. Next you are taken to your new home for the next few months and told to mark all of your clothing with stamping kits you have been issued. You spend the rest of the day running and doing exercises while you are being yelled at and called every kind of low life the D. I. can think of. You are finally put to bed about 10:00 P. M. that night totally exhausted.

Now is the time you are wondering what the hell you have gotten yourself into. And your thoughts are drifting back to your home in Kansas. To make matters worse the Recruit Depot in San Diego is right next to the airport where you arrived. You hear the planes landing and taking off all night long and you wish you were on one of those planes headed home.

Back to labeling the clothes for a bit. In the military you go by your last name first then your initials. Most of the guys that were in my platoon in boot camp I only know by thier last name. I never got close enough with the majority of them to find out what thier first names were. And so I sat there marking my stuff, Luck EE. That's right my given name was Edward E Luck. Mom didn't want to give me a middle name but Dad insisted on at least giving me a middle initial. So it was I was Edward E. And Lord only knows what the "E" was for. Anyway the D. I's had a field day with the Luck EE stamped on my fatigue's.

Thier main goal was to break us down to dirt, then build us back up again to thier standard. It was a rewarding experience in the end but I don't wish to repeat it. One of the recruits died during training. The D. I.s said it was heart failure, not surprising.

Butch, Woodrow, Roger and I were together in the same platoon. But that was as far as the"Buddy System" went. After boot camp we went seperate ways, but all were in basic infantry. And would all end up in Viet Nam in different units.

It's a wonder as many can live thru a war and return home in one piece physically. It is such a time that you begin to start thinking about chance, luck and kharma. Your spiritual beliefs are stretched to the max and then you question how there could even be a god. If there were, how could he allow such horror?

Anyway, Butch, Woodrow, Roger and I all returned home physically intact, which to me is an amazing fact when you consider our units were in some of the worst combat that occured in the I Corps (northern south viet nam).

But little did we know that something even far more evil than what Victor Charlie threw at us would follow us back to the real world.

Fiction ? By X.

Grand Kids

The two younger grand kids have been here this week. It's been a joy to visit with them. We've been doing a lot of fishing, but very little catching. Just too hot and humid.
They really grow up fast. Seems like yesterday when they came into this world. X.

A Short Story About Chance, Luck and Kharma-Part 3

During our senior year in highschool Butch and I had met these twins as we played football in a rival community not far away. We started dating them soon after. Butch dated Judy and I dated Janie. They were identical twins and even I had trouble telling them apart. I think twins are fascinating. At times they would even finish the other ones sentence without breaking stride. They had thier differences, don't get me wrong, but at times it seemed like they were exact clones.

I'm not one to pull practicle jokes on people, but our situation got the wheels to spinning in my brain. I approached the twins with the idea of switching on the next date and having Janie go with Butch and Judy with me. I just wanted to put one over on Butch, as he was always pulling some prank on me.

Well the whole thing backfired on me. It turns out Janie had been wanting to date Butch and I had just dealt him up on a silver platter. Thier relationship got more serious as the year progressed and they had wedding plans for the following fall after graduation. Janie apologized for what happened and also thanked me at the same time. Only time I've received an apology and a thank you in the same conversation. Of course I was the best man or maybe I should say second best man at the wedding.

Butch got a job working at the Sinclair station and I was helping the local electrician. About six months after the wedding, Butch came into Martha's diner one day all excited. He said the Marine Recruiter would be at the Sinclair station at 4:00 and he and Roger Todd and Woodrow Allen were joining up on some kind of buddy plan. He urged me to join them. Seems like any time Butch asked me to do something it was almost like a dare. Of course I took him up on the invite, the next thing I know I'm headed for boot camp in San Diego. And it wouldn't be long after that we would find out what war was really like.

Fiction ? X.

A Short Story About Chance, Luck and Kharma-Part 2

The games boys will play.

As youngsters growing up in Hanover, we would play cowboys and indians or war an awful lot. The first stages were innocent and involved a great deal of pretending. That progressed into using tomatoes and other garden produce raided from neighborhood gardens, which by the way, makes a lot of angry neighbors. After someone got smacked a little hard it escalated to dirt clods and rock throwing.

Then one of the guys suggested we use our BB guns. That went fine until one day when Bill Whalen got his eye put out. We reasoned it was all Becky's fault. She was Pat Carter's little sister. Someone had forgotten to tell her not to shoot anyone above the belt line. That was one our main rules. We thought it was humorous to blast someone in the lower extrimaties. Anyway we transferred the blame to her. After all wasn't it always girls who were spoiling our fun.

In highschool someone got the bright idea that we graduated to more serious fun. We all met out at the old Jennings farmstead. It had a bunch of barns, sheds and an old farmhouse. This time we brought our shotguns and boxes of birdshot. At first we would just try to get close and not hit anyone. Next thing we know Dickie Collins is hit in the side of the face and neck with birshot. Dickie was bleeding pretty good and complaining about the pain. "Oh come on Dickie, it can't be that bad, It's just birdshot," said Butch. Any way we came up with a story about shooting skeet and said it was an accident. His parents bought the story and it became our dirty little secret.

It's amazing that none of us at that time could come to the realization that when you do stupid things, bad things will usually happen. Most of my life I have thought that the word "Kharma" was just something the Hippys pulled out of thier cosmos,but, more on this later.

Anyway, that episode at the Jennings farmstead, ended our boys games. We were now ready for adulthood and the games that they play.

Fiction ? By X.

A Short Story About Chance, Luck and Kharma-Part 1

Have you lived long enough to wonder about why things happen the way they do? Do you think we have control of our lives and actions or do you believe we are but puppets controled by the Masters hand? Sometimes I think I know but mostly I just wander and wonder.

I grew up on the plains of Kansas in the heart of america. The product of a generation that would be known for hatching boomers in great numbers. It was a farming community where I was raised. Life was pretty casual and laid back in our little town. Nobody locked thier homes or autos at night. The only crimes we heard of happened in big cities far away.

One of my early childhood friends was Richard Wilson. Butch is what he went by. My first encounter with Butch was at a sandlot football game at the age of 12. He had just moved to town. He was big for his age and had a tendency to bully others. After the game ended, Butch proceded to push me around. And a wrestling match ensued. I was a pretty good scrapper and soon had him in one of my famous headlocks. He was begging me to let go and I did as he seemed to be in a great deal of pain. He allowed that since he had previously injured his neck he was at a disadvantage.

Apparently he thought it was best to be allies with the kid who had just whooped his butt. So we were best of friends from that day forward. We did a lot of crazy things together as we were growing up. Like the time we dripped hot wax all over our face and arms and went to school Halloween morning. Or the time we played strip poker with the school Principal's two daughters in the cellar out back of Butch's house. We were 14 and they were 16 and 17.

We were young men in search of the frenge elements in life. Always open to anything which had risk or danger envolved. Which may or may not have lead us on our journey.

Fiction? By X.

Have A Good Holliday

Hope everyone has an enjoyable and safe holliday. Remember why we celebrate the 4th. Xavier