I suppose everyone has certain music in their life that is like oxygen, sustaining. If you think you don't you probably haven't thought about it very hard. The Marshall Tucker Band represent some of that life-breathing music to me. I don't think about their music often and I don't even know if I have a cd in the house with their name on it. But sometimes you don't have to have it to have it. They have me.
I was slim, single, sassy, sensual, super-woman (in my own frazzled mind), stupid, and every other S word decribing a 19 year old in love, in something I suppose, when their music came to me. While not quite as bluesy as The Allman Brother's the harmony made me feel even finer. I was in control (ha!) and they made me close my eyes and let the senses take over.
None of their music made me socially conscious or teary eyed. They would have thought someone to be crazy if they ever made that claim. They just made me feel good, Sly and the Family Stone good. They made me mellow and firey and juke joint jiving and silly--if they could have heard my feeble attempts at harmony on "Can't You See" they'd have called the law to my door just to keep me from doing an injustice to their music. But I didn't care. They were so there and I was so there, then.
And now it's time to be here. Not Marshall Tucker firey or juke joint jiving but now maybe just a little teary eyed for the times when they were fine and I was even finer. Only one of the original group is still living and I think he'd understand my reasons for being a little dewy eyed when I hear them on the loud speaker at Walmart. They will always be in the concert of my life (24 hours at a time of course, how could it be less)................sing, Doug Gray, you make me smile inside!
Saturday, June 14, 2008
Friday, June 13, 2008
Maybe the Visa Ran Out
What happened to dotted Swiss fabric? I haven't seen any in years. In the years when my mother was attempting, albeit in vain, to make a lady out of me, I must have had a hundred dresses or blouses made from that delicate yet wearable material. I need to ask her but I'm thinking the rules for it might have been the same as white shoes and seersucker--never before Easter and never ever after Labor Day. Don't ever let any of the fashion wags or mags out of New York or California or any other state above the Mason Dixon line try and convince you otherwise. They may choose to break the rules there but here in the South we know our fashion rules. She may be a gum snapping, Clairol bleaching, tank-top wearing, tatoo sporting, Daisy Dukes hugging gen-u-ine Southern redneck girl but she ain't gonna have white shoes on after Labor Day or before Easter. Whether we live in a trailer or own the trailer park women of the South know how to dress.
I think my prom dress had dotted Swiss sleeves on it and if it didn't something in the back of my mind is telling me that some frock I wore on a fancy occasion way back when did. I'm going to have to start consciously looking for it, dotted Swiss, not my prom dress (I was a vision of loveliness all in pepto bismol pink, I was) and see if it really went the way of the Dodo bird and Tyrannasauras Rex or if it's just sleeping somewhere in Switzerland. Why was it called "dotted Swiss" anyway? Did it originate across the big pond? It's definitely something I need to consider pondering.
Even though I grew up strictly an urbanite I too have had my own redneck experiences and can throw down with the best of them if it's called for. I was once the most dressed up party at a wedding in a used car lot where one of the witnesses had to keep shushing one of the children saying "hush, your mother's trying to get married". I don't remember the names but it's probably best that they were forgotten anyway. But I've often wondered if they kept each other after they drove off the lot or if they did a trade-in later.
Anyone out there have any information on where the great dotted Swiss may have migrated to?
I think my prom dress had dotted Swiss sleeves on it and if it didn't something in the back of my mind is telling me that some frock I wore on a fancy occasion way back when did. I'm going to have to start consciously looking for it, dotted Swiss, not my prom dress (I was a vision of loveliness all in pepto bismol pink, I was) and see if it really went the way of the Dodo bird and Tyrannasauras Rex or if it's just sleeping somewhere in Switzerland. Why was it called "dotted Swiss" anyway? Did it originate across the big pond? It's definitely something I need to consider pondering.
Even though I grew up strictly an urbanite I too have had my own redneck experiences and can throw down with the best of them if it's called for. I was once the most dressed up party at a wedding in a used car lot where one of the witnesses had to keep shushing one of the children saying "hush, your mother's trying to get married". I don't remember the names but it's probably best that they were forgotten anyway. But I've often wondered if they kept each other after they drove off the lot or if they did a trade-in later.
Anyone out there have any information on where the great dotted Swiss may have migrated to?
Thursday, June 12, 2008
I Could Have Been Chinese, Back Then
I love old movies; but only the black and white ones. There's something about color that refuses to allow me to think of a movie as being old, it must be only black and white. I don't even like the colorized version of old movies, it's sort of like wearing a T shirt when you didn't go to the concert. Some things are better just imagined and not dictated.
I've just finished watching an old movie that surprisingly I'd never seen before, "The Good Earth" with Paul Muni and Luise Rainer, filmed in 1937. The movie was about China but you'd have been hard pressed to have found a true Asian in the whole lot of it. It looked like a bunch of Caucasians had raided a Maybelline factory and had grabbed all the eyeliner they could get their hands on. Evidently back in 1937 it didn't take a whole lot to be touted as the real thing if you had star quality.
I guess Hollywood must have figured that a movie wouldn't make it with "real" people...it threw me for a minute when one of the "Chinese" had a definite "Noo Yawk" accent. Think Tony Curtis playing Foo Ling Yu and you'll have it.
While I'm still in an Asian mood every time I go to the nail salon I am fascinated by the Vietnamese being spoken there. It sort of reminds me of the sound a basket full of puppies waiting to be fed make, especially when 2 or more are speaking at once. The language comes right out of their throats in a high pitched sing song that I can't imitate although I've tried. Cindy, the shop owner, laughs a lot and smiles even more and I love to hear her "sing song" to her husband. Her English is getting better but you still have to listen very closely. It's either getting better or I've learned to listen better.
I think if you're going to cast a movie about Klingons then hire Klingons. True Trekkers could spot Maybelline at a hundred yards.
I've just finished watching an old movie that surprisingly I'd never seen before, "The Good Earth" with Paul Muni and Luise Rainer, filmed in 1937. The movie was about China but you'd have been hard pressed to have found a true Asian in the whole lot of it. It looked like a bunch of Caucasians had raided a Maybelline factory and had grabbed all the eyeliner they could get their hands on. Evidently back in 1937 it didn't take a whole lot to be touted as the real thing if you had star quality.
I guess Hollywood must have figured that a movie wouldn't make it with "real" people...it threw me for a minute when one of the "Chinese" had a definite "Noo Yawk" accent. Think Tony Curtis playing Foo Ling Yu and you'll have it.
While I'm still in an Asian mood every time I go to the nail salon I am fascinated by the Vietnamese being spoken there. It sort of reminds me of the sound a basket full of puppies waiting to be fed make, especially when 2 or more are speaking at once. The language comes right out of their throats in a high pitched sing song that I can't imitate although I've tried. Cindy, the shop owner, laughs a lot and smiles even more and I love to hear her "sing song" to her husband. Her English is getting better but you still have to listen very closely. It's either getting better or I've learned to listen better.
I think if you're going to cast a movie about Klingons then hire Klingons. True Trekkers could spot Maybelline at a hundred yards.
Sunday, June 8, 2008
Farts
While rummaging around for my password to get in to my blogspot (sometimes things fall out of the gray matter that were once caught in it) I came across a poem that I'd written in my doctor's waiting room waiting to be serviced by the people in white. I make no apologies...my profile said that one of my interests is "attempts in poetry" and in an attempt one does not have to really accomplish anything or win, one is merely attempting something. After all, if I were single I could attempt to become Miss Hawaiian Tropic of 2009 or president, or whichever one seemed to be the best option at the time.
I can safely assume that this small offering will never be studied in the hallowed halls of Yale or Slippery Rock. There will be no poet laureate nomination arising. But say what you will, it is not for the esoteric it is for the masses and long live them.
It needs no title.
Someone let one
in the waiting room.
Clouds of stink hang
like some bad perfume.
No one's looking as if
they had a part-
but if IT were ice cream
the flavor would be FART.
SHP
01/15/2007
shoo-wee and my apologies to Robert Frost
I can safely assume that this small offering will never be studied in the hallowed halls of Yale or Slippery Rock. There will be no poet laureate nomination arising. But say what you will, it is not for the esoteric it is for the masses and long live them.
It needs no title.
Someone let one
in the waiting room.
Clouds of stink hang
like some bad perfume.
No one's looking as if
they had a part-
but if IT were ice cream
the flavor would be FART.
SHP
01/15/2007
shoo-wee and my apologies to Robert Frost
My Hypocracy Only Goes So Far
This is really a prequel to my other blogs. It was actually a response to an email about various and sundry people, some famous some not, who'd mocked God and their ensuing fates. I have no idea whether they are true or not although some I'd obviously heard of. I don't think that God really looked down and decided to zap them just on what they'd said but it made me mad when I read about what they'd said. I strive to be a tolerant person, to be a good person, to be fair. But obviously the email stretched my tolerance to its breaking point and the virtual rubber band around my wrist snapped hard enough to make my fingers burn. So here I am.
I know this is entirely the wrong way to feel but I wish that I could be in God's presence when all of those who have denied His very existence, written books about it and shouted it to anyone who would listen; those who have made a shameless mockery of Him on TV, radio, in the movies, the printed media or cyber space; those that claim He is really some sort of nature-like "She" god who walks through the forest wearing old 60's caftans and makes seasons come and go; and then all of the religionists who have bought in to believing that mere mortal men who proclaim themselves to be "god" are indeed that and follow them even if it means dying, I humanly wish (which really translates to "sinfully wish" only I've whitewashed it in my own mind) that I could be standing there the day that they all stand before Him. I'd like to see those scientists and physicists and every other "ists" who say that we are not God-made but came about via the Big Bang theory or maybe even Starship Enterprise...I'd like to see the look on their faces when God booms out Genesis 1, John 3:16 or any other passage that we know, love and believe and all they can do is cower. In my pea brain I can imagine God having a voice just like the one He gave James Earl Jones only He resonates a whole lot bigger than James Earl. And mountains tremble at His voice where no one really trembles at James Earl's voice except maybe when he was Darth Vader but that's about the only time.
I want to see the expressions on all their faces when they come to a realisation that explodes stronger than any nuclear warhead that's sitting in one of those underground siloes out in the mid-west, of exactly Who it is that they rejected and the magnitude of their ignorance and plain old bonified, certified, deeper-than-the-ocean stupidity. I'm sinful enough to want to see every shock jock and every TV and movie star , every writer and every musician who once had the opportunity to use their fame and fortune to change the world yet squandered it over coins, paper, drugs, fame and hedonism to change no one for the better as they stand there in utter horror, that is, if God would even allow "utter horror" in His holy presence. We already crucified His Son and that was all the horror enough for God , should I offer my opinion, which, of course, He didn't ask for. They will have the opportunity to see the evidence of that squandering when they take their place in line with all of the jillions of others just like them along with those they drew in to their tight little circles of "if it feels good do it" and "I'm ok you're ok" and who are standing there just as shocked as the famous people are. That line of people will extend as far as it needs to and unfortunately there will be so many that only God knows what to call that kind of number, we just can't fathom one that big. If I hadn't been saved by the very Grace that Christ offers freely to both the rich and poor, the common and the famous, I'd be bumping up right against the back of the stupid person directly in front of me who didn't have time for God either.
As a human I want righteous vengeance I suppose but as one of God's children I know that vengeance doesn't belong to me and even now I should be asking for forgiveness for even expressing the thoughts that I've just shared with you. But don't you just want to take some people and shake them and ask them what is it going to take for them to finally get it?
It is written in the Bible (Galatians 6:7):
Be not deceived; God is not mocked: For whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also reap .
Here are some men and women who mocked God :
John Lennon (Singer):
Some years before , during his interview with an American Magazine, he said:
"Christianity will end, it will disappear. I do not have to argue about that. I am certain.
Jesus was ok, but his subjects were too simple, Today we are more famous than Him" ( 1966).
Lennon, after saying that the Beatles were more famous than Jesus Christ, was shot six times.
Tancredo Neves (President of Brazil ):
During the Presidential campaign, he said if he got 500,000 votes from his party, not even God would remove him from Presidency.
Sure he got the votes, but he got sick a day before being made President, then he died.
Cazuza (Bi-sexual Brazilian composer, singer and poet):
During A show in Canecio (Rio de Janeiro ), while smoking his cigarette, he puffed out some smoke into the air and said: "God, that's for you."
He died at the age of 32 of AIDS in a horrible manner.
The man who built the Titanic
After the construction of Titanic, a reporter asked him how safe the Titanic would be.
With an ironic tone he said: "Not even God can sink it"
The result: I think you all know what happened to the Titanic .
Marilyn Monroe (Actress)
She was visited by Billy Graham during a presentation of a show. He said the Spirit of God had sent him to preach to her. After hearing what the Preacher had to say, she said: "I don't need your Jesus".
A week later, she was found dead in her apartment .
Bon Scott (Singer)
The ex-vocalist of the AC/DC on one of his 1979 songs he sang:
"Don't stop me, I'm going down all the way, down the highway to hell".
On the 19th of February 1980, Bon Scott was found dead, he had been choked by his own vomit.
Campinas (IN 2005)
In Campinas, Brazil a group of friends, drunk, went to pick up a friend.....
The mother accompanied her daughter to the car and was so worried about the drunkenness of her friends she said to the daughter holding her hand, who was already seated in the car:
"My Daughter, Go With God And May He Protect You.."
She responded: "Only If He (God) Travels In The Trunk, Cause Inside Here.....It's Already Full "
Hours later, news came that they had been involved in a fatal accident, everyone had died,
the car could not be recognized what type of car it had been, but surprisingly, the trunk was intact.
The police said there was no way the trunk could have remained intact.
To their surprise, inside the trunk was a crate of eggs, none was broken .
Christine Hewitt (Jamaican Journalist and entertainer)
said the Bible (Word of God) was the worst book ever written.
In June 2006 she was found burnt beyond recognition in her motor vehicle .
Many more important people have forgotten that there is no other name that was given so much authority as the name of Jesus. Many have died, but only Jesus died and rose again, and he is still alive.
"If you are embarrassed about me, I will also be embarrassed about you before my father."
Just repeat this prayer and see how God moves!!
"Lord, I love you and I need you, come into my heart, and bless me, my family, my home, and my friends, in Jesus' name. Amen."
Pass this message to people. You will receive a miracle. I Hope that you let God bless you
*****
I know this is entirely the wrong way to feel but I wish that I could be in God's presence when all of those who have denied His very existence, written books about it and shouted it to anyone who would listen; those who have made a shameless mockery of Him on TV, radio, in the movies, the printed media or cyber space; those that claim He is really some sort of nature-like "She" god who walks through the forest wearing old 60's caftans and makes seasons come and go; and then all of the religionists who have bought in to believing that mere mortal men who proclaim themselves to be "god" are indeed that and follow them even if it means dying, I humanly wish (which really translates to "sinfully wish" only I've whitewashed it in my own mind) that I could be standing there the day that they all stand before Him. I'd like to see those scientists and physicists and every other "ists" who say that we are not God-made but came about via the Big Bang theory or maybe even Starship Enterprise...I'd like to see the look on their faces when God booms out Genesis 1, John 3:16 or any other passage that we know, love and believe and all they can do is cower. In my pea brain I can imagine God having a voice just like the one He gave James Earl Jones only He resonates a whole lot bigger than James Earl. And mountains tremble at His voice where no one really trembles at James Earl's voice except maybe when he was Darth Vader but that's about the only time.
I want to see the expressions on all their faces when they come to a realisation that explodes stronger than any nuclear warhead that's sitting in one of those underground siloes out in the mid-west, of exactly Who it is that they rejected and the magnitude of their ignorance and plain old bonified, certified, deeper-than-the-ocean stupidity. I'm sinful enough to want to see every shock jock and every TV and movie star , every writer and every musician who once had the opportunity to use their fame and fortune to change the world yet squandered it over coins, paper, drugs, fame and hedonism to change no one for the better as they stand there in utter horror, that is, if God would even allow "utter horror" in His holy presence. We already crucified His Son and that was all the horror enough for God , should I offer my opinion, which, of course, He didn't ask for. They will have the opportunity to see the evidence of that squandering when they take their place in line with all of the jillions of others just like them along with those they drew in to their tight little circles of "if it feels good do it" and "I'm ok you're ok" and who are standing there just as shocked as the famous people are. That line of people will extend as far as it needs to and unfortunately there will be so many that only God knows what to call that kind of number, we just can't fathom one that big. If I hadn't been saved by the very Grace that Christ offers freely to both the rich and poor, the common and the famous, I'd be bumping up right against the back of the stupid person directly in front of me who didn't have time for God either.
As a human I want righteous vengeance I suppose but as one of God's children I know that vengeance doesn't belong to me and even now I should be asking for forgiveness for even expressing the thoughts that I've just shared with you. But don't you just want to take some people and shake them and ask them what is it going to take for them to finally get it?
It is written in the Bible (Galatians 6:7):
Be not deceived; God is not mocked: For whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also reap .
Here are some men and women who mocked God :
John Lennon (Singer):
Some years before , during his interview with an American Magazine, he said:
"Christianity will end, it will disappear. I do not have to argue about that. I am certain.
Jesus was ok, but his subjects were too simple, Today we are more famous than Him" ( 1966).
Lennon, after saying that the Beatles were more famous than Jesus Christ, was shot six times.
Tancredo Neves (President of Brazil ):
During the Presidential campaign, he said if he got 500,000 votes from his party, not even God would remove him from Presidency.
Sure he got the votes, but he got sick a day before being made President, then he died.
Cazuza (Bi-sexual Brazilian composer, singer and poet):
During A show in Canecio (Rio de Janeiro ), while smoking his cigarette, he puffed out some smoke into the air and said: "God, that's for you."
He died at the age of 32 of AIDS in a horrible manner.
The man who built the Titanic
After the construction of Titanic, a reporter asked him how safe the Titanic would be.
With an ironic tone he said: "Not even God can sink it"
The result: I think you all know what happened to the Titanic .
Marilyn Monroe (Actress)
She was visited by Billy Graham during a presentation of a show. He said the Spirit of God had sent him to preach to her. After hearing what the Preacher had to say, she said: "I don't need your Jesus".
A week later, she was found dead in her apartment .
Bon Scott (Singer)
The ex-vocalist of the AC/DC on one of his 1979 songs he sang:
"Don't stop me, I'm going down all the way, down the highway to hell".
On the 19th of February 1980, Bon Scott was found dead, he had been choked by his own vomit.
Campinas (IN 2005)
In Campinas, Brazil a group of friends, drunk, went to pick up a friend.....
The mother accompanied her daughter to the car and was so worried about the drunkenness of her friends she said to the daughter holding her hand, who was already seated in the car:
"My Daughter, Go With God And May He Protect You.."
She responded: "Only If He (God) Travels In The Trunk, Cause Inside Here.....It's Already Full "
Hours later, news came that they had been involved in a fatal accident, everyone had died,
the car could not be recognized what type of car it had been, but surprisingly, the trunk was intact.
The police said there was no way the trunk could have remained intact.
To their surprise, inside the trunk was a crate of eggs, none was broken .
Christine Hewitt (Jamaican Journalist and entertainer)
said the Bible (Word of God) was the worst book ever written.
In June 2006 she was found burnt beyond recognition in her motor vehicle .
Many more important people have forgotten that there is no other name that was given so much authority as the name of Jesus. Many have died, but only Jesus died and rose again, and he is still alive.
"If you are embarrassed about me, I will also be embarrassed about you before my father."
Just repeat this prayer and see how God moves!!
"Lord, I love you and I need you, come into my heart, and bless me, my family, my home, and my friends, in Jesus' name. Amen."
Pass this message to people. You will receive a miracle. I Hope that you let God bless you
*****
Sunday, May 25, 2008
Caught in the Mean Reds
I've got a case of the Mean Reds today and I don't know why. Watch "Breakfast at Tiffanys" with Audrey Hepburn and you'll find out what they are. I think it's just another term for depression. Mean Reds, depression, whatever you want to call it cuts like a knife and you can't find enough bandaids to stanch the blood.
I have absolutely no reason to be depressed. I have a family that loves me, sons that are second to none, who love their mother and their daddy and Jesus, a husband who loves me in spite of my lack of being an everyday, normal kind of wife. I'm not normal. I hate housework, I don't cook, I don't enjoy doing anything domestic. Where is my passion? I wish I could say that my passion is "God" but even that isn't true all the time. I'm not even that sure how God puts up with me sometimes. Only a merciful One would because I certainly don't give Him what He demands, or at least most of the time. I try. I try hard, well, no that's a lie because I don't even try hard all the time. I know that I am saved and that I am a child of God but at times I feel like the prodigal daughter that keeps running away to live with the pigs.
I am looking for passion in my life. No, I don't mean the "bent back over the staircase , bosom heaving in its jealous corset seeking to contain the primal screams within" kind of passion. I am looking for the kind of passion that makes me want to get up every day out of bed and to do something obedient. I want to be on fire. I long for the fire. I know where the wood is. I know where the matches are. So why don't I want to pick either up and create a blaze? Please, God, show me the passion, kill this depression, give me a reason.
One of my biggest fears is to be 6 feet under at Jefferson Memorial Gardens and have absolutely no one or nothing to show for the life that I've lived other than my family. I want to leave something behind for others to read or experience that has my signature on it that will change lives. I don't want the praise of man, don't get me wrong. I want to be obedient to God. I just want to know that I mattered.
I buy supplies. I love supplies. I have spent probably $1000 at Michael's and Walmart and a scrapbook store that I found in Foley, Alabama, just to make scrapbooks and greeting cards. But have I made one? Well, I have done 1 or 2 cards but that's it. I't's the buying of supplies that I love and crave. I know that if I am to be passionate about this that I've got to use the supplies that I've bought.
I think that must be one of the answers...I have the supplies...I've been to the store and purchased what I need. I've just got to use them. God has given me the answers, the supplies, He has purchased everything that I need. Now it is time for me to clean out the supply room and organize. My life needs passion and organization. That's it--let's try to organize. I'll attempt to blog further on my attempts at passion and organization and see what happens. I can't do it on my own, God please help me to be better than I am. Mean Reds are not cool.
I have absolutely no reason to be depressed. I have a family that loves me, sons that are second to none, who love their mother and their daddy and Jesus, a husband who loves me in spite of my lack of being an everyday, normal kind of wife. I'm not normal. I hate housework, I don't cook, I don't enjoy doing anything domestic. Where is my passion? I wish I could say that my passion is "God" but even that isn't true all the time. I'm not even that sure how God puts up with me sometimes. Only a merciful One would because I certainly don't give Him what He demands, or at least most of the time. I try. I try hard, well, no that's a lie because I don't even try hard all the time. I know that I am saved and that I am a child of God but at times I feel like the prodigal daughter that keeps running away to live with the pigs.
I am looking for passion in my life. No, I don't mean the "bent back over the staircase , bosom heaving in its jealous corset seeking to contain the primal screams within" kind of passion. I am looking for the kind of passion that makes me want to get up every day out of bed and to do something obedient. I want to be on fire. I long for the fire. I know where the wood is. I know where the matches are. So why don't I want to pick either up and create a blaze? Please, God, show me the passion, kill this depression, give me a reason.
One of my biggest fears is to be 6 feet under at Jefferson Memorial Gardens and have absolutely no one or nothing to show for the life that I've lived other than my family. I want to leave something behind for others to read or experience that has my signature on it that will change lives. I don't want the praise of man, don't get me wrong. I want to be obedient to God. I just want to know that I mattered.
I buy supplies. I love supplies. I have spent probably $1000 at Michael's and Walmart and a scrapbook store that I found in Foley, Alabama, just to make scrapbooks and greeting cards. But have I made one? Well, I have done 1 or 2 cards but that's it. I't's the buying of supplies that I love and crave. I know that if I am to be passionate about this that I've got to use the supplies that I've bought.
I think that must be one of the answers...I have the supplies...I've been to the store and purchased what I need. I've just got to use them. God has given me the answers, the supplies, He has purchased everything that I need. Now it is time for me to clean out the supply room and organize. My life needs passion and organization. That's it--let's try to organize. I'll attempt to blog further on my attempts at passion and organization and see what happens. I can't do it on my own, God please help me to be better than I am. Mean Reds are not cool.
Wednesday, May 21, 2008
Never Judge a Biker by his Tatoos
I'll admit it, I have a certain amount of long-standing prejudice about Harley riders. I can't help it. They've always been portrayed and have even welcomed the mantle of two-wheeled outlaws, answering to nobody on four wheels, at least not willingly. Even their leathers scare me. As a matter of fact that entire persona of bad-dudeness has always given me something to think about when one pulls up by me at the red light.
Now I'm not talking of today's new breed of Harley riders which probably make Dennis Hopper and Peter Fonda cringe, doctors, lawyers, Indian Chiefs, dentists and accountants who ride on the weekends and leave the beemer in the garage. No, I'm talking about the real ones that look like they could strike a match on their jawbone, could donate hair twice over to Locks of Love and still have a decent pony tail left and those little bitty helmets that barely cover their heads. I've always been afraid one would look over at me and kill me with his death-ray eyes as he passed me on the interstate singing "Born to be Wild" at the top of his lungs.
But the other day I was headed home from work and dead ahead in the center lane looking tough as nails and with a waist length pony tail switching and twitching in the wind like a rattlesnake on a jackhammer was one fierce Harley Davidson biker. I almost didn't want to pass him, yet, I felt like it would be ok because this bad looking dude was actually obeying the speed limit. I pulled on up closer and was determined to stare at him just to take in the entire picture, tattoos and all. For once in my life I was going to take a chance and stare death in the eye (taking my eyes off the road in front of me was pretty much achieving that all though I'd made sure that everything up ahead was clear) and see a sure-fire real Harley biker up close. After all, I don't guess I'd ever been up close to one before since somehow I just don't see them frequenting Walmart or those white-bread establishments that I find myself in most often. So I did it, I looked over at him and sure enough he turned those deadly eyes toward me and I gave him a big smile, looking like a big ole doofus. He had the roughest, road ravaged face and clothes that I've seen in a long time but no death ray eyes anywhere to be seen. They were the prettiest shade of blue. And then he actually gave me a full nod of his head like "yo mama, back atcha" and off I drove feeling as giggly as a high school senior after graduation.
You know, Harley riders aren't so bad...I'll bet if I'd had a chance to look a little closer that one of those tattoos probably said "mother".
Now I'm not talking of today's new breed of Harley riders which probably make Dennis Hopper and Peter Fonda cringe, doctors, lawyers, Indian Chiefs, dentists and accountants who ride on the weekends and leave the beemer in the garage. No, I'm talking about the real ones that look like they could strike a match on their jawbone, could donate hair twice over to Locks of Love and still have a decent pony tail left and those little bitty helmets that barely cover their heads. I've always been afraid one would look over at me and kill me with his death-ray eyes as he passed me on the interstate singing "Born to be Wild" at the top of his lungs.
But the other day I was headed home from work and dead ahead in the center lane looking tough as nails and with a waist length pony tail switching and twitching in the wind like a rattlesnake on a jackhammer was one fierce Harley Davidson biker. I almost didn't want to pass him, yet, I felt like it would be ok because this bad looking dude was actually obeying the speed limit. I pulled on up closer and was determined to stare at him just to take in the entire picture, tattoos and all. For once in my life I was going to take a chance and stare death in the eye (taking my eyes off the road in front of me was pretty much achieving that all though I'd made sure that everything up ahead was clear) and see a sure-fire real Harley biker up close. After all, I don't guess I'd ever been up close to one before since somehow I just don't see them frequenting Walmart or those white-bread establishments that I find myself in most often. So I did it, I looked over at him and sure enough he turned those deadly eyes toward me and I gave him a big smile, looking like a big ole doofus. He had the roughest, road ravaged face and clothes that I've seen in a long time but no death ray eyes anywhere to be seen. They were the prettiest shade of blue. And then he actually gave me a full nod of his head like "yo mama, back atcha" and off I drove feeling as giggly as a high school senior after graduation.
You know, Harley riders aren't so bad...I'll bet if I'd had a chance to look a little closer that one of those tattoos probably said "mother".
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