Rolling Thunder Roads

Once upon a time, in a kingdom not so far away, there lived a small girl. There was nothing particularly special about the girl, except for her tiny, turned-up nose…and her long, lustrous, pink hair…and her oddly cheerful disposition.

The small girl would skip around her home each morning, smiling brightly and practically singing, “Hello!” to each person she encountered. Oh, and there were a great many people in the small girl’s home…for she lived in a palace, and she was a princess.

Her name was Princess Palemoon.

“Good morning, Princess Palemoon,” would come the reply…from Maid, or Cook, or Butler…

“Good morning, Your Highness,” would come the reply….from Groomsman, or Gardner, or the boy who swept the stalls.

Princess Palemoon was particularly fond of that boy, the one who swept the stalls. The stable boy had come to them alone, his parents dead in a terrible fire. He didn’t seem like a stable boy. He was more like a Prince, waiting to discover his Kingdom.

The boy’s name was Lawrence, but he was called Lumpy, for he delighted in the lumpy tapioca Cook made each First Day.

Finally, Cook would call Princess Palemoon to breakfast, and oh, what a delicious spectacle it would be. Cream and cakes and crumpets with melted butter. Warm cheese to spread, if she liked.

“When will the King and Queen return home?” asked the wee, little child as she sat in her chair, feet dangling and swinging with enthusiasm. “I do miss them so!”

“Soon,” was all that Cook would say, “Soon, child. Now eat your breakfast, then go out and play.”

Princess Palemoon was not like other princesses. She was always cheerful, never cross. She was independent, never clingy. She was kind to all those around her, even the dogs, and cats, and cows. Princess Palemoon was most definitely a special little girl, or so Cook and all the other Palace staff thought. The truth was that she was not just special…she was exceptional. But more about that later…

The Palace grounds were vast, and surrounded by a deep moat. While the King and Queen were away, the draw bridge was kept in the “up” position, for there was nothing to do but wait for their return. It was only lowered in the morning when the Milk Maids took the cows out to graze, and once again in the evening when they returned.

No matter. There were plenty of things to do on the vast, Palace grounds.

On this particular morning, Princess Palemoon thought it would be quite an adventure to visit the Fishers down by the moat. The Fishers were responsible for providing dinner’s meat, of which Cook would create a beautiful feast.

The sun shone brightly, making the Princess’ locks glisten as she bounced and flounced down the hill towards that “sweet spot” of which the Fishers found so much to speak. She could count 5 men lounging on the shore with poles in the water, bobbins bobbing. Just as she arrived, one of the Fishers yanked his pole, and out flew a very peculiar-looking fish.

“Good morning!” sang Princess Palemoon. The Fishers not meaning to be rude did not even answer for they were taken with the appearance of the peculiar-looking fish.

“Oy, ‘tis a bad omen, this,” declared the red-haired Fisher who wore the green vest. “Throw it back, and let’s move to a different spot. This one’s all fished-out.”

“Ay, yer right,” moaned his son, also with red-hair, but no vest. The vest would be his soon enough, when his da’ had enough of fish and poles, and bobbers. The green vest was used to signify which of the men was in charge.

The elder Fisher labored to remove the oddity from the younger’s hook. “Now, c’mon there. Let go o’ that worm,” he coaxed. “It’d be better fer ya if ya find yerself anudder meal.”

He continued to struggle, each of the Fishers observing this with humor. “May hap she wants a groom t’ find,” joked one who wore a red vest. The red vest meant this Fisher was the one who was to clean the fish, cutting off their heads and scraping out their guts. “Here, give ‘er here. I know just what t’ do,” he said menacingly, placing his hand on the hilt of the machete-like knife he kept tucked in his belt.

“Nay, don’t harm her!” exclaimed Princess Palemoon. “She’s a right beauty. Look how the sun reflects off her scales…where did she come from?” This question was one that ran through all the Fishers’ minds as well, for no fish of this kind lived in these parts…no. This fish was one such as lived near the sea.

“Here, Beauty, come now. Give us that worm…” The fish still refused to give up her prize.

Princess Palemoon reached out towards the fish, wanting to stroke the beautiful scales. Just as she did, the fish opened her tiny mouth and spit out the worm…into the hand of the Princess.

She heard the green-vested Fisher hiss.

“Oy, there now, Princess Palemoon,” said the elder red-haired Fisher. “Ye oughtn’t interfere.”

Princess Palemoon held up the worm for inspection, turning it this way and that. “Little worm, little worm, you swam into the wrong mouth!” She smiled and returned the worm to the tin where it could squirm and writhe with its mates.

The red-haired Fisher was leaning to return the beautiful fish to the depths of the moat.

“Wait!” sang Princess Palemoon…”Here, I have something special for her…” and she pulled from the pocket of her apron a juicy plumb, and just as quickly, she popped it into the fish’s mouth. “You’ll like that much better.”

The fish flipped it’s tail and fell into the water, swishing into the darkness of the moat. Princess Palemoon watched as the glistening scales disappeared.

“Run on now, Princess,” suggested the younger red-haired Fisher, “or we’ll be catching an octopus next!” The men laughed, and Princess Palemoon waved then skipped away towards the gardens.

too much

Too much.

Too much, he says, you think too much…
Too much about living,
Too much about dying.

Dying.

Too much.

Don’t think so much, it’s simple.
Simple to live…simple to die.

Simple.

Don’t think.

Simple.

Loss

What did he say?

"What did you say?"

My mind flails about, attempting to comprehend Horses
galloping through meadows of self-described countryside.

He couldn't...he wouldn't...

He did. He is. He was...

Thoughts rush, wind through trees in late summer storm,
reality buried in my soul's fertile soil, torn from the roots of my mind.

"Please tell me it's not true! Take it back!" scream I (on the inside).

I know this isn't happening...is it?

Two hands, my hands wet hands, washcloths wrung by a man's words.
He tells me with lips, tongue, breath, given of God.

"He's dead."

No. No, he's so much more...

I remember.

Stretched

I am stretched out…
Not resting, as some might think
But waiting for that moment
when I stop.
Will it come with pain, with shaking,
With numbness?
Will I just stop?
Just stop.
Trouble is, someone might notice,
Or someone might not.
Just stop.
Stop.
S...

The First Step

As I entered my eleventh year of primary education, I made a decision that would change my life: I applied to be an exchange student.

The selection process started in September 1977 with an expression of interest to my school guidance counselor. I was then interviewed by a committee, after which I was given a 17-page application to fill out. By the time I was done with the paperwork, I had something that would have filled a small three-ring binder. This application was delivered to the regional AFS representatives, who in turn conducted a lengthy interview with each candidate and a parent.

Up until this point there had been a lot of discussion between my parents and myself with regard to the country to which I may be assigned. You see, in the AFS program of the 1970s, students were never allowed to choose their country of temporary residence: They were assigned according to availability of host families and compatibility of the student. This is what we were told. Still, we could not help but discuss the possible location to which I might be sent.

Candidates were provided a list of locations to which AFS was currently sending students. I was a deeply religious young woman, and I very much wanted to visit the Middle East. The only country in the region that was on the list of approved locations was Jordan. I told my mother I wanted to go to Jordan and she flipped. She said that I would not under any circumstances be allowed to go to Jordan: too dangerous. I argued that it must be safe if it was on the list, but she was adamant. So I started examining other countries listed.

AFS had opportunities globally: Asia, Europe, South America, Central America, Australia, Greenland, the islands of the Pacific and Atlantic oceans...even Mexico and Canada were possibilities. Evan though I knew we weren't allowed to choose our destination, I still gave a lot of thought to the possibilities. If I was going to another country to learn about culture and international understanding, then I hoped that it would be exotic and enormously different from what I was used to. India was at the top of my list. Next, I thought Greece would be amazing with its history and culture. Last I thought Australia because it is so vast, and yet so few people live there.

I was green-lighted for the regional interview, so on a chilly autumn evening my dad and I set out for Osceola, Iowa, where the interviews were being held. All told, the trip there and back was an hour and a half, and the interview itself was about an hour. I remember this brief trip very fondly because it was one of the few times I did something just with my dad.

The AFS representatives encouraged me to not only apply for the summer program, but also for the 11-month program. We followed their instructions and I applied for both programs. What we didn't know was that summer candidates were selected first. Once a candidate had been selected, their application was pulled from the process. Therefore I would not be considered for the 11-month program if I was selected for the summer program.

Right before Christmas of 1977 I found out that I had been selected to be a summer semester International Exchange Student Program through AFS. Even though I wouldn't be going for the more lengthy program, I was overjoyed just to have been given the chance to be an exchange student. But...I wouldn't know where I was going until May!

The next four months were among the slowest in my life. I thought I'd probably end up going to Canada. Knowing the way things went for me, I'd be within a stone's throw of the Canadian-American border. That, however, was not to be.

I was lucky to be given 4 weeks leeway in finding out the destination of my journey: At the beginning of May, I found out that I was going to Australia. Australia...isn't that where they have kangaroos and billabongs? Don't they wear lopsided hats and live in the "outback" (whatever that is)?

Truth be told, I really didn't know much about Australia--but I was about to find out. I had been selected by the American Field Service (AFS) as one of the 48 students in 1978 to represent the US in schools all over "Land Down Under". I was 17.

(to be continued...)

Remembering Sherrie

Once long ago, the small girl fit into a drawer at night to sleep. No crib, so they made due; a drawer, in reach of sleeping mother, easily accessible but safe.

The girl got older, and could not be protected with such ease as she stepped out into the world. When she fell into some nasty, rusty wiring, she was not so small any more. As the blood poured from her leg, mother bundled her like the baby once more and ran...ran about a mile to the doctor. The car was inaccessible that day, and so she ran, remembering the babe who once had lain in the drawer, so easily accessible and safe.

The girl got older still, and could not be protected with such ease as she herself ran...and ran, and ran. Fleet of foot and full of grace, she ran for competition. She'd twist an ankle out there running, and come limping home. Mother held her as she cried, finding her feet would not carry her, at least for a little while. But she was home now, and mother would take care of her, make sure everything she needed was easily accessible for the daughter she loved: the radio, a can of pop, some suntan oil. She would lay out in the sun, warm: safe, at least for now.

When the pretty girl, whom by now was loved by all who knew her, got into a car that night after a meet, mother thought, 'No, not so easily accessible but safe--safe with him; he'll keep her safe.'

But he didn't.

Car crashed.

She died.

15.

And now, she lays in a nearby grave; sleeping, so easily accessible...

Trek versus Terminator

Taken from Facebook entry on Sunday, May 24, 2009

At 7:00 on my 48th birthday, William took me to see Star Trek in an Imax theater. Seated with us were about 298 of our closest friends. As we munched on hot, buttery popcorn and slurped softdrinks through straws, we cheered, we laughed, we cried, we boo'd...we did, one and all, thoroughly enjoy the film. Kirk, Spock, Uhura, Chekov, Bones, and Scotty were embodied by different actors from those with which we were familiar, and yet there was a certain familiarity still...they did not parody, but actually became those whom they were representing on the screen, carrying us away into an alternate universe of thrills and knuckle-biting, with just a few bits of humor thrown in for good measure.

Some fans and critics have said this new Star Trek contains none of the social statements found in earlier installments of the mega-franchise, but I noted a new statement never formerly broached by the writers: That of the differences it makes to grow up in a single-parent home. In the original story, James Tiberius Kirk grew up in a home with two parents. His father stood proudly by as he watched his son's commissioning as captain of the famed USS Enterprise NCC-1701, a Constitution Class starship. In the new film, Jim Kirk grows up as the child of a single mother, perhaps acquiring a step-father at some point. He gets into trouble with the law at a young age, and by the time he should have been entering Star Fleet Academy, he was picking fights with Cadets at a local bar in Riverside, Iowa, just for kicks. At the urging of a Star Fleet officer who wrote about the ill-fated "father" Kirk, this young Kirk joins Star Fleet. Ultimately, he receives a field promotion to Captain while the ship is being held by a Romulan mining vessel from the future. The social comment: How life is different for those who grow up in single-parent homes.

I do believe the film delivers: I give it a whopping 5 stars (on a 5-star scale), finding it to be just about perfect. Not only did Director JJ Abrams deliver to a hungry fan base a film that could be relished over and over, but he provided the meat and potatoes that would fulfill the newcomer to the Universe of Star Trek.

Two days ago, William and I attended the first Friday showing of another long-anticipated science fiction offering: Terminator Salvation. With regard to this film, dear reading, I have one piece of advice--wait for the DVD. The acting was flat, the story was shallow, and the special effects were bland. Come on!!! We waited 6 years for this! Couldn't you have given us something with at least a story that fit and was befitting a sequel to the original film? This was a chance to show us that John Conner of which Kyle Reese spoke; that man who inspired the last remnant of humanity to rise up and fight, turning the tide of the war in favor of mankind. Instead, we got a grizzly-voiced Kyle Reese played by Christian Bale, and a Kyle Reese who was actually more inspiring, played by wide-eyed Anton Yelchin (whom I found to be about the only redeeming quality in the film).

I wanted to like the Terminator film...I really did. Instead, I sat in a full theater which suffered from a heaviness...nobody cheered, laughed, cried, or even boo'd. The movie fell flat. At the end, people practically bolted from their seats to get out of the theater before the credits rolled. Spare yourself...don't waste your money on this mess.

One star.

OK, so that painful bit of prose behind me, I must point out one interesting thing the two films have in common: Russian-born American actor, Anton Viktorovich Yelchin. This is the same fella who plays the 17-year-old Pavel Andreievich Chekov in the Star Trek film! Yep, the kid from Hearts in Atlantis has two films in the box office at the same time! Way to go, man. I hope we see more great things from you in the future.

So, there you have it. Star Trek is a must-see (preferably on a big screen, about 5 rows back, in the center), and Terminator is one for the dusty DVD shelf. Do you disagree? Hey, that's your right.

- Palemoon Twilight

Special Note: At the time of this publication, the author has seen Star Trek four times, and still can't find anything of which to complain...except maybe, actually quite disheartenedly, Spock's ears. You see, the elder Spock very obviously has detached earlobes, while the younger Spock has attached ear lobes. Hrmmm...Nature versus nurture?