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  • The Rakuist Lunch

    By walt | October 1, 2009

     

    Exhaling  into the Earth

    Centering her skin

    Initiating an opening

    Spirit penetrates her fertile core.

    Life pulls in all directions

    Generating a globular shape

     

    Death beckons the fruit to its funeral pyre.

    Smoke, steam, and fumes billow

    Dancing oxygen starved  onlookers

    Timing their alchemic attack.

     

    Clawing into hot coals and ash

    Revealing  matured sustenance

    Results of the sacred dance.

    Fiery hot petals pealed open

    Revealing rows of golden beauty of the gods.

     

    Gingerly salting, biting membranes

    Savoring, swallowing cells ruptured

    Love’s released  essence.

    Potter devours his a-maze-ing meal.

     

     

    Topics: Poems | No Comments »

    Train Trestles (the lucky shot)

    By walt | September 29, 2009

    In late Spring we would go and pick blackberries along the railroad tracks near the trestles that crossed White Oak bayou near 34th Street. Once my brothers and a few of our friends got hungry and decided to forage for some berries to eat. It was hot and we where sweaty and sandy from a dirt clod fight we just finished with a neighboring band of boys we didn’t know to well.

    I looked for a stick to move the brier vine with before sticking  my hand in like my Dad had taught us. “Scare any snakes off before you put your hand inside a bush to pick a Blackberry” he always warned. I found the right stick and began feasting on some of the juicy fruit. Blackberries have a range of flavors depending on their ripeness. The still red ones are bitter and tart, The Black ones are less tart but the purple black ones they are my favorite sweet and juicy. Some times we would pick some to take home making a pouch with our tee shirts but mom would get mad cause it left a purple stain she couldn’t wash out. We seemed to be eating more than collecting.

    I HEARD THE RUMBLE OF A TRAIN COMING WAY BEFORE I SAW IT ROUND THE BEND ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE TRESTLES. It was the late morning freighter heading into Houston from the North, The engine whizzed buy and we waved and watched awhile then started harvesting again. It’s hard to focus at a simple task of picking berries within 15 feet of tons of steel whizzing by at 25 MPH. So I looked up and saw the caboose crossing the trestles coming toward us. Mr.Caboose leaning out the window to see what we where doing, he was waving to us. I had just picked the biggest blackberry of the day when the Caboose came along side my brother Steve . I hollared over to Steve “WATCH THIS ” (which I now know as his famous last words) I wound up and threw  the berry towards the man in the caboose waving out his window. He did not see it coming. the lead was perfect as a quarterback to a wide reciever going on a post pattern.

    SPLAT!  Blackberry hit him right between the eyes making a reddish purple spot that exploaded  like he had been shot. We couldn’t help but started laughing then I saw him pick up this radio to call the Engineer. Instantly we heard the train brakes begin to squeal and the whistle blow. We looked at each other dropped our snake sticks and began running and yelling for the other boys to get the hell out of there. The others did not know what was happening but instinct kicked in and they took off too. We where long gone before they got that train stopped but hid in the woods for another hour in silence just in case. You can bet we where as hidden as those blackberries we where searching for earlier.

    So If your reading this Mr. Caboose consider this my Appology. I’m Sorry! Can’t help but still chuckle, when I think about it though.

    Topics: , Red Rock | No Comments »

    UTURN

    By walt | September 15, 2009

     

     

    I hear you hurt ,

                                                                               

    u  t              n

              r

     

     

     u      h  a  u  l

           >——–o

     

     

     u b a l l . 
                  :

                   :

     

     

            s            i

    u            p         n

     

     

                               p             

                       m

     

     

               u

     

    u    j

     

     

     u     c       r         a       w           l

     



     

     u buuuummmmmmmpppp


     

     u b      u                     e

           o         n       c

     

     u cr——ash

     

     

    u b ~ e ~ n ~ d

     

     

    u  k

     

     

             n

                  e

                       el

     

     

    u  t           

     

              u       

          r        

     

    n

     

     

     

     

     

    Walt

     

    O<<<<+>>>>O

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

    Topics: Poems | No Comments »

    Auction for NWTA New Orleans

    By walt | August 31, 2009

     

    $375 Winning bid Paul Thompson Congradulations PAUL.

     

     “INDIVIDUATION”       1/25

    38″x30″ Gallery Wrap Giclee print on canvas.
    We will be taking your auction Bid by you clicking on

    the comments button and placing your Bid.

    Bidding begins at $350 dollars  goes t o  New Orleans NWTA

    scholarship fund.  Bidding ends 9-9-2009 Wednesday night at 7:30pm

    This Print is from the “Kundalini Raising” series
    originally painted while in the VA Hospital recovering from a near death accident.

    Canvas professionally stretched on Quality mortised

    wooden frame. Limited edition of 25 signed and numbered.

    Special clear sealer applied for protection and easy cleaning.

    $85 goes to  goes to artist for his material cost only

    Topics: | No Comments »

    EV Stag Campout

    By walt | June 30, 2009

    Jimmy Talking to Gramps
    Tiggerr Makes a unexpected visit.
     

    Jimmy Talking to GrampsJarrett catches Jake on the steal.Tiggerr Makes a unexpected visit.I love this Weekend I learned to strum.

     
     
     
     
    Is that what I am going to look like with a beard

    Is that what I am going to look like with a beard

    JT plays igloo bingo.

    JT plays igloo bingo.

    Ahhhhhhh  Jacobs Well.

    Ahhhhhhh Jacobs Well.

    Gabe calls Richard!
    Gabe calls Richard!

    Richar gathering nerve.

    sweet song
    sweet song
    Like father like son.
    Like father like son.
    Wiffel ball a tradition.

    Wiffel ball a tradition.

     

     

    Aced it.
    Aced it.

    Hey where did  Keith go?

    Chilly Water ?
    Chilly Water ?

    The first EV Stag camp out was held at “SPORR” Ranch in Wimberley. A overwhelming Success as the photos will show. A toast was made to Emmett, Dad, Gramps and his Spirit was there Keeping all safe and full of major belly laughs. I for one want to thank Daniel for the encourage ment to have this event in honor of Dad and to honor the younger generations of Stewarts. How a bout it guys you got something to say as you look at these First Photos.

    Topics: Family | No Comments »

    Back in the Saddle

    By walt | May 6, 2009

    Hello everyone i have been away from my blog, No excuses just drifted away and have now found the the trail of crumbs back.

    Lot’s has been going on here at the Ranch. Spring garden is up and producing kale, bock choy, tomatoes (4 different kinds), peppers, and other tasty herbs.

    I am hosting 10 children from my grand daughters Waldorf school. They are 11-12 year olds, making the first camp out away from parents. What a perfect time in their lives for a Rite of Passage. The teacher is wise  to know that spending time in Nature with the intention to mark the leaving of childhood and the entering adolescence is step skipped by most children leaving them yearning for a sign they made the crossing.

    More later

    Topics: | No Comments »

    Happy New Year

    By walt | January 11, 2009

    Ahhh time to take relief now that the Holidays are gone. Last nights Lodge Ceremony ended my time off. A sweet way to close the year and open the next mingling with friends in song with nature. Hope all of you had a good Holiday. And thanks to Dante Jacuzzi for responding to the Red Rock Christmas story please send me a e-mail so we can correspond some. Walt@waltstewart.com.

    I heard a great story yesterday on NPR. Regarding how Mosquitoes pick their mates. Seems the male mosqiutioe  wings vibrate at 600hz while the female is around 400hz once the meet the male harmonizes (at least he tries to) with the female at in doing so a third sound is created at around 1200hz. without this overtone the female will reject mating with that particular male.      

    My mentor Suitaqoi taught about how we are all made of the same stuff, just vibrating at different speeds. The human beings who lived close to the earth could sense vibrations more than we do now a days being separated by nature in so many ways. I have been lucky enough to learn some of these old ways from the elders. Here is  one thing you can try when you are feeling lost or disturbed or just want to connect with nature. Find a old tree, me I am not ashamed to hug and be hugged by a tree, you can just sit leaning against a old tree relax and breath smooth circular breaths. Quiet the mind by focusing only on your breath. If there is a question you are pondering ask the tree for its thoughts about it. Now just remain there breathing and wait for a response it will come in time.

    Happy new year everyone. Everything is going to be fine in 09.

    Topics: | No Comments »

    Red Rock Christmas Story

    By walt | December 16, 2008

    I got a call  from my  brother Billy asking me about a Christmas story I wrote years ago. He said he told the story to someone else and they wanted a copy of it. Took me two weeks to search through all my writings but I found it today. It was among the old “Follow Your Bliss” newsletters. Volume 5, Fall of 1996, inside one of the “Myth of Red Rock” stories. It was fun seeing the  old newsletter again maybe I will revive it somehow on this site. Yeah, like I don’t have enough to do already. Anyway Billy here is the story of one year during Christmas, in honor of our father Emmett and mother Gerrie.

    Once upon a time, outside of time, before clock radios, digital watches kept time. Long ago before time was captured so we would know what time looked like. There was a time of spirit and a place called Oak Forrest where we as children lived.

    It was in that forest along the waterways of White Oak Bayou my nine siblings and I grew up. There in the bend of the bayou, where the stream slowed and the water went deep, cutting through a shear high sandy bank  lined with weeping willows. Several sloping trails cut through the bush that lead to soft white sugar sand near the waters edge. Here just far enough not to be able to leap onto but close enough to bridge with a plank of wood was a  magical spot, a Island of red clay “Red Rock” at least that is what us locals called this safe harbor. Here time stood still. The veil of reality opened up to the experiences of the moment, allowing us to transcend space and time. Here is where my great, great, great uncle Stanku’s  Watonga tribe roamed a millennium ago.

    On the way to Red Rock one early winter day I sensed Uncle Stanku’s Spirit in the cool breeze. I looked upstream and there he was near the beaver dam. He was praying . I could tell ’cause he always danced in a slow circle when he talked to the Great Mystery (his words for the Creator). I stood still out of respect. No need to holler out I was coming because Stanku had sensed my presence miles back. My Head dropped in reverence, then I too looked up at the blue sky and began my own grateful prayer. I saw him sit down, then I approached him, waiting his nod then sat facing him. “Nephew how goes it with you.” he asked. I told him I was heading to altar boy practice to get ready for the big Christmas Eve High Mass Ceremony.

    “Yes” he softly spoke “ceremony is very important”!  He continued tenderly, “When human beings gather with intention, and prayer magic happens, we become one with the Spirit. Each tribe is responsible for their role in joining with Creator, to breathe life into the universe, in their own special way.  Just like each one of us has a mission, to line ourselves up with the Great Mystery’s breath. Then we flow in the song and dance meant only for us. That is the power of ceremony. Even the Tree Tribe has it’s ceremony of giving of it’s self so the oxygen tribes can live. Remember the Spirit of the  Give-a-way.

    He stood up to leave. He held his hand flat in front of him signaling a good smooth journey. I left heading south toward the old gas pipe line that crossed the bayou near Red Rock. I could shave off twenty minutes crossing via the pipe and going through the woods.

    Crossing the pipe was a Rite of Passage in it’s self – you could get real wet. This time I found the slightly bent six inch pipe dry about three feet above the bayou. Attitude is the most important thing when  approaching the crossing pipe. As my tennis shoes first touched the pipe I felt its curved sandy surface.  I would tell myself “You can do this ” and then start walking before my doubts had a chance to form. Using my fear to help me focus on the next step I would practically run across this balance beam like bridge to the opposite bank.

    Later at church the Pastor  would shout “who brought this sand onto the church rug?”. My black high top P. F. Flyer’s tennis shoes didn’t  hide white sand very well. The little Italian Priest continued his rant, “this is our last practice before  Midnight Mass and I want it to go real smooth. Each one of you has a job to do and I expect each of you to do it perfectly, be back here at eleven o’clock sharp.” My brothers and I looked at each other kind of  scared of this Napoleon.

    That evening at the dinner table on Christmas Eve Mom and Dad asked all ten of us to go into our rooms and find some clothes and toys we where willing to  give away to a family in need.  I remember the excitement and the spirit we all had as we each put our own items into the give-a-way box. Some pain hit my stomach as my older brother Rich put his baseball glove in the box. I always wanted that mitt and was hoping for a hand me down when he got a new one someday. I was really struggling with my feelings as I tossed my  Robot into the mix on top of Jimmy’s Lincoln logs. We boys came back to the kitchen with our cache.  The girls entered w ith a  box filled to the top with toys and clothes. There where old jackets, colorful dresses, assorted shoes, wool blankets, denim pants, a pocket knife, worn pencils, coloring books and a not quite full large box of crayons. Dolls some brand new but the majority in  states of anatomical disrepair from the us boys playing ruff with them. I know I had chewed a few fingers off Julies favorite one during a  nervous night of “Twilight Zone”. Mom and Dad came into the Kitchen  with their loot. Dad carried old grey Stetson hat, brown belt, pair of black dress pants, old wallet, and stainless steel money clip with ” Jacuzzi Pump’s ” logo engraved on it. Mom saw the clip  and said ” Dante Jacuzzi gave you that”. Dad didn’t respond just gave her his iconic grin. In her hands mom had a laundry basket full of things. A half dozen maternity pants with mismatched  tops, old iron, costume jewelry necklace, pair of green high heel shoe’s and a complete set of baby bottles, rubber nipples, brush and steam sterilizer,

    “This will’ do” Dad said to us all honorably. “Take it all outside and load it into the station wagon”.

    The plan was to deliver the gifts at dusk then after dark watch the Xmas lights come on as we returned and get ready for church. Oh and if we where good we might get some hot chocolate. Dad told us all to load up. So we piled inside the Red 1950 station wagon fighting for our favorite territory along the tweed covered seats. My brothers Steve, Billy and I crawled into the way-back with the boxes. A fight irrupted when someone got elbowed by another that started a chain reaction like dogs inside a movable den. One push from one caused another to feel squeezed  and rebounded through the Kids area’s. We where all being reprimanded. Dad lost his temper and burst out with threatening words of force to calm the tribe. Mom promised to call the whole thing off if we didn’t settle down and behave. I thought yeah like a normal family of twelve cramped inside a station wagon. But we all snapped to attention when she threatened “HOLY MARY” to take away the hot chocolate.

    It was getting darker by the minute we backed out the driveway on Saxon and headed towards the old brick yard along the north west Rail Road tracks off Mangum Drive. Some houses where already lit up. Anne-Karen said in unison “let’s sing some carols!” I didn’t feel like singing I was still stuck in my warrior mode trying to find just a skouch more room. I was also feeling sorry for myself cause me and Steve seemed to always end up in the back and the heater never seemed to reach the way back. I was pouting so where others I could tell cause there was no spirit in “Frosty the Snowman”.

    The windows where fogging up just like the tension inside the wagon as we drove to the other side of our neighborhood. Across the tracks and down a dirt road. The caravan pulled up in front of small shack at the end of the brickyard road. The house was a old shot gun style shack  broken down and barley standing . Everyone was quite now staring straight ahead. We could see by the headlights my father walking up the rickety old steps he banged on the loose door.

    A man came to the door my father spoke Spanish to him I could tell because dads mouth, cheeks and tongue always morphed into a totally different shape when he poke his child hood Spanish. Then I heard the man respond” Buenos Notches Senior’ then,  Se Senior, Mochas’ Gracias. I noticed some people looking out the partially boarded up  broken windows. Dad came back to the rear of the wagon opened the tail gate letting in the freezing blue Northern air. “Help me with these box’s and gifts” said dad. Instantly we all rolled out of the wagon, doors flying open  totally interested in helping. We began ferrying boxes and clothes and tricycles into the cabin. I will never forget what I saw inside that rundown house. In one corner some children where huddled together inside of a cardboard box with some newspaper covering them to keep warm. The little girl’s nose was running and she had little clothes on but a diaper made of an old green rag. The other four seemed older but they two where shivering from the cold. Next to them a woman sat on stacked card board breast feeding a infant she held wrapped in  worn newspaper. The smell of musk filled my nose until I walked forward into another smell. Onions. the delicious smell of onions frying. In front of me was a one burner hotplate where a old woman dressed in a ragged red dress stood kneading tortillas, now and then stirring onions in a handle less bent pan.  The old woman smiled a toothless smile. The children where wide eyed now looking over at the loot we just brought In. I  went outside and down the steps for another load of gifts, only to find they hand all been taken into the house. Work goes fast when everyone is chipping in.

    “Gracias Mochas’ Gracias the Father was saying over and over to my father. My mother carried my brother Billy on her hip walked up to the man  hung her purse strap by her teeth opened the purse and handed him the envelope with our hot chocolate money in it. I felt a lump in my heart that tasted like marsh mellows it was the love I was seeing through the power of giving.

    As we drove away there was a reverent silence you could feel in the old wagon, broken only by my sister Cathy’s words” My stomach is sad Mommy”. Ann and Karen began singing “Silent Night…….  holy night” Mary said “all join in”  it was the best I have ever heard. We continued to sing together and to ourselves, the CHRISTMAS LIGHTS SEEMED  SO MUCH BRIGHTER , the wagon was warmer , we sang our way  back home to get ready for midnight mass. “all is calm all is bright “………

    Back in the home it was a scramble to get dressed for church. With only one and a half bathrooms there was always a lineup at the doors. Finally I was dress and got my turn in the john.

    “Hurry up Walter ! We are supposed to be there a hour before mass starts” my brother Steve voiced through the closed bathroom door. I was scared really scared about my role as a altar boy in this evenings ritual. I could hear Richard go out the front door and when Dad didn’t see me with him began honking the horn. I was panicking so I kept looking through in the cabinets for something to put on my hair cause i had a terrible cow lick from my hooded sweat shirt. there’s got to be something baby oil or Brill-Cream or Wild Root  darn where is everything. Richard must be hiding his stuff for his Hollywood. Honk Honk Hooooonnnnkk honk honk. My hair stood up like I’d seen a ghost. There in the back of the cabinet some clear bottle of oily substance. I opened it and splashed it on my hair rubbed it in and drug a comb through it . Yes it laid the hair flat like a row of cut hay. Out the house I ran, jumped into the wagon and the remarks of disgust from everyone but little Mary she was glad to see me cause there was talk about leaving me again. Off Dad drove the short cut to the church. The singing started immediately. Oh come.. all ye.. faithful…

    The church was beautiful with flowers and candles and full of people already. Veteran mid night mass Catholics know to come early for a guaranteed  seat. Cause the not so regular parishioners who come to church only a couple of times a year and you wouldn’t want to be out seated by those sinners. Didn’t matter to me cause as a altar boy we had to suffer in reverence standing the whole hour and a half.

    In the vestibule all the boy’s where getting their royal maroon robe on with the pure white caste on top. There where not enough smalls to go around and someone grabbed the last one out of my hand. Now all I coud find was a medium that was dragging the floor when I got it buttoned and stood up I almost tripped. Steve saw my dilemma and helped me do the nerdy last one to get dressed improvise job of taking off my belt and wrapping it  around the lot then we tightened it with a fold at my waste Steve laughed cause now I had the high-water look with white socks showing. Out of time we grabbed our candelabras and lined up outside according to height for the procession into the church. Steve in front of me and Richard behind we all began the slow march into church. Incense burning my brother started sniffing my head as he was nose to head next to me. What is that smell Richard said ? Then he blurted out the answer to his question. That’s 6 -12  insect repellent on your hair isn’t it ? Yeah it was the only thing I could find I said back sheepishly. But Steve overheard it and busted out laughing setting of a chain reaction of muffled laughter between the two of them, I wanted to die. The whole church is now looking at us and smelling me I thought. Well those two better stop laughing before we pass our families pew or Dad will kill us. The laughter seem to die but I couldn’t stand it, I did what I always do when scared. I cracked a joke turning my head towards Richard and saying “Don’t see any mosquitoes do ya ! Now all three of us where laughing and can’t stop cause we are doing the laughing in church thing. When splash I got thumped up side the head wth the holy water wand by Napoleon and Steve was hit with the incense smoker and we all became holy again.   Merry Christmas Everyone!

     

    Topics: Family, Red Rock | No Comments »

    The Big Fish

    By walt | November 30, 2008

     Well, I better finish this fish story while I’m still remembering it. Thanks for the comments everyone. 

    Back on Red Rock, before the pause, this had happened:  “Walt, he’s just smelling the bait. Wait, Walt”. He sensed my impatience. Then a moment later, “Sluooop”… the cork sounded and  disappeared under the water. “Now!” Rich hollered. I jerked back hard on the fishing stick and held on tight as the stick doubled over and began to vibrate and pull like a Bull Mastiff on a leash. 

    Richard continued to coach me while he worked fast to get Stephen’s fishing stick finished and in the water. We could all be catching fish. He didn’t have another cork in the tackle box, so he found the right size twig over in the driftwood that could float the bait. He tied the stub of wood to the line, not bothering to teach now, rushing… I could smell his mind burning with excitement as I fought my fish.

    My right hand was squeezing the pole so tight that it hurt. A sharp stump was sticking me in the soft palm. I was afraid to adjust my grip for fear of losing this fish. There was only ten feet of line out, and that’s not much give and take for a fish to run with. I quit worrying about my hand as I began to slide on my butt toward the Red Rock cliff, closer with each tug from the fish. Darn, I didn’t bargain for this! “Rich , I’m sliding.”   Rich had already heard the sound of my butt on the dry clay of Red Rock.  I was about a foot from the edge, with my left side facing Richard. He commanded, “Stephen, go hold on to Walter! Hurry!” Stephen got up and walked over to my back, sat down and put his warm arms around my chest and held me tight. I stopped sliding, but now I  really felt the rod digging into my palm.  “Ouch”   “What?” Richard inquired.  “My hand is bleeding from this spike.” That got his attention, and he came over to take a look at the situation, still tying on his hook.  “It’s just a scratch! Stephen, grab the pole with Walter.”  Rich  was done with Stephen’s pole and began to rig  his own pole. I could hear him testing the drag. Stephen scrunched tighter to my back and reached towards my fishing stick and grabbed it.  When he stretched to reach the stick, though, he lunged forward a little, pushing my butt off the clay and my center of gravity shifted to my bare feet.  That was all it took. The fish felt the slack and dove deeper into the water, dragging me and Stephen with it. Richard leaped towards us, barely catching  Stephen’s waist band, pulling him backwards with his other hand, and grabbing me as we all fell onto the red clay. He reached for, and saved, the fishing stick as well. Now all three of us had a hand on the stick, and were laying in a puppy pile, trying to land the fish. Richard started crawling backwards.  We followed his lead, and the fishing line got “tight as Dick’s hat band”… (Dad never told us who Dick was, just that he wore too small of a hat). I mean, the line was tight and beginning to sing. “It’s gonna break”,  I cringed, and then I saw it.

    At first it was just this huge mass of muddy water swirling up from the darker depths, the size of a garbage can lid. “What the hell!” Richard said, as we continued to pull this thing toward us. Then a swish in the water, barely catching my eye. Was that a snake ? No, it’s too short. Our mind’s were reeling, trying to figure out what we had caught. Then a claw broke the surface of the water, splashing us all.  Is that a possum?   No… Then a long neck stretched out of the water towards me, with a snout and two beady eyes, a shiny hook in its mouth. I focused hard. This thing was huge, bigger than home plate. “All together lift… One,… Two…” Richard began to count…   “three!”  We wrangled  it up and onto Red Rock. “Stephen, stay behind me!!!” I said, and spread my arms to block him from coming around me “What is it?!” he exclaimed.  Richard held the fishing stick by himself now, and named the Being. Richard shouted, “It’s a soft-shell turtle and  it was perfectly camouflaged”.  “Right,” I said “and she is now pissed as hell!” 

    The turtle was upside down and trying desperately to right herself. I’d only seen small ones, and this one was incomprehensible for a 7 year old boy, eyeball to eyeball. This was the Mother of the soft-shell turtle clan for sure. Richard finally said the magic words,  “She won’t hurt you”.  I could feel my breath exhale, and Stephen let go of my arm. We still kept our distance, though. She was beautiful with a white underside and sandy brown top side, almost perfectly round.  Fighting to get right-sided, she stretched her neck and head under her body and tried to pirouette off to one side.  Using her legs for leverage, two legs would pull and the other two push,  one more great attempt to reach the tipping point and roll over. It wasn’t an exact science because she had already failed four times in rapid succession, since being rudely hauled top side. Her body was so flat, like a badger or a flounder. Her feet had dark, almost black, claws that were making noise as it scratched lines in the red clay.

    “I name her Sandy.” Steve said proudly. He was now on my right side. “Steve  go get my pliers out of the tackle box. “Richard said in earnest, Steve got em and ran back over to his side. “You guys listen up, we are gonna have to hold her down to get that hook out her mouth our she might die” Richard said as he knelt down and hesitantly grabbed Sandy’s hind legs just above the claws where she couldn’t scratch him. “This is how you are going to have to hold her guys while I get that hook out so she can go home to her youngen” he said with convection so we would know there was no backing out. “Walt you take this leg” he said. I nelt next to him, then reached out and he carefully put her left leg in my hand, claw facing up and away from my wrist . “Both hands” he added and hold on real tight or you wil get scratched he said mater of fact. “OK Steve you …. but Steve started backin away. “No way” Steve said . “Oh don’t be a baby we need you” I said, Steve shot back immediately “I ‘m not a baby I’m six now” he walked over nelt down beside Richard then showed him how to safely hold her Right leg. I said “her leg feels like  a live chicken neck” I noticed now her claws were webbed. Sandy was really tugging, I felt her power once again. Richard put His foot on her belly, grabbed her just behind the head with his left hand, then with the pliers in his right hand he grabed the now bent  hook twisted and looped his wrist, done the hook was out. A very small amount of blood trickled out of her beak, the bright red contrasting  with her earth tone. There she’s free Richard said you guys can let go. We did. He lifted her buy the neck and put her right side up. We stood silenlty still as she scuttled quickly into the water, not bothering to look back towards us at all. We watched as she dove deeper, swimming fast and smoothly, creating a beautiful swirling slip stream behind her….. gone. We looked at each other lonely for her already. Steve broke the silence “hey I lost my grasshopper”.  “Come I”ll go with you we’ll catch some more” I put my arm around his shoulder he grabbed my waste, we began to walk up the trail towards the grass field.

    “I loved this place I said to Steve “ya never knew what was going to hapen here”.

     “Yeah” was all he said.

    Downhill I heard the sound of Richards Shakespeare reel s…inging, as he cast it far into the deep waters off Red Rock. 
    All I could think was “Gods Got Us” in this beautiful Place.

    Topics: Red Rock | No Comments »

    Happy Thanksgiving

    By walt | November 27, 2008

    Good day to ya. Thought i would get a jump on my gratitude list. Something seems to happen inside of me when I write down what I am grateful for.

    First on the list this year is my mom. My mom should write a book; she is so witty, thoughtful, giving , loyal , beautiful, down to earth and has never met a stranger.  She fits in everywhere, but is most comfortable on the floor with some of her grandchildren, or great great children, around her. She loves it when she gets to hold a baby. She is a natural, or at least an expert. She has five daughters and five sons. This year Numbers 48, 49 & 50 in hers and Dads legacy came into the world. Two girls and a boy my Grandson Levi. My Father passed away July 11 this year  right before Levi came into being. He would have loved my daughter naming him Levi cause that was his father in laws name. Yep Mom’s Dad, we called him Gramps and that’s what Dad ended up being called when he had grandchildren, Gr amps. I am a student of the circle of life which is why I guess can write a gratitude list.

    I talked to Gary  yesterday my friend he lost his mom this summer too, his daughter is way pregnant with a little girl. He and I have another thing in common we both had near death experiences lately. He got that crazy staff infection that super bug, well it attacked his top two vertebrae and he was walking around his car repair shop with the worst stiff neck. It was hard to see him in so much pain there in the shop trying to fix cars with this stiff neck that made him look down all the time. So he went to the chiropractor and got adjusted only his top two vertebrate where disintegrating. needless to say he went home feeling worse than before he went. I felt bad cause I recommended the guy. He help me after my Harley accident. Anyway  a few weeks later Gary’s Mom took him to the hospital and they found out he had only half of those two neck bones. He had been working with his head dangling by only his stiff muscles in his neck. They rushed him to Houston and a surgeon put rods and clamps in there and he is working again. We like to talk about the fact that we are still alive and how grateful we are. On yea back to my list.

    I am grateful for my 9 brothers and Sisters who would be the characters along with me in my Mom’s book she should write. She has 50 characters with stories, out the gazu. Heck she could probably write two on just how much trouble i gave her growing up. By the second grade I was tied to the desk and my mouth tape up with adhesive tape (precursor to duck tape). I was the poster boy for the soon to be discovered Hyper child. So mom If your watching you are a Saint and get busy with that book it will make Erma Bomback look boring.

    Grateful for the time my mom and dad bailed me out of my first mortgage crises. We had bought a mobile home my last year in the Navy in 1973. We had our third child and wanted to buy or first home but need to sell the trailer , Mom came through and asked dad to take the note on the trailer so we could close on the new house. Amazing looking back on it how they came to our aid so smoothly. It’s not that i wasn’t grateful at the time it was just that i don’t remember saying Thank You. Must have been my sense of entitlement shadow i carry around with me. So thanks Dad  thanks Mom for being there so many times for me. We bought that house for $18,900,00 I gave em $100 and they gave me a refund of $75 at closing. Thanks uncle Sam. Never thought I’d have him on my gratitude list. Miracle’s do happen.

    I am grateful  for my Children I have 3 and a one daughter and a son in law. They have given me eight grand children. I had nothing to do with the grandchildren part just answered the phone  and listened  “Dad we are pregnant” eight times . Happy joyful words for a Paw Paw to hear. I am a wealthy man full of family very Grateful.

    Oh yeah I have this great woman my grand children call her JoNanna. She is the best thing in my life, a true friend, lover and companion I like her. Which is not to say i don’t love her cause i do . It’s just more important to say I like her.She is a wonderful human being. She is a teacher the kind i wish I had growing up, she works with the the ones left behind and carries the Advocate Archetype for her students empowering them them to become their best.

    Friends galore I am totally grateful for all my friends across the planet now each one of you make me smile when I think of you.

    And last but definitely not least i want to that my best friend and lover my creator who when I feel more connected to each Minute.

    I feel like a pilgrim because if it wasn’t for my indigenous friends I would still be lost and my soul hungry. Thanks

    Happy ThanksGiving Everyone

    Topics: Graditude | No Comments »

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