tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35414952811581038032024-02-08T05:04:08.971-08:00MusingsThoughts in printJessehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13850095159910259719noreply@blogger.comBlogger2125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3541495281158103803.post-25668166776336569482007-05-08T17:45:00.001-07:002007-05-08T17:48:49.383-07:00This is something I wrote much earlier. It is meant purely as entertainment.<br /><br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;font-family:lucida grande;">Chapter One-Ode to Hemingway</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;font-family:lucida grande;"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;font-family:lucida grande;">It was dark.<span style=""> </span>It wasn’t raining.<span style=""> </span>It was on a hot, muggy and miserable Tuesday night that I spotted Ms. Hardy jogging her daily five miles.<span style=""> </span>She enjoyed the rhythm of her feet pounding on the sidewalk.<span style=""> </span>I could tell because it was the only time she smiled.<span style=""> </span>Each step was measured and in perfect time.<span style=""> </span>Her back was straight.<span style=""> </span>She smelled a faint hint of gasoline.<span style=""> </span>I could tell by the way she twitched her nose, but she didn’t really pay the odor any attention.<span style=""> </span>I could smell it too; <i style="">I</i> was paying attention to the smell.<span style=""> </span>Some mysterious things were stirring in our little town.<span style=""> </span>I was determined to decipher just who was responsible. Ms. Hardy wasn’t paying attention because she was consumed with the list running through her head of the deviant miscreants she would have to contend with the following day. Names, images of students, and visions of students’ names on the detention list swirled through her head like cream in coffee.<span style=""> </span>Meet Ms. Hardy.<span style=""> </span>She runs like this every night.<span style=""> </span>She was formerly in the military or something.<span style=""> </span>She is SO stringent.<span style=""> </span>I think that hard-hitting assistant principal enjoys corporal punishment.<span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;font-family:lucida grande;">Who am I?<span style=""> </span>That doesn’t matter.<span style=""> </span>You’ll get to know me soon enough.<span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;font-family:lucida grande;">Where was I?<span style=""> </span>OH yes, explaining Ms. Hardy to you.<span style=""> </span>She is the exact opposite of the principal, Mr. Tomasina.<span style=""> </span>Ms. Hardy is so militant and almost masculine in attitude.<span style=""> </span>And then there is Mr. Tomasina.<span style=""> </span>He is totally in tune with his feminine side.<span style=""> </span>He cries when the Tigers win games.<span style=""> </span>He cries when they lose games.<span style=""> </span>He cries when he says the Pledge of Allegiance.<span style=""> </span>He even sashays when he walks.<span style=""> </span>I know it sounds stereotypical, but Mr. Tomasina is simply more effeminate than Ms. Hardy.<span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;font-family:lucida grande;">I didn’t want Ms. Hardy to see me because she would be suspicious.<span style=""> </span>I was following the trail of gasoline to its end.<span style=""> </span>I wanted to know who was purchasing the gasoline and why he/she/they were transporting it in a way that would leak onto the sidewalks of our town. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" face="lucida grande" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style=""> </span>Our town is quite small indeed.<span style=""> </span>Its name is Sawsville.<span style=""> </span>Yes, Sawsville.<span style=""> </span>Our town was a logging town many moons ago, and someone had a sense of humor.<span style=""> </span>Now just imagine in your head somebody Southern saying “Sawsville.”<span style=""> </span>It has a nice drawl to it.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" face="lucida grande" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">There were numerous trails of gasoline on the sidewalks in our town, almost as if someone had a tiny hole in the gas can and was carrying it on a bicycle.<span style=""> </span>Hmm…<span style=""> </span>Most of the children around Sawsville who rode bicycles were under the age of 16.<span style=""> </span><i>Why would someone riding a bicycle need gasoline?<span style=""> </span>Was there a lawn business I didn’t know about?</i><span style=""> </span>No, that wouldn’t happen, not in Sawsville.<span style=""> </span>Everyone knew almost everything about everyone else. The McLendon boys have a lawn business, but their daddy always transports their gas and equipment in the back of his pickup.<span style=""> </span>The O’Brians have one too, but those boys are old enough to drive.<span style=""> </span>I decided to keep pursuing the trail.<span style=""> </span>Ms. Hardy had gone far enough that she wouldn’t see me. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; font-family: lucida grande;">I went through Ms. Groucherin’s back yard.<span style=""> </span>She has a little <st1:state><st1:place>Chihuahua</st1:place></st1:state> that barks incessantly, so when the little darling started barking at me directly, Ms. Groucherin didn’t think anything was dubious.<span style=""> </span>When I got through her yard and to the other sidewalk, the trail was still there. I followed it until it ended at Mr. Hotchkin’s walkway.<span style=""> </span><i>Mr. Hotchkin? Why would he be transporting gasoline in large quantities?<span style=""> </span>How would he carry it?</i><span style=""> </span>I have never seen him ride a bicycle.<span style=""> </span>In fact, he walks with a cane. I noticed that the gasoline tracks didn’t actually go up the walkway to Mr. Hotchkin’s house.<span style=""> </span><i>Where did it go from there?</i><span style=""> </span><i>It couldn’t have just ended, could it?</i><span style=""> </span>It seemed my only choice was to snuffle the ground, but how was I going to do that without attracting a lot of attention?<span style=""> </span>If somebody came along and asked what I was doing, what could I say?<span style=""> </span>Just then something got in my eye and onto my contact.<span style=""> </span><i>Contacts</i>, ah ha, that was it.<span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; font-family: lucida grande;">Once I cleared my contact, I started creeping along the ground.<span style=""> </span>Sure enough, I picked up the scent of gasoline.<span style=""> </span>I’m sure if anyone did see me, it was quite a sight with my rear end in the air.<span style=""> </span><i>How do dogs do this?</i> I followed the trail as best I could; it led to the shed out back.<span style=""> </span>A quick step on top of a bucket gave me what I needed to know.<span style=""> </span>There were ten containers in Mr. Hotchkin’s shed.<span style=""> </span>That’s all I could see from the window.<span style=""> </span>But the smell, it was overpowering.<span style=""> </span>I had to deduce that the gasoline was in the shed, probably in the unmarked containers. When I checked the door, it was locked up tight.<span style=""> </span>I decided to leave quickly.<span style=""> </span>My contact story might have worked near the sidewalk but it the back of an old man’s yard, I don’t think so.<span style=""> </span></p> <p style="font-family: lucida grande;" class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>Jessehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13850095159910259719noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3541495281158103803.post-39024009516155158672007-04-25T20:02:00.000-07:002007-04-25T20:04:26.466-07:00Hope Less<p style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-size:85%;">I shriek, whirl my hands wildly in anguished despair.</span> </p><p style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-size:85%;">What is the point of it all?</span> </p><p style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Apathy,</span> </p><p style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Affluenza,</span> </p><p style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Warfare,</span> </p><p style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Malady,</span> </p><p style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Poverty,</span> </p><p style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Effluence, </span> </p><p style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Godlessness.</span> </p><p style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-size:85%;">I wilt in surrender on the floor.</span> </p><p style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-size:85%;">I am imprisoned by the fortifications of my fears.</span> </p><p style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-size:85%;"> </span> </p><p style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-size:85%;">I know I can’t transform the world.</span> </p><p style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-size:85%;"> </span> </p><p style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-size:85%;">I am waiting for someone to bring the sledgehammer to obliterate these walls.</span> </p><p style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-size:85%;">There is no one, No one human.</span> </p><p style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-size:85%;"> </span> </p><p style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-size:85%;">I am responsible for myself.</span> </p><p style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-size:85%;">I must ascend from the vestiges of my hopes and doubts.</span> </p><p style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-size:85%;"> </span> </p><p style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-size:85%;">I seek the TRUTH, and its discovery frightens me in unspeakable ways</span> </p><p style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Because I already know what lies ahead and yet I still anticipate righteousness.</span> </p><p style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Foolishly I hope, I plead, I beg, I grasp, and smile, but it is all ephemeral.</span> </p><p style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Looking for some greater good I realize that I cannot repair everything, nor would I want the accountability, and too much of the cosmos is wicked, despite its root.</span> </p><p style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-size:85%;">People pine for countless effects at the disbursement of their souls.</span> </p>Jessehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13850095159910259719noreply@blogger.com0