Eric Wilder's Blog, page 22

Days of Disco

In 1977, I was freshly divorced and working in a high-stress job as a geologist—"A new drilling prospect every week or you're fired!" Nights would find me in a disco called Clementine's located in the basement of Oklahoma City's Penn Square Mall. The place was dark, the music loud, the drinks and women loose. I was usually inebriated, or well on my way to getting there.

Yes, it was in the post-Vietnam, pre-AIDS era. Practically every night I would spend many hours line dancing to the anthems of Gloria Gaynor, Donna Summer and KC and the Sunshine Band. 1977 was the year I first saw the movie Saturday Night Fever and fell in love with the music of the BeeGees.

There were two ways to enter Clementine's. You could walk down a narrow flight of stairs or slide down a chute. Either way you'd wind up in a huge open room that was illuminated only by a rotating disco ball, colored strobe lights that warped your reality even if you weren't drunk or stoned, and a few discreetly placed floor lamps that provided little more than a dim haze. Most of all there was a pressing multitude of warm bodies and the sounds of disco, belting out the message of freedom, expression and free love.

A huge bar extended across the front of the room where three bartenders served drinks as fast as they could pour them. The dance floor of diamond-shaped black and white tiles was rarely empty; the occasional cooling fingers of vapor rising from grids in the floor made the swaying dancers seem like uninhibited creatures from Hell's nether regions.

The dance floor was like hypnosis, insanity and blasting sound. Bodies crushed together amid the beat of drums as ancient as Africa. Once, across the crowded dance floor, I saw a beautiful young woman staring at me. Our eyes locked. We danced toward each other. She passed me a note with her phone number and when I called her the next day she invited me for spaghetti that night at her apartment. I showed up with flowers and a bottle of wine.

Marti was her name. A single mother, she had a five year old son named Chris. We ate our spaghetti and drank wine by candlelight. When we finished, I helped her with the dishes and then she put Chris to bed. Afterward, we made love in her bedroom.

"I want to thank you so much," was her unexpected reply as we lay beside each other in her little bed.

"My pleasure," I said.

"You don't understand," she explained, sensing the flippant tone of my voice. "I'm in remission from cervical cancer. You are the first man I've slept with. I've been so worried that I would never have the feelings of a woman ever again. You proved to me tonight that I'm okay and I thank you."

Confused and too young or too stupid to understand the depths of her feelings, I contributed little more than small talk before saying good bye and disappearing into the night. I never saw her again and I don't think she needed me to.

Those were the days of disco, my days of disco, for whatever that means. Some people have even suggested that disco isn't cool and people that liked it were somehow less than intelligent. I don't think so. I think we were all just as young, human and vulnerable as any young person today.

And I do know this. Whenever I hear Gloria Gaynor, Donna Summer or the BeeGees, I find myself back on that same dark dance floor, with wisps of vapor cooling the sweat dripping down my neck and forehead as I pulsate to a hypnotic beat and message of love and coming together. And when I do, it makes me feel young again.

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The Man Behind the Naming of Route 66

 Ever wonder how Route 66 got its name? Read this article and find out.

  Naming Route 66

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A Change in the Weather

The weather is gorgeous here in Edmond since the cold front, and ensuing rainstorm moved out the heat dome. My moonflowers also appreciated the milder weather, blooming as never before tonight. Yes, they smell as wonderful as they look.


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Mama Mulate's Green Gumbo - a weekend recipe

There are as many varieties of gumbo in New Orleans as there are streets with French names. One variety, Green Gumbo, or Gumbo Z'herbs, is little-known and generally found only in New Orleans. Catholic's often serve this meatless gumbo (although meat may be added) on Good Friday. Superstition has it that a new friend will be made for every different green leafy vegetable used in the gumbo. Mama, a naturally suspicious person, always uses seven different types of greens. Here is her special recipe for Green Gumbo.

Ingredients

• 3 pounds leaves of (choose your own seven greens) collard, cabbage, radish, turnips, mustard, spinach, watercress, parsley and green onion, equal portions, chopped very fine
• 1 onion, white, large, chopped
• ½ red pepper pod
• ½ tsp. black pepper
• 1 bay leaf, finely chopped
• 1 sprig thyme, finely chopped
• 1 sprig parsley, finely chopped
• 1 sprig sweet marjoram, finely chopped
• 1 clove of garlic
• ¼ tsp. allspice, ground fine
• ½ tsp. cayenne
• ½ cup vegetable oil
• ½ cup flour, all-purpose
• boiled rice

Directions

Wash the leaves thoroughly then remove coarse midribs. Pat dry. Put greens in a large pot with enough water to cover. Add black pepper. Boil for about 2 hours, strain and then chop very fine. Save the water in which they were boiled. Combine cooking oil and flour over medium heat in a heavy pot or Dutch oven.

When hot, add chopped onion and chopped sprig of parsley. Stir until roux reaches a rich peanut brown, and then add the chopped greens. When the leaves become brown, pour contents into the water in which the leaves were boiled. Throw in the bay leaf, thyme, sweet marjoram, red pepper pod, clove of garlic and allspice. Stir slowly. Place pot over low flame and simmer, partially covered for about 2 more hours, adding cayenne during the process. Serve with rice and French bread. Enjoy.

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Morning Mist of Blood Free at Smashwords

Buck McDivit, cowboy detective and protagonist of Eric Wilder's first novel Ghost of a Chance, returns in the mystery/thriller Morning Mist of Blood. Read it for free at Smashwords.

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Oklahoma Burning - continued

My step-daughter Kate started college this month at Redland's Community College in El Reno, Oklahoma. Tonight, she called, worried about Marilyn and me.
"You're in the path of a flash fire," she said.
She wasn't quite right. The fire burning acres of red cedar trees, dried grass and many homes and farms is still east of us, on the other side of I-35.
Wednesday night is my night out with the boys. We all end up at my place where Marilyn, a wonderful cook, always has something wonderful for us to eat. On the way home, I couldn't help but see the thick plume of smoke just east of my house.
Marilyn cooked gumbo tonight to the raves of everyone present. When everyone left, she suggested we turn on our sprinkler. I hardily concurred.
Today is the last day of August and the Oklahoman says it marks the hottest summer for any state in the Union, ever. 107d today. Yes, it's hotter than the hubs of holy hell here.
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Oklahoma Burning

Saw the smoke billowing on the horizon this morning after leaving the dentist's office. I could still smell it tonight when I went for my walk. This is the driest summer I can remember and it's surely the hottest. Today marks the 57th day of triple-digit temperature in OKC. Several towns in Oklahoma are approaching 90 days.

Grass Fires Claim 12 Homes in OKC

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Pond Scum and Summer Heat

Attack of the Green Creature



Dave's new truck and Airstream
My friend Dave Beatty, who lives in Livingston, Louisiana, sent me a couple of pictures lately. His pond was almost empty when it finally rained. It didn't take long for a green scum to form once the sun came back out. Fed up with the heat, he bought a new pickup and Airstream trailer.

"I'm spending next summer in the mountains of Colorado."

I don't want to hear it, Dave. It was 108 in OKC yesterday. We don't even have ponds to have green scum on anymore. They all evaporated.

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Mama's Steamed Oysters - a weekend recipe

Mama has a PhD in English literature, but when it comes to sports, she isn't a typical academic. A track star at the University of South Carolina, she participated in world-class sprints and relays. Her sleek body still attests to her former athletic prowess.

Another dirty little secret, Mama likes professional football and loves the New Orleans Saints. She attends every home game, at least when someone else is treating, that is. A recalcitrant cheapskate, she refuses to pay what she considers an exorbitant price for tickets. When she can't see her beloved Saints playing in person, she often hosts a game party, serving steamed oysters, a New Orleans favorite.

Ingredients

• 4 dozen oysters, shucked
• Salt and pepper to taste
• A dash of cayenne

Directions

In a steamer, steam the oysters in a mixture of water and beer for about 5 minutes. Combine with salt, pepper and a dash of cayenne. Serve on crackers with drawn butter and, or Tabasco sauce.

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Excerpt from Morning Mist of Blood

The weight of the heavy cat hammered him into the mud. Jaws would have clamped his jugular, holding him in place with two large paws until his last breath escaped from his body, but Buck had ducked and pivoted, the beast's claws raking only his back. Having no other weapon, he grabbed a double handful of mud, thrusting it into the panther's eyes.

Some primeval instinct guided his hands, the panther howling in outrage when struck in the face with the globs of sticky mud. The ruse worked for only a moment, but long enough for him to dive down the ledge to the creek. The fall should have knocked him silly, except he landed in shallow water. Plowing ahead, his heart beat double-time as his mind raced for answers, knowing the panther would be on him in a flash. The water wasn't deep, but flowing rapidly and he let the current carry him forward.

He couldn't hear the big cat but somehow knew it was bounding after him. When he reached solid ground, he sprang to his feet and began running toward light, maybe from the moon, in the roof of the arboreal tunnel. He didn't make it very far.

$0.99 on Amazon and Barnes & Noble.com

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