Billy Ray Chitwood's Blog, page 30
December 20, 2013
Happy Birthday, Jesus!
Happy Birthday, Jesus!
Posted on December 20, 2013 by billyraychitwood1
HAPPY BIRTHDAY, JESUS
Though it seems likely you were born in April, the date of December 25 has become the date much of the world has designated as the day we celebrate your birth. Here in the United States, most of our citizens enjoy your birthday as a paid holiday. On your birthday, many of us celebrate by gift sharing with our family and friends, participating in a special tradition of giving for which you are so very well known.
We do not know of every word you spoke and every deed that was rendered. Much of your living our historical experts cannot account, but from what has been recorded we know that you were unlike any other person on our earth at that time, that you spoke to the masses in parables for living an honorable and charitable life, that you spoke of God, your Father, and His Kingdom. We know that you were reviled and hated by the Roman rulers and were considered an enemy to their pagan icons and political agenda. At the end we know how you suffered from the stones and thorns of hate, how you carried the heavy cross to Golgotha, there to be fixed by nails to that cross and die a slow and painful death.
Some among us doubt your message of faith and the Kingdom of God, your Father. Some doubt that you died there on Calvary’s cross for the sins of humankind. Some even mock your words and arrogantly pronounce all your goodness as mere mythology. But they are few, dear Jesus, and there are a great majority of us who have read of your short time among us, believe in your message, who are not without sin but strive to grow our faith and believe in the miracle of creation – that incredible and meticulous nine months of a child’s birth, the sun, the moon, the stars, and the great order of the universe.
Our world today has changed not so much from the world you entered, dear Jesus. We still have those political and iconic problems throughout all parts of our planet. We have our ‘machines’ now that make our lives so easily disposed to sloth and idleness. We have our poor, our wealthy, and our in-be-tweens. We have created a bureaucratic welfare system that keeps so many of our people dependent on a government’s treasury, that makes it more sensible to stay at home and receive other people’s money than to work for it themselves. Yet, we do have those who truly need the goodness and help that comes from the heart, those teachings you passed along to us.
We still have famine and wars, so many prophesied in the Bible. We seem to be coming to some end-point, Jesus. We have terrorists who wish to kill us because they believe it part of their religious mandates. It appears we do not learn from the lessons of history. The world seems to be imploding while the good minds among us seek a paradigm for peace and prosperity.
So, in celebrating your birth, dear Jesus, I wish this long birthday card was a testimonial to how far we have come in loving our neighbor and honoring all of your Father’s ‘Ten Commandments’. Our knowledge is exploding. There are lots of new machines and toys for living, maybe even some tiny robots that go roaming around in our bodies to extend our lives, but, for good will and love, I fear we have not come so far since that awful day you were nailed on the cross near Jerusalem.
For me, Jesus, I’m trying to grow my faith, endeavoring to be better than I am, wanting that eternal life in that great Kingdom by your Father’s House.
Happy Birthday, Jesus!
Billy Ray Chitwood – Christmas, 2013
http://billyraychitwood.weebly.com (about me and my books)
http://www.about.me/brchitwood
Follow me on Twitter (@brchitwood)
http://facebook.com/billyray.chitwood
http://www.goo.gl/fuxUA (my books)
http://thefinalcurtain1.wordpress.com (my blog)
Awards this blog site has received are not shown on this post.
Posted on December 20, 2013 by billyraychitwood1
HAPPY BIRTHDAY, JESUS
Though it seems likely you were born in April, the date of December 25 has become the date much of the world has designated as the day we celebrate your birth. Here in the United States, most of our citizens enjoy your birthday as a paid holiday. On your birthday, many of us celebrate by gift sharing with our family and friends, participating in a special tradition of giving for which you are so very well known.
We do not know of every word you spoke and every deed that was rendered. Much of your living our historical experts cannot account, but from what has been recorded we know that you were unlike any other person on our earth at that time, that you spoke to the masses in parables for living an honorable and charitable life, that you spoke of God, your Father, and His Kingdom. We know that you were reviled and hated by the Roman rulers and were considered an enemy to their pagan icons and political agenda. At the end we know how you suffered from the stones and thorns of hate, how you carried the heavy cross to Golgotha, there to be fixed by nails to that cross and die a slow and painful death.
Some among us doubt your message of faith and the Kingdom of God, your Father. Some doubt that you died there on Calvary’s cross for the sins of humankind. Some even mock your words and arrogantly pronounce all your goodness as mere mythology. But they are few, dear Jesus, and there are a great majority of us who have read of your short time among us, believe in your message, who are not without sin but strive to grow our faith and believe in the miracle of creation – that incredible and meticulous nine months of a child’s birth, the sun, the moon, the stars, and the great order of the universe.
Our world today has changed not so much from the world you entered, dear Jesus. We still have those political and iconic problems throughout all parts of our planet. We have our ‘machines’ now that make our lives so easily disposed to sloth and idleness. We have our poor, our wealthy, and our in-be-tweens. We have created a bureaucratic welfare system that keeps so many of our people dependent on a government’s treasury, that makes it more sensible to stay at home and receive other people’s money than to work for it themselves. Yet, we do have those who truly need the goodness and help that comes from the heart, those teachings you passed along to us.
We still have famine and wars, so many prophesied in the Bible. We seem to be coming to some end-point, Jesus. We have terrorists who wish to kill us because they believe it part of their religious mandates. It appears we do not learn from the lessons of history. The world seems to be imploding while the good minds among us seek a paradigm for peace and prosperity.
So, in celebrating your birth, dear Jesus, I wish this long birthday card was a testimonial to how far we have come in loving our neighbor and honoring all of your Father’s ‘Ten Commandments’. Our knowledge is exploding. There are lots of new machines and toys for living, maybe even some tiny robots that go roaming around in our bodies to extend our lives, but, for good will and love, I fear we have not come so far since that awful day you were nailed on the cross near Jerusalem.
For me, Jesus, I’m trying to grow my faith, endeavoring to be better than I am, wanting that eternal life in that great Kingdom by your Father’s House.
Happy Birthday, Jesus!
Billy Ray Chitwood – Christmas, 2013
http://billyraychitwood.weebly.com (about me and my books)
http://www.about.me/brchitwood
Follow me on Twitter (@brchitwood)
http://facebook.com/billyray.chitwood
http://www.goo.gl/fuxUA (my books)
http://thefinalcurtain1.wordpress.com (my blog)
Awards this blog site has received are not shown on this post.
December 14, 2013
The Lonesome Train Whistle
The Lonesome Train Whistle
Posted on December 14, 2013 by billyraychitwood1
A moment of sweet reflection came to me – just wanted to share it with you.
My wonderful grandfather was a section foreman on the Louisville and Nashville Railroad line. In youth I lived for awhile in the old gray two-story section house with my grandparents. The house was no more than a hundred yards from the railroad tracks. Lying in bed each night as the train whistle blew in the distance, my mind would consider where it could be my life was leading me.
The sound of the train whistle has always brought to me an inscrutable soft sadness.
Hope you enjoy the reflection…
The Lonesome Train Whistle
It always came during the night
as mind was most vulnerable,
as fancy replaced reality.
It came and brought tears
of truths that were days
of poignant youth.
It came whispering of all
dreams yet possible to heal
pangs of longing.
It came on evening’s air,
took me to a place
ordained for me to go.
*
Its long mournful wail
lingered long and tender
like a mother’s feathery kiss.
The sound echoed long, its final
note lost in space
not known by me,
And my days would be softly
blessed in the verity
of those splendid sounds,
That, indeed, life was yet
to be out there on the
lonesome train’s whistle.
BRC – 12/12/2003
http://www.about.me/brchitwood
Please follow me on Twitter (@brchitwood)
http://facebook.com/billyray.chitwood
http://www.goo.gl/fuxUA (my books)
http://thefinalcurtain1.wordpress.com (my blog)
http://billyraychitwood.weebly.com (my main website/blog/reviews)
Posted on December 14, 2013 by billyraychitwood1
A moment of sweet reflection came to me – just wanted to share it with you.
My wonderful grandfather was a section foreman on the Louisville and Nashville Railroad line. In youth I lived for awhile in the old gray two-story section house with my grandparents. The house was no more than a hundred yards from the railroad tracks. Lying in bed each night as the train whistle blew in the distance, my mind would consider where it could be my life was leading me.
The sound of the train whistle has always brought to me an inscrutable soft sadness.
Hope you enjoy the reflection…
The Lonesome Train Whistle
It always came during the night
as mind was most vulnerable,
as fancy replaced reality.
It came and brought tears
of truths that were days
of poignant youth.
It came whispering of all
dreams yet possible to heal
pangs of longing.
It came on evening’s air,
took me to a place
ordained for me to go.
*
Its long mournful wail
lingered long and tender
like a mother’s feathery kiss.
The sound echoed long, its final
note lost in space
not known by me,
And my days would be softly
blessed in the verity
of those splendid sounds,
That, indeed, life was yet
to be out there on the
lonesome train’s whistle.
BRC – 12/12/2003
http://www.about.me/brchitwood
Please follow me on Twitter (@brchitwood)
http://facebook.com/billyray.chitwood
http://www.goo.gl/fuxUA (my books)
http://thefinalcurtain1.wordpress.com (my blog)
http://billyraychitwood.weebly.com (my main website/blog/reviews)
December 8, 2013
Ryman Auditorium And Other Memories
Ryman Auditorium And Other Memories
Posted on December 8, 2013 by billyraychitwood1
Ryman Auditorium And Other Memories
Born in East Tennessee among the strings and twangs of country music, imitating the pleasantly nasal sounds of the great Roy Acuff, George Jones, Hank Williams, all the great performers who performed on stage at the Grand Ole Opry, I never visited the Ryman Auditorium in Nashville through my adolescent years. Instead, Mom took me to Knoxville’s WNOX radio station’s Mid-day Merry-Go-Round and to Saturday night’s Tennessee Barn Dance. These shows, created and hosted by Lowell Blanchard were in essence the training ground for eventual stars of the Grand Ole Opry in Nashville, stars like Roy Acuff, Chet Atkins, and Archie Campbell (‘GranPappy’). I remember Bill Monroe from Western Kentucky appearing on these shows with his popular ‘Blue Grass’ music. In my memory the Knoxville radio stations WNOX and WROL stayed true to their regional roots in country music while the Grand Ole Opry would become more progressive.
Country music had a vast audience and there were those who cared little for it. Me, I was born in the environment, watched some of my friends gather and ‘make music’ under a tree on starry nights, with crickets backing up their guitars, fiddles, and mandolins. My instrument was my voice. Although shy I warmed up to the music and sang, mimicking the twang voices of my early country singers and heroes. Chording on a guitar was about as good as I would ever get on the guitar.
Now fast forwarding to Thanksgiving week of this year, six lovely people of our family visited wife Julie and me here on the Cumberland Plateau in Middle Tennessee…son Rick, daughter-in-law Angie, two bee-yute-ee-ful former Baltimore Ravens grand-daughters Chase and Paige and their spouses, Bryan and Rob. On their ‘want to do’ list was to visit Nashville, the Ryman Auditorium, and some of the popular neon honky-tonks in Music City.
Nashville, Tennessee is beautiful and MusicCity is likely humming seventeen of the twenty-four hours of any day. After carefully finding our parking space within easy walking distance to all the many sites, we first visited the Ryman Auditorium. We sat in the acoustically superb auditorium and listened and watched a historical perspective piece presented by Trisha Yearwood, while people closer to the stage waited to get their pictures taken with guitar or banjo in hand… Some even sang a song for their family’s recording. We then went on a tour of the entire facility, visiting various dressing rooms of Opry’s stars, their pictures lining the walls, and finally on the stage where so many greats entertained us in the past – Johnny Cash, Dolly Parton, Hank Williams, Elvis Presley, The Everly Brothers, even Bob Hope, Richard Nixon, and many other distinguished entertainers and celebrities. Pictures were taken and we finally took leave of Ryman for the shopping and honkey-tonks in the area.
Rick and I chose not to go shopping and sought the warmth of The Wild Horse Bar where we drank a large souvenir glass of beer, watched the crowd, waited for the family members to join us, and talked about what we had seen at the Ryman Auditorium and about family members not with us. The girls and boys ultimately joined us and had their own souvenir drinks. Our time there among the crowd and noise was special. After taking many pictures, we finally had our souvenir glasses, fruit-jars, and mugs packaged by one of the courteous bar ladies and we left The Wild Horse.
Julie and I decided to adjourn to the van and let the kids go off for just a bit more honky-tonk hopping on their own. It was not long before we were back on the freeway headed back to the Cumberland Plateau. At home, we watched the Baltimore Ravens beat the Pittsburgh Steelers 22-20 amid Rick’s sometime boisterous encouragement. All in all it had been a most joyous day, a definite ‘keeper’ for our memory vaults.
Upon their departure the next day, the void left was palpable. Even George (our cat) cried at their leaving. Julie, George, and I settled back into our routines, blessed by the visit of family and the memories they brought.
As far as country music, it is still an amazing medium to capture moments of the heart and soul. For me today, however, I listen mostly to the soft melodic sounds of balladeers and the poignant movements of Bach, Brahms, Hadyn, and the classical masters. I’m not sure what that necessarily means – a country boy who loves both the music of his youth and the precise music of the past.
Please follow me on Twitter (@brchitwood)
http://facebook.com/billyray.chitwood
http://www.about.me/brchitwood (a short bio)
http://www.goo.gl/fuxUA (My books)
http://thefinalcurtain1.wordpress.com (My blog)
http://billyraychitwood.weebly.com (My main website/blog)
Posted on December 8, 2013 by billyraychitwood1
Ryman Auditorium And Other Memories
Born in East Tennessee among the strings and twangs of country music, imitating the pleasantly nasal sounds of the great Roy Acuff, George Jones, Hank Williams, all the great performers who performed on stage at the Grand Ole Opry, I never visited the Ryman Auditorium in Nashville through my adolescent years. Instead, Mom took me to Knoxville’s WNOX radio station’s Mid-day Merry-Go-Round and to Saturday night’s Tennessee Barn Dance. These shows, created and hosted by Lowell Blanchard were in essence the training ground for eventual stars of the Grand Ole Opry in Nashville, stars like Roy Acuff, Chet Atkins, and Archie Campbell (‘GranPappy’). I remember Bill Monroe from Western Kentucky appearing on these shows with his popular ‘Blue Grass’ music. In my memory the Knoxville radio stations WNOX and WROL stayed true to their regional roots in country music while the Grand Ole Opry would become more progressive.
Country music had a vast audience and there were those who cared little for it. Me, I was born in the environment, watched some of my friends gather and ‘make music’ under a tree on starry nights, with crickets backing up their guitars, fiddles, and mandolins. My instrument was my voice. Although shy I warmed up to the music and sang, mimicking the twang voices of my early country singers and heroes. Chording on a guitar was about as good as I would ever get on the guitar.
Now fast forwarding to Thanksgiving week of this year, six lovely people of our family visited wife Julie and me here on the Cumberland Plateau in Middle Tennessee…son Rick, daughter-in-law Angie, two bee-yute-ee-ful former Baltimore Ravens grand-daughters Chase and Paige and their spouses, Bryan and Rob. On their ‘want to do’ list was to visit Nashville, the Ryman Auditorium, and some of the popular neon honky-tonks in Music City.
Nashville, Tennessee is beautiful and MusicCity is likely humming seventeen of the twenty-four hours of any day. After carefully finding our parking space within easy walking distance to all the many sites, we first visited the Ryman Auditorium. We sat in the acoustically superb auditorium and listened and watched a historical perspective piece presented by Trisha Yearwood, while people closer to the stage waited to get their pictures taken with guitar or banjo in hand… Some even sang a song for their family’s recording. We then went on a tour of the entire facility, visiting various dressing rooms of Opry’s stars, their pictures lining the walls, and finally on the stage where so many greats entertained us in the past – Johnny Cash, Dolly Parton, Hank Williams, Elvis Presley, The Everly Brothers, even Bob Hope, Richard Nixon, and many other distinguished entertainers and celebrities. Pictures were taken and we finally took leave of Ryman for the shopping and honkey-tonks in the area.
Rick and I chose not to go shopping and sought the warmth of The Wild Horse Bar where we drank a large souvenir glass of beer, watched the crowd, waited for the family members to join us, and talked about what we had seen at the Ryman Auditorium and about family members not with us. The girls and boys ultimately joined us and had their own souvenir drinks. Our time there among the crowd and noise was special. After taking many pictures, we finally had our souvenir glasses, fruit-jars, and mugs packaged by one of the courteous bar ladies and we left The Wild Horse.
Julie and I decided to adjourn to the van and let the kids go off for just a bit more honky-tonk hopping on their own. It was not long before we were back on the freeway headed back to the Cumberland Plateau. At home, we watched the Baltimore Ravens beat the Pittsburgh Steelers 22-20 amid Rick’s sometime boisterous encouragement. All in all it had been a most joyous day, a definite ‘keeper’ for our memory vaults.
Upon their departure the next day, the void left was palpable. Even George (our cat) cried at their leaving. Julie, George, and I settled back into our routines, blessed by the visit of family and the memories they brought.
As far as country music, it is still an amazing medium to capture moments of the heart and soul. For me today, however, I listen mostly to the soft melodic sounds of balladeers and the poignant movements of Bach, Brahms, Hadyn, and the classical masters. I’m not sure what that necessarily means – a country boy who loves both the music of his youth and the precise music of the past.
Please follow me on Twitter (@brchitwood)
http://facebook.com/billyray.chitwood
http://www.about.me/brchitwood (a short bio)
http://www.goo.gl/fuxUA (My books)
http://thefinalcurtain1.wordpress.com (My blog)
http://billyraychitwood.weebly.com (My main website/blog)
December 4, 2013
The Ghostly Shroud
The Ghostly Shroud
Posted on December 1, 2013 by billyraychitwood1
The Ghostly Shroud
The fog hangs heavy like a gray ghostly shroud, the bluff and canyon below all hidden from the human eye. The nearby leafless hardwood trees outside the window stand bent, tall, and eerily ominous like lonely wasteland creatures. Occasionally they sway with a slight breeze as though shaking off the winter chill. Those spindly trunks, limbs, and deck rails are the only visible objects within one hundred feet of the house.
So what are the moods and story lines that come to the mind in the bleak environment where now I sit?
Depending on variables in a person’s make-up, the mood can be anxious, depressive, or downright scary. He/she might want lights on throughout the house to offset the gray of day and mood. How would one describe that personality? Perhaps someone deprived or mistreated in childhood? Locked in a closet by a mean babysitter? Bullied on the school’s playground? Perhaps the personality represents someone from a broken home who never quite found the necessary adjustment level? Maybe the wiring is somehow wrong?
These are the people who will be followed through existence by the ghostly shrouds of their early lives. They can be artists, writers, criminals, movers and shakers, but they will always come to a point along the way where they feel helpless and alone. If they are lucky they will live through all the negative obstacles thrown in their path, accomplish, fail, and survive without too many scars.
How about the personality that thrives in this enclosed environment and in practically any situation? Perhaps this person had a happy childhood with few negative influences and can survive all but the direst of circumstances.
They need no lights turned on in the house. They are the calm, the patient, good parents, good leaders who go on and lead our corporations and even our countries. They, too, can be artists, writers, criminals, movers and shakers.
The story lines are endless – mostly of a sinister cast. Some authors could write a romantic tale with candlelight and wine in front of a fireplace, with two lovers, of course. Others might write about a mother and children waiting with concern and worry the arrival of a father returning home from a business trip. There are so many scenarios the mind can conjure, so many elements of doom and gloom, fantasy, intrigue, funny or satirical situations. Superfluous though it must seem the writer has so much in life from which to draw.
So often is the time when I open the laptop and write a dramatic fictional paragraph about an event that has recently come via the news or a random thought that flashed in the mind. That paragraph might well be the beginning of a new novel or short story…perhaps not destined for greatness, but, at the very least, I’m doing something I love to do – write.
The point of all this is simply my rambling, evoked by the ghostly shroud that surrounds my day. I’ve given you nothing but my idle mind wandering. Now, finished for the moment, I’m going to get up and turn on all the lights. After all, it is 4:00 PM here in the southeast and the darkness will soon blend with the ghostly shroud.
Spring cannot come too soon for me. Even then, it will be necessary for me to turn on lights, perhaps more frequently than most.
You see! I took these simple thoughts that came to me through the fog and held you spellbound for a few minutes…or, not! J
Please follow me on Twitter (@brchitwood)
http://facebook.com/billyray.chitwood
See my books at http://www.goo.gl/fuxUA
Short bio at http://www.about.me/brchitwood
My blog at http://www.thefinalcurtain1.wordpress...
Posted on December 1, 2013 by billyraychitwood1
The Ghostly Shroud
The fog hangs heavy like a gray ghostly shroud, the bluff and canyon below all hidden from the human eye. The nearby leafless hardwood trees outside the window stand bent, tall, and eerily ominous like lonely wasteland creatures. Occasionally they sway with a slight breeze as though shaking off the winter chill. Those spindly trunks, limbs, and deck rails are the only visible objects within one hundred feet of the house.
So what are the moods and story lines that come to the mind in the bleak environment where now I sit?
Depending on variables in a person’s make-up, the mood can be anxious, depressive, or downright scary. He/she might want lights on throughout the house to offset the gray of day and mood. How would one describe that personality? Perhaps someone deprived or mistreated in childhood? Locked in a closet by a mean babysitter? Bullied on the school’s playground? Perhaps the personality represents someone from a broken home who never quite found the necessary adjustment level? Maybe the wiring is somehow wrong?
These are the people who will be followed through existence by the ghostly shrouds of their early lives. They can be artists, writers, criminals, movers and shakers, but they will always come to a point along the way where they feel helpless and alone. If they are lucky they will live through all the negative obstacles thrown in their path, accomplish, fail, and survive without too many scars.
How about the personality that thrives in this enclosed environment and in practically any situation? Perhaps this person had a happy childhood with few negative influences and can survive all but the direst of circumstances.
They need no lights turned on in the house. They are the calm, the patient, good parents, good leaders who go on and lead our corporations and even our countries. They, too, can be artists, writers, criminals, movers and shakers.
The story lines are endless – mostly of a sinister cast. Some authors could write a romantic tale with candlelight and wine in front of a fireplace, with two lovers, of course. Others might write about a mother and children waiting with concern and worry the arrival of a father returning home from a business trip. There are so many scenarios the mind can conjure, so many elements of doom and gloom, fantasy, intrigue, funny or satirical situations. Superfluous though it must seem the writer has so much in life from which to draw.
So often is the time when I open the laptop and write a dramatic fictional paragraph about an event that has recently come via the news or a random thought that flashed in the mind. That paragraph might well be the beginning of a new novel or short story…perhaps not destined for greatness, but, at the very least, I’m doing something I love to do – write.
The point of all this is simply my rambling, evoked by the ghostly shroud that surrounds my day. I’ve given you nothing but my idle mind wandering. Now, finished for the moment, I’m going to get up and turn on all the lights. After all, it is 4:00 PM here in the southeast and the darkness will soon blend with the ghostly shroud.
Spring cannot come too soon for me. Even then, it will be necessary for me to turn on lights, perhaps more frequently than most.
You see! I took these simple thoughts that came to me through the fog and held you spellbound for a few minutes…or, not! J
Please follow me on Twitter (@brchitwood)
http://facebook.com/billyray.chitwood
See my books at http://www.goo.gl/fuxUA
Short bio at http://www.about.me/brchitwood
My blog at http://www.thefinalcurtain1.wordpress...
November 24, 2013
How Will I Find You?
How Will I find You?
Posted on November 24, 2013 by billyraychitwood1
Thinking one day of my mortality and the next dimension, my thoughts turned to Julie, my wife, my love, and how I would find her there in the land that only the soul can know. These are the words that came to me:
*
How Will I Find You?
There in the light blue sky
Where I look for your face
In the soft white puff of cloud?
There in the empty chair
Where you once quietly sat
In the room of my solitude?
There in the now barren garden
Where I once watched you
Kneeling, planting your seeds?
There along the pristine beach
Where we collected sea glass
Among the gulls and shells?
Where will you be when I am
In the shadows of tomorrow
A man lost in youth’s sorrow?
How will I find you, my love
Knowing not where to look
In such a strange new world?
When my timid spirit wavers
There in that unknown land
How will you return to me?
In the darkness that is death
What is God’s demand of me
To atone for sins of life?
Why does this most peculiar
Etching of words play so
Strongly upon my defiled soul?
*
http://billyraychitwood.weebly.com (My main website/blog)
http://www.about.me/brchitwood
http://www.goo.gl/fuxUA (My books)
Follow me on Twitter (@brchitwood) and http://facebook.com/billyray.chitwood
Posted on November 24, 2013 by billyraychitwood1
Thinking one day of my mortality and the next dimension, my thoughts turned to Julie, my wife, my love, and how I would find her there in the land that only the soul can know. These are the words that came to me:
*
How Will I Find You?
There in the light blue sky
Where I look for your face
In the soft white puff of cloud?
There in the empty chair
Where you once quietly sat
In the room of my solitude?
There in the now barren garden
Where I once watched you
Kneeling, planting your seeds?
There along the pristine beach
Where we collected sea glass
Among the gulls and shells?
Where will you be when I am
In the shadows of tomorrow
A man lost in youth’s sorrow?
How will I find you, my love
Knowing not where to look
In such a strange new world?
When my timid spirit wavers
There in that unknown land
How will you return to me?
In the darkness that is death
What is God’s demand of me
To atone for sins of life?
Why does this most peculiar
Etching of words play so
Strongly upon my defiled soul?
*
http://billyraychitwood.weebly.com (My main website/blog)
http://www.about.me/brchitwood
http://www.goo.gl/fuxUA (My books)
Follow me on Twitter (@brchitwood) and http://facebook.com/billyray.chitwood
November 17, 2013
The Essence of Love
The Essence of Love
Posted on November 17, 2013 by billyraychitwood1
The Essence of Love
During the soothing touches of my massage by a good and lovely wife, we chatted about one of our pets… Thought the story of how we met our little cottontail rabbit and our seven-year love affair might have some soft and tender moments to convey. This morning is bleak, gray, and looks like snow. The trees are stark and sad without their leaves against the gray backdrop. It is much like the day ‘Christmas’ came into our lives.
Julie and I lived in Cave Creek, Arizona with Toby, our beautiful and faithful golden retriever. It was Christmas night around 10:30 PM and Julie took Toby out into our front courtyard for a tinkle session and to turn off the holiday lights on the few small trees and bushes. Julie heard a quick rasping sound among the gravel and brush. Toby suddenly assumed his retriever pose near our courtyard wall of stucco.
Toby maintained his pose there in the courtyard looking somewhat dumbfounded with his head arching downward and trying to see what the squeaky-sounding creature might be quivering under this furry body. Julie saw that it was a small cottontail rabbit, obviously recently born, seeking refuge under Toby’s body. Julie picked the tiny rabbit up and put it in the palm of her hand. She could see from the holiday lights that some animal, perhaps a coyote, had caused some serious damage to the rabbit. It had one eye missing and its small head was bloody and appeared just recently attacked.
With Toby softly moaning at her side, Julie carefully carried the cottontail into the house and began her miracle nursing. She wrapped the one-eyed cottontail in a small blanket, found in our garage an old cage we had once kept our lop-eared rabbit, Gigi, and put her tiny wounded creature inside. Julie put the cage and rabbit in the room she used as an office, with Toby still softly moaning and keeping careful watch.
The next morning Julie went to see a Veterinarian friend nearby and was told that the most humane thing to do would be to put the rabbit out of its misery. What the Vet did not know was that my wife is a true animal lover and refused to take to heart her pronouncement. Julie persisted, and the Vet finally gave her a small doll’s bottle for feeding, some kitten formula, and recommended that Visine drops be put in the rabbit’s good eye, that Neosporin be used on the gashed head, and that the formula be fed every two hours..
Julie returned home to find Toby in a state of frenzy. The cottontail had somehow managed to get out of the cage. Julie finally found the rabbit under her desk near the cage. Then Julie began the steady nursing and rehabilitation of the tiny desert cottontail. Every two hours, Julie brought our new pet, ‘Christmas’, out to the great room, wrapped in its blanket, fed it and tended to the wounds. The incredible thing was that Toby played Dad and Mom to this little furry creature, nosing its little bottom up in the littler box to make it go potty.
For me, it was a remarkable period as I watched all of this play out over the following days and weeks. Julie is the most patient and caring person I know. She loves animals, family, and children more than anyone I have ever known. She even loves me, and I consider myself one of the luckiest men in the world.
‘Christmas’ moved with us to a lake community and thrived with her daily routines of treats, going to her guest bedroom hideout under the bed, returning to Julie’s office to be fed. Julie was the only person that ‘Christmas’ would allow lap time. And, after seven years with us, that is where ‘Christmas’ died, on Julie’s lap. It was early morning and Julie had come to her office where ‘Christmas’ litter box and feeding took place. Julie would habitually hide little treats around the office for ‘Christmas’ to find. This particular morning, all ‘Christmas’ wanted was to go on Julie’s lap.
We all cried, even Toby, when ‘Christmas’ died. She had become part of our family. I found a shoe box, lined it with tissue and a treat, and placed ‘Christmas’ in it. Julie, Toby, and I drove some miles to the country, found an old gnarled oak tree near a farmer’s field and, after a few words of love, buried ‘Christmas’ there.
Even in writing this, in the remembrance, tears easily come.
Perhaps, that is the essence of love. Perhaps that is why God gave us enduring souls.
***
Please follow me on Twitter (@brchitwood) and on facebook.com/billyray.chitwood
Preview my books on http://www.goo.gl/fuxUA (Independent Author Network)
My main Website/Blog: http://billyraychitwood.weebly.com)
Blog posts also on: http://www.thefinalcurtain1.wordpress...
Short Bio Sketch on: http://www.about.me/brchitwood
Posted on November 17, 2013 by billyraychitwood1
The Essence of Love
During the soothing touches of my massage by a good and lovely wife, we chatted about one of our pets… Thought the story of how we met our little cottontail rabbit and our seven-year love affair might have some soft and tender moments to convey. This morning is bleak, gray, and looks like snow. The trees are stark and sad without their leaves against the gray backdrop. It is much like the day ‘Christmas’ came into our lives.
Julie and I lived in Cave Creek, Arizona with Toby, our beautiful and faithful golden retriever. It was Christmas night around 10:30 PM and Julie took Toby out into our front courtyard for a tinkle session and to turn off the holiday lights on the few small trees and bushes. Julie heard a quick rasping sound among the gravel and brush. Toby suddenly assumed his retriever pose near our courtyard wall of stucco.
Toby maintained his pose there in the courtyard looking somewhat dumbfounded with his head arching downward and trying to see what the squeaky-sounding creature might be quivering under this furry body. Julie saw that it was a small cottontail rabbit, obviously recently born, seeking refuge under Toby’s body. Julie picked the tiny rabbit up and put it in the palm of her hand. She could see from the holiday lights that some animal, perhaps a coyote, had caused some serious damage to the rabbit. It had one eye missing and its small head was bloody and appeared just recently attacked.
With Toby softly moaning at her side, Julie carefully carried the cottontail into the house and began her miracle nursing. She wrapped the one-eyed cottontail in a small blanket, found in our garage an old cage we had once kept our lop-eared rabbit, Gigi, and put her tiny wounded creature inside. Julie put the cage and rabbit in the room she used as an office, with Toby still softly moaning and keeping careful watch.
The next morning Julie went to see a Veterinarian friend nearby and was told that the most humane thing to do would be to put the rabbit out of its misery. What the Vet did not know was that my wife is a true animal lover and refused to take to heart her pronouncement. Julie persisted, and the Vet finally gave her a small doll’s bottle for feeding, some kitten formula, and recommended that Visine drops be put in the rabbit’s good eye, that Neosporin be used on the gashed head, and that the formula be fed every two hours..
Julie returned home to find Toby in a state of frenzy. The cottontail had somehow managed to get out of the cage. Julie finally found the rabbit under her desk near the cage. Then Julie began the steady nursing and rehabilitation of the tiny desert cottontail. Every two hours, Julie brought our new pet, ‘Christmas’, out to the great room, wrapped in its blanket, fed it and tended to the wounds. The incredible thing was that Toby played Dad and Mom to this little furry creature, nosing its little bottom up in the littler box to make it go potty.
For me, it was a remarkable period as I watched all of this play out over the following days and weeks. Julie is the most patient and caring person I know. She loves animals, family, and children more than anyone I have ever known. She even loves me, and I consider myself one of the luckiest men in the world.
‘Christmas’ moved with us to a lake community and thrived with her daily routines of treats, going to her guest bedroom hideout under the bed, returning to Julie’s office to be fed. Julie was the only person that ‘Christmas’ would allow lap time. And, after seven years with us, that is where ‘Christmas’ died, on Julie’s lap. It was early morning and Julie had come to her office where ‘Christmas’ litter box and feeding took place. Julie would habitually hide little treats around the office for ‘Christmas’ to find. This particular morning, all ‘Christmas’ wanted was to go on Julie’s lap.
We all cried, even Toby, when ‘Christmas’ died. She had become part of our family. I found a shoe box, lined it with tissue and a treat, and placed ‘Christmas’ in it. Julie, Toby, and I drove some miles to the country, found an old gnarled oak tree near a farmer’s field and, after a few words of love, buried ‘Christmas’ there.
Even in writing this, in the remembrance, tears easily come.
Perhaps, that is the essence of love. Perhaps that is why God gave us enduring souls.
***
Please follow me on Twitter (@brchitwood) and on facebook.com/billyray.chitwood
Preview my books on http://www.goo.gl/fuxUA (Independent Author Network)
My main Website/Blog: http://billyraychitwood.weebly.com)
Blog posts also on: http://www.thefinalcurtain1.wordpress...
Short Bio Sketch on: http://www.about.me/brchitwood
November 10, 2013
The Forest And The Trees
The Forest And The Trees
Posted on November 10, 2013 by billyraychitwood1
The Forest And The Trees
With the exception of a grand view across the canyon to the bluff on the other side, our relatively new home is surrounded by hardwood trees, Maple and Oak for the most part. When my wife Julie, cat George, and I arrived on Tennessee’s Cumberland Plateau at the end of July the trees were full and green all around us but for that aforementioned grand bluff view. So, for most of our four acres I could look into the forest and see very little, not our nearest neighbors north and south, maybe an occasional deer, hawk, squirrel, or wild turkey. I could see our driveway snaking up and through the trees to the main road into our place and this somehow gave me a modest and odd feeling of comfort.
Now, with most of the leaves gone from the trees I can see the neighbors’ houses and more clearly some of the critters that inhabit with us our acreage. There is now a barren sense to the landscape, a lonely quality, and it is now the beginning of the time when we eagerly await the arrival of spring and new growth.
Well, with my mind and this quiet, infertile surrounding I leap to the state of our lives and the seemingly unproductive mechanism of our government. Some could argue that it has been a constant fall in the beltway with the shedding of decency, duty, and honesty, like the leaves on the trees.
I know politics is a dangerous subject in which to segue into, but it seems to me we have reached some sort of critical mass in Washington. No matter the side of your political leaning it is rather difficult not to notice the great abyss separating ‘we the people’ from our leaders. For me, a Christian and a man of faith, you already know my leaning side.
After five years of the current administration, at the beginning in control of both houses of congress and the presidency, what we have is a rudderless ship and a captain still making his promises of change. When will we get the message? The president is not a leader. He is a campaigner, a charming and eloquent rogue who is slowly taking our country away from us, we who still believe in freedom and liberty. He wants the government to control our lives, knowing better than we what is good for us… May I refer you to the recent Affordable Health Care Act? It is an act few people have read or totally understand, even the president. But we are surely finding out about the AHCA and a website that just does not want it…along with many people.
He deceives us, gets re-elected with deception and with promises to the entitlement folks. He wishes to redistribute what earnings we might make and give them to those who have found it easier to live on welfare. (Don’t get me wrong. We must help those among us who truly need our help.) The president and his administrative functionaries will give us few or no answers to questions of vital importance… Like, Benghazi, the IRS targeting, et al. What do we need for further proof of where this president wants to lead us? History has shown us this place he wishes to lead us is not a good place. Is it not time for action? Not civil unrest! Not revolution! We need some strong voices, petitions, from ‘we the people’ to force a detour back to common sense and the US Constitution.
The president has had five years to show us his change. I’ve seen his change and do not like it. Initially, I was one of many who hoped he could deliver on his promises. He and his people work for us and their job performance is deplorable. If we must be in this place for another three years, can we at least use the mid-term elections in 2014 to alter the senate? Can we make Harry Reid in the senate and Nancy Pelosi in the house non-factors?
I am not a pundit. I’m just a US citizen who is very concerned about the state of our union. I’m currently writing a book from my ‘Joe Public’ perspective on politics. The book will make me many enemies, I’m sure, just as this post likely will, but perhaps there are some kindred souls out there who feel much the same.
Oh! I started with the forest and the trees, leaves falling, barren waste, views? That’s the nature of my mind…to wander and wonder.
I’m on Twitter (@brchitwood)
Facebook: http://facebook.com/billyray.chitwood
Bio page: http://www.about.me/brchitwood
My books: http://www.goo.gl/fuxUA
My main website/blog: http://billyraychitwood.weebly.com
Posted on November 10, 2013 by billyraychitwood1
The Forest And The Trees
With the exception of a grand view across the canyon to the bluff on the other side, our relatively new home is surrounded by hardwood trees, Maple and Oak for the most part. When my wife Julie, cat George, and I arrived on Tennessee’s Cumberland Plateau at the end of July the trees were full and green all around us but for that aforementioned grand bluff view. So, for most of our four acres I could look into the forest and see very little, not our nearest neighbors north and south, maybe an occasional deer, hawk, squirrel, or wild turkey. I could see our driveway snaking up and through the trees to the main road into our place and this somehow gave me a modest and odd feeling of comfort.
Now, with most of the leaves gone from the trees I can see the neighbors’ houses and more clearly some of the critters that inhabit with us our acreage. There is now a barren sense to the landscape, a lonely quality, and it is now the beginning of the time when we eagerly await the arrival of spring and new growth.
Well, with my mind and this quiet, infertile surrounding I leap to the state of our lives and the seemingly unproductive mechanism of our government. Some could argue that it has been a constant fall in the beltway with the shedding of decency, duty, and honesty, like the leaves on the trees.
I know politics is a dangerous subject in which to segue into, but it seems to me we have reached some sort of critical mass in Washington. No matter the side of your political leaning it is rather difficult not to notice the great abyss separating ‘we the people’ from our leaders. For me, a Christian and a man of faith, you already know my leaning side.
After five years of the current administration, at the beginning in control of both houses of congress and the presidency, what we have is a rudderless ship and a captain still making his promises of change. When will we get the message? The president is not a leader. He is a campaigner, a charming and eloquent rogue who is slowly taking our country away from us, we who still believe in freedom and liberty. He wants the government to control our lives, knowing better than we what is good for us… May I refer you to the recent Affordable Health Care Act? It is an act few people have read or totally understand, even the president. But we are surely finding out about the AHCA and a website that just does not want it…along with many people.
He deceives us, gets re-elected with deception and with promises to the entitlement folks. He wishes to redistribute what earnings we might make and give them to those who have found it easier to live on welfare. (Don’t get me wrong. We must help those among us who truly need our help.) The president and his administrative functionaries will give us few or no answers to questions of vital importance… Like, Benghazi, the IRS targeting, et al. What do we need for further proof of where this president wants to lead us? History has shown us this place he wishes to lead us is not a good place. Is it not time for action? Not civil unrest! Not revolution! We need some strong voices, petitions, from ‘we the people’ to force a detour back to common sense and the US Constitution.
The president has had five years to show us his change. I’ve seen his change and do not like it. Initially, I was one of many who hoped he could deliver on his promises. He and his people work for us and their job performance is deplorable. If we must be in this place for another three years, can we at least use the mid-term elections in 2014 to alter the senate? Can we make Harry Reid in the senate and Nancy Pelosi in the house non-factors?
I am not a pundit. I’m just a US citizen who is very concerned about the state of our union. I’m currently writing a book from my ‘Joe Public’ perspective on politics. The book will make me many enemies, I’m sure, just as this post likely will, but perhaps there are some kindred souls out there who feel much the same.
Oh! I started with the forest and the trees, leaves falling, barren waste, views? That’s the nature of my mind…to wander and wonder.
I’m on Twitter (@brchitwood)
Facebook: http://facebook.com/billyray.chitwood
Bio page: http://www.about.me/brchitwood
My books: http://www.goo.gl/fuxUA
My main website/blog: http://billyraychitwood.weebly.com
November 3, 2013
Colorful Shedding
Colorful Shedding
Posted on November 3, 2013 by billyraychitwood1
Colorful Shedding
A blogger buddy of mine, Jill Weatherholt, mentioned some weeks ago that she would like to see the fall colors on the trees around our new Tennessee home. So, I’m sending a couple of pictures, along with some rambling commentary…
Here at this time of year on Tennessee’s Cumberland Plateau among the maple and oak trees the profusion of color delights the senses and it brings out the philosophical and the soulful part of me. My words will not come as terribly original, but they are important for me to say them. Other artists and poets have captured these thoughts and moments for centuries. I wish only to respond to some compelling desire within me.
There is the obvious planetary orbiting of our spinning orb that brings us to this time of year, designed by God or by the ‘Big Bang’ – a choice that divides many of us humans. If you have read some of my previous blog posts and books, my choice would be quite obvious. In my finite mind it is incomprehensible that a ‘Big Bang’ brought such planetary order, the seasons, you and me. The fact that the human mind can create language and words that can titillate us in so many ways, that a particular hand and brush can paint a masterpiece, that other hands can build cities, bridges, roads, or a magnificent sculpture, it all speaks for me of the soul of Man – of the darkness that abides therein for some or the unlimited joy and vivacity of others. Mother Teresa said, “Life is beauty, admire it.” So I do and shall.
It is that time of year when nature speaks to us in subtle ways. Of course, there is a scientific way of describing fall, the bountiful leaves of so many dazzling colors and their falling to put their branches barren until the spring. It is the time of year when old men feel the cold, see the shedding of the beautiful leaves, and yearn for youth that is lost to them but happy to know they live on and can rejoice in their accomplishments. It is that time of year that signifies the shedding those parts of you that have disappointed and kept you frustrated. For some, it is that time of year when they think about the natural order of things and prepare to give thanks to God for their blessings. For others, it is a time of weeping for a lost loved one and troubles that are difficult to bear.
Here on the Cumberland Plateau I’m absorbed in brilliantly colored leaves, watching them slowly drop to the ground and on my deck for sweeping. A year ago I was on the Sea of Cortez in Mexico living on the beach. The southern boy has returned home but he still carries the vision of the sea and small fishing village he left a few months ago. Now, instead of the sparkling cobalt beauty of the ‘Cortez’ stretching to a horizon of poets dreams, I sit and gaze across a spectacular canyon of trees and river, watch the multi-colored leaves float in the breeze, fancy myself a poet, and dream… As English Romantic poet John Keats so eloquently put it: “A thing of beauty is a joy forever.”
There are no regrets in my return to Tennessee, so, sorry, Thomas Wolfe, I could and did come home again. With my wanderlust nature, where could I be next year at this time? Where it is that I might be at any given year, the memories and the beauty of my past moments will gather like these falling leaves. As Mother Teresa also said: “Life is a dream, realize it.”
Please follow me on Twitter – @brchitwood
http://facebook.com/billyray.chitwood
My books: http://www.goo.gl/fuxUA
Short Bio: http://www.about.me/brchitwood
My main website/blog: http://billyraychitwood.weebly.com
Posted on November 3, 2013 by billyraychitwood1
Colorful Shedding
A blogger buddy of mine, Jill Weatherholt, mentioned some weeks ago that she would like to see the fall colors on the trees around our new Tennessee home. So, I’m sending a couple of pictures, along with some rambling commentary…
Here at this time of year on Tennessee’s Cumberland Plateau among the maple and oak trees the profusion of color delights the senses and it brings out the philosophical and the soulful part of me. My words will not come as terribly original, but they are important for me to say them. Other artists and poets have captured these thoughts and moments for centuries. I wish only to respond to some compelling desire within me.
There is the obvious planetary orbiting of our spinning orb that brings us to this time of year, designed by God or by the ‘Big Bang’ – a choice that divides many of us humans. If you have read some of my previous blog posts and books, my choice would be quite obvious. In my finite mind it is incomprehensible that a ‘Big Bang’ brought such planetary order, the seasons, you and me. The fact that the human mind can create language and words that can titillate us in so many ways, that a particular hand and brush can paint a masterpiece, that other hands can build cities, bridges, roads, or a magnificent sculpture, it all speaks for me of the soul of Man – of the darkness that abides therein for some or the unlimited joy and vivacity of others. Mother Teresa said, “Life is beauty, admire it.” So I do and shall.
It is that time of year when nature speaks to us in subtle ways. Of course, there is a scientific way of describing fall, the bountiful leaves of so many dazzling colors and their falling to put their branches barren until the spring. It is the time of year when old men feel the cold, see the shedding of the beautiful leaves, and yearn for youth that is lost to them but happy to know they live on and can rejoice in their accomplishments. It is that time of year that signifies the shedding those parts of you that have disappointed and kept you frustrated. For some, it is that time of year when they think about the natural order of things and prepare to give thanks to God for their blessings. For others, it is a time of weeping for a lost loved one and troubles that are difficult to bear.
Here on the Cumberland Plateau I’m absorbed in brilliantly colored leaves, watching them slowly drop to the ground and on my deck for sweeping. A year ago I was on the Sea of Cortez in Mexico living on the beach. The southern boy has returned home but he still carries the vision of the sea and small fishing village he left a few months ago. Now, instead of the sparkling cobalt beauty of the ‘Cortez’ stretching to a horizon of poets dreams, I sit and gaze across a spectacular canyon of trees and river, watch the multi-colored leaves float in the breeze, fancy myself a poet, and dream… As English Romantic poet John Keats so eloquently put it: “A thing of beauty is a joy forever.”
There are no regrets in my return to Tennessee, so, sorry, Thomas Wolfe, I could and did come home again. With my wanderlust nature, where could I be next year at this time? Where it is that I might be at any given year, the memories and the beauty of my past moments will gather like these falling leaves. As Mother Teresa also said: “Life is a dream, realize it.”
Please follow me on Twitter – @brchitwood
http://facebook.com/billyray.chitwood
My books: http://www.goo.gl/fuxUA
Short Bio: http://www.about.me/brchitwood
My main website/blog: http://billyraychitwood.weebly.com
October 27, 2013
Jessie and Mabel's Anniversary
Jessie and Mabel’s Anniversary
Posted on October 27, 2013 by billyraychitwood1
Jessie and Mabel’s Anniversary
Jessie and Mabel live in a small town near Chattanooga, Tennessee. They have lived there the biggest portion of their lives and really haven’t kept up with the events shaping the world. Now, they’re smart enough, in a common sense sort of way, but they don’t tend to involve themselves with things they don’t know much about or feel maybe none of their business. They do care for their little town and their country, but they just reckon that there are smarter people who can handle the big matters a lot better than them.
They listen and watch the news reports on television, do their little grunts and groans when they hear about what’s happening in other parts of the country and the world. Sometimes they make a comment about something, like, “The world’s sure getting complicated!” or, “With gas so high, you’d think we could find our own oil and bring them prices down!” or, “Guess we got our reasons for fighting in the Middle East, but it sure seems those people over there have been at each other an awful long time!” or, “Let’s stop messing up our heads with all this news business and go see a movie!”
Then, again, maybe that ‘messing up our heads’ is why Jessie does a little cussing and gets together with his buddies for some drinking and talking. He and many of his friends served their country and keep a lot locked inside…maybe protecting their wives from all the ugly stuff they saw and felt while serving.
Anyway, Mabel loves Jessie and she is a regular church-going lady, is always busting Jessie for his cussing and his drinking nights with his buddies from work. Jessie loves Mabel very much but he also loves getting together with his buddies, drinking from the fruit jars, jawing, and, after the booze kicks in, telling the same jokes they’ve been telling for all the years. There are some things they avoid talking about, military experiences and deaths they’ve seen around them.
Jessie and Mabel are good people, help those in need, give no fuss to anybody. Mabel’s just more God-fearing than Jessie, although he’s about as good a man you will find in the whole state. There are just a few nights when he unwinds, drinks a bit too much, and needs his special buddy camaraderie… And you need to know that Jessie’s cussing is small cussing, not those real ugly words some sports players yell a lot.
Mabel is a pretty lady in her early forties and she still sports a beautiful body, shoulder-length silky brown hair, and soft blue eyes that make a man want to keep on looking into them. A lot of guys refer to her as the hill version of that real pretty movie star, Jennifer Aniston. Mabel has a lot of patience and common sense to go with them bedeviling blue eyes.
Jessie has a couple years on Mabel and the country good looks of a younger Burt Reynolds. Jessie’s six feet tall with just a little paunch on him but otherwise solidly built. He carries a one inch scar from his right cheek bone to his ear – a US service reminder from Iraq. That little scar line involuntarily twitches a lot, particularly when he’s drinking. Jessie has a lot of patience, too, but he’s been using certain cuss words that aggravate and embarrass Mabel when they have company… The company generally just snickers a bit and don’t seem offended by it, so he can’t figure out why Mabel is so upset with him.
Mabel is also a particular shade of red when Jessie tells his ‘colorful’ stories to their assembled family members and guests. But what really troubles Mabel the most and causes her concern for his health is his late night drinking with the buddies. Mabel these days goes on to bed without waiting up for Jessie to come home from his fruit jar partying. Now, it’s not every night, mind you, and it’s usually not an evening when they have dinner plans or guests coming, but it is getting too often for Mabel.
So, comes this particular Friday night, Jessie is to come home from work and take Mabel into Chattanooga for a really nice romantic evening. It’s their fifteenth anniversary. Mabel is all gussied up waiting for Jessie and she’s really looking forward to that fine dining in Chattanooga and not having to cook
With insistent urging after work, Jessie goes along with his buddies to their drinking spot. He figures a drink or two can’t hurt, and he can still get home for his anniversary date. One of the friends brings along a guitar, and, with each drink, the song words bring with them some melancholia. With all the drinking, the music making, the talk, and the jokes, Jessie just forgets the time and arrives home around 2:00 AM, his anniversary dinner forgotten in the fog of his drunken state.
Normally, as stated earlier, Mabel usually goes to bed and never knows exactly when Jessie gets home, but this Friday night she’s madder than a rooster at a cock fight. Her husband has broken a date with her and she’s going to wait up for him and give him a piece of her mind. She sits first on the sofa, then on Jessie’s favorite chair, and back to the sofa. With each hour that passes her anger rises.
Mabel is now sitting at the kitchen table tapping her fingers and humming with wide eyes and her cute little nose flaring. She is wide awake from all the caffeine she has consumed in her several cups of coffee…even spilled a drop or two on her pretty dress. A side note here: Mabel has never had a drink of liquor in her entire life and would never even consider the possibility.
With her keen ears, she suddenly hears several bumps at the front door, and after what seems like minutes passing, Jessie opens the door and staggers in. His soiled and booze-stained shirt half out of his slacks, and he seems to be wearing his clothes sideways – one side of his collar is up, the other side down – his pants zipper is down – his abundant head of hair is all in disarray – he is truly a mess. He tries to quietly close the door but ends up banging it closed and shushes with a weaving finger to his lips. The living room is now dark but he notices through half-closed eyes that the light is on in the kitchen.
Jessie tries to very softly tiptoe to the kitchen door opening, but bumps into the furniture. Finally, hands in his trouser pockets, he stands weaving at the opening, bouncing back and forth into the sides of the door space. He sees Mabel sitting, still tapping her fingers on the kitchen table, glaring up at him.
“Hi, (hic), honey,” Jessie says, trying so hard to sound sober and keep his eyes open wider, “whatcha (hic) doing up, (hic), honey?”
Mabel glares up at him, slams her hand on the table. “Don’t ‘honey’ me, Jessie, you stood me up! We were supposed to go to Chattanooga for our anniversary dinner. You…”
Jessie stands weaving in the kitchen doorway, hands still in his pants pockets, his face now visibly saddened by the news that he has forgotten their anniversary. “Oh, (hic), honey, I’m so (hic) sorry. I…”
“Oh, Jessie, if you could only see how ridiculous you look right now, if you could see how stupid you look…” She stopped as a thought came to her, slapped the table again, and rose from the table. “I’m going to show you just how ridiculous you look right now.” She moved away from the table toward the small kitchen pantry.
Jessie stands swaying in the doorway, his weary half-open eyes following her moves.
Mabel comes back to the table, slams a bottle of Jack Daniels down on the hard wooden surface. She removes the top from the Jack Daniels, and, having never before taken a drink of whiskey, she starts to guzzle straight from the bottle… The bottle of Jack Daniels falls from her hand onto the table, spilling most of its contents. Mabel sits quickly on the chair, hacking, coughing, spitting up some sour mash.
Jessie still stands at the doorway, weaving back and forth. “Honey (hic)…”
“Jessie!” She tries to regain some of her angry focus. “For heaven’s sake and all its angels, how can you stand to drink this stuff?”
Jessie still sways at the doorway. Then a slow smile comes to his face as he attempts his reply. “You see, honey, (hic) you thought I was out having a good time!”
At the table, Mabel cradles her head in her arms, intoning: “God, please help him!” She then rises from the table and starts laughing, watching her weaving Jessis with his now sad and bewildered face. She goes to him, puts her arms around him to steady him, and walks him to the bedroom. “Let’s get you into bed, you silly looking goose. I’m reckoning tomorrow that head of yours is going to be giving you some fits. I love you, you ole hound dog.”
“That’s (hic) just about the nicest thing you ever (hic) said to me, Honey.” He dug in his pants pocket while Mabel was sitting him on the big bed. He pulled out a jewelry box and handed it to his wife. “Made sure I wouldn’t totally forget (hic) my sweet woman. I (Hic) picked this up for you earlier today.”
A tear came to Mabel’s eyes as she listened to his slurred words and opened the jewelry box. In the box was a gold bracelet. Engraved on the wide band between two lovely birthstones were the words: “Mabel – My Forever Love.”
Mabel wiped at her eyes, brought the bracelet to her heart, and stood for several long seconds lost in thought.
Then she heard the snoring. Jessie had fallen over onto the bed, totally beyond wakening. Smiling through her tears, she carefully lifted his legs onto the bed, removed his shoes, socks, and, amid some grunts and more snoring, all of his clothing. She then undressed and lay beside him, watched his half-open mouth twitch as though trying to speak. His snoring became softer and continued as she cradled him in her arms. Her ‘forever love’ was home, safely beside her.
“Happy Anniversary, Jessie,” she whispered and snuggled closer to the man she loved.
Please see/buy my books on http://www.goo.gl/fuxUA (and amazon US and UK)
Please see short bio sketch on http://www.about.me/brchitwood
Please follow me on Twitter – @brchitwood
Please follow me on Facebook – http://facebook.com/billyray.chitwood
Please visit my main website/blog at – http://billyraychitwood.weebly.com
Posted on October 27, 2013 by billyraychitwood1
Jessie and Mabel’s Anniversary
Jessie and Mabel live in a small town near Chattanooga, Tennessee. They have lived there the biggest portion of their lives and really haven’t kept up with the events shaping the world. Now, they’re smart enough, in a common sense sort of way, but they don’t tend to involve themselves with things they don’t know much about or feel maybe none of their business. They do care for their little town and their country, but they just reckon that there are smarter people who can handle the big matters a lot better than them.
They listen and watch the news reports on television, do their little grunts and groans when they hear about what’s happening in other parts of the country and the world. Sometimes they make a comment about something, like, “The world’s sure getting complicated!” or, “With gas so high, you’d think we could find our own oil and bring them prices down!” or, “Guess we got our reasons for fighting in the Middle East, but it sure seems those people over there have been at each other an awful long time!” or, “Let’s stop messing up our heads with all this news business and go see a movie!”
Then, again, maybe that ‘messing up our heads’ is why Jessie does a little cussing and gets together with his buddies for some drinking and talking. He and many of his friends served their country and keep a lot locked inside…maybe protecting their wives from all the ugly stuff they saw and felt while serving.
Anyway, Mabel loves Jessie and she is a regular church-going lady, is always busting Jessie for his cussing and his drinking nights with his buddies from work. Jessie loves Mabel very much but he also loves getting together with his buddies, drinking from the fruit jars, jawing, and, after the booze kicks in, telling the same jokes they’ve been telling for all the years. There are some things they avoid talking about, military experiences and deaths they’ve seen around them.
Jessie and Mabel are good people, help those in need, give no fuss to anybody. Mabel’s just more God-fearing than Jessie, although he’s about as good a man you will find in the whole state. There are just a few nights when he unwinds, drinks a bit too much, and needs his special buddy camaraderie… And you need to know that Jessie’s cussing is small cussing, not those real ugly words some sports players yell a lot.
Mabel is a pretty lady in her early forties and she still sports a beautiful body, shoulder-length silky brown hair, and soft blue eyes that make a man want to keep on looking into them. A lot of guys refer to her as the hill version of that real pretty movie star, Jennifer Aniston. Mabel has a lot of patience and common sense to go with them bedeviling blue eyes.
Jessie has a couple years on Mabel and the country good looks of a younger Burt Reynolds. Jessie’s six feet tall with just a little paunch on him but otherwise solidly built. He carries a one inch scar from his right cheek bone to his ear – a US service reminder from Iraq. That little scar line involuntarily twitches a lot, particularly when he’s drinking. Jessie has a lot of patience, too, but he’s been using certain cuss words that aggravate and embarrass Mabel when they have company… The company generally just snickers a bit and don’t seem offended by it, so he can’t figure out why Mabel is so upset with him.
Mabel is also a particular shade of red when Jessie tells his ‘colorful’ stories to their assembled family members and guests. But what really troubles Mabel the most and causes her concern for his health is his late night drinking with the buddies. Mabel these days goes on to bed without waiting up for Jessie to come home from his fruit jar partying. Now, it’s not every night, mind you, and it’s usually not an evening when they have dinner plans or guests coming, but it is getting too often for Mabel.
So, comes this particular Friday night, Jessie is to come home from work and take Mabel into Chattanooga for a really nice romantic evening. It’s their fifteenth anniversary. Mabel is all gussied up waiting for Jessie and she’s really looking forward to that fine dining in Chattanooga and not having to cook
With insistent urging after work, Jessie goes along with his buddies to their drinking spot. He figures a drink or two can’t hurt, and he can still get home for his anniversary date. One of the friends brings along a guitar, and, with each drink, the song words bring with them some melancholia. With all the drinking, the music making, the talk, and the jokes, Jessie just forgets the time and arrives home around 2:00 AM, his anniversary dinner forgotten in the fog of his drunken state.
Normally, as stated earlier, Mabel usually goes to bed and never knows exactly when Jessie gets home, but this Friday night she’s madder than a rooster at a cock fight. Her husband has broken a date with her and she’s going to wait up for him and give him a piece of her mind. She sits first on the sofa, then on Jessie’s favorite chair, and back to the sofa. With each hour that passes her anger rises.
Mabel is now sitting at the kitchen table tapping her fingers and humming with wide eyes and her cute little nose flaring. She is wide awake from all the caffeine she has consumed in her several cups of coffee…even spilled a drop or two on her pretty dress. A side note here: Mabel has never had a drink of liquor in her entire life and would never even consider the possibility.
With her keen ears, she suddenly hears several bumps at the front door, and after what seems like minutes passing, Jessie opens the door and staggers in. His soiled and booze-stained shirt half out of his slacks, and he seems to be wearing his clothes sideways – one side of his collar is up, the other side down – his pants zipper is down – his abundant head of hair is all in disarray – he is truly a mess. He tries to quietly close the door but ends up banging it closed and shushes with a weaving finger to his lips. The living room is now dark but he notices through half-closed eyes that the light is on in the kitchen.
Jessie tries to very softly tiptoe to the kitchen door opening, but bumps into the furniture. Finally, hands in his trouser pockets, he stands weaving at the opening, bouncing back and forth into the sides of the door space. He sees Mabel sitting, still tapping her fingers on the kitchen table, glaring up at him.
“Hi, (hic), honey,” Jessie says, trying so hard to sound sober and keep his eyes open wider, “whatcha (hic) doing up, (hic), honey?”
Mabel glares up at him, slams her hand on the table. “Don’t ‘honey’ me, Jessie, you stood me up! We were supposed to go to Chattanooga for our anniversary dinner. You…”
Jessie stands weaving in the kitchen doorway, hands still in his pants pockets, his face now visibly saddened by the news that he has forgotten their anniversary. “Oh, (hic), honey, I’m so (hic) sorry. I…”
“Oh, Jessie, if you could only see how ridiculous you look right now, if you could see how stupid you look…” She stopped as a thought came to her, slapped the table again, and rose from the table. “I’m going to show you just how ridiculous you look right now.” She moved away from the table toward the small kitchen pantry.
Jessie stands swaying in the doorway, his weary half-open eyes following her moves.
Mabel comes back to the table, slams a bottle of Jack Daniels down on the hard wooden surface. She removes the top from the Jack Daniels, and, having never before taken a drink of whiskey, she starts to guzzle straight from the bottle… The bottle of Jack Daniels falls from her hand onto the table, spilling most of its contents. Mabel sits quickly on the chair, hacking, coughing, spitting up some sour mash.
Jessie still stands at the doorway, weaving back and forth. “Honey (hic)…”
“Jessie!” She tries to regain some of her angry focus. “For heaven’s sake and all its angels, how can you stand to drink this stuff?”
Jessie still sways at the doorway. Then a slow smile comes to his face as he attempts his reply. “You see, honey, (hic) you thought I was out having a good time!”
At the table, Mabel cradles her head in her arms, intoning: “God, please help him!” She then rises from the table and starts laughing, watching her weaving Jessis with his now sad and bewildered face. She goes to him, puts her arms around him to steady him, and walks him to the bedroom. “Let’s get you into bed, you silly looking goose. I’m reckoning tomorrow that head of yours is going to be giving you some fits. I love you, you ole hound dog.”
“That’s (hic) just about the nicest thing you ever (hic) said to me, Honey.” He dug in his pants pocket while Mabel was sitting him on the big bed. He pulled out a jewelry box and handed it to his wife. “Made sure I wouldn’t totally forget (hic) my sweet woman. I (Hic) picked this up for you earlier today.”
A tear came to Mabel’s eyes as she listened to his slurred words and opened the jewelry box. In the box was a gold bracelet. Engraved on the wide band between two lovely birthstones were the words: “Mabel – My Forever Love.”
Mabel wiped at her eyes, brought the bracelet to her heart, and stood for several long seconds lost in thought.
Then she heard the snoring. Jessie had fallen over onto the bed, totally beyond wakening. Smiling through her tears, she carefully lifted his legs onto the bed, removed his shoes, socks, and, amid some grunts and more snoring, all of his clothing. She then undressed and lay beside him, watched his half-open mouth twitch as though trying to speak. His snoring became softer and continued as she cradled him in her arms. Her ‘forever love’ was home, safely beside her.
“Happy Anniversary, Jessie,” she whispered and snuggled closer to the man she loved.
Please see/buy my books on http://www.goo.gl/fuxUA (and amazon US and UK)
Please see short bio sketch on http://www.about.me/brchitwood
Please follow me on Twitter – @brchitwood
Please follow me on Facebook – http://facebook.com/billyray.chitwood
Please visit my main website/blog at – http://billyraychitwood.weebly.com
October 20, 2013
Autumn And The Muse
Autumn And The Muse
Posted on October 20, 2013 by billyraychitwood1
Autumn And The Muse
It was all so different these many years later…
The clapboard houses were all gone, replaced by small brick and hardwood homes with indoor plumbing. The dirt and gravel lanes were now paved although still isolated and rural. The old white church with its high steeple, now freshly painted, was the marker that let me know I was really home again.
It was like time had abbreviated everything I looked upon. The distance from church to Mama’s and Papa’s old house was hardly a quarter mile. The lanes that branched off the short stretch of road to the old sawmill and the railroad tracks were now unrecognizable, overgrown with brush, trees, and weeds… I could not even determine where the old sawmill and train tracks had been. Where so many years ago there had been Papa’s rows of corn, potatoes, tomatoes, turnips, and scallions was now tall green grass for a few grazing cows.
I smiled and pointed out to my wife Julie and son Scott where the old out-house had once stood, where Papa had once castrated the squealing hogs. I pointed out where old ‘Fred’ the mule used to lead the plow through the fields with a few ‘gees and haws’ from Papa. The little hamlet of Wooldridge was now all condensed for my memory but the thoughts, good and bad, raced through my aging brain…
It was here where some of the first memories were built of my displaced youth, where fear of the unknown and new experiences collided to make me a docile and disturbed little boy. It was here where my microcosmic world was filled with dreams and dark ugly shadows. Here was the nexus that was the foundation for all that I would become – the nomadic drifter in search of illusive dreams, the uncertain master of a fate always to be determined.
The tears were not seen through the smiles as I passed on to my son and wife the wisps of yesterday, but they were there…tears for Mama and Papa, their hard lives, yet their devotion to me…tears for the parents who fought, who loved and tried, but were unable to make things right for their family…tears for a life that could have been better in some ways but did, through all the wanderlust, bring me to wife Julie who personifies family, love and patience…tears for my beautiful children of whom I am so proud and love so deeply.
This day trip from my middle Tennessee home to the east Tennessee hamlet of my youth inspires this post. While there has to be some sadness – that’s the way I’m put together – it is likely one of the best days to go into my still active memory pages. The day serves to point out for me that, indeed, ‘everyone has to be from somewhere.’
Follow me on Twitter – @brchitwood
Follow me on Facebook: http://facebook.com/billyray.chitwood
My main website: http://billyraychitwood.weebly.com
Preview my ten books on: http://goo.gl/fuxUA (#mystery #romance #memoir)
Short author bio at: http://www.about.me/brchitwood
Send comments below.
liebsteraward booker-award most-influential-blogger-e1364230844577 beautiful-blogger-award reality blog award one-lovely-blog very-inspirational-blogger1 the-wordpress-family-award inner-peace-award
Posted on October 20, 2013 by billyraychitwood1
Autumn And The Muse
It was all so different these many years later…
The clapboard houses were all gone, replaced by small brick and hardwood homes with indoor plumbing. The dirt and gravel lanes were now paved although still isolated and rural. The old white church with its high steeple, now freshly painted, was the marker that let me know I was really home again.
It was like time had abbreviated everything I looked upon. The distance from church to Mama’s and Papa’s old house was hardly a quarter mile. The lanes that branched off the short stretch of road to the old sawmill and the railroad tracks were now unrecognizable, overgrown with brush, trees, and weeds… I could not even determine where the old sawmill and train tracks had been. Where so many years ago there had been Papa’s rows of corn, potatoes, tomatoes, turnips, and scallions was now tall green grass for a few grazing cows.
I smiled and pointed out to my wife Julie and son Scott where the old out-house had once stood, where Papa had once castrated the squealing hogs. I pointed out where old ‘Fred’ the mule used to lead the plow through the fields with a few ‘gees and haws’ from Papa. The little hamlet of Wooldridge was now all condensed for my memory but the thoughts, good and bad, raced through my aging brain…
It was here where some of the first memories were built of my displaced youth, where fear of the unknown and new experiences collided to make me a docile and disturbed little boy. It was here where my microcosmic world was filled with dreams and dark ugly shadows. Here was the nexus that was the foundation for all that I would become – the nomadic drifter in search of illusive dreams, the uncertain master of a fate always to be determined.
The tears were not seen through the smiles as I passed on to my son and wife the wisps of yesterday, but they were there…tears for Mama and Papa, their hard lives, yet their devotion to me…tears for the parents who fought, who loved and tried, but were unable to make things right for their family…tears for a life that could have been better in some ways but did, through all the wanderlust, bring me to wife Julie who personifies family, love and patience…tears for my beautiful children of whom I am so proud and love so deeply.
This day trip from my middle Tennessee home to the east Tennessee hamlet of my youth inspires this post. While there has to be some sadness – that’s the way I’m put together – it is likely one of the best days to go into my still active memory pages. The day serves to point out for me that, indeed, ‘everyone has to be from somewhere.’
Follow me on Twitter – @brchitwood
Follow me on Facebook: http://facebook.com/billyray.chitwood
My main website: http://billyraychitwood.weebly.com
Preview my ten books on: http://goo.gl/fuxUA (#mystery #romance #memoir)
Short author bio at: http://www.about.me/brchitwood
Send comments below.
liebsteraward booker-award most-influential-blogger-e1364230844577 beautiful-blogger-award reality blog award one-lovely-blog very-inspirational-blogger1 the-wordpress-family-award inner-peace-award
