Clean Up On Aisle Three, Cut Price Salvation, and Thar' Blows Joe (Reprise)

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With A Rebel Yell, Evening Falls (So Hard), And Major Ali Explains Things

Doing a day shift at the Tee Vee machine the other day I rode the 3:50pm train home from Union Station. The conductor is a guy named Frank, and his speciality is his boarding call at each station. Most conductors these days just use their radio walkie talkie to tell the choo choo driver it's ok to go, but Frank is serious old school. At each stop he leans out the door and gives a long loud ' alllaboooooooooooooooard....." fol owed by the most blood chilling 100% aged in the south ' yeeeeeeee hawwwwwwwww!' you ever did hear in your cotton picking life. I've ridden this train with Frank dozens of times, and until now never really considered how a black person might react to all the yee-hawing. Franks is a huge bear of a man, and I have no earthly idea if he has ever had a racist thought. Still.. given the history of race relations in this country, and given the fact that this train runs right past Antietam on it's way up to Martins burg .. I wonder. Of course if some of our Republican friends ran the railroad I suspect that all the conductors would be Johhny Reb yelling (and wearing pointy hoods).

In my nightstand I keep a report I received years ago from the adoption agency that placed me when I was very young The report reads like a blacked out highly redacted CIA document, but gives the only background information I have ever had about my birth parents. Every now and then I'm drawn to open the drawer and re-read the section about my birth mother. She is described as working as an usherette at the time of my birth, and being a 'sullen somewhat sad person'. The document offers no real clues as to her identity, and I've never tried to find her or my father. I doubt if they are alive still, but sometimes, when the evening falls just so, and the night is made of velvet ... sometimes I wonder about her. Was it as hard as I imagine to give up a child? Or did she steel herself, not let herself feel it.. never looking back? Was she pretty? What did her laugh sound like..or did she not have much reason for laughing. Sometimes, when the evening falls so hard....I take these coffee stained papers... and read them again.... Always before the morning, I fold them and place them carefully back in the drawer.


Last week my great CERT volunteers and I had a chance to participate in some cool training with a combination of Fire Rescue, Military, and Federal Secret Squirrel types for two days in Virginia. The military folks were absolutely wonderful to work with: patient, kind, funny, and competent as hell.I had the pleasure of working with combat vet named Major Ali, who swapped stories with me about stupid media types we have known. He told me a bout a dumb shit reporter who asked the Major how a battle was going one day in Sadar City as bullets whizzed over their heads pinning down our guys. Being a decent sort the Major just laughed at him and said: " What do you think Sparky?". I would have said: " I dunno, how's about you pop yer head up and take a look see...." I'm glad we have men like Major Ali serving our country, and it's probably a good thing I'm not the media liaison for anything. One time at a fire I was standing with my EMS crew watching flames shoot 50 feet into the air from the roof of an unoccupied townhouse, while our wagon and truck boys and girls worked to get a knock on the fire. A civilian tapped me on the shoulder and asked: "You guys got it under control yet...?" Stupid is as stupid does whether in Baghdad or Rockville I suppose.

The World Is Full Of Gods

Everything is made of water, and the world is full of Gods

Born in tears we vanish in smoke

The scientists say there's a ribbon of light half way to the stars

(they can make us remember things that never were)

We are all made of the same stuff, we begin and end in the same place

Heads full of vague memories

of Gods and ribbons

The scientists say that music is mathematics

the world is held together by notes, and strings, and harmonies

The lovers remember the melody

The children recall the rhythm

The dogs and dreamers remember the world as it was

as it really is

full of Gods slowly drowning.