#I’ve felt so claustrophobic out east because the west is the only place open enough for the soul to unleash or some shit idk

[hogans-heroes]

Not me getting emotional driving through the Nevada/California border wilds while listening to the Dances with Wolves soundtrack and finally feeling free

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Martha and Nick: A Love Story by Melanie Typaldos

Martha pushed the doors to the saloon open with one hand while the other tugged at her bonnet, ripping it off her hair. It was two o’clock in the afternoon and the blazing sun had driven the cowboys into the waiting shade. The place was warm and stuffy, but the beer and the whiskey didn’t taste any worse for it.

She nodded to Jake behind the bar as she hung her hat and dust coat on the rack. With a few deft strokes she pushed the brown mass of her hair back into a bun. Jake slid her customary glass of water to her. She gulped it down, turning to count the bar’s dubious crowd. Bill, Leon, Karl, and Cap were at their usual table, beer mugs stationed in front of them, sticky playing cards shoved up against their faces so the others couldn’t see. Tammy was working the crowd, currently smoozing with Dusty whose hand had casually found its way to her waist. And Nick was pounding away on the piano.

Martha grimaced, but a customer was a customer. She grabbed a couple of beers and slid across the floor to the piano. “Whatcha playing, Nicky?” He didn’t look up, concentration focused – as much as he had of it anyway – on the keys.

“’Noon, Marth. Just somethin’ for the season.”

Wishing she had as little musical talent as Nick, Martha concentrated on the dissonance, trying to pick out something familiar. “Three Kings?”

Nick laughed, “Hell no! This here’s Town of Bethlehem. You ain’t got no ear at all.”

“Piano’s out of tune,” Martha said. True enough, but even on a perfectly tuned Steinway grand, this random series of notes wasn’t going to be Little Town of Bethlehem. “Here’s a beer.” Her whole body relaxed as Nick took his hands off the keys to take the drink. “Can’t really get used to winters here,” she added, weather always being a good conversation starter.

“It’ll be Christmas next Tuesday. Maybe it’ll cool off.”

She shrugged. “It doesn’t get this hot in the summer where I’m from.” She looked through the dust coated glass of the saloon’s only window. Instead of snow she saw a lone tumble weed skittering down the street. Even it looked dejected and lonely. Gold, she thought. Where the hell was it? Not in these parts. She knew now with a sense of resignation that she would never land a rich husband out here. She poured the drink down her throat. Jake was probably giving her a dirty look. Drink was for the customers, not for the help.

Nick finished his beer. “Want to take a little stroll, Marth?

The correct answer to this was no, it is cooler inside, an answer approved and promoted by Jake. But she was already tired and the still darkness was making her claustrophobic. “Sure, just for a minute.” Customers never seemed to realize that she was working. That her job was to keep them drinking and to keep them from fighting. Nick, like the others, thought she spent her time here because she liked it. Men were stupid, especially when it came to women.

They stepped out the door, Nick holding it open for her. In the light she could make out his features better than she ever had before. He had blue eyes that were flecked with brown to match the dusty sky. His cheeks were round and his nose had a big nob at the end that was already the constant rose color of a habitual drunk. But he had a big smile underneath a prematurely white mustache and the start of a matching beard. All in all, it was a friendly face, the kind that could grow on you if you let it. But his clothes just about defined a common cowboy: dirty red checkered shirt with frayed cuffs, faded blue jeans probably from ten years ago, and boots that almost certainly had holes in the bottoms. Martha smiled her work smile. She wondered if it worked as well out in the daylight.

“I want ta show you somethin’,” Nick said, putting his hand gently on her elbow.

Martha shot a glance back to the saloon. “I can’t be gone long.”

“I know. It’s just a little ways and I think it’s worth seeing.” There was a slight tug. She could pull away easily if she wanted to. Instead she let herself be urged down the wooden sidewalk.

It only took her a moment to realize he was headed toward the stable. “I can’t go in there, Nick. My clothes will get all dirty. And these are my best boots.”

“You don’t have to go in. The corral’s on the other side. That’s where I’ve got ‘em.”

“Got what?” she asked just as the topic of their conversation came into view. A herd of about twenty ponies of all different colors. Martha drew in a sharp breath of surprise. She hadn’t seen a single pony since she came out west. She ran to the corral fence and, forgetting about her clothes and good boots, climbed onto the bottom rail. A red and white paint pony came up to sniff her hand for treats. Her nose was so soft Martha almost cried.

“I had a pony just like this when I was a little girl,” she said without turning to Nick. “His name wasCheckerboard.” Nick came up beside her and the pony checked his hand for treats. “Where did you get them?”

“I know a rancher with a slew of kids out past Long Hill. He’s givin’ up and heading back east. Can’t take the ponies with him. So here they are.”

“What are you going to do with them?”

“Don’t know yet, but I’ve got to find them good homes before they eat me broke. Guess I could just let them go out on the prairie if it comes to that.” He smiled. “I could give Checkers here to you.”

Martha felt her heart breaking out of her bosom. Then reality set in. “I can’t even ride a pony. I’m too big.”

“I’ll train her to pull a cart. Could make your life easier not to have to drag your supplies from the mercantile down to your boarding house.”

It could. She imagined herself sitting in a little wooden wagon with the pony dancing ahead of her. Wouldn’t she look fine! She shook her head, “I can’t afford a pony, Nick. I sure would love to have her though.”

“We’ll figure out some way for her to earn her keep. She looks like a hard worker to me.”

Martha gazed over Checkers. The other ponies were milling about, curious as to what was going on. “What about the others? You got someone to take each of them?”

Nick laughed. Martha was surprised at how melodious his laugh was and his smile washed all over his face making the dusty grime disappear. She stepped down from the rail. “I have to get back or Jake will have me killed.” Nick took her hand and slid his arm underneath her fingers. Why did that feel so good? They walked back a little more slowly than her customary pace.

*

Nick didn’t show up at the saloon the next day. The quite made the place seem empty even though the rest of the crowd was there. He didn’t come the day after that. Or the day after that. Martha was getting worried. She told herself he was probably out working a herd of cattle somewhere. But what if something had happened to him? Or worse, maybe he decided he didn’t mean any of the things he had said. Not that she couldn’t live without a pony, it was just the thought of him giving it to her. And he’d be helping figure out how to put the little pinto to something productive. Wouldn’t that be fine? Of course, they’d end of spending some time together, along with Checkers of course.

But Nick was back pounding at the piano when Martha got to work the next day. She still grimaced at the racket her best to sway to the non-existent rhythm

 “Go hit that idiot with a drink,” Jake growled. “I’d say get him too drunk to play, but he don’t need drink for that. He can’t just come in here and empty the place out with that racket without at least buying a couple of drinks.”

Martha went to grab a beer but Jake stayed her hand. “Whiskey. Better profit. And the drunker they get, the more they drink. Barman’s law.” He poured a much too large glass of cheap whiskey and shoved it into her hand. “Make sure he pays.”

The glass weighed down her hand as she walked to the piano. “Something special today.” She smiled falsely while placing the glass on the piano. “Cure for what ails ya.”

Nick picked the glass up and took a swallow. He coughed and sputtered some out. “Whoa! That’ll take some getting used to!” She realized she had only ever seen him drink beer, and then not much of it, as per Jake’s complaint. “I don’t drink much hard stuff,” he said by way of explanation. He tapped his nose. “This here is from the damn sun. My kin and I don’t belong out where the sky’s not properly cloudy.”

“But you’re in here every day, just ‘bout.”

Nick looked down at his fingers still resting on the piano keys. “I’m kind of shy to say it, but I don’t come to drink. I come to see you.”

Martha felt a silly grin spread across her face. “You do?”

Nick took another sip of whiskey followed by a gulp that could have drowned him. “Will you take a little stroll with me again?”

Jake glared at her from across the room. He’d be fighting mad if she left again.

“I’ll buy another whiskey and pay double if you’ll come.”

Glancing at Nick’s glass she was shocked to see it was empty. “You sure? If you’re not used to it, that stuff can put you under the table in a hurry.”

“If you’ll come walk with me, I’ll drink the place dry.”

“One more drink should be enough,” she said. “I’ll walk with you, but only a little while.” She got Nick another too-tall glass of the liquid fire and met him at the door. Nick downed it in one shot, but coughed most of it back up as she patted his back. “If you’re going to drink hard liquor, you’d better learn to do it slow.”

Out in the sun the day was blazing hot. Not a single wisp of a cloud painted the sky. She wished she was one of those fancy ladies back east who traveled in the shade of a delicate parasol. The thought made her laugh. She’d never had such a ridiculous thought! She saw Nick smile at her as if he was in on the joke. He didn’t need to know, she thought, he just needed to see her happy. Another ridiculous thought.

They made their way to the stable again, only this time they went into the dusty darkness. It smelled like horses and hay. Martha breathed deeply. Her father had owned a stable. This felt like home to her.

When her eyes adjusted she saw two of the little ponies, Checkers and a black and white pinto, watching her from within the confines of their harness. “I’m calling the other one Checkmate, Check for short. Make a pretty team, don’t they?” He turned to see her reaction, then rushed down beside the ponies and hopped up on the bench of the wagon. He drove it gently out into the sunlight, following Martha who felt a bit like a herded cow.

In the sun she could see the wagon was a buckboard painted a distinctive grass-green. The ponies�� coats shined as if they’d been brushed nearly to death. Nick held the reins with a smile as wide as his face. He hopped down to stand beside her. “I fixed it up and trained the ponies to pull it. It needed two. Ponies I mean. If you really want to go somewhere and not just around town, you need two ponies.”

“You’re going somewhere?” Martha’s heart skipped a beat.

Nick looked down at his boots. “Well, the wagon’s for you. And the ponies. I was kinda thinking maybe we could go someplace together.”

“Together?”

“You know. North. Maybe we could go north, someplace cold. Someplace you could wear a fur collar and a muff to keep your hands warm. You sure would look pretty like that.”

Martha stood, her mind frozen. Go north? With Nick? She could go north with Nick?

Time must have passed because Nick’s smile faded and his brow creased with worry. “I mean, we don’t have to if you if you don’t want to. I just thought that maybe you would like that.”

She couldn’t stop staring at him.

“I mean, we’d get married first! Oh God! I was so excited I got ahead of myself!” Words were spilling out of his mouth like a waterfall down a cliff. He dropped to one knee. “Martha, it’d be the joy of my life if you would consent to marry me.” 

“Marry you?” The idea had never crossed her mind. But why not? He was a cowboy, not rich for certain, but nice. And sweet. And not bad looking either in the right light. And thoughtful. Could she be happy married to him? Would he be happy married to her? “Would you go north because of me?”

Nick stood up and took her two hands in his. They were rough, working hands with callouses where the reins played against his fingers. “I’d go anywhere because of you.”

“But you want to go north?”

“I could stand to get away from here. Right now, I’m thinking the colder the better.”

“Then, yes.” The word felt right to her. “Yes. I’ll do it. I’ll marry you!”

Nick leaned forward and kissed her on the lips, hard but somehow gentle too. It was their first intimate touch. Martha felt the warmth of it flow through her. She wrapped her arms around his neck. “Yes! Yes! I will marry you Nicolas Claus!” And she kissed him again.

“Now?” he asked. “I can’t wait to call you my wife.”

“Now,” she whispered. “Let’s do it now.”

*

The wedding was about as short as the engagement. The pastor of the local church joined them. The ceremony took place at the saloon, which is where the couple found him when they went looking. Nick paid for a round of drinks before the happy couple fled the place.

“Let’s leave now,” Nick said as they boarded the wagon. “Start our honeymoon right away.”

The sun looked about an hour from the horizon. “It’s gonna be dark.”

“Ace, that’s my horse, knows every road and track in the whole damned state,” Nick replied. “And it will be cooler at night. But we have to stop by the stable to pick him and the ponies up. I already got them ready.”

“The ponies are going with us? What are you going to do with them?”

Nick smiled, maybe even wider than he had when she’d said yes. “I talked to the school mistress. She gave me the names of some kids who could sure use a pony to ride to school on.”

“It’s Christmas eve! It’ll be dark. Everyone will be asleep.”

“Then it’ll be a nice surprise for them come morning.

They had reached the stable. Martha watched as Nick tied the string of ponies up to the back of the wagon.

Things had a strange way of working out. She hadn’t married someone others might call rich, but he was rich enough to give to others, that was richer than most. She leaned over and gave him a big kiss. “I love you, Nick.”

He wrapped his arm around her. “I will always love you, Mrs. Claus.”

It was the first time they had said it.

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The Adventures of Celeste the Cat: Celeste and the Giant Hamster

Celeste and the Adorable Kitten

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[davidaolson]

We took the water taxi from the dock at the end of the next door pier to the ferry in San Pedro then ferried to Caye Caulker. We are not a big fan of the ferry system mainly because we are always be stuck in the lower section which does not provide a vantage point where the shades of turquoise are easily studied, where the wind can rub its fingers through my ever whiter hair. Most seats are in the belly of the beast where there are few windows. And because we are shoehorned sardines, there is little space to maneuver for a better view. It feels claustrophobic.

Our return ride, our final ferry ride, was infinitely better. We were able to wrangle two seats on the top and watch the green shores of Caye Caulker fade into oblivion and the palm-lined shores of Ambergris Caye appear magically on the Northern horizon. See the horizon stretch from yesterday into tomorrow, into the soul of a lone rainbow hanging onto Earth’s edge in the East and a gray wall of never experienced rain in the distant West.

Roots, rock, reggae, dis a reggae music Play I some music, dis a reggae music…

The vibe on Caulker is a far cry more mellow than the relatively bustling San Pedro which is a slow crawl compared to sweet home Chicago. I specifically wore my Che Guevara shirt, his head in silhouette against a military green background, for this part of our vacation. Rebel. Rebel. It received an early compliment. I think I may need to purchase similar shirts for Brotha Marley, Uncle Ho, Cousin Vladimir, Papa Villa, Tante Joan d’Arc, Señor Bolivar, Jefes Crazy Horse and Sitting Bull, Friar Martin Luther, Uncle Martin King, Great Aunty Rosa, Mr. X, Viva Zapata, ¡Viva la Revolución! …I think you can see where my heart lies…

Anyway, the Caulker feels reggae…dis a reggae music…from the moment one disembarks the ferry. The island sends relaxed out relaxed vibes that appear to be floating within life. Maybe, floating on the spirit wings of the Ganja bird…I don’t know. But the vibe is one lovish…

One Love! One Heart! Let’s get together and feel all right…

One Love Bench on Caye Caulker

Everyone we encountered was friendly and chillaxed. It is a place I could see me whiling away the years of my youth when I was young and living close to, if not over to the edge of sanity. How about the Winters of my retirement? Not sure. I’ve taken to enjoying solitude and don’t see that possible in this very small village but it is definitely a great place for a lunch and an afternoon.

One of our first activities was to hole up in a restaurant hanging over the ocean, a restaurant with a cover but otherwise open to the sea breezes and gentle waters and puffy clouds lazing their way across the impeccable sky. In the North, a dozen or so Magnificent Frigate Birds hung in the sky, all facing into the wind, barely moving as if they were tethered to a child’s mobile hanging over a crib. They almost lulled me to sleep.

The Frigate is brownish black with a deeply forked tail. I envied their ability to float in tranquility. Frigates are considered good omens as their presence means land is near. I felt lucky to be at this place at this time in my life. We ate close to noon and were almost finished eating the fresh fish when a catamaran dumped a load of tourists all who tried to squeeze into the eatery quickly destroying the tranquility. We hurried out. I like to be around people…generally in moderation. I also enjoy silence…

People talking without speaking People hearing without listening…

When I think of silence, I don’t envisage absence of sound. For me, silence is defined by the absence of human-generated noise be it the human voice which can trill emotion beyond the bounds of human thought, be it a jackhammer chewing away in the heart of downtown Chicago in the twilight before the masses have emerged from their hives to pollinate the financial flowers perfuming global commerce.

For me, silence includes the choir of nature, the low croak of Gecko hunting insects by the light of the waxing Moon, the rustle of leaves when a flock of Pelicans launches into the morning sky after a night sleeping safely in the trees, the gentle scraping of Fiddler Crab hauling its shell across a sandy beach at night seen when I walked out with a bottle of wine to sit in the poetry of the ocean, the song of the orange Sun inching o’er the horizon, the light scratch of Iguana’s claws scurrying over rocks before it sucks in a juicy fly or hurries to a hideout when spooked by the shadow of Hawk on the prowl. The iguana moves in staccato bursts punctuated by long stays in the musical score playing in the background of its life.

For me, silence is the place I find myself, if not find, then converse with my inner voice, scratch away at my defenses in an attempt to understand the beast within until, that is, Monkey gets antsy and interjects without raising his paw to be called upon in an orderly fashion. He sticks a needle in my ass to get my attention. As he frequently did in Caye Caulker.

Folks won’t find us now because Mister Satch and Mister Cros We gone fishin’…

Caye Caulker is run down as if the town was succumbing to neglect. Or it was rooted in the hippie vibe more concerned with the present moment than the tomorrow which never comes. Zen existence. Many buildings are on stilts to keep the residents dry during the hurricane season when waters can surge and cover the low lying island. A number of buildings were broken. Many were little more than concrete shells. Poverty. Surprising?

I seem to be always surprised by poverty which is strange considering there are many more poor than there are not poor. The rundown nature of the island may be why accommodations tend to clock in at half or less that of Ambergris Caye where we were staying. It could also be why so many youths choose to congregate here where bars line up side by side on the main streets. Youth and alcohol…fun and dangerous…dangerous fun…bars in Caulker open early. I don’t drink before 5pm…

Jewelry particularly earrings and necklaces on a street vendor’s table is a bait my wife can’t pass up. It’s her shiny penny, her pink pony. Where I see a hook, she sees yummy morsels to add to her eclectic collection. When choosing, she selects for rare beauty. It is my job to negotiate the final price so the barb doesn’t set too deep in our tender wallets. I paid higher than normal because some profits went to the local women creating a cottage industry to help them sustain and grow. The woman we purchased from told us of a place on the island to see Tarpon and seahorses and gave us a free map of the tiny island. Glad my wife took the bait.

Tarpon In Tarpon Bay

We followed the map with less luck than I would have expected. That was ok because while on Caye Caulker, I planned on taking Monkey walk for a long walk on a very short pier and pushing him into the drink for a few hours of peace. What I wasn’t planning on was a heat that was punishing, a humidity making my balls swampy, while searching for the appropriate length pier. I was beginning to think we wouldn’t get lucky when we walked along a dilapidated, twisty pier through a shaded, almost spooky mangrove opening to a bay teeming with tarpon.

Tarpon are a sportfish that can grow up to 280 pounds (127 kilos) and 8 feet(2.5 meters) long. These Tarpon were schooling in about three feet deep. None were the 280-pound monsters but there were a few in the vicinity of 50+ pounds, prime game for a fisherman such as myself. They are edible but not delectable so most are thrown back. I was itching to pull out a rod and reel and try my hand but today was not the day I would get to fish. This is one of the few places Monkey and I aligned today. Nor would I fish the entire trip as it cost $250 for a half day of guided fishing which is to steep for my tastes.

I’ve been around for a long, long year Stole many a man’s soul to waste And I was ’round when Jesus Christ Had his moment of doubt and pain Made damn sure that Pilate Washed his hands and sealed his fate…

Mi esposá opted to purchase feeder fish from the Belizean woman manning the shack at the end of the pier. 5 Belizean dollars for 10 dead fish to hold a few inches above the water, dead fish to entice the monsters to break through the surface and suck in an offering. She a high priestess offering sacramental communion to the devotee. The trick is to hold the fish between two fingers with the palm open so the fish doesn’t also inhale the hand although the mouth is big enough to suck in the hand and half the arm.

High Priestess Offering Sacramental Communion to the Congregation

        After watching her feed a few, I decided to join in the fun but with a twist. I figured it could be a great way to wash my hands of Monkey once and for all. I wrapped Monkey tightly around a tantalizing feeder fish and dangled it a few inches above water counting the seconds until Tarpon swallowed Monkey for absorption in his gullet or puke him far out in the deep blue sea where he would drown. Either way, I would finally have Monkey off my weary back. Freedom! Just one fish away.

Pelican

But, not a Tarpon jumped. Not a one. I touched the water with Monkey Fish, still nothing. It was as if the little fucker hypnotized Tarpon. They even quit leaping for the fish my wife offered. Frustrated, I tossed fish into the air and let it plop into the water where it was gobbled up almost as soon as it hit the surface. It is amazing how fast the behemoths can move when motivated. Unfortunately, Monkey was not part of the meal. He crawled up my arm, into my ear, and tucked himself deep into my subconscious where he remained hidden quietly for a few hours. I think he finally figured out I was serious about existing in and only in the moment.

Fly me to the moon Let me play among the stars…

Three kayakers pulled into the bay to marvel at the Tarpon. They spoke a combination of French and near accent-free English. The blond, almost as pasty as me, hopped into the water, waded with the fish who swam safely distanced from her pallid glow. Tarpon has sandpaper teeth instead of needles or spikes meaning they can do little damage with their mouths to human flesh.

Kayakers in Tarpon Bay

Tarpon kept a safe distance parrying with a flick of the tail all her attempts to ‘pet’ one of them. Predators don’t grow large without developing street smarts in abundance. She settled for a few selfies featuring Tarpon in the background. When the woman climbed back into her kayak, two halves of a pale moon separated by a thin, black partially eaten thread shown bright as the raging sun. Her bikini was little more than a thong with ruffles at the waist.

We walked around town for a couple of more hours in the glaring sun. My wife added to her golden glow while the little of me exposed to the sun mimicked the pink inside of a conch shell which, by the way, are quite tasty.

We walked to one of the few resorts on the island which is much different than the many resorts lining the shores of our island. There was a small seahorse farm with yellow, black, and brown seahorses hiding in the weeds. We mostly saw them when their tales were wrapped around a blade of seagrass and they sat idle.

I am amazed at the number of midday drinkers mainlining alcohol into their systems. And it was not young kids. These were adults, some retirement aged drinking their day away. One woman looking to be 60ish but that could have been from the ravages of alcohol was so drunk she had to walk carefully to the bar for her sixteen-ounce refill. I had a Mai Tai…it’s always 5pm somewhere.

It wasn’t our scene so we moseyed in the general direction of the dock to await the ferry. A short downpour, they tend to be brief on the island lasting no more than fifteen minutes, forced us onto a bar porch for a short rest before completing our trek. We arrived at the dock early meaning we were in the front of the line. And we finally were able to sit on the upper deck of the ferry. Definitely not Uecker seats this time.

And we were excited to go back because San Pedro is home to the best Chicken and Rice or Pork and Rice we have ever eaten. It is on par with Jerk Chicken from the kettles of Jamaican beaches. We planned to buy enough food for a couple of meals…

To be continued….

Caye Caulker, Long Walking Monkey on A Short Pier: A Week in Belize, Part 4 We took the water taxi from the dock at the end of the next door pier to the ferry in San Pedro then ferried to Caye Caulker.