Post by rvm45 on Nov 16, 2011 16:38:09 GMT -6
Still casting around for something to really engage me--though I still have stuff to add to some of the other Beginnings.....
Maybe somebody could give me a Wee-Bit of feedback on this one.....
Its getting wearisome, getting little or no feedback--and you three or four consistent commentators--not aimed at y'all.....
Thicker Than Water
Zane was working on a drawing, and was just as happy as if he’d been in his right mind, when someone knocked at his door. Many things might surprise Zane, but there were very few things left in the World of mortal man that would astonish him. Therefore he was properly surprised, but not shocked, to see that his cousin Kurt was at the door.
Kurt had never been to his house. He hadn’t even run into Kurt for perhaps twenty years. He had nothing against Kurt, but on the other hand, he had nothing for him either.
“Can I come in?” Kurt asked.
“If you don’t mind the Dogs.” Zane said with a shrug.
There were three very large dogs, and a rather small one. They rushed Kurt, but when Zane spoke sharply to them, they contented themselves with sniffing, and forbore leaping upon Kurt.
“Sitzen Sich” Zane said with an off-hand gesture towards a couch.
“Do you remember the get-togethers we used to have at Grandpa’s farm?” Kurt asked.
Zane paused for several long moments, just to reminisce. He wasn’t terribly observant of most of the social conventions—and consequently he left a rather large hole in the conversation—But Kurt wasn’t that easily deterred from his purpose.
Uncle Mathias and Aunt Katy had been Kurt’s Grandfather and Grandmother, and he and his mother had lived with them. Every weekend, kinfolk had come from far and wide, to get together at Uncle Mathias’ farm. They weren’t really “ Family Reunions”, because “Reunion” presupposes a reasonable period of separation.
Zane’s Father hadn’t taken the family down every weekend. If someone had asked him why, he’d have likely answered that he wasn’t a damned Kentuckian, and thus didn’t have the built-in compulsion to go “Over Home” every weekend…
But it would have been a rare month that he hadn’t gone at least once. He was there for most three-day weekends.
Zane had read the funny papers as a boy, and he was earnestly puzzled as to why the artist insisted on calling Uncle Mathias and Aunt Katy “ Snuffy Smith” and “Loweezy”. Anyone could plainly see that it was Uncle Mathias and Aunt Katy. The old Hound Dog was even the same.
Uncle Mathias didn’t wear a big black hat almost as tall as he was—but he did wear bib overall’s, had less than half his teeth and drank his coffee from a saucer. Zane had no idea if he ran a moonshine still way back in the hills—Maybe in days gone by. Zane gathered that Uncle Mathias was a reformed alcoholic…
He didn’t “White-Knuckle” his sobriety, but one day, long before Zane had been born, he’d simply tired of being drunk or hung-over most of the time, and he’d stopped.
Now so far as stealing chickens, Zane hadn’t realized it, but Uncle Mathias was a bricklayer when the market for bricklayers and masons was booming all around Kentucky Lake and Lake Barclay. Despite his hillbilly ways, and the ancient rusty truck he’d driven, he’d been a successful entrepreneur, with several men working for him—what Marx would have called “Petty Bourgeois”. He wouldn’t have any need to steal chickens—and there were plenty chickens strutting around Mathias’ farm—making it a rather moot point.
And so far as that went, both Uncle Mathias and Aunt Katy had been born and raised in Indiana—but they were from a largely by-gone era, even when Zane was a boy.
“I miss those days,” Zane said. “I was just a boy then. I didn’t realize what a special time, and set of circumstances they were. At the time, it seemed commonplace, and sometimes boring.”
“Several of us have bought a small farm—its not nearly as close to the Lake as Grandpa’s farm, and it’s a bit farther drive from Indiana—but then again, the roads are much better now. Anyway, we wanted to invite you down sometime, to visit with us—any time. Bring your Dogs, there is plenty room for them. Stay as long as you’d like.”
Zane studied Kurt as if he’d proposed an astonishingly new Theory in some Thorny and Obscure Discipline.
“I’m on disability now. I could say for a week or two,” Zane Proposed.
Zane figured that Kurt would draw the line at such a long stay. He was calling the man’s bluff.
“Tell you what: let me give you a week to get packed and ready. You can ride down with me next week,” Kurt said.
“Unk-Uhh!” Zane Said. “I don’t groove on riding with folks—and having to depend on them. I’ll follow you down.”
Bring a few Guns, if you want to. We do some shootin’ pretty regular,” Kurt said.
********************************** ******************************************
Zane and Kurt, being almost exactly the same age, had been the closest of Cousins and friends. They’d swim in the farm pond together and sometimes Zane’s Father would take them to the lake to swim. They’d fished together. They’d hunted squirrel and rabbit, crows, pigeons and ground hogs together. They’d wrestled and boxed—and sometimes when all the beds and mattresses had been taken, they’d shared a bed.
Then Uncle Mathias had died when Zane was a freshman in High School. Zane hadn’t cried at the Funeral. He hadn’t wished Uncle Mathias any ill, but Mathias wasn’t “Child Friendly”. He didn’t dislike children; he just didn’t have much, if any interaction with them. He had seemed one hundred percent zeroed in on adults and adult conversations and adult concerns. Zane was hard-pressed to recall anything that Uncle Mathias had ever said directly to him.
Aunt Katy had sold the farm within weeks. She quickly became one of the old ladies who have no permanent home, and alternate staying with children, grandchildren and nieces and nephews. She’d lost a bunch of weight with age, and so became a little old lady—even shriveled. Her eyesight had gotten progressively worse—so she’d ended up as a little old blind lady.
Mathias’ death had ended the weekend rendezvous. About a year later, Kurt’s mother had moved to Indiana. Kurt had ended up going to Zane’s High School when they were sophomores. Zane had proudly proclaimed that Kurt was his “Cousin from Kentucky”.
Kurt had pulled him to one side, and said, “I wish you’d keep that to yourself. I mean like, no offence dude, but I really don’t want to be associated with you.”
Zane hadn’t been offended. But he had been puzzled and had crossed Kurt off the list of folks who weren’t wasting perfectly good Oxygen.
Now after all these years, Kurt seemed to want to be Cousins again. Zane was willing to meet Kurt on equal terms—that was okay—though he didn’t necessarily trust Kurt, or his motives.
***************************** **********************************************
Zane had an old truck that he kept in very good running condition, though he had deliberately let the appearance slide a bit. No one was likely to want to steal it—though if they tried, not only was there a clever alarm system—and if one didn’t cancel it before starting up, there was a timer and a valve that shut the fuel off thirty seconds after the truck had started moving.
He had a simple bed cover on the truck—and he used it for storage. There was a trailer hitch on the back, and Zane had his own Teardrop trailer that he’d made. The floor was steel, but the framework on the walls and top were tubular aluminum. The walls were aluminum sheet as well. Zane was tolerably good with an Oxy-Acetylene torch—but he preferred to weld aluminum with an Oxygen-Hydrogen torch.
A bright shiny aluminum trailer would have brought the wrong sort of attention—so Zane had painted it jet-black, and then Airbrushed in a bunch of Psychedelic Designs over the black. People just assumed it was made from Masonite or Plywood—and probably an ancient relic of the Love generation…
There was room to sleep in the trailer, but not to stand up. The weather was nice, so Zane set up a Tarpaulin to sit under, laid in a fire pit and set up a portable, but heavy-duty chair.
No one bothered to say, “Yea, Hey, or Nay!” To him, so he’d figured that he was cool where he was.
“I see that you’ve set up camp,” Kurt said.
Zane shrugged indifferently.
“Come on, there is something inside the barn that I want you to see.”
It was an old barn, with thick oak clapboard sides and rusty Iron Corrugated Sheet on the roof. At least it didn’t lean drunkenly. But what he saw inside caused him to be as close to being astonishment as he had in some time.
Inside the old barn—the uncommonly large old barn—there was a squat brick building—maybe half again as wide as a full-Sized Duplex, and twice as long. Kurt opened a door, and it was four steps down to the floor of the building.
“Notice the brickwork,” Kurt said, pointing to one exposed portion.
Zane couldn’t recall the technical name for it—but there was a double course of bricks, alternating two bricks side-by-side, and then a single brick at right angles. It created a wall as thick as a brick was wide. But there was a third course of bricks on the outside, laid in the Conventional manner.
Zane looked around what appeared to be an over-sized living room. The floor was old-style hardwood. The walls and ceiling were amber colored knotty pine. The furniture looked like something you’d see in an exclusive English Men’s Club, in some Television show on BBC America.
There were rich walnut bookshelves along one wall. There were a half dozen deer heads with impressive racks mounted on the other three walls, along with a Couple black bear heads, a couple boar heads and a couple bass.
There was a stuffed Red fox standing on a table, and a Couple Stuffed squirrel, in life-like poses on their own piece of tree, standing on another table. It wasn’t uncomfortably warm, even though there was a roaring blaze in both fire places, and it was the hottest part of the Summer.
“It is like: Really man! Be for real!” Zane said. Then he added, “My, but aren’t the walls vertical.”
“We’re about ready to have a family meeting—You are invited,” Kurt said.
He seemed very pleased with himself.
“Afterwards I have more to show you.”
********************************* ************************************************
.....RVM45
Maybe somebody could give me a Wee-Bit of feedback on this one.....
Its getting wearisome, getting little or no feedback--and you three or four consistent commentators--not aimed at y'all.....
Thicker Than Water
Zane was working on a drawing, and was just as happy as if he’d been in his right mind, when someone knocked at his door. Many things might surprise Zane, but there were very few things left in the World of mortal man that would astonish him. Therefore he was properly surprised, but not shocked, to see that his cousin Kurt was at the door.
Kurt had never been to his house. He hadn’t even run into Kurt for perhaps twenty years. He had nothing against Kurt, but on the other hand, he had nothing for him either.
“Can I come in?” Kurt asked.
“If you don’t mind the Dogs.” Zane said with a shrug.
There were three very large dogs, and a rather small one. They rushed Kurt, but when Zane spoke sharply to them, they contented themselves with sniffing, and forbore leaping upon Kurt.
“Sitzen Sich” Zane said with an off-hand gesture towards a couch.
“Do you remember the get-togethers we used to have at Grandpa’s farm?” Kurt asked.
Zane paused for several long moments, just to reminisce. He wasn’t terribly observant of most of the social conventions—and consequently he left a rather large hole in the conversation—But Kurt wasn’t that easily deterred from his purpose.
Uncle Mathias and Aunt Katy had been Kurt’s Grandfather and Grandmother, and he and his mother had lived with them. Every weekend, kinfolk had come from far and wide, to get together at Uncle Mathias’ farm. They weren’t really “ Family Reunions”, because “Reunion” presupposes a reasonable period of separation.
Zane’s Father hadn’t taken the family down every weekend. If someone had asked him why, he’d have likely answered that he wasn’t a damned Kentuckian, and thus didn’t have the built-in compulsion to go “Over Home” every weekend…
But it would have been a rare month that he hadn’t gone at least once. He was there for most three-day weekends.
Zane had read the funny papers as a boy, and he was earnestly puzzled as to why the artist insisted on calling Uncle Mathias and Aunt Katy “ Snuffy Smith” and “Loweezy”. Anyone could plainly see that it was Uncle Mathias and Aunt Katy. The old Hound Dog was even the same.
Uncle Mathias didn’t wear a big black hat almost as tall as he was—but he did wear bib overall’s, had less than half his teeth and drank his coffee from a saucer. Zane had no idea if he ran a moonshine still way back in the hills—Maybe in days gone by. Zane gathered that Uncle Mathias was a reformed alcoholic…
He didn’t “White-Knuckle” his sobriety, but one day, long before Zane had been born, he’d simply tired of being drunk or hung-over most of the time, and he’d stopped.
Now so far as stealing chickens, Zane hadn’t realized it, but Uncle Mathias was a bricklayer when the market for bricklayers and masons was booming all around Kentucky Lake and Lake Barclay. Despite his hillbilly ways, and the ancient rusty truck he’d driven, he’d been a successful entrepreneur, with several men working for him—what Marx would have called “Petty Bourgeois”. He wouldn’t have any need to steal chickens—and there were plenty chickens strutting around Mathias’ farm—making it a rather moot point.
And so far as that went, both Uncle Mathias and Aunt Katy had been born and raised in Indiana—but they were from a largely by-gone era, even when Zane was a boy.
“I miss those days,” Zane said. “I was just a boy then. I didn’t realize what a special time, and set of circumstances they were. At the time, it seemed commonplace, and sometimes boring.”
“Several of us have bought a small farm—its not nearly as close to the Lake as Grandpa’s farm, and it’s a bit farther drive from Indiana—but then again, the roads are much better now. Anyway, we wanted to invite you down sometime, to visit with us—any time. Bring your Dogs, there is plenty room for them. Stay as long as you’d like.”
Zane studied Kurt as if he’d proposed an astonishingly new Theory in some Thorny and Obscure Discipline.
“I’m on disability now. I could say for a week or two,” Zane Proposed.
Zane figured that Kurt would draw the line at such a long stay. He was calling the man’s bluff.
“Tell you what: let me give you a week to get packed and ready. You can ride down with me next week,” Kurt said.
“Unk-Uhh!” Zane Said. “I don’t groove on riding with folks—and having to depend on them. I’ll follow you down.”
Bring a few Guns, if you want to. We do some shootin’ pretty regular,” Kurt said.
********************************** ******************************************
Zane and Kurt, being almost exactly the same age, had been the closest of Cousins and friends. They’d swim in the farm pond together and sometimes Zane’s Father would take them to the lake to swim. They’d fished together. They’d hunted squirrel and rabbit, crows, pigeons and ground hogs together. They’d wrestled and boxed—and sometimes when all the beds and mattresses had been taken, they’d shared a bed.
Then Uncle Mathias had died when Zane was a freshman in High School. Zane hadn’t cried at the Funeral. He hadn’t wished Uncle Mathias any ill, but Mathias wasn’t “Child Friendly”. He didn’t dislike children; he just didn’t have much, if any interaction with them. He had seemed one hundred percent zeroed in on adults and adult conversations and adult concerns. Zane was hard-pressed to recall anything that Uncle Mathias had ever said directly to him.
Aunt Katy had sold the farm within weeks. She quickly became one of the old ladies who have no permanent home, and alternate staying with children, grandchildren and nieces and nephews. She’d lost a bunch of weight with age, and so became a little old lady—even shriveled. Her eyesight had gotten progressively worse—so she’d ended up as a little old blind lady.
Mathias’ death had ended the weekend rendezvous. About a year later, Kurt’s mother had moved to Indiana. Kurt had ended up going to Zane’s High School when they were sophomores. Zane had proudly proclaimed that Kurt was his “Cousin from Kentucky”.
Kurt had pulled him to one side, and said, “I wish you’d keep that to yourself. I mean like, no offence dude, but I really don’t want to be associated with you.”
Zane hadn’t been offended. But he had been puzzled and had crossed Kurt off the list of folks who weren’t wasting perfectly good Oxygen.
Now after all these years, Kurt seemed to want to be Cousins again. Zane was willing to meet Kurt on equal terms—that was okay—though he didn’t necessarily trust Kurt, or his motives.
***************************** **********************************************
Zane had an old truck that he kept in very good running condition, though he had deliberately let the appearance slide a bit. No one was likely to want to steal it—though if they tried, not only was there a clever alarm system—and if one didn’t cancel it before starting up, there was a timer and a valve that shut the fuel off thirty seconds after the truck had started moving.
He had a simple bed cover on the truck—and he used it for storage. There was a trailer hitch on the back, and Zane had his own Teardrop trailer that he’d made. The floor was steel, but the framework on the walls and top were tubular aluminum. The walls were aluminum sheet as well. Zane was tolerably good with an Oxy-Acetylene torch—but he preferred to weld aluminum with an Oxygen-Hydrogen torch.
A bright shiny aluminum trailer would have brought the wrong sort of attention—so Zane had painted it jet-black, and then Airbrushed in a bunch of Psychedelic Designs over the black. People just assumed it was made from Masonite or Plywood—and probably an ancient relic of the Love generation…
There was room to sleep in the trailer, but not to stand up. The weather was nice, so Zane set up a Tarpaulin to sit under, laid in a fire pit and set up a portable, but heavy-duty chair.
No one bothered to say, “Yea, Hey, or Nay!” To him, so he’d figured that he was cool where he was.
“I see that you’ve set up camp,” Kurt said.
Zane shrugged indifferently.
“Come on, there is something inside the barn that I want you to see.”
It was an old barn, with thick oak clapboard sides and rusty Iron Corrugated Sheet on the roof. At least it didn’t lean drunkenly. But what he saw inside caused him to be as close to being astonishment as he had in some time.
Inside the old barn—the uncommonly large old barn—there was a squat brick building—maybe half again as wide as a full-Sized Duplex, and twice as long. Kurt opened a door, and it was four steps down to the floor of the building.
“Notice the brickwork,” Kurt said, pointing to one exposed portion.
Zane couldn’t recall the technical name for it—but there was a double course of bricks, alternating two bricks side-by-side, and then a single brick at right angles. It created a wall as thick as a brick was wide. But there was a third course of bricks on the outside, laid in the Conventional manner.
Zane looked around what appeared to be an over-sized living room. The floor was old-style hardwood. The walls and ceiling were amber colored knotty pine. The furniture looked like something you’d see in an exclusive English Men’s Club, in some Television show on BBC America.
There were rich walnut bookshelves along one wall. There were a half dozen deer heads with impressive racks mounted on the other three walls, along with a Couple black bear heads, a couple boar heads and a couple bass.
There was a stuffed Red fox standing on a table, and a Couple Stuffed squirrel, in life-like poses on their own piece of tree, standing on another table. It wasn’t uncomfortably warm, even though there was a roaring blaze in both fire places, and it was the hottest part of the Summer.
“It is like: Really man! Be for real!” Zane said. Then he added, “My, but aren’t the walls vertical.”
“We’re about ready to have a family meeting—You are invited,” Kurt said.
He seemed very pleased with himself.
“Afterwards I have more to show you.”
********************************* ************************************************
.....RVM45