My Camel had just Thrown a Shoe

“How did you two crazy love-birds meet?”  It seems to be a question that I hear a lot, but the answer varies as the winds blow, or the seasons change.

When do we really meet someone? Was it just a passing flirt, or did she rear-end me on the main highway, just because I had a “Save the White Rabbits” sticker on my back window? Was it love at first sight? That is another good one. Was is love, I might just ask myself, when she dragged me from my car, kicking me with her motorcycle boots, telling me that I was more worthless than the last man that cursed her, and told her she was good for nothing, and now By Gum, he/I was going to pay for words like that!

The officers called out to speak to the two motorists involved in the crash, had to hold her, pinning her arms, while she threatened to shoot me, with dismemberment to follow, then tossing my worthless body-parts into the blue, blue sea.

We just sat there, Lola and I while the whitecaps played with the Seagulls. “It was right here, I threw his hapless butt into the sea” she told the crime investigators. I offered her a smoke while she told me her tale, but she declined, “Oh, I don’t smoke, but don’t let that stop you”. I didn’t smoke as well, but my mother told me “Always  be polite to women who have killed and disposed of their former lovers. Remember it might just have been you”. That is when Lola fell for me. That was the statement that caused us to be together today. Just one small puff of a cigarette, we both didn’t smoke, but shared together, while the Seagulls cried, and her motorcycle sighed.

“You should really be writing some of this down” she said, while she took a long dry drag from her Mt Douglas Longs. A very long drag stretching back to the last Ice Age, I would imagine. I told her how I had been looking for a job in the local Homer-Kenai Circus, but those kind of jobs were amazingly not that easy to score. She just reached over and kissed me, and on the lips no less, just before I wondered, if I was getting anywhere with her.

She just sat there tightening the laces on her motorcycle boots as I watched her. “Yes siree, nice and tight. The tighter the better” she just intoned, while taking another non-drag from her cigarette.

I said, it looked just like when my Circus Camel needed to be tethered. I had just put the rope around its head, when it rose up, and tried to escape, but threw a shoe in the process.  “That’s when a woman stood up in the crowd and said “Wow. You really are adept at tying ropes, aren’t you?” “I could use a man like you in my life!”

Lola wasn’t one to mince words. When she wanted her ropes tight, then she needed/wanted someone skilled in Camel Tethering to do her right. I was just standing there with my Camel, and the remains of my career in the Circus business, when she came over to me and asked for a light. I slapped my pockets looking for one, when the fellow next to me said, “Funny. This reminds me of the story about the 2 Caribou and the Moose, who came into that Bar In Moose Snout. It was a Cold Winter’s Summer day when the first one said to the other 2-” his buddy started to laugh and they were slapping each other on the back, when Lola asked, “Why don’t we ever hear the end to that joke?”

I was just about done tucking Lola in for the night. I had tightened things to her liking, when she asked me “What ever did happen to that Camel that threw the shoe?”

That question defines my life in a nutshell. A piece of dust swept under the Imitation Grizzly Bear Rug, a Camel spitting dates, while I was wanting to meet her in the dark of an Alaskan Summer Night, tempting her over to my table at the Moose Snout Lodge with my two rapidly melting ice-cubes, while she shouldered her 30-30 Winchester, just before she bit my ear and motioned me up the back stairwell with her hands running along the barrel of the gun as if, as if

I just sat on the back porch having a bit of a think while the Caribou Tails swayed in the background. Lola came up to me with a cup of Kenai Java, while patting me on the back, saying “That Chicken Bone need not get stuck down your throat, while I am around”

And the volcanoes puffed a bit, and the earth shook along  where the Pacific Plate was thrusting into the North American Plate, and Lola said, “Oh, I love it how you talk dirty like that…….”

And that Camel? Well, that is another story for another time, when I tell the story of how Lola and I met. Again….


When the Blue Rooster Crowed

“Where in blazes have you been today?”

Lola was just standing there, wearing a reddish color on her face resembling Mt Redoubt’s caldera when the lava began to splash over the rim.

“I’ve always loved how the lava and you looked in the moonlight….”

“Uh”. Always a good place to start my explanation, before the nasty part had to, and I mean, just had to come.

“Uh” -You’ve already said that part, steamed Lola out of one of the side vents, signaling an imminent eruption.

“Uh. I was just shooting the breeze with my buddies at the Bent Antler Bar, and they told me about this Blogger who gave up his site, for the woman, he loved!”

“Sounds like a Wuss to me” said Lola, wiping the sulfur from around her mouth. It always smelled like rotten eggs when, but this is not the time for such things, is it?

“No, Lola. You don’t understand. He had followers, and had been blogging since 2015, but one day he just woke up and smelled the Dark Roast Coffee, most likely from the Kenai Roasting Company? Then he told his followers in the most gentle and respectful way, that he wouldn’t be gracing their presence anymore with his insightful and romantic poetry!”

“W-U-S-S!” said Lola again. If he really wanted to impress that woman, he would have written what he really felt about her. Down and Dirty, telling her, or her telling him, how she wanted it, how much and how long, and then she would get the likes, let me tell you! Then he should have dropped all of his -“followers – more Wusses, then cut off all access to his blog – that’ll show the world!”

I could see that we were not speaking the same language. I felt that he had left the world of blogging to concentrate solely on her. On her needs. Writing things to her alone, with all his heart and……

“Women” said Lola terse and to the point. “Women might say they want their men to be soft and squishy, filling their lives with teddy bears and romantic walks along the Cook Inlet, but when the lights are turned down low, and she walks into him, repeatedly, wearing nothing but her black negligee, and no socks of mention, then he…”

“Lola. I see where you are going with this argument, but why would he throw all that fame and attention away for doing lesser things, attracting fewer people and most likely ending up in the Doldrums for lack of feeling, being less of a man, unless he could convince his one and only, true love, showing her what he has given up for her!”

“Nothing but another bird with colored feathers” she said with disgust. “Might as well color his feathers Blue and rehash his “feelings” on other sites, where he could “relate better to his public!”

“Just another Wuss in my way of thinking” she said at last. “If you stayed away from The Bent Antler, and spent more time with yours truly, our thoughts would be more equal, perhaps weighted in the direction of my logical way of thinking, but as equal as you think that they might be!”

I only hope the Comment Woman reads my thoughts again. I always can trust her opinion and way of thinking! I won’t be telling Lola, though.

I still value our/my life with her/on this planet…….




Take 56 – The Mooning Incident

“All right now, I want quiet on the set! I SAID QUIET!”

I thought the director was a bit stressed, but one look at Lola’s combination short skirt and 30-30 Winchester Combo, put him in his place, and I for one, knew where that was!

The train had just traveled past me and Lola with the young girl hanging out of the Caribou Cart, pointing her assets toward the train, mooning us, well not really us, as we were the ones doing the mooning, or the ones that portrayed us, while we watched and waited, when the director found something wrong with the scene. Again!

The director explained, “The Caribou Woman and her friend were moving from the left to the right instead of right to left, making it seem as if the train were traveling south, when in reality it was really moving in the opposite direction.”

I wanted to interject my question about just which direction the train was traveling when this incident occurred, but didn’t want to make more trouble than necessary.

The director was obviously some sort of perfectionist, and the correct directions for him were Alpha and Omega. In addition, we had a number of unknown variables to deal with, not making the whole mess any easier to deal with.

  1. Was the friend of the Caribou Woman, a woman or, a man
  2. Were they: a)pleased, b) shocked, or c) ready to strip naked and streak the train?

I suggested a cardboard figure to represent her friend, with a large question mark on her/his face.

The Caribou Woman, actually the woman who portrayed the Caribou Woman, was not comfortable with a cardboard figure next to her, which prompted a comment from the real Caribou Woman, who was sitting next to us in our chairs with our names emblazoned on the backs.

“I’ve done some research on this issue, and have found out that the Comment Woman knows the exact details of this incident, but is keeping her comments to herself on this question!”

The young Groupies held at bay just off the set, squealed with delight hearing the name of the Comment Woman….

“Let’s try it again. When I say, ACTION!”

I felt that my chair wasn’t as comfortable as the others, but didn’t want to look like a Wuss in front of the Caribou Woman. Lola seemed to tolerate my ogling of her obvious talents and qualities, because she was more concerned that the Comment Woman might make her entrance, setting off a chain of events, not even ice-cubes could stop.

The train rolled along like it should with the woman portraying the Caribou Woman, and her cardboard friend moving in the correct direction, while the synchronized Caribou Cart running along the road on specially-made rails, approaching the place where Randy gets his comeuppance.

“I never liked this story, it makes me look like a sex-craved, Boob!” I whispered to Lola, who was just sitting their, in her custom-made sunglasses, wearing her hottest skirt, just inviting me to drop my cookies on the ground and take a gander…..

The Caribou Woman just giggled, and blushed a bit, while Lola just sat there, without moving, thinking of how to eradicate those nasty little cutesy white rabbits, painted with the face of the Comment Woman, and her attempts to steal Randy away from her. So far away…

I offered to fetch us some Tundra Tea, while the scene played out in front of us. The mystery person next to the Caribou Woman made me wonder about his/her part in this story, as well as my participation as well, but without the Comment Woman’s Comments, or the Comment Woman’s Comment Groupie Fan Club, I wasn’t able to find out those answers, as long as this blog continued with my mindless ramblings…….



The Early Afternoon, When I

When I opened the newspaper, I realized that I needed to clarify you a few things, hopefully before you discovered them yourself.

Apparently, sometime after we left the party room and before we ended up in each other’s arms, there was the small matter of the Fire Department, and the reporter from the Alaska Times! You might notice a small mention on the front page, “Rooster Struts His Stuff” which will direct you to pages 3-5 where the full-sized color photos are there for everyone to see.

I am a bit afraid about the comments that will most certainly be coming from my co-workers, family and friends, concerning the reasons, why I appear in said photos wearing a Rooster Costume, and pretty much nothing else underneath! I would appreciate any details you might have yourself, or come across during your travels, so we can make our own matching set of Photo Books – The Memories We Shared Together.( An excellent Christmas idea for those who dare).

I must say that your Hen Costume was stunning, with its colorful ensemble combining the Panache of your feather-attire along with your “devil-may-care” look for all the world to see. We definitely made a “Stunning Couple” daring the rest of the party-goers to top that if they could! The bar tab, though, was a bit on the largish side, but I know for a fact that you and I kept things at a minimum, because as you’ve said a thousand times before, “A drunk Rooster makes for a Dull Boy afterwards when the real fun begins!”. If I have misquoted you in that statement, I apologize greatly, but sometimes it is not easy keeping track of things, while the draft seems to make the room colder than it should be, while wondering just what I’d done with the rest of my attire!

The Fire Department will not be pressing charges, as they could see that it wasn’t us that summoned them to rescue “Those 2 crazy birds hanging outside the 15th floor wearing nothing but…..” That was obviously other party people who couldn’t hold their liquor- in, and their need to sound the alarm – out.

If you are adept inside the other Social Media ( as stated in my decommissioning of blog blog as being lousy at this) then I would ask you to check out Instagram, Twitter, etc. as those various sites seem to pick up on events such as ours in very little time. In addition, my portrayal of “Strutting his Stuff” appears on YouTube in 4K video, which is something that you won’t want to miss seeing later on today, and in the weeks to come.

Hope your head has stopped throbbing? I know, I’ll be happy when mine finally does.

Yours Sincerely….

PS The rumor that we were Tongue-Kissing under the bar while looking for half-smoked cigarettes, was greatly exaggerated, as I was of the impression that Roosters and Hens did not possess tongues, but the jury is still out on that one, isn’t it?


But Pomegranates Do Grow on Trees, Don’t They?

Sit down boys and girls, mothers and fathers and hear the tale of how a young girl, made her way into

-who are you writing about this time? asked Lola, who peered over my shoulder, while hoping to catch a glimpse of something else.

This is the story of a girl named Lola, and how she made her way through life. Long ago and far away

-it sounds like a fairy tale to me but if you make this for children, then it won’t show the real me. If you make it sound like I’m under the age of consent, we won’t be playing, “What is she hiding in her box” later on tonight!

Lola was a woman who knew her way around men. When she was over the age of consent, she used to ride her motorcycle around the Kenai Peninsula in search of

-how do you know that I even own a motorcycle? I might just be riding my thumb to Mexico like Johnny Rodriquez sang about, or don’t you listen to oldies but moldies?

Lola was no stranger to getting around “Kenai” as the natives called it. Her houseboat, stranded on dry land after the big flood of

-Houseboat! That makes me sound like I am knitting small things, and waiting for My Prince Charming to return to me, especially after I told him, he was the father of my unborn child, and he said he would do right by me, but his telephone, and address don’t seem to work anymore!

Growing up in the quaint village of Homer, she often found time to consider the world at large while dreaming of other places beyond what some people know as Alaska. Across the Inlet to the west, were a chain of volcanoes who were Lola’s imaginary playmates, while she as an only child was growing up out in the country, while

-you are way out of town on this line of thinking. “Quaint Village of Homer!” What have you been smoking today? I had friends, lots of them, and not just a collection of  Stratovolcanoes who are their own “playmates” if we are going down that road at all in this story. I told you that my life, could be read about in the comment/reply box, where you might just glean some pertinent information about yours truly, but don’t you start telling the world about being “young and innocent!”

In the fruit orchards of Southern Alaska, I used to imagine me picking her pomegranates, that grew on the bushes along the river, while we lie together on her Imitation Grizzly Bear Rug with White Rabbit Flourishes, but she said, “But pomegranates do grow on trees, don’t they,? Which of course started the whole discussion over again

-Why pomegranates?

They are included in the title, as a sort of double entendre to suggest that I would be picking 2 balls of fruit, when in reality, it was about

-then I think, I’ll just slap your face for suggesting such a thing! What if there were still Children in the audience?

I took a sip of my Tundra Tea while I considered ravishing the memory of someone named Lola at the beginning of this blog. I thought, if she had been involved in the difficult process of telling the story of her life, then it would have gone better than this. Wrong again, I guess!

I just leaned back in my Barcalounger and considered what I would be writing for tomorrow, but that won’t be until Lola goes to sleep. Alaska though lies 10 Time Zones behind me, so I’ll just have a drift of my imagination until then.

“-and that perfectly described my life and times…….” she said



The Morning After, When I

When I awoke this morning with the events of last night still ringing in my head and body, I wondered how you were faring after the stormy weather had hit us?

There we were celebrating the demise of my blog, with the overwhelming responses streaming in with an unexpected 2 “likes” and 2 comments to this quite unusual evening. I must admit to feeling a bit “giddy” as we drank until the Caribou came home, as if there were no tomorrow’s sun coming through the window, illuminating the Anchorage I’ve loved, but never visited.

Just now, after rubbing the morning sleep out of my eyes, I looked about the bedroom for signs of you, but was only greeted by our hastily discarded clothing and a few empties still lying about on the floor. I, with my mind still a bit groggy, was wondering how many liberties we had taken with each other, but knowing you like I never did before, gave me a sense of reassurance that we hadn’t performed any acts, that you hadn’t talked about, or hadn’t described in graphic detail in your own blog of note?

I would have told you all of the above thoughts personally, but as you are in a complete other country, with 10 Time Zones between us, added to the fact that you wouldn’t be able to recognize me in a crowd of people, I wouldn’t think that either of us will end up pregnant when all things are accounted for. If, however, an accident has, or will have occurred, rest assured that I will do my duty as an honorable man, and will send you a card at the hospital wishing you fair wind in your future endeavors!

With my day just starting and yours? Well, I wouldn’t want to assume anything with what your night will be offering? I only know that if I had been present, I would have regaled you with some sort of nonsensical story, tailored in a way to make you laugh, thus causing you to spit out your non-lightable cigarette over to the next table landing in a drink with ice. We’d laugh about it both now and for years to come, when we may or may not still be communicating in the Comment/Reply section of each of our respective blogs.

I leave you with your very words, still ringing in my head as I start to face this brave, new day,

“If we are going to get this tension over and done with, I suggest we meet in a lightened hallway, in some motel in Anchorage, and talk about our options over a non-smoke!”

I’ll be the one with the Manzanita branch in his lapel, making recognition of me easy and hard at the same time, while I’ll assume the first woman who makes eye-contact with me is you?

See you, not most certainly, soon……



This Song has No Title

I was humming that old Elton John song, This Song has No Title, but my story didn’t even have Just Words and a Tune.

Every decent, and those less-so hotels deserve a back stairwell. I used the one at the Moose Snout Hotel with a bold and brashness that was reminiscent of my younger days, where I was just a lowly salesman away from home, and my mother’s wise words: “Never fall in love with a Foreign Woman, son. There is nothing but heartache and trouble waiting for you there!”

The darn thing was, Mom considered every woman who didn’t live on our side of the street, Foreign. She also forgot to mention that there weren’t any women living on our side of the street, unless I took her into that difficult equation.

Lola Prim wasn’t one to forget her roots. “The Proper way to bend this conjugation, or slice a dihedral from the side of this difficult equation can be done, with great skill using a knife like this one, whereupon she would produce a knife, that could easily separate one of her “presumed lovers” from his manhood within the time it took to please her in 145 exciting and foreign ways. Pleasing Lola was though not easy, and the threat of “separation” always lurked in the background, where the knife cupboard was located, with Lola herself, possessing the only key, hanging around her neck, close to my two good friends named,

Lola just looked at her students as if with her guidance, and their youth, they both would be going far in life. Much farther than they thought they would be going, but not as far as Lola had gone before with others. Lola was….where was I? Oh yeah. The back stairwell.

It always allowed me the opportunity to exit any unpleasant situation, like having to explain why I don’t being in Moose Snout with Lola, or another man bursting into the room yelling, “Sorry Buddy. Didn’t mean to catch you in the middle of somebody, but that certain somebody just happens to be my wife!” Then the guns would start blazing with Lola stopping just long enough to light her unlightable cigarette, while shooting the breeze with the disgruntled husband, while his wife and I tried to put our pants back on, one leg at a time.

The bar was just about empty, only being populated by the Bartender, and a woman of non-negotiable needs standing at the other end, sipping her Tundra Tea. The Bartender had just told her that age-old joke about the 2 Caribou and the Moose who came into this very bar, and

I was down on my luck. I felt as if no one could cheer me up, not even by telling that classic joke, which managed to get the woman in the Imitation Caribou Jacket laughing so hard that tears ran down her face, not unlike the waters lapping up along the sides of Homer Spit running tried and true towards the other side of Kenai Peninsula. We were young and in love, when she told me that Homer was not her cup of Tea, and that she would be leaving me on the first bus out of there. Traveling along highway 1 towards Anchorage, wasn’t a journey, she wanted to take either, so she stopped along the way, where she

OK. I was at the bar, when the Bartender came over to me and asked “What’s your Poison, Buddy?”

I was reminded of another totally non-connected story, which might seem interesting to some of my readers, but one that no bearing on the story at hand, so I opted for a Whisky Straight without ice, and spent my time drinking it, while wondering what I was doing in that Lola-forsaken-place in the first place? I always ordered my drinks without ice, no matter how much I really desired ice, but that is another story altogether, isn’t it?

The Bartender apparently felt sorry for me, and came over and sat down, after placing 2 ice-cubes into my drink. “The very last ice-cubes on this side of the Arctic Circle, but lucky for us, we don’t get many visitors asking for ice here in Moose Snout”. He listened to my story, about the first time that I’d met Lola. I was just getting to the juicy part of the story, when he said “Don’t worry too much about your troubles. Sooner or later another Temporal Loop will hit you, solving your problems, or creating them again”.

I just looked up from my drink to see Lola standing at the bar. The same Bartender had just told her the story of the 2 Caribou and the Moose, and after she laughed so hard that she cried Tears of Joy, she turned to the Bartender and asked if he had any ice-cubes for her drink……

The first time I met Lola. The very first time I met Lola. The first before the last time, I told how we met, was back in

“…I’m an innocent child, sharp as a knife…” This Song Has No Title – Elton John from Yellow Brick Road

Ode to One I…

“Write me one of those poems, you melt women’s hearts with”

Lola was to the point, but I’m afraid her smiles could turn to frowns with the slightest…

“Uh. It’s not as easy as that Lola. Not all thoughts can be expressed at the drop of a hat!”

“-but you could do it with other women” sounding a bit more angry and less patient

“I’m not sure who those “other women” were, but I’ll give it a shot anyway”

-sitting thinking a bit, while Lola bides her time, cleaning the odd weapon or such

“These words, not being as easy to say, as I hoped they would be, were not the first, nor the last on my mind tonight, They, being as an Ode to the one, I….

“Oh Heck, Lola. It’s just no good today. Why don’t we just play a round of Pinochle or another one of those card games with a funny name, or something?”

-quietly standing up, gun in hand, having considered the next step. She raised the gun, and

!”Ouch.  Lola! Why are you jabbing me like that?”

“You were dreaming -Silly Goose, yelling and shouting, but not all dreams come  true, do they?”

-No. Lucky for that, I thought while falling back down onto the bed with a warm entity beside me whispering soft nothings in my ear,

“Now how did that poem go again? Ode to Lola…..

“I’ll just clean my favorite gun, my 30-30 Winchester, while you get your thoughts together, OK?”

Lola, Roll Over!

“Lola, roll over won’t you?”

Lola rolled over all right, but then she opened her eyes and said,

“What do you men by disturbing the calmness of my sleep”

-Wow. Not all things are easy to say to your partner, are they?-

“Uh, Lola. You were snoring up a storm, and I couldn’t….”

“For your information, Women do not Snore! Obviously you were awakened by the heavy feelings of unrequited guilt at having to sleep next to a Goddess like me, each and every night of your miserable, low-down, polecat existence!”

-I really hated these multi-parted questions, never really knowing which one to answer first?-

“Now, I’m going back to my peaceful sleep, unless you’d like this discussion to go to a place where I know you live and wouldn’t want someone like me, pounding on your door at this time of night!”

-Lola just rolled over and returned to her non-snoring, which made me move my miserable, low-down, polecat kind of existence to the next room so I could entertain myself with the silent dripping  sounds of the hurricane-force winds, pounding the outside of the house in the wee hours of the morning.-

-but, I still looked forward to her renewed comments, when she finally got up for the day……

I think


We Never, Always Met, Her and I

When I would ask Lola, “Do you remember the first time, we’d met each other?” She’d just laugh and say, “We’ve never met, you know. We’ve always known each other”.

If that were true, and we’ve always known each other, being, existing in the same space, at the same time, then my memories of having done so, any number of times, must be lies?

“Lie to me dearest” was something, she might have said to me, the first time that we hadn’t met each other. We were strangers, even though we knew each other, but that didn’t stop me from hitting on her, and having her slap my face, as if we just hadn’t met that first time anyway.

Lola was someone, I wanted to get to know, but knowing her always, seemed to restrict how much mystery might be left in our relationship, only if knowing her in the first place hadn’t really taken place, leaving me back at square one, with her fingermarks still stinging my face, with her turned abruptly around, ignoring me as if I always, but never existed.

We might be lying there in each other’s arms, while I was considering my fate, my life without her as she walked away from me. “Hey!” I yelled out, but not too loud to disturb our love-making on our Imitation Grizzly Bear Rug with Caribou Flourishes. In my mind, she turned around and considered me once again. She might have been bursting with anger, not being able to understand how I could have treated her like I owned her, not letting the us, who we were back then, get to know each other properly, before starting our lives together, for as long as that idea would last?

I took a smoke out of the nearby pack of Mount Iliamnas, knowing that they wouldn’t be lit this side of the year 1741, but having a smoke after doing our dance of the mating Caribous was as traditional as saluting the flag at a Baseball Game.

Batter, Batter up. The umpire yelled, and spat on the ground, while his thoughts were really residing at a bar located at the Moose Snout Resort, wondering why the woman next to him was firing her rifle in all directions, just because the last two ice-cubes this side of the Arctic Circle had just been given to that poor fellow at the next table.

“Strike One!” – The crowd went wild, with anger threatening the Umpire with death and dismemberment, while singing their fight song, “145 Reasons to hit the road, Ump!”

I woke up out of a strange dream, with Lola’s fingernails digging in for the winter along the course of my back. “The Umpire got away with his life, this time” she whispered, while giving me that look about “Let’s do it again, before I have to slap your face…”

“Do you remember, when first we laid eyes upon each other?” a question called out to me from a young woman, while I eyed a parking space for my motorcycle. She was sitting on a bench along Highway One, somewhere along the Kenai Peninsula, when our lives were about to move from the parking gear to the fast lane, but

-then she slapped my face again, but Lola just laughed and said, “Boy, you sure had a hard time with women, didn’t you….?”