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