oregon story

Bonnie and Clyde Files 44 (Book Launch!)

Bonnie and Clyde Files, NSP Meditations , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

(Friends: today marks the launch for the sale of my forthcoming book, The Bonnie and Clyde Files: How Two Senior Saved a Middle Aged Man. Only 300 copies will be sold and it won’t be available in book stores. For more information and how to order, got to nestuccaspitpress.com or order here from the blog. Half of the profits are earmarked for the Angels for Sara Sanctuary to continue their excellent work. Please support me in this new editorial endeavor as I get back in the game of life, literature and service. Enjoy an excerpt from the book below:)

I parked my car in the parking lot of the Angels for Sara Sanctuary and got out. I heard a cacophony of barking coming from inside the house. A fit woman in her sixties appeared and introduced herself as Jacque. We shook hands and I introduced myself. I either looked invisible or a hundred years old. I handed over my volunteer form and she led me to the front door. The cacophony increased; the house shook. I entered the house and beheld dogs barking and prancing and singing. On the wall, a large flatscreen monitor played dog cartoons. Jacque gave me a tour of the house and I noticed multiple gates and partitions to sequester dogs for eating, sleeping, medical issues and hanging out. It wasn’t for everyone, perhaps not even me, but I smiled because I had met someone that it was for, and that she should be President of the United States of America.

Jacque sat in a recliner and I sat on a couch. Four or five small dogs jumped up on the arms and back of the couch. Another sat beside me. She introduced them. The two largest dogs, one black, a retriever mix, the other tan, a shepherd mix, came over and sat up in front of me. I met Bonnie and Clyde.

It felt like an interview, but not from a human resources department.

For the first time in my life, I sensed I was receiving a telepathic message, from one of the dogs surrounding me. I couldn’t discern which one, nor divine the message. I tried sending a telepathic message to the unknown dog. It was sort of like a First Contact from Star Trek. Nothing returned to me.

“How can I help you?” I said to Jacque.

“It would be great if you could come over and walk Bonnie and Clyde,” she said. “The house is a lot calmer if they get some exercise, relax, and don’t run over the smaller dogs.”

“That sounds great,” I said. “When do I start?”

“How about right now?”

“Sure.”

We went outside into the fenced back yard. Bonnie and Clyde followed. I saw the river, trees, blackberries, birds, pastures, hills, cattle, clearcuts.

A light rain began to fall. Neither one of us mentioned it. Jacque opened the gate and ushered Bonnie and Clyde out. I followed.

Jacque led us along until the trail sloped down the bank and met the river. We stopped there and Bonnie and Clyde walked into the water and started drinking. I surveyed with all my senses.

I didn’t say anything. I no longer recall how long I surveyed. It might have been five or ten minutes.

Jacque broke the spell. She said this spot was as far as Bonnie and Clyde should go. I was fine with that. This was good ground, I thought. A squad could make a formidable stand against an overpowering enemy here. Perhaps one man against an invisible enemy could, too. I also thought: this might be an interesting place to write. I’d never written near a river before. What would I write? Who am I? Do I even exist?

Culvert: A Love Story…Part 1

Fiction, NSP Meditations , , ,

She brought her lover out to the rain country to meet him, her best friend. They had a long-standing pact: new lovers had to be approved or disapproved, in person. They called it a “test,” and they devised special code phrases before the meeting that signaled approval or disapproval of the new lover when in the midst of the new lover. They both enjoyed the game very much.

A few months ago, she had approved his latest lover with special enthusiasm by repeating the code phrase five times in a row. Six months ago, he had had disapproved of her latest man because he spoke in double negatives and never read a book.

In this particular meeting, he would say, “You rang,” as disapproval and “toots,” as approval.

There was a substantial new wrinkle to this visit. She was bringing a woman for the test, an overnight test at his house. It didn’t bother him in the least, and it was a novelty. Novelties sometimes make for great stories, in print and real life.

He knew she’d been with women before, but it was typically a booze and cocaine inspired thing. On Halloween or New Year’s Eve.

It had never come up when they were lovers, and in love. They never spoke of being in love and what should be done with it. It was like going out to dinner and eating all the side dishes and leaving the main course on the table and never saying a word about eating it.

They should have never stopped sleeping together. In fact, they should have married, had children, and raised them in a cabin in the woods where there was the rushing sound of a creek making its run to the ocean. A creek full of fish, the creek where they had met so many years before in the most unlikeliest of circumstances that had involved the magical scoop of ice cream into a cone, Beck’s music and a bicycle.

It was right there, in their grasp. They could have built a thousand cairns along that creek and changed the course of Oregon history with their love. What a gig they could have been together.

As it was, he had written a hundred thousand words about her. She had read them all. Only she got it, him, his writing. No one was even close.

But convention had swayed her and she surrendered to the shaming potential of mass disapproval. She denied their destiny. He was ready to embrace it, but never pushed. It was always her choice, first and foremost.

He settled for less. He just wanted her in his life, some way, forever. She said the same, about the settling They’d once spilled blood to seal this compromise. Nothing would corrupt that blood oath.

Settling. That’s a corruption all unto its own. Only the settlers know the ultimate cost. The settling drills tiny silent holes in the settlers’ hearts.

Then atrophy.

Her new lover was a preacher’s kid, a preacher’s daughter, a pariah to her old man. He was a preacher’s kid, too, but that is another story better left untold—for now. People need to die first.

The truck pulled into his driveway. He watched them drive up in her lover’s truck, a beater Nissan. So far so good.

They were all introduced and he stowed their gear in the back bedroom. The new lover was blonde and pure punk rock right down to the combat boots. So far so good.

He barbecued fish on the patio and they got into the wine and whiskey and the Stones. They talked of interesting things and about the new lover’s banishment by her parents. She quoted some good words of compassion from Jesus and he knew them all too well. So far very good.

It was strange to see them kiss. He still loved her but had let go of all that a long time ago. He wanted her to be happy, with a man, woman or monasticism; it didn’t matter. He just wanted to be in her corner and her in his. They would be good cut men for each other for life. Every person needs a good cut man in their corner.

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