Up at the lake

Chunks of ice, floating yesterday afternoon, lay locked in the sidewalks after early morning cold returned them to slippery steps on the way to the coffee shop. Cardinals sing their song of this season blended with the chimes of the bell tower as he finally gets to the dry pavement. Lifting his head looking forward to see farther ahead than just the next step. In the neighborhood of the city, remnants of organic sounds try to hold on, interacting with the tires on the Saturn, or 100000 mile Volvo. The winter bicyclist passes, he’s ridden through the depths of the cold of January, clatters and clunks down the street, hat on but jacket open, as he heads toward 30 degrees.

Wonder if Andy will call today for lunch? No limo runs in the middle of the day means it could happen. They never meet more than a couple times per week otherwise, how could you answer the question, “What’s new?”

Last of the boxes are placed on the luggage rack fastened to the roof of the 55 Pontiac station wagon. His mom and her neighbor friend loaded up all the kids for a week up on Bluefish. Ellie, mother of a traditionally untraditional catholic family, was close friends with her priest; father Hibbs, who owned a family cabin on the lake. No room, except for the two families, fit into the seats inside. A tarp covered the carrier, protecting the luggage. Ropes crisscrossed the canvas securing it so rain and dirt stayed off its content. No one gave a second thought if it would still be there after the 150 mile trip.

Jesse and Willie stood alone as the males of the party of nine. You could hardly say the two of them had any influence being only 9 and 11. Blonde haired, blue eyed, Jesse was the cute little mamma’s boy of the group. Cuteness, a card he played many times around his older sister’s friends, made it comfortable for him to be around. Little did any of them know his innocence was melting away like ice on a warm sunny day.

“I want to sit in the back”
“No I don’t want to sit next to him”
“You sit up front with mom, your small enough to sit in the middle”

Jesse ended up having the adventure of the third seat, it faced back rather than forward, so you viewed where you’ve been, not where you’re going.
After an hour, a little over half way, the canvas tarp began flapping, 60 mile an hour wind began pulling it from its tie downs.

“Mom the tarp is flapping”

Each comment put little stress on the mothers in the front seat; they hoped it would make it the few miles to their destination.

Looking out, Jesse saw the corners of the cover, snapping from the wave of wind traveling down its length, each mile, more of it, crept down the back window.

Lifting himself out of his seat he turned around looking up front to see if anyone was paying attention to what was going on outside. No one seemed to notice. For an hour the racket continued, everyone ignored the noise.

An unfamiliar thud made Ellie look in the side mirror, catching a glimpse of one of the boxes in the carrier, flying up into the air. Jesse looked up in time to see the box of clothes deploy like a parachute once you pull the rip cord, each piece dispersing into a cloud of shirts, shorts and underwear, floating to the ground, covering both lanes of the highway.

“Mom a box flew off the top.” He said.

Heads twisted to see who won the box flying contest.

“Oh my gosh, those are my clothes” said his sister Janet.

Cranking the wheel, the car hit the gravel shoulder, the brakes stopped the tires as they grumbled over the stones to a stop. All the doors flew open, the kids piled out to collect the scattered pieces. Embarrassed beyond belief, Janet hurried to retrieve her wardrobe she would wear for the week.

“Get out the highway” both moms screamed, as a truck approached.

Standing on the side, everyone watched as the big black tired truck passed by, running over the scattered array, lifting a few pieces into the air from the back draft as it passed.

Willie, pinching the elastic waistband between the tips of his thumb and forefinger,
held up one of her white panties yelling,

“Look at the tire mark on this one.”

Humiliated, Janet ran over to him, disgustingly grabbing it out of his hands, turning away, and returning to collecting what still lay on the road.

Looking on; Jesse thought about the garments flying into the air, realizing he had never noticed the white panties before, always hidden away in her underwear drawer.

After stuffing everything back in the tattered windblown box, Janet held it on her lap for the completion of the trip. The moms tied down the tarp, then loaded up the car and headed back down the road.

15 minutes later, turning left off the main highway; they headed up the last hill before the lake. All eyes were fixed on the crest, yelling and cheering as the blue of the water capped the top of the tree, once they went over the top.

Overjoyed and relieved the trip was over, Jesse jumped out the back window before anyone could open the back hatch door. Janet couldn’t wait to get her clothes out to see what were ruined.

Oldest of the Anderson girls, Trudy worked the day they left, so she drove up on her own the next day. While down at the lake playing in the water, Jesse saw her descend the 70 stairs down the hill from the cabin. Looking at her, dressed in short white shorts, dark brown hair and round dark sunglasses, he couldn’t hold back his excitement for her arrival. Running over, he stood next to her to listen as she told her mom about the trip from home.

Bending down to look him straight in the eye, she said “Hi! Jesse have you been having fun at the lake?”

With a big smile he said “yes!”

Deciding it was time for lunch, everyone headed back up. Next to the back door of the log cabin Trudy parked her car, a red 56’ Thunderbird.

Shiny, reflecting the few rays of sun that snuck around the branches of the pine trees, Jesse couldn’t resist dragging his fingertips over the smooth surface, from the rounded tail fins to the front headlights.

Watching him do this ogling, she said, “After lunch, do you want to go for a ride?”

Imagining how cool it would be to cruise down the road, with the top down, wind blowing past, he replied, “Yes”

Time moved so slowly during lunch. He never lost contact with the image of the T bird or him riding down the road in it. His attraction for what she could do for him, lingered. Enthusiastically sitting close to her, he watched her every move. She knew the control she had over him.

Once everyone pushed their chairs out from the lunch table, he asked, “Can we go now.”

Looking over at him she smiled, “let’s go”

Simultaneously they opened their doors; he watched as she slid into her low seat, behind the red steering wheel. Between them sat a chrome shifter topped by a black round ball. His eyes couldn’t move off its strange location coming out of the floor. Turning the key the roar of the engine caused his eyes to lift to her bare foot toes with the bright red nail polish, stretching to reach the gas pedal, pressing down to rev the engine. Childish enthusiasm tickled every nerve in his body as they pulled out onto the road.

Long tanned legs, red nail polish, pointed toes, red sports cars and parachuting panties were burned into the synapse of his brain forever.

River of Beauty

How deep does your river of beauty flow?
For I would love to swim and go
Below where few have been
And take the time to grow

Currents and eddys change within
My soul would brightly gleam to win
Just one moment next to you
Would fill life full not thin

Eyes seeing a swan that's too
Consumed with minutes so few
Just one word could satisfy me
For a lifetime would do

I pray your shiny surface be
as bright below what I see
A life with you and me
Could be perfect to a tee

Day 14486 Father’s Day Evening at Como Lake

Back on this date I wrote this story. It is a linear story in that it all took place while writing it. I have edited it a bit but not much. I included the time so you may have a better idea of how long this all took.

June 18, 1989 6:58pm Fathers Day
I had a chance to spend time with Matt and Melissa today. Had a swim meet at St. Louis Park and they went along. Afterwards we went for dinner to Pepitos. It probably wasn't too fun for them but they seemed to enjoy it.

Sitting at Como Lake after dropping off the kids, I first stopped by the pavilion. Didn’t feel the privacy I needed so have moved south around the lake. Lying on the grass just off the walking path, 30 feet from a bench, ducks are rearing up their behinds searching for food on the bottom. Shadows of the sun are casting lines on the surroundings. The harsh intensity of the summers long hot sun is cooling its glare as it sets to the west. Returning to this place brings back memories of previous visit. It beckoned me back. The wind of the day, strong enough for kite flying is dying down causing the tranquil blue water to act as a mirror. Soft quacks of the ducks contentment with the moment can be heard ever so faintly.

Streams of people walk the path around the lake, nary a gap is found as the procession travels in front of me. A band warms up, readying itself for a concert at the Pavilion. A surprise to me. Paddleboats no longer sit along the docks below the pavilion, only fishermen can be found. Green algae covers the surface just off shore, the sight is not pleasant but from the size of the ducks, they don’t mind it. You can only guess this is caused by the run off of fertilizer making its way into the lake during the rains. The state insect is starting to make its presents known, just received a bite.

Mother duck has just brought out her clan; they make their way out into open water. Ten in all swim gently along never getting to far apart.

Four ducks show their stuff not far away, two white, and two mallards. Popping up out of the water paddling their legs, they appear to be standing on the surface, flapping their wings, strutting their stuff. The mallards jump on board a white one, stacked two high, then yet another mounts up and rides high. Must be too late for more eggs to be hatched but they can still enjoy.

A gray squirrel jumps through the cool green grass in front of me, along the shore. Cautiously he digs, looks, digs, looks, making sure I don’t move in on him. His front legs and mouth are black from the moist dirt he works in off the lake. A dinner must be his reason for searching so hard. All at once his prize is found. The large nut now clasped in his mouth is carried away to be feasted upon, perched on a branch of a lofty tree, safe from intruders.

A jubilant march plays as a kite tries to stay aloft over the lake. Higher and higher it goes making its way above the calming effect of the tree line. Suddenly the string appears to go free; the flyer has let out its line. Travelling over head, it has no anchor to call home. The setting sun lights up the line as it passes overhead, shimmering as it moves away from me. Knots have been made in it, making the line longer. The kite loses altitude, the string that was so high now comes down. The end drags in the water as the kite attempts to stay aloft. It would be a shame to let its flight end. Getting up, I grab this thread of life’s flight. Instantly the wind tugs on the string as the kite goes up. I have stopped its run away path. Up, up, it goes higher and higher. Now what do I do? There doesn’t seem to be anybody to claim ownership to its flight. Nobody on the distant shore is gesturing their dissatisfaction with my capture. Seconds fly by. What do I do? Wait and enjoy the flight, seems to feel alright.

In the distance I hear a man call out, “Do you have a hold of the kite”. He says. I answer with a yes. Walking up, he tells me of the periless journey of our lofty kite. It all started with a Father’s Day celebration at a church picnic. All the kids enjoyed its flight early in the afternoon. Interest waned so the kite was moved while in flight to the deck of its owner’s house where the length of string was increased . Fish line, tied to the end gave it altitude, going higher and higher. Time went by and more excitement was needed. A bottle was tied to the line and allowed to go above the trees. The weight of the bottle pulled on the string too much, snapping it sending the kite on its free flying journey. The bottle helped keep the kite up until it hit a churches brick wall breaking all but the neck. Up and down it went; several times the pursuer came within feet of the lose end but missed their chance to nab its flight. Then came my turn.

They were both grateful for helping them end their journey. It had taken them from HarMar to Como Lake. As they reeled in hundreds of feet of line this story was told to me. It will be a dads day neither one of us will ever forget. 8:11 all of this occurred in this moment in time.

A family paddles their way across the lake. Suns reflection blares off the silver side of the canoe. Starting at the front it travels down to its stern as it passes by out of sight. The lake mirrors the image of the distant shore. Walkers double their impression on the picturesque scene. Lone movements add life to the stillness. Dark shadows cast on the background, through the trees that set on the shore. Moments remain before the shadows of the horizon become evident on the view across the lake. Contrast is so great, the brightness of the sun on the shore, lights up the people who watch it set. Some, say it is so nice to watch it go down. Not many look at the other side. Brightness must be filtered by the dust in the atmosphere as it sets. Longer and longer the shadows get. Light and dark, the shades of green.

Hurry run by, walk fast, tell your stories, young and old walk, couples, married, dating, never two men, only women, some holding hands, some not, all working off that extra piece of strawberry pie. Kids ride their bikes with dad and the dog. Short shorts on women that shouldn’t, hot pink, hot green, fluorescent is in. Trombones slur their notes as the music is still being played. I should walk to hear the band from across the lake. I’ll miss the sun set. Behind me the darkness moves its cool, musty damp fingers over my back. Patience, patience it’s hard to wait. All in a line the little ducklings make their way behind their mom. Bumping up to the green blanket that covers their lake. The tallest tree is still in full brightness. Its top will be the first to sink into darkness of light. Blue sky drifts down to white then ever so gentle pink, blue, white, pink – strong lines of green.

Surprise it does not go from top to bottom but bottom to top. Now it is almost half way up the tall oak. 8:41.

No ripples are found anywhere on the lake. Almost perfect reflections now seen across the lake.
Mother and ducklings break into the green muck; stirring it up for an evening meal. Have seen enough for today. I think so.