was living large in the ‘Proper Garage Apartment’ and was ‘in good’ with the Landlord. She informed me he had this ‘wonderful little apartment’ for rent, which was ‘just perfect’ for me. Read CHEAP.
I checked it out, paid my fifty bucks and moved in. The moving in took all of two minutes, for I had not much to move.
Working for Ruth at her Liquor store in Ladonia and making a solid three dollars fifty cents an hour (plus ‘benefits), it was indeed, ‘perfect’ for me.
Now mind you, I never complained about living in such a place. After all, it did suit me and no one would have cared anyhow if it didn’t. It had some kind of ‘certain charm’ (just like this place) to be sure.
How many folks could invite a guest into their home and lead them past the shitter before arriving into the living room/bedroom/kitchen/study proper? As far as I knew, I had the only such place in all of Commerce. It was special.
And truth be told, I did some ‘entertaining’ there a couple of times. The only person who I would invite over was my girlfriend. She never judged me. She was always happy to be with me, no matter the venue. (Yes, that sounds conceited, but there it is Gentle Reader—c’est vrai, or quel dommage, or… choose your own français).
Back Then I used to walk around The Quiet Streets of Tel Aviv at three A.M.
I Had no reason to feel apprehensive
Fiddler on the roof – If I were a rich man
And Yes. No Shit. I Love The Old Jewish Culture
This Post is a Continuation of a Promise I made to Me (And to Y’all, Gentle Readers) to write about Sinai Field Mission. For brevity’s sake (The Soul of Wit), I am breaking it down into snippets.
To catch the back story, actually the forward story, please go here:
Me and Boeing’s 747 partners: Wheels Down at Ben Gurion Airport semi-close to Tel Aviv Israel late one afternoon, October 1977, just a couple of days before Halloween, found the Talmud. I mean tarmac.
My final destination, however was not Judea; it was The Sinai Desert, to live for eighteen months-plus on a mountain-top base camp,
Dubbed ‘Caddo Mountain’, (In deference to the Texans who built it and ran it and to whom I would soon become a compadre) some shit-hole between the Gidi and Mitla Passes: Historically, the only two routes armies could pass from east to west or west to east across burning Sinai to thwack upon each other’s opponents’ heads.
I was 40 days leeward of twenty years and a little more than apprehensive. (These Two States, Egypt & Israel, were still technically, At War)
I knew some of the history, but I couldn’t be bothered that day about ‘Ancient’ History (Yom Kippur War, Six-Day War, ‘Suez War’ of ‘56, Holocaust.
Nope: I was here for ‘New History’, ‘My History’, ‘My Adventure’:
A Dangerous Desolate Gig (my first). I had never been out of CONUS (Continental United States) before.
3.0and cock-strong! Fuck did I care for Mid-East Politics? I am here! Step right up! Texas has arrived! “Step aside, Son!”
Gathering my luggage (my father’s old sea-bag left over from his USMC Korean War days) and a few other bags, laden with tennis shoes, workout gear, books and magazines… way too much superfluous shit, I scampered to find my liaison, struggling with all my kit.
Finding him, a tall, skinny, thin-haired, gaunt-faced, ‘Middle-East-Hardened’ Texan Veteran (four months here previous to me, I discovered later), man who spoke with an air of, ‘Oh, you’re the ‘New Kid’… Follow me’ he said laconically.
He looked an old thirty-five to me. (Later I found out he was twenty-nine, but we were all so young there. Back then.)
Ignoring his attitude, I tried very hard to ‘get into the groove.’ It was hellishly hot, even for an October—a Texas October. I had jet lag and fatigue like a pup that had been crated too long.
Even though I was ‘stoked’, all I really wanted was a gallon of really cold orange juice, an air-conditioned hotel room, and a bed.
The ‘plane ride’ from Dallas to Tel Aviv had robbed me of some (I thought) important part of my young life and my health. I was severely dehydrated, completely spent, and pretty much left wondering if I had made some horrible mistake.
But, I sucked it up.
After a hot and hotter and even hotter bizarre drive (The Road signs looked so foreign to me, some form of hieroglyphic—never having seen Hebrew before—had not at that point read the Old Testament) from Ben Gurion Airport, through the busy streets of Tel Aviv (me resisting the urge to ask,
“Hey! are we there yet?”) we arrived at the Mediterranean Sea and the Sheraton Hotel.
My ‘liaison’ deposited me at the front desk of the ‘New’ Sheraton Hotel on HaYarkon Street Tel Aviv, telling me in parting,
“The R&R Vehicle leaves at 0800hrs; meet here in the lobby. Don’t be late. Goodbye.”
“Thanks Asshole.”
I checked in, and got me that room, such as it was. It was more a closet than a room, but it was cool and clean, and there was that bed tucked away in the corner…
“Is it all books and words? Or do you really feel it? Do you really care? Do you really smile. When you smile?”
And since I am rather fond of complete sentences
(and closure)
I just feel compelled to drop this bit in.
(For those few, those happy few, who actually “get” me.
And my sense of humor.)
If I keep dropping mindless shit into this post, I am going to lose my fucking mind.
But I suppose this “Post” Was All About Some Of The Favorite Things I Love To Share.
Now.
Fess up.
Wasn’t it?
Fuck it.
You should not have come this far.
Go Away.
(This one is just for Lance.)
Vid credit: Boston 4 Evaa
“Say, can I have some of your purple berries?” “Yes, I’ve been eating them for six or seven weeks now. Haven’t got sick once.” “Probably keep us both alive.”
I keep ‘sharing’.
But that was the entire point of this entire exercise.
Now,
Wasn’t it?
And just to tie up this thought process…
“Few of My Favorite Things.”
Someday, this post is gonna end.
I am gonna keep milking this cow until she be dry.
(Yes! I am insane!)
Please try to forgive me.
Or not.
Really do not care.
At this point.
“Sharing is Caring.”
Laughing out LOUD!
(I do NOT Subscribe to the “Social Justice Warrior” Magazine.)
‘Cuz I am an asshole.
But then, you’d know that….already.
Thank you if you have read this post.
I am not so much of an ass that I cannot appreciate any time you have spent here.
She Died On Me! She Was Always So Popular! The Phone Rang Off The Wall! The Call Was Always For her! Never For Me! “Lance is an asshole! Talk to Madelyn—She is Nice”—
Bullshit! She was Not Nice To Anyone But Me. In Her Heart. We Knew and Understood “The Game” But We Never Verbalized it; We Did Not Have To”
I miss her so much
I cannot write anymore on this right now.
I’ll get back to it.
My heart is still broken.
Some may ponder
Wonder
Why
I Love her so much
Here is the reason
For All Seasons
She Always Stood By Me
Through thick and Thin
She was My Athena,
She
shielded
Me
From the World
(Even When I was in Iraq)
She was always there for me
Constant as the Northern Star
Change the name from ‘Richard’ to ‘Madelyn’
Then You May Catch My Drift:
Fuck it!
This was The Joni I wished to share!
So There!
Constantly in the darkness?
Where’s that at?
If you want me, I’ll be in the bar.:
Joni is such a complicated / fascinating brilliant woman,
as was my Madelyn, my sister
My much loved and missed sis
Goddamn I Miss her!
****
Lance & His B’Loved Sis:
I truly wish I had more pics, but I don’t–my misfortune, not yours.
was living large in the ‘Proper Garage Apartment’ and was ‘in good’ with the Landlord. She informed me he had this ‘wonderful little apartment’ for rent, which was ‘just perfect’ for me. Read CHEAP.
I checked it out, paid my fifty bucks and moved in. The moving in took all of two minutes, for I had not much to move.
Working for Ruth at her Liquor store in Ladonia and making a solid three dollars fifty cents an hour (plus ‘benefits), it was indeed, ‘perfect’ for me.
Now mind you, I never complained about living in such a place. After all, it did suit me and no one would have cared anyhow if it didn’t. It had some kind of ‘certain charm’ (just like this place) to be sure.
How many folks could invite a guest into their home and lead them past the shitter before arriving into the living room/bedroom/kitchen/study proper? As far as I knew, I had the only such place in all of Commerce. It was special.
And truth be told, I did some ‘entertaining’ there a couple of times. The only person who I would invite over was my girlfriend. She never judged me. She was always happy to be with me, no matter the venue. (Yes, that sounds conceited, but there it is Gentle Reader—c’est vrai, or quel dommage, or… choose your own français).