It was cold that winter. The hills of Elmira were covered in three feet of snow. With my Carhart gear on, I'd be out there for over 4 hours; just running the walk behind snow thrower. The driveway was a winding uphill driveway. It was mostly of gravel, potted, uneven, and with many large rocks. The shear pins needed to be replaced often, and the blades were needing to be peened many times.
All day, was spent outside, between snow, and wood boiler/chopping details. Monoteny and boredom were broken up with toys. The snowmobile was a toy to drag wood from caches I had made in the forest. Archery was practiced, along with searching for sins (missing arrows). Target shooting of all kinds proved to be a good time. Wrenching on bikes, and what ever else needed it, provided a good time spent in the shop. Talking out loud, as I thought of jokes, made me laugh through the days... Days where I felt alone, and...abandon in my own home. All but for the animals; both wild and tame.
Petoskey was only 18 miles away, yet my girl and I never were together, together. We spent all of our time alone. Jacking up, and sex, was all that mattered, well... that, the casino, and shopping.
The internet has imprisoned the family. Casino style games have become the captor of my girl; spending up to $300 a month on pretend gambling through facebook.
Her daughter is online 20 plus hours a day, complaining about needing drugs to combat fatigue.
"You get coffee. And, you take medicine from the doctor." I overhear her berating her mother. The child is 11 years old. And, I know that they were talking about the medications their parents have them on. Not to mention openly discussing transgender and sexuality in minor grades, while attending Concorde Academy in Boyne Falls. Now she wants a sex change.
No one will pay attention to anything needing tending. The dogs are on their own. The discoloration of the paint finish, at the floor of the door latch jamb, expresses the dogs and their anxiety over being ignored. Their claw colors have been transferred to the surface. "I need to potty! Where are you? Are you okay?" the dogs seem to plead.
Cherokee, an Akita Chow, was a rescue. She had a litter, of which we kept 1. Her name was Ginger. I love dogs. Their intelligence level has yet to be revealed, and may remain merely speculation. I believe they are psychic.
Anyway, having been overwhelmed with the need to preserve myself, I decided to place an ad on Craigslist. The idea was to find an artist/musician in the area, in order to further develop, as well as find some friendship and support.
Days go by, but few. The telephone makes a racket. "Hey, I found an ad for a musical friendship. My name's Jimmy" a voice said.
After giving him the address, Jimmy, and a friend who also played guitar, showed up. It was around 7 PM when they came to the salon entrance of the house. This was my office/studio space.
Jimmy played the hell out of his guitar. His friend, Mike, I think...was equally good, if not better. The classical studies could easily be noted. Many lessons were stolen by myself during that encounter. My gals daughter was there with us; soaking up the moments, since having been impressed with the world of arts and nature that she had recently been awakened to. It was the greatest gift I could give her.
It may have been that night, or one of the several other times we had met up, but he presented my daughter with a 12 string guitar. It wasn't a cherry, the neck was slightly bent, but it was a great gift of inspiration! It played just fine, with a capo on the second fret.
Several months later or, maybe more than a year, Jimmy called me, saying:
"There's a evening "Stroll The Streets" festival in Boyne City. I've got a music store that I rented for instrument sales and lessons. Why don't you come down and hang out with me? We can play, and work the crowd together. It'd be nice to have your company. My ol' lady and I have been having a hard time of things. She kicked me out."
Well, me...being a glutton for punishment, never having been deserving of anything (as told to me by mother), I looked around, as I digested his connotations.
The house was disheveled. Dinner was not being made. The firewood was my chore alone, and in cache piles along the trail; earlier preparations. The floors were stained with dog urine. My prize turkey tail had been eaten. My dentures were destroyed. My gal had 20 dollars free play money at Odawa casino. The chores were piled up. All of my life's work was on hold or, discarded for trash.
There was no way I could go hang with Jimmy, and feel good about it later. Little did I realize, it didn't matter. I would feel good about nothing later, either way.
After explaining that I just couldn't, he asked me if he could borrow some equipment. He needed my P.A. speakers, some components, the Dean guitar I had horse-traded with him for, and...the twelve string. We loaded it and took it right to him, after I said, "No Problem Jimmy."
Jimmy was arrested that night after a shootout with the police. There's more, but that's enough for this excerpt. I never got my equipment back.
I feel like, if I would have been there for him...that would have never happened.
Jimmy was U.S. Army- a Veteran. He was in charge of over 60 men. And, he was my friend...when I needed one the most. I should write him a letter right now. I think I will.
His name is James Franklin Cook. He is in Jackson Prison- Saginaw location, in Michigan.
www.miotis is where you can look him up. He will die there.
Thanks for reading my true stories. They are suppose to be useful to someone, somewhere... I hope.
Zachery S. Polk
All day, was spent outside, between snow, and wood boiler/chopping details. Monoteny and boredom were broken up with toys. The snowmobile was a toy to drag wood from caches I had made in the forest. Archery was practiced, along with searching for sins (missing arrows). Target shooting of all kinds proved to be a good time. Wrenching on bikes, and what ever else needed it, provided a good time spent in the shop. Talking out loud, as I thought of jokes, made me laugh through the days... Days where I felt alone, and...abandon in my own home. All but for the animals; both wild and tame.
Petoskey was only 18 miles away, yet my girl and I never were together, together. We spent all of our time alone. Jacking up, and sex, was all that mattered, well... that, the casino, and shopping.
The internet has imprisoned the family. Casino style games have become the captor of my girl; spending up to $300 a month on pretend gambling through facebook.
Her daughter is online 20 plus hours a day, complaining about needing drugs to combat fatigue.
"You get coffee. And, you take medicine from the doctor." I overhear her berating her mother. The child is 11 years old. And, I know that they were talking about the medications their parents have them on. Not to mention openly discussing transgender and sexuality in minor grades, while attending Concorde Academy in Boyne Falls. Now she wants a sex change.
No one will pay attention to anything needing tending. The dogs are on their own. The discoloration of the paint finish, at the floor of the door latch jamb, expresses the dogs and their anxiety over being ignored. Their claw colors have been transferred to the surface. "I need to potty! Where are you? Are you okay?" the dogs seem to plead.
Cherokee, an Akita Chow, was a rescue. She had a litter, of which we kept 1. Her name was Ginger. I love dogs. Their intelligence level has yet to be revealed, and may remain merely speculation. I believe they are psychic.
Anyway, having been overwhelmed with the need to preserve myself, I decided to place an ad on Craigslist. The idea was to find an artist/musician in the area, in order to further develop, as well as find some friendship and support.
Days go by, but few. The telephone makes a racket. "Hey, I found an ad for a musical friendship. My name's Jimmy" a voice said.
After giving him the address, Jimmy, and a friend who also played guitar, showed up. It was around 7 PM when they came to the salon entrance of the house. This was my office/studio space.
Jimmy played the hell out of his guitar. His friend, Mike, I think...was equally good, if not better. The classical studies could easily be noted. Many lessons were stolen by myself during that encounter. My gals daughter was there with us; soaking up the moments, since having been impressed with the world of arts and nature that she had recently been awakened to. It was the greatest gift I could give her.
It may have been that night, or one of the several other times we had met up, but he presented my daughter with a 12 string guitar. It wasn't a cherry, the neck was slightly bent, but it was a great gift of inspiration! It played just fine, with a capo on the second fret.
Several months later or, maybe more than a year, Jimmy called me, saying:
"There's a evening "Stroll The Streets" festival in Boyne City. I've got a music store that I rented for instrument sales and lessons. Why don't you come down and hang out with me? We can play, and work the crowd together. It'd be nice to have your company. My ol' lady and I have been having a hard time of things. She kicked me out."
Well, me...being a glutton for punishment, never having been deserving of anything (as told to me by mother), I looked around, as I digested his connotations.
The house was disheveled. Dinner was not being made. The firewood was my chore alone, and in cache piles along the trail; earlier preparations. The floors were stained with dog urine. My prize turkey tail had been eaten. My dentures were destroyed. My gal had 20 dollars free play money at Odawa casino. The chores were piled up. All of my life's work was on hold or, discarded for trash.
There was no way I could go hang with Jimmy, and feel good about it later. Little did I realize, it didn't matter. I would feel good about nothing later, either way.
After explaining that I just couldn't, he asked me if he could borrow some equipment. He needed my P.A. speakers, some components, the Dean guitar I had horse-traded with him for, and...the twelve string. We loaded it and took it right to him, after I said, "No Problem Jimmy."
Jimmy was arrested that night after a shootout with the police. There's more, but that's enough for this excerpt. I never got my equipment back.
I feel like, if I would have been there for him...that would have never happened.
Jimmy was U.S. Army- a Veteran. He was in charge of over 60 men. And, he was my friend...when I needed one the most. I should write him a letter right now. I think I will.
His name is James Franklin Cook. He is in Jackson Prison- Saginaw location, in Michigan.
www.miotis is where you can look him up. He will die there.
Thanks for reading my true stories. They are suppose to be useful to someone, somewhere... I hope.
Zachery S. Polk
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