Rides with Wilma

wilma 1

Never had a rocking horse.

Nor an etiquette course.

No, made up, make-up, make believe…resource.

Did not have the usual suspects of delicate needs or powered pink posies…

Always driven by another kind of force.

 

Sometimes all we have is to go against the winds..

Sometimes all I had were a different sort of imaginary friends.

 

There is no tellin’ where a two speed dark horse can find her stride.

I only know, with edgy certainty, god’s speed and good speed belongs to the ride.

And, the solo secret to a good ride?

Doing everything you shouldn’t do

and,

the few things you should…with pride.

 

 

wilma 3
The place to improve the world is first in one’s own heart and head and hands, and them move outwards from there.  Robert Pirsig

Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance

Flushing Fear

highly inappropriate 1
Whatever you do with your fear…Just don’t look down!

 

Scene:

Laconia Bike Week 2014.  Weir’s Beach, New Hampshire

Characters:

Moped Lady

Jamaican Pot O Potty worker named, Dejohn

 

Moped Lady:

I’m afraid.  All the years I’ve been coming here…these things have been like death!  I don’t want to catch anything!

 

Dejohn:

Whateva yuh du maa.

Just dont luk dung!

Just dont luk dung!

I heard it in the night Words that thoughtless speak...so cunning and complex, only the narrow minded can see
I heard it in the night
Words that thoughtless speak…so cunning and complex, only the narrow minded can see

 

I’m not big on social graces..

bucket list...a mechanically inclined friend
bucket list…a mechanically inclined friend

Exactly one year ago to this very day…a fair haired vixen/vagrant/villanous Vespa riding protagonist…take a wrong turn at life.
Over the fields of browned down grass and under the gaze of local law enforcement agencies…Destruco Deviant Diva rode. Pedaled, motored, pedaled some more. The 72′ Vespa she had been warned…came with no life in your time guarantee.

Past the parks of many and the decadent decaying streets of Famous for Our Meth Labs, Franklin, New Hampshire, the blond baron sped.
Her only thought; how do I get this piece of shit to go faster!!
Smoker by trade and naturalist by distinction we all know where Diva’s fate would land.
For the warnings had been chimed through the town and heeded wisdom fell upon all the drunken souls but the Diva had been obtuse to constructive thought…she was sober after all.
One shinning not so brightly Knight gestured blessings and crosses whenever a journey let out.
“Be careful…it’s all about to give out!”

take my husband...please!
take my husband…please!

And, give out it did. At approximately 30-35 miles per hour rounding the last stretch. Miles from home. Blond by nature and dumbed down by too much acid. Deviant Diva’s skin lay enmeshed upon the land. Or, at least, on the corner of Prospect and Beech. Fragments of bone, pieces of me and shards of stupidity had been all that remain when the tire went flat, wedged itself in the fender and life came to a stand still. Pretty much ass over tea kettle.
My nine lives almost ended there and I ask, who really cares?
A knight in not so shinning armor cares. Heterosexual by birth and good friend by lack of timing, it took a horrible accident to wake me up before I go, go.
Yup, my mechanic, my friend. I wobbled home that night stubborn as the Cherokee blood instilled in my soul. Broken ribs, concussion, torn rotator cuff and tendons exposed on right elbow.

a good friend is allowed to laugh after you fall.
a good friend is allowed to laugh after you fall.

Ben, knighted by the Round Table of Belligerent Buddies, to this day has never let me down.
How can that be you may ask…lesbian and straight married man all of thirty years of age.
It is for the following reasons:
Ben picked my moped up, though twisted by my acts; I had managed to hide it in the woods. You can’t be too careful these days. Ben has refused to let me ride a pedal monster from the 70’s to this day. He also has refused to sell me a ride on lawn mower after many verbal beatings.

Stating the obvious:
Your yard is nothing but dirt and pine trees what the hell are you planning on mowing.
He has picked up more of my mopeds wherever they have decided to die. He has pulled out and plowed out my indignant motorized nature more times than ten.
Today, in homage to our friendship, we scrapped. Not sure what that is but it required a lot of brute force and broken metal. We also towed a 92’Suburban on a short bed hand-made trailer built for small engine gathering. Tires went flat from weight, fights with swear words wafted through the air and many a Marlboro Red smoked.  All in all, a highly enjoyable day.

 Riding home alone in the cab of a truck qualified for an antique plate…I thought of friendship. What it means. How to get it. And, more importantly, how to have it sustain.
I figured it this way;
A good friend asks nothing when nothing is ’bout all you can give. And, in return, they promise you rich conversation filled with trust. Trust in the idea that everyone should be accepted for who they are.

‘Cause I got friends in low places,
Where the Whiskey drowns,
And the Beer chases my blues away,
But I’ll be okay,
Now I’m not big on social graces,
Think I’ll slip on down to the oasis,
Oh I got friends,
In low places.

I guess I was wrong I just don’t belong
but then I’ve been there before, everything’s alright
I’ll just say goodnight and I’ll show myself to the door
Hey I didn’t mean to cause a big scene just give me an
hour and then, I’ll be as high as that Ivory Tower and you’ll
never know,

I guess I was wrong I just don’t belong
but then I’ve been there before, everythings alright
I’ll just say goodnight and I’ll show myself to the door
Hey I didn’t mean to cause a big scene just wait ’til I finish this glass
Then, sweet little lady I’ll head back to the bar and you can kiss my ass

My 22 Year Black Out

New Hampton School
New Hampton School (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
addiction
grant me the serenity to grow the fuck up!

Stepping away from the homophobia, the misogynistic parents, the stagnant direction of a borderline’s life; sobriety is the key to all unanswered and ignored questions.

Supposing that someone, and I am not going to name names that is childish, slept with boys and didn’t know how they got to the kitchen floor of a neighbor’s house, naked.  Assuming they had forgotten the boy’s name that they had found themselves next to.  Both participants in an attempt at college age sexual stupidity, reeking of leftover sex and cheap beer.

Acknowledging that all of the above may or may not mean you have a drinking problem.  All things considered, both parents are professors, both educated and well mannered, white house white picket fence, New Hampton School for Discriminatory, so on and so forth; how the hell does an adult fuck this ‘how to help my drunk daughter situation up?’

My mother, one month into my sobriety, ‘oh, its okay Ambien, it’s only wine and it’s my birthday.’

My father, ‘hey, I picked up some O’Doul’s for you.  They’re in the frig.’

Both parents, ‘if you run out of your meds just give the doctor a call…She’ll be fine with the fact you need them two weeks early!’

Mother Theresa even went so far as to buy me a book about Celebrities getting sober.  Later I had been told that that reading material didn’t really qualify as, worth a damn literature in the hierarchy of getting clean.  It is purely fantasy.’

Well, that was okay, I can’t really read and I love a good fantasy.

Sometime ‘round November, December, the parents thought it a good idea for a family outing.  Knowing their lovely Adopt-A-Daughter, Ambien not Full of Grace, a movie was always a good choice in the entertainment department.

Little room for conversation, little time for lies and absolutely no time for deep discussion about the plight of AIDS children in Africa; perfect family gathering!

We had seen Flight!

Quick synopsis:

Drunk, drugged but well trained pilot.  Pilot performs near impossible maneuvers to avoid killing all passengers on board.  Pilot than deals with the cunning and baffling disease of addiction the only way he knows how, more drugs, more sex and more booze.

I was pissed!  What had my mother been thinking?   Every time a pill was popped, a jug unplugged, a line was snorted and a sexual romp went unprotected; I felt like running out of the theater and screaming, somebody just get me a fuckin’ drink.

Educated persons handing down overly educated but obtuse wisdom with common-ness missing produces a child either unenlightened or addicted or both!

Did any of the three of us Concord NH scholars learn anything about addiction?  About the struggle, about the rock bottom, about the self-loathing and hate of the world in general, absolutely not!

I walked away, immediately texting Bianca, my fat and frenzied should be drinking lite beer not real friend.

“Hey, get the weed and fantasy movie ready…I’m heading to Wakefield.”

Oh, and the ending of Flight.  He finally admitted that he had a drinking and drug problem.  He came clean, as they say.

What a fuckin’ idiot!  I would have kept lying until there was no more truth to be found!