Odd Walking Thoughts – Ah

So what about ‘this’ causes pause?  Is the moment too short?  Too dark?  Is it difficult watching the nothing pass you by?  Collecting your things, we watched.  It’s challenging to witness, you miss handling, you.  I ask not for permission- I see what is.  We couldn’t believe you missed your creation. It’s not so hard, really.  It’s here, in front of us all. Ask, ‘Why can’t I see what’s so realistic to me?’

It was not smoke rising from the field, as you thought; it was fog fading- settling down.  -M. Taggart.

Odd Walking Thoughts- I’m Not Sure.

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

It’s O.K. for you to wonder, but listen, I need to tell you something.  From the first time I noticed, until now, I need for you to hear-  It’s about you. But, not about all of you. It’s only about some of you. When you were hurt, you thought it was nothing to know about. I wasn’t sure what that meant, so I asked, but you hadn’t heard my request.  I asked again and you spoke, but not to me, “I’ll tell you when I’m well.”  I see you’re well again and I wonder if you couldn’t tell me?  I ask again, ‘What’s this?’ You replied, “It’s what you had said it was.” -M. Taggart

Odd Walking Thoughts – He had forgotten he was crazy.

For a long time he had forgotten that he was crazy.  He remembered when-  A friend told ‘her’ about another ‘him’ and being told about this helped him to remember that the two are one and the same. He wasn’t sure he should believe himself because he knows there can’t be two.  It’s a bit like this-  It’s dark and you feel a large stone.  You sit on this stone.  As you touch the stone you feel bits of dirt crumbling off. The dirt falls onto the ground and you’re no longer sitting on the stone.  You’re now looking up.  At another. The ground is your new home and above is a lie. It never happened. There was no stone and there wasn’t a ‘her’ and there isn’t any darkness nor any crumbling dirt.  And there was one. -M. Taggart

Odd Walking Thoughts – Unique Mirror

I smile with broken teeth. Crookedly we both see, smiling into our mirror. It’s not us. Blood. It’s my time. You’ve shared enough. Walking along looking at leaves.  -M. Taggart

Accidental Politics- An Apology

To the two military personnel that stood, at attention, ready and saluting our President, I’m sorry.

It’s my personal opinion that many in our society have lost the ability to admit when we’re wrong.  That accepting responsibility by simply saying, ‘We messed up,’ is refreshing and creates character along with loyalty.  Instead, many of us focus on how to cover our tracks.  Creating shields of indifference which clouds agendas and cripples truth. Making it difficult to understanding what to believe in, with heart and soul.  So, while it’s unlikely that you’ll receive an apology from where it ought to come from, I’ll take a shot at doing it for them.

I’d like to apologize because you are both unnamed and yet we know you so well.  I’d like to shake your hands, and tell you face-to-face, how incredibly important you are and that you are not unrecognized.  We see you.  We see your posture, it’s perfect and unflinching.  And, as you stand at attention, doing your duty and executing protocol, we see leadership exuding from you.

I’ve felt sadness and have stopped looking to our country’s leaders for hope.  This has happened withing the past number of years.  But, when I saw both of you, holding your position, with focus and dignity, I felt it.  I realized that our strength as a country can be seen within you.  I need not look at the President for leadership, I can simply look at you and my fellow Americans all around me.

Like many, my focus fell on what I found to be the most important issue. Both of you.  While many of us watched the indifference take place, you lived it.

I wondered what you were thinking?  I wanted to know how long you’d been standing at attention, waiting.  Five minutes, five hours?  Were you excited?  Was this the first time your Commander-in-Chief saluted you?  Do you have families? If so, are you deploying, or are you back from deployment and now able to stay out of harms way?  Are you wondering if anyone noticed, or cared?  Did you feel let down?  Did your morale dip slightly?  I’ve often thought that morale is much like a company’s brand.  Everything matters.

I hoped that you knew that I was wondering these things.  I hope you know that we all wonder these things.  We see you.  And as I mentioned above, though we do not know you personally, you are incredibly important to us and you are not unrecognized.

I hope you accept this apology.  It’s not coming from military personnel, but from an average citizen of the United States of America; one who loves his country very much and was concerned enough to make sure that at least one hand, of apology, was held out.  And please know, there are many more, just like me.

Thank you for inspiring me.  Thank you for inspiring us.

Sincerely,

M. Taggart

If anyone reading this has the ability to put this apology in front of a network that can help this letter find it’s true home, please help in that process.  Thank you in advance.

 

it’s between – Odd walking Thoughts

Remember?  Remember this?  We were both in the field.  We looked down at our feet and watched the dust rise with our steps, then we watched the flying grass hoppers. They flew in between us.  We talked about dirt.  The grasshoppers got in the way and wanted to know something.  That ‘something’ wasn’t something we could share.  They became upset and asked, ‘Why can’t you share this?’ We told them it’s between.  -M. Taggart.

Goose Shit- A True Story

Goose shit was everywhere.  When looking down, at your feet, you saw shit.  If you looked to your left, shit.  Right, shit.  Alright, that’s complete exaggeration and a lie, but, now we all know I’m talking about a lot of shit.  The rest of this story is true.

We were at our parents’ friend’s home; it was a farm.  Fences; wooden fences with lots of barbed wire to keep animals tucked inside the property.  We kids, liked to play next to the large oak tree with the tire swing.

I was six.  My brother was eight and a half.  The tire swing was wide open and we weren’t about to let the opportunity slide on by.  Our parents were inside, doing things, and laughing far too loud for the jokes that were being shared.  Our parents’ friends had two girls.   Both were near our age.

The oak tree wasn’t far from the house.  Sitting on top of a small hill, overlooking the property, there it hung.  The swing of all tires swings.

The one small issue, between us and the tire swing, was the geese.

I know we all see them flying South, or North, apparently never being able to make up their minds; proving they’re not consistent within the walls of their own skulls.

Anyways, to the swing we mother-fucking-go!

My brother and I charge the hill.  Well, we didn’t exactly charge it, I certainly didn’t.  He may have.  He was much bigger.  It’s possible that in my head, I charged the fuck out of that hill, but in all honesty, I probably waddled a bit and barely make it to the tire swing.  Walking in goose shit.

Which, made me easy prey, for the asshole Geese.

They watched, with dick head eyes, and we took notice, but not to a great degree.  My brother was nice enough to let me jump on the swing first.  I was in tire swing heaven. I’d like to say he even pushed me, but that, I don’t remember.

So there I was, swinging, things are great.  Ice cream great.  I can see the house, down below, and the fences that line the property.  I can see horses and a few sheep.  I’m not sure how my parents know these people, but I don’t care because I’m on a tire swing and I’m a six year old.

My brother said it was his turn, so I jumped off, slid a bit, and came to a stop.  I turn to look back at him and I see an asshole running at me.   I don’t wait to see how fast it might catch me, I turn and run.  I’m running, with everything I’ve got, which was a far cry better than my charge up the hill, but it wasn’t enough.  I know a monster bird is behind me, I can hear it, I can even smell it.  I slip, fall, and slide in goose shit.  Probably from this very bird.  It’s laughing at me.  No, not really, I’m not sure if birds can laugh.

The large man of prey is nearly upon me, it’s biting and flicking it’s wings.  No joke, I get bit.  The asshole nipped me and I slid further down the shit hill.  My jeans are a waste.  Even at six I realize I should probably not continue wearing these.  My face was now sliding down the hill, I was tasting it.  It wasn’t good.

My face looked like that of a war-time Marine.  As though I had meant this to have happened.

I was bit again and now the large bird was tearing into me, stabbing at me with it’s beak.  I cried out.

I saw my big brother snap that asshole by its long neck, wringing the beast slightly, and tossing it out and away from me.   The bird let lose a vocal note that’s not always witnessed coming from a goose and then I watched my brother chase it, further, away from me.

He saved me.  I wasn’t the last time.

Yes, I had to go inside and cry-explain myself to my laughing parents and yes I had to take off my shit jeans and replace them with girl jeans.  Yes.  That all happened.  To this day I’m still ashamed to tell people that I wore girl jeans.  It just wasn’t right.  But, my brother saving me was.

Thanks Chris.

True occurrence- my childhood.  Thank you Big Brother.

 

Don’t swallow your spit- Odd walking thoughts.

When the flame, in which you produced is close, keep this in mind.  The smoke rolls, near your face, your lips, you have a moment when you realize.  It’s something you may do.  Whatever comes of it, remember, don’t swallow your spit.  -M. Taggart.

Up Maine- Thank You, Mr. S.

To the Man who took me, Up Maine, fishing.

I’m picturing you reading this in your kitchen.  You’re only reading it because you’ve just heard your better half say something like “You better come read this.”  So now, you’re standing there, possibly saying, “What ales him.  What a dubbah.”  Or some other fun Maine saying.  This isn’t a story, it isn’t a poem.  It’s a real life thank-you letter on the interweb- the thing you love, to hate, the most.

“So, you’re going up-ta camp, really?”

Up Maine isn’t something everyone experiences.  I didn’t think I’d get the opportunity. It was much like the idea of actually publishing a book.  A great hope, but it’s easily faded with time and time wins against all of us.  But this is the here and now.  Now there’s Megan.  The women who saved a downward spiral- half spinning, stopping and back up again- me.  And with Megan came her family.  The family that opened its arms, without judgement, and welcomed me.  We sat at your dinning room table at Thanksgiving and I danced with Kathy.

You said that having me along fishing, Up Maine, was like having the son you’d never had coming with you.  Well, going fishing with you, feels as though I could actually be your son, in spirit of course.  It doesn’t take me long to process what you say, when you say it, it takes time for me to properly do this.  So remember, when you compliment me to that level, and I appear to be wearing a blank face of stupidity, that’s not me feeling awkward.  That’s me filing the memory away, so I can later recall it, with detail and focus.

We traveled North, I followed in my truck.  My truck was packed with coolers, a kayak and other odds and ends.  Your truck was packed with everything.  Coolers, food, quads, fishing rods, a large canoe, and even the man with the ghost voice, Mr. D.  You slapped a truckers antenna on the top of my truck’s roof and like that, we rode, Up Maine.

It’s possible you haven’t a clue what you did.  Maybe you do?  From my point of view, it’s like this.  I don’t own fishing gear.  I don’t have the proper amount of ice and I don’t have rain gear.  I’m not prepared.  I’ve never even been that far north.  It didn’t matter, you took care of everything.  You had the fishing rod waiting for me, extra ice and you’d happily give the shirt off your back.  The antenna on my truck was a symbol in which the entire freeway could have understood as, ‘Hey, he’s with them.’  I didn’t have a ‘with them.’  You created it.  You showed me the way to Moose Head Lake.  You pointed out the different trees, fish, animals, birds, you even pointed out the different animal scat.  Unfortunately you didn’t help me find BigFoot, but that’s O.K, I’ve forgiven you.  You may, or may not, have nearly driven myself and Mr. D off the road while trying to point out a hawk.  It’s even possible that we were nearly at the Canadian border, via the Golden Road, because you were ‘pretty sure’ there was a turn we could take. Somewhere.  Or, maybe we should turn around.

You taught me how to fly fish.  While fishing, a Moose decided to feed near us.  I paddled within a short distance to the Moose.  I’d never seen a Moose that close.  The water was smooth and showed the mountain range its mirror image.  Two different mountain ranges surrounded us, as though it were the most beautiful canvas, yet it was real.  I caught multiple brook trout; we ate them the next morning.  We rode your quads in the mountains surrounding us.  Trails like I’d only seen pictures of in magazines.  The vast openness of the land, once high enough on a mountain, is something that can’t be explained, only seen.  And now I’ve seen it.

I’m not sure how, but you managed to make damn sure I didn’t catch any brookies that last day.  I’ll have to catch some of the readers up on this one-  It was the last day of fishing.  The trip was coming to an end for me.  The men keep track, in a little book, fish caught by which person.  Somehow, I had the lead.  That morning, at the foot of the lake, I was handed a new fly rod.  Mhmm.  That’s where the trouble started.  I then paddled to the far side of the lake, away from the driving wind, and found a calm nook. The brookies were rising.  I had a bite, set the line and reeled in nothing.  I lost it.  I lost another and another.  Finally, confused, I reeled the line in.  No hook.  I don’t know about those Maine guys!  He swears he didn’t take the hook off.  Actually, he didn’t. But, when I tell the story in person, he did.  He just couldn’t bare to lose the fish count, so of course he snipped off the hook!  It just makes for a better fish story.

On the last morning I watched the sun rise.  Up and over the mountain range, the rays came, blasting the lake with it’s glory.  It was 5:07 am.  I took a picture.  That same lake, just days before, was producing large waves during a wind storm.  I kayaked straight into the storm and felt as though I were a young boy, back in the ravine.  You have no idea how important that feeling is to me..

This trip, these moments, Mr. D, Mr. L, Rick, Ethan, none of this has been forgotten.  It hasn’t been taken for granted.  Like many people, I don’t always express how I’m feeling.  So, I hope this helps.  I hope you realize that none of this would have happened if you hadn’t put me in a position to have met your friends.  You say that I was asked to go because of my personality.  I disagree.  I was asked to go because your entire family welcomed me.  I caught my first brookie on a fly rod, saw mountains, animals, lakes and met great people because of you.  Thank you George.

I still have the list we kept-

Woodcock, 13

Moose, 14

Bear, 1

Loons, 19

Deer, 11

Rabbit, 14

Angry Beaver, 6

Ducks, 30 plus

Large Ant Hills, 4

Eagle, 3

Salmon, 34

Lake Trout, 1

Brookies, many.

 

 

 

Brain

Give a straight line thinker the keys to a critical thinking brain and they won’t know how to open the door.  -M. Taggart