Molleja

I awoke the next day at mid-morning. The crew at La Boca had been long gone at work throughout the ranch, winery, and farm. Only Dosa was in the house to greet me. I said,

"Good morning Dosa."

She just smiled and nodded her head. Dosa wasn't much of a talker, but I could tell she liked me. She pointed at a small table near the kitchen and motioned at me to sit down. I was happy I was going to get fed. I had a hangover and I knew it was going to be a long day on the fluorescent trail. Maggie was gone, I guessed she was out tending the herds with the vaqueros. Good for her.

Dosa brought a plate about 30 minutes later as I sipped on my coffee. I asked her,

"This looks great, but I don't know what it is."

"Molleja! Eat....molleja good for you."

"Thanks Dosa, you really didn't have to do this. I was thinking an Allsup's burrito was in my future, but this ought to hit the spot."

Molleja is chicken gizzards. Normally, chicken gizzards are tough and rough on the digestion, but this was prepared just right. I imagined that Dosa had tenderized the gizzards the night before. It was evident she soaked them in lime, cilantro, and white wine. The taste busted out juicy goodness with every bite. She served it with refried beans, hot tortillas, salsa and eggs. It was the best breakfast I had had since yesterday. Without Pearl Light in can for breakfast, nothing is complete. You can quote that as scientific proof.

Dosa spent her days in the kitchen getting everything just right, that is until her father came in and messed it up again. I could tell from last nights fireworks, that that was how they communicated withe each other. Dosa had a small television and I gathered a small infatuation with Patrick Swayze. On top of the VCR were worn copies of Roadhouse and Ghost. Dirty Dancing was up for morning viewing and Dosa mimicked the words silently in her toil around the kitchen.

"Nobody puts Baby in a corner"

I loved Balmorhea and La Boca, but I couldn't live here permanently. If it drives you worship Patrick Swayze, then I better get out of town with the gold while the 'gettin is good.'

Jetta was loaded down with 3 cases of wine. I felt obliged to buy more on behalf of The Hub. 'Research' is the simple note inscription I wrote to Burns on the hand written receipt in Spanish. I drove out to the fields to fetch Maggie and to say goodbye to Juan Miguel, but the vaqueros said he was down at Rosita's grave site, so I decided to leave him a note and let him be.

Senor,

You gave me your true soul to ponder. May you and Rosita swim forever here in the heaven of La Boca. Thank you.

your friend,

Smith

I saw miles and miles of Texas

The hangover was mildly cured by the time I sidetracked home through Wink, Texas. I decided I wanted to see the Roy Orbison museum before I left this world, and this seemed to be a good afternoon for it. To my chagrin, it was closed so I popped into a local gift shop and purchased a Greatest Hits CD for the home stretch instead. All told I have written small pieces for The Hub on Bob Wills form Turkey, TX,Waylon Jennings from Littlefield, and Don Williams from Floydada. My friends back home ask why I never do a piece on Buddy Holly. All I can tell them is, what is there to write about? Just listen to the music, the story is already been told. There is no need to repeat it and besides, the way it makes me feel is mine alone.

The 'KID' was passed out in the back seat after a hard morning at the round-up. So I was left to endure the miles with my thoughts. Then it occurred to me that I haven't called on my oldest living great aunt in quite a while. So I pulled aside in Seminole to pay her a visit.

The last of her tribe.

Aunt Sherrie was a retired school teacher, and had been retired since I was just a small boy. She had outlived everyone except one son in the Nursing Home nearby. These days she kept a garden and taught piano lessons for extra money, she was also the County Chair for the local Democratic Party. I think its because she was the last yellow dog Democrat living in Seminole. She had lived in the same house for 60 years that she purchased from the proceeds of her dead husbands life insurance.

I came to the door with a big smile on my face and knocked as loud as I could. She came to the door with a surprised look on her face as if she didn't recognize me.

"Ma'am, I was just passing by and wondered if I could share with you the good news about Jesus Christ." She began to get red in the face, Aunt Sherrie was also the only atheist in Seminole and I knew she wouldn't pass on a chance to play along. Besides, it is fun to torture ornery relatives with bad eye sight.

She said, "you sumbitches aint never gonna see me in no whore house on Sunday. But come on in, I aint had no good laugh today." I loved it that she taught English once upon a time.

I thought that I better end this now before I get indicted for homicide. "Aunt Sherrie, it's me, your nephew Russ. How are you doing, young lady?"

"My lands Russ! You sumbitch, I was about to go fetch Marvin's old squirrel gun and pop a cap in your ass, heeheehee. Them damn Baptists and Mormons come over here all the time talking all that brain washed babble, but alls they want is an old woman's money. BUUULLSHIT." Evidently, Aunt Sherrie had been keeping up with the street lingo in Compton. God, or Allah, or Vishnu only knows where she learned that. Then she gave me a hug and a kiss while she was laughing with glee. We shared that dry sense of humor inherent throughout our family.

"Put on them gloves over there boy, I need you to help me outside in the garden. What you doin in Seminole? How old are you now? Are you married? I always forget. You still write for that Nazi magazine in Lubbock?"

I never got a full response to the inquiries out, but the next question would keep on firing from her mouth. She had the television on full blast, the radio news was on out side full blast, and I don't think she was really listening to anything but herself firing questions, then answering them for herself. I was having fun just picking her tomatoes and wondering how she kept herself in such good shape. I guessed she was in her mid 90's now, but she looked and moved like a 60 year old.

After we got done in the garden, she made some sweet tea with at least a half a pound of sugar. She offered me a piece of lemon cake she had made yesterday from scratch. I asked,

"Aunt Sherrie, I got to get back soon, but I was wondering if you would play me something on your piano before I left. I always loved how you played.

"Why sure boy. I know what you want to hear me play."

"Wow, you know of The Clash?"

"No god damn boy, and old song. It was your grandma's favorite. We use to sing it together, the whole family back on the homestead."

I said, "Yeah, what is the name of that song?"

She starts playing lightly and beautifully on the 100 year old weathered piano her father had bought her long ago. She promptly ends the build up, changes chordes and blasts her voice with the music coming from her arthritic fingers.

"My buckets got a hole in it, my buckets got a hole in it, my BUCKETS GOT A HOLE in it!....Can't buy no beer!" She stops the music and begins and old womans belly laugh that lasts for 15 seconds.

"I had to get you back boy, don't come around her lookin for a fight unless you bring your lunch. It will take you all day to get old Sherrie!"

She begins playing again. This time I knew she was back in time in her mind as young girl around the old piano with the family long in the grave.

"You remember Russie, we use to sing this to you, me and your Meme. Your were so cute."

There Is No Greater Love

There is no greater love
Than what I feel for you
No greater love, no heart so true

There is no greater thrill
Than what you bring to me
No sweeter song
Than what you sing to me

Youre the sweetest thing
I have ever known
And to think that you are mine alone

There is no greater love
In all the world, its true
No greater love
Than what I feel for you

She looked at me and smiled. It seemed for a moment she could really see me clearly, but I know that what she really saw through her old glasses was the faces of her family long gone. It gave me pleasure beyond thought comprehension.

Aunt Sherrie made me take tomatoes and the rest of her lemon cake with me. I was 20 miles down the road before I realized how special that was. If that was our last visit, it was a good one to cherish.


West Bound and Down

I was on the outskirts of Brownfield when my shit started blowing up. That is old school lingo from the 90's that means my cell phone is ringing. Ron had left me a message. Speaking of shit blowing up, he said our bowling league night was canceled because the bowling alley sewage pipes had ruptures and spilled foulness throughout the bar. I guess they reckoned with no bowling alley bar, there was no need for league night. I like the shitty logic.

Anyway, the team had decided to go gamble in Ruidoso, New Mexico for the weekend. Did I mention that Chief was on our team? Nobody knew where I was, but they were letting me know. Hedonistic thoughts rattled around in my head. I was tired, but I was also not wanting to miss out on the fun. So again when faced with life's tough choices, I asked myself.

"What would Burt do?"

I immediately turned Jetta west to head off the boys at the mountain pass. If I missed them, I could always rally up with the gang at the Casino. I didn't need to have my copy done until Tuesday anyway and the expense report needed some more abuse. I justified, I will probably write better anyway with ill gotten Apache cash in my back pocket. After all, it's all about the quality of work. No cards and all work makes 'Russie' a dull boy. I punched up the I-20 truckers show on A.M. I changed Maggie's name in my head again to 'Flash'.

I called the boys on the cell as if it were a C.B.

"Bandit two, this is Bandit one, do you got your ears on?"

Ron answered back "Yeee HAW! Go ahead Bandit one, we are negatory on the Smokies and clear down to the the Lincoln County line, go ahead."

"I'm west bound and down. Bandit one is hauling ass to Ruidoso, we'll be seeing you on your back door soon."

The radio started playing Convoy by C.W. McCall, and all was as it should be.

CONVOY!!!!!!!!!!