Last Saturday in Ashland

Sounds like the title of a movie. Plot involves a down-and-out homeless former go-go dancer who robs a Starbucks with her disappeared partner's chainsaw and makes off with a basket of espresso brownies to feed her new beau's caffeine habit. No good? well, how about the opening lines of my third novel:



She died quietly, in the embrace of Iowa cornfields which had been washed that pinkish-khaki hue you find only in old British suntan uniforms. The corn flowers stretching to the horizon shimmered in the breeze which had brought a gentle September rain. Her only requiem, the monotonous swish, swish, swish… of the wiper blades may have covered her last soft sound. Perhaps she had uttered something, a whispered, “Goodbye.” but he had heard nothing.

It wasn’t until he turned to ask her if she needed another pain pill, that he discovered she was gone. One look into her vacant stare was all he needed; he had seen that glazed emptiness once before. He wondered what she might have said, and he wondered what he would have said in return.

It was then that he decided to turn around. Yes, he would return to Maine, he would find his duty weapon, and he would kill her husband.

You may ask, "What happened to the first two?" I'll tell you. Here in Anatevka we always start with the third. The first we give up on and the second goes to the tsar. Actually my first attempt started with my own thoughts as I was drowning in Flagstaff Lake. I gave up on that because I lost the disc on which it was written, and I didn't feel like I was drowning anymore. It was pretty good, if I do say so...

Anyway, today was really chilly. It snowed in the foothills and drizzled/misted on us in the valley. I went to the post office and UPS to mail two packages of surplus (cold weather) clothing and textbooks I hope I won't need on the rest of the trip. $57+ for two wine-case sized boxes. Some of the stuff could have been put in the Salvation Army bin, but one never knows when the next depression will hit. I decided to not wander through the stores and get a head start on Christmas shopping because I don't want to schlep the stuff and I can't don't want to support the postal "service". You can all send letters of protest to the Postmaster General and decry the fact that you all get lumps of coal and not cool, hip, locally made, organic, silk screened on woven yak-hair T-shirts protesting W's reign.

Tomorrow is supposed to be really bright and clear so I am going for a long long ride to ponder the questions being forced upon me by the universe. I have the answers, I just have to make myself comfortable with them.

Happy Trails!