Chapter 4
Dirty Jasper was itching for coin
To throw after women and song,
Old Lenny was sure that some trinkets would cure
His thirsting for booze before long.
But Slim was just there for the fun
Of hearing another man scream
Buckeye Joe, who was wanted in three states or more,
Reckoned he’s just a-living his dream, lads,
A true desperado’s great dream.
Their pistols ablazin’ and lassos swung high,
They closed on the coach with a yippee-ky-yi!
First Dirty Jasper crested the team
And Slim leapt onto the seat
The brave coachman fought for the reins but he lost,
And tumbled down head over feet.
With Slim tugging hard on their reins
And Jasper controlling their heads,
The horses were forced as a matter of course
To leave their poor driver for dead, my lads,
They left their poor driver for dead.
The family inside prayed their lives would be spared;
Of them our four villains were yet unaware…
Lenny and Jasper went way back. They went so far back they even shared a father, or so the rumor had it. Growing up where they had with the mothers they had, it sure was possible. Also in favor of the argument was the way their eyes squinted and their mouths puckered up when they were thinking hard, which happened often. Many things required Lenny and Jasper to think harder than the average person. That was one of the reasons Slim liked riding with them so much: when the thinking got too hard and started taking too long, he could tell them what to think and they would accept it, grateful to be spared the strain of figuring it out themselves. Slim sneered at their stupidity even though he knew it was to his own benefit. He was cruel as they come and had escaped the gallows by sheer luck, though every lawman in the West would love to get a noose around his neck. He was cold, calculating, and took pride in his nefarious gift for outlawry. Slim, as they say, was the brains of the outfit.
Too bad Buckeye Joe, the fourth of their gang, was a little too smart for Slim’s liking sometimes. Slim wasn’t quite sure why Joe tagged along with them. He had just appeared one day, reckoned he’d come with them on a bank robbery, and hadn’t left since. His eyes always seemed to be nearly closed and Slim couldn’t tell half the time if Buckeye Joe was fully awake or not, but dang it the man was a surer shot than any Slim had seen before, and no matter what Slim tried Joe seemed to hang around like a tick on the back of a dog.
When Slim heard rumor that a stagecoach fat with payrolls and the belongings of a wealthy traveler would be traveling west along the route to California, he had decided his posse would pursue it. Pickings had been scarce for a while, and he dared not dismiss a rumor which sounded so enticing. Problem was, the informer had said the coach would be coming along their way no sooner than four days hence, and what Slim had overlooked was the fact that it had taken the informer three days just to reach them with the news. Thus he and his posse were ready and waiting a safe distance from the trail a good day and a half after the stagecoach had already passed.
Buckeye Joe had been the first to figure it out. Long chafing under the sarcastic tongue of Slim’s leadership, Joe had been delighted to point out Slim’s mistake to the other two, taking pains to explain it in small words they were sure to understand. Lenny and Jasper had understood, all right – they’d understood, as Slim sat furiously on his mustang, that all possibility of booze, poker and good times were nearly a two-day ride ahead of them. Slim had done his best through clenched teeth to woo back their loyalty, promising Lenny all the drink his gut could handle, and Jasper – sometimes called “Dirty Jasper” because of his fondness for brothels – the finest burlesque the closest two-horse town could muster. But Buckeye Joe was still smirking to himself, and Slim was not confident in his promises.
They rode hard after the coach, pressing their mounts as much as they dared to catch up. Now it took shape on the horizon as a cloud of dust, growing larger by the hour. The tracks it left on the trail before them were distinct, implying a heavy load. The four men grinned at each other in anticipation of what could make that kind of weight. Slim’s spirits lifted even more when he perceived the stagecoach was actually stopping up ahead. This was going to be a cinch!
He signaled to the others and they swooped off the trail, planning on taking the coach as much unawares as possible. Of course they would be spotted soon enough, but the closer they could get before then, the better. All went according to plan, and before they knew it the coach was scrambling for speed before them like a juicy hog in a fresh mud hole. The men whooped and hollered excitedly as they moved in for the kill, swinging their lassos for the necks of the team of horses pulling the coach. No one but Slim seemed concerned that five people other than the coachman had jumped inside the stagecoach before it started to move.
Brushing that fact aside as best he could, Slim steered for the side of the stagecoach and drew his pistol out at the ready.
...is that you have no one to blame your messy house on
Thursday, October 15, 2009
Thursday, October 8, 2009
Friar Thomas & the Western Express (Chapter 3)
Chapter 3
Behind the Express was a posse,
Bold outlaws on mustangs astride
Their black hats pulled low, ‘cross the sagebrush they go
Their lassos with knots ready tied
For two days did they follow this stage
On the wagon trail come with a load,
So heavy with riches the four wheels left ditches
In the hard prairie land of the road, lads,
The sun-baked packed land of the road.
But what will they do, these desperate thieves,
When the treasure they find is not what they seek?
Friar Thomas accidentally overslept. Somehow the dull tolling of the monastery’s bell had crept into his dreams in the form of the glorious pealing of a church bell, signifying to the world that two souls had been joined in the sight of God by holy matrimony. Sometime during the night he had stopped resisting the pure but tenacious advances of the beautiful Mary, to the delight of her father the Mayor. Forsaking his solitary life as a cowboy crime fighter, he had wed Mary properly and was just about to press his lips to the sweet pink petals of her mouth when a gentle but definitely masculine touch to his arm awoke him.
There he lay, habit still on backwards, broken star clattering from his startled hand to the floor, with the pile of old newspapers resting on his chest, and a monk standing over him looking at him with great concern. Two other monks peered in at the doorway.
Friar Thomas leapt to his feet, tugging his robe back into place. His face was red, his mouth was dry, and his palms began to sweat profusely. The nearest Friar had already picked up the papers and was reading them with some interest. The other two monks drifted silently in to join in the inspection. Friar Thomas picked up the fallen badge and was turning it nervously, guiltily, in his hands when the three Friars looked up at him with identical expressions on their faces. Friar Thomas felt his stomach lurch. He knew he was doomed.
The possession of these papers was not exactly the same as, say, sleeping in past the tolling of the bell. Sleeping in was the sin of laziness which could be corrected with chores. Friar Thomas’ Westerns denoted secrecy, idolatry, coveting, discontent…Thomas ran over the many sins in his mind, wondering what the punishment for them all would be. At the same time he didn’t know that he wanted to be punished for them. Repentance was far from his mind, for he didn’t want to forsake his sins. What would the punishment for that be? The three monks led him straight to the Abbot’s private study where the Abbot already sat studying the scriptures by the first light of day. The quaint picture of the grey-haired old man, his robes woolly with dust motes and his bald pate shining like a halo in the soft glow of early morning, made Friar Thomas with his grievous sins heavy on his conscience feel low and mean in comparison. Still, a defiant burning had begun in his bosom and he held it to himself the same way he held the broken star in his hand: as if he would absorb it into his skin if he could. The Abbot received the newspapers and the whispers of the three informers with placidity. He dismissed them with a gesture, then indicated to Friar Thomas that he should sit in a crude wooden chair. Friar Thomas somewhat reluctantly obeyed while the Abbot took a seat in the only other chair in the room, also crude and wooden.
“Friar Thomas,” he breathed, “what is the meaning of this?” His rough hands spread out inquiringly over the newspapers. Friar Thomas did not respond. He didn’t want to be rude, but he also didn’t want to condemn himself with his words. He didn’t know what to do so he started kicking one bare heel rhythmically against the leg of the chair, sticking out his lower lip while he thought. “My brother,” the Abbot continued after a pause, “I sense…unhappiness in your soul. You have been a Friar here for ten years now, is that correct?” Friar Thomas nodded. “You know,” the High Monk whispered, “being a monk is not for everyone. For some it is a lifelong calling, but others…” he trailed off as he glanced down at the stories before him. “Do you know,” he began again presently, “where our beautiful windows came from? No? You may have wondered before why a monastery, built for men who forsake all luxuries, located in the middle of nowhere, has such beautiful stained glass windows. A certain Abbot took a journey to the Old Country on purpose to salvage them from an abandoned monastery going to ruin. It was a much larger monastery than ours, converted from an old church. It was the monastery he had taken his vows in. The window you see, as well as those in the chapel and dining hall, came home without him. He had found another life while on his journey and chose to pass the reins of Abbotship on. Even an Abbot can find another calling in life, you see, but the works of God can still be glorified in the process.” He gestured above him to the window in his study.
Friar Thomas could hardly believe what he was hearing. True, he had known for at least a year now that someday he would leave the monastery, but he’d always imagined it would involve months of secret planning, the slow gathering of stolen supplies from the barren kitchen, and maybe an unwilling accomplice. After escaping in the dead of night he would run for days through the depressing landscape, trailed by an angry posse of monks running with their habits held high, frothing at the mouth with righteous fury. He’d never thought that he could leave quietly whenever he wanted with the Abbot’s blessing!
The Abbot had been watching him with a faint smile, as though he knew exactly what Friar Thomas was thinking.
“You mean,” Friar Thomas said hesitantly, “I can just…walk away? Forsake my vows just like that and leave the monastery with your blessing?” The Abbot chuckled quietly as he rose from his chair and put a gentle hand on Friar Thomas’ shoulder.
“My brother, of course you can’t just walk away,” he said with mild amusement. “We’ll provide you with a burro to ride. You would die on foot in this country. And as for my blessing, well…God will not accept an unwilling servant. It is not for me to force the priesthood upon anyone. Go with God’s blessing, if a blessing you would seek.”
His head whirled. He could leave! Would he leave? He looked at the SHE FF badge that lay in his palm, and the Abbot looked at it too.
“Would you like a pin for that?” he whispered. “I have one that would do. Perhaps it will prevent it from losing another owner.”
Friar Thomas’ eyes filled unexpectedly with tears. He swallowed hard as he accepted the pin, and in his heart the knowledge that he was leaving burst upon him with excitement and sorrow. He was leaving the life he’d known since the age of seventeen for the life he’d dreamed of for only a few years. His courage wavered for just a moment before steadying again: he was leaving!
The Abbot accompanied Friar Thomas to the kitchen and oversaw the packing of a satchel of their modest food. They then headed out to the stable where half a dozen burros were housed, and Friar Thomas was given an old female named Esther whom nobody liked to work with anyway, and who was too old to bear any more young. They did not return to Friar Thomas’ room for anything because there was nothing in there to take; all of his clothes and prized possessions were contained on his person.
Friar Thomas had mentally pictured himself leaving quietly on foot, leading the donkey, while the other monks carried on unsuspectingly with their chores. They wouldn’t miss him until dinner and would be left to wonder in silence whatever had happened to him. However, the twenty other brethren of the order lined up to bid a silent but cheerful good-bye to him. Friar Thomas hadn’t heard a word spoken to indicate what was going on, yet everyone knew. He had no choice then but to mount the reluctant donkey and ride off into the desert morning with his former brethren waving him off, armed only with a beaten up old SHE FF badge, a few old newspapers, and a sack of crummy food.
Is it any wonder, then, that his heart soared with the freedom of the hawks that circled above him? With his back now to the other monks he pinned the badge to his chest where it rested over his heart. The wind rustled his fringe of hair, the donkey picked up her feet bad temperedly at his request, and Thomas – Friar no more! – sallied forth bravely into the wild, Wild West.
Behind the Express was a posse,
Bold outlaws on mustangs astride
Their black hats pulled low, ‘cross the sagebrush they go
Their lassos with knots ready tied
For two days did they follow this stage
On the wagon trail come with a load,
So heavy with riches the four wheels left ditches
In the hard prairie land of the road, lads,
The sun-baked packed land of the road.
But what will they do, these desperate thieves,
When the treasure they find is not what they seek?
Friar Thomas accidentally overslept. Somehow the dull tolling of the monastery’s bell had crept into his dreams in the form of the glorious pealing of a church bell, signifying to the world that two souls had been joined in the sight of God by holy matrimony. Sometime during the night he had stopped resisting the pure but tenacious advances of the beautiful Mary, to the delight of her father the Mayor. Forsaking his solitary life as a cowboy crime fighter, he had wed Mary properly and was just about to press his lips to the sweet pink petals of her mouth when a gentle but definitely masculine touch to his arm awoke him.
There he lay, habit still on backwards, broken star clattering from his startled hand to the floor, with the pile of old newspapers resting on his chest, and a monk standing over him looking at him with great concern. Two other monks peered in at the doorway.
Friar Thomas leapt to his feet, tugging his robe back into place. His face was red, his mouth was dry, and his palms began to sweat profusely. The nearest Friar had already picked up the papers and was reading them with some interest. The other two monks drifted silently in to join in the inspection. Friar Thomas picked up the fallen badge and was turning it nervously, guiltily, in his hands when the three Friars looked up at him with identical expressions on their faces. Friar Thomas felt his stomach lurch. He knew he was doomed.
The possession of these papers was not exactly the same as, say, sleeping in past the tolling of the bell. Sleeping in was the sin of laziness which could be corrected with chores. Friar Thomas’ Westerns denoted secrecy, idolatry, coveting, discontent…Thomas ran over the many sins in his mind, wondering what the punishment for them all would be. At the same time he didn’t know that he wanted to be punished for them. Repentance was far from his mind, for he didn’t want to forsake his sins. What would the punishment for that be? The three monks led him straight to the Abbot’s private study where the Abbot already sat studying the scriptures by the first light of day. The quaint picture of the grey-haired old man, his robes woolly with dust motes and his bald pate shining like a halo in the soft glow of early morning, made Friar Thomas with his grievous sins heavy on his conscience feel low and mean in comparison. Still, a defiant burning had begun in his bosom and he held it to himself the same way he held the broken star in his hand: as if he would absorb it into his skin if he could. The Abbot received the newspapers and the whispers of the three informers with placidity. He dismissed them with a gesture, then indicated to Friar Thomas that he should sit in a crude wooden chair. Friar Thomas somewhat reluctantly obeyed while the Abbot took a seat in the only other chair in the room, also crude and wooden.
“Friar Thomas,” he breathed, “what is the meaning of this?” His rough hands spread out inquiringly over the newspapers. Friar Thomas did not respond. He didn’t want to be rude, but he also didn’t want to condemn himself with his words. He didn’t know what to do so he started kicking one bare heel rhythmically against the leg of the chair, sticking out his lower lip while he thought. “My brother,” the Abbot continued after a pause, “I sense…unhappiness in your soul. You have been a Friar here for ten years now, is that correct?” Friar Thomas nodded. “You know,” the High Monk whispered, “being a monk is not for everyone. For some it is a lifelong calling, but others…” he trailed off as he glanced down at the stories before him. “Do you know,” he began again presently, “where our beautiful windows came from? No? You may have wondered before why a monastery, built for men who forsake all luxuries, located in the middle of nowhere, has such beautiful stained glass windows. A certain Abbot took a journey to the Old Country on purpose to salvage them from an abandoned monastery going to ruin. It was a much larger monastery than ours, converted from an old church. It was the monastery he had taken his vows in. The window you see, as well as those in the chapel and dining hall, came home without him. He had found another life while on his journey and chose to pass the reins of Abbotship on. Even an Abbot can find another calling in life, you see, but the works of God can still be glorified in the process.” He gestured above him to the window in his study.
Friar Thomas could hardly believe what he was hearing. True, he had known for at least a year now that someday he would leave the monastery, but he’d always imagined it would involve months of secret planning, the slow gathering of stolen supplies from the barren kitchen, and maybe an unwilling accomplice. After escaping in the dead of night he would run for days through the depressing landscape, trailed by an angry posse of monks running with their habits held high, frothing at the mouth with righteous fury. He’d never thought that he could leave quietly whenever he wanted with the Abbot’s blessing!
The Abbot had been watching him with a faint smile, as though he knew exactly what Friar Thomas was thinking.
“You mean,” Friar Thomas said hesitantly, “I can just…walk away? Forsake my vows just like that and leave the monastery with your blessing?” The Abbot chuckled quietly as he rose from his chair and put a gentle hand on Friar Thomas’ shoulder.
“My brother, of course you can’t just walk away,” he said with mild amusement. “We’ll provide you with a burro to ride. You would die on foot in this country. And as for my blessing, well…God will not accept an unwilling servant. It is not for me to force the priesthood upon anyone. Go with God’s blessing, if a blessing you would seek.”
His head whirled. He could leave! Would he leave? He looked at the SHE FF badge that lay in his palm, and the Abbot looked at it too.
“Would you like a pin for that?” he whispered. “I have one that would do. Perhaps it will prevent it from losing another owner.”
Friar Thomas’ eyes filled unexpectedly with tears. He swallowed hard as he accepted the pin, and in his heart the knowledge that he was leaving burst upon him with excitement and sorrow. He was leaving the life he’d known since the age of seventeen for the life he’d dreamed of for only a few years. His courage wavered for just a moment before steadying again: he was leaving!
The Abbot accompanied Friar Thomas to the kitchen and oversaw the packing of a satchel of their modest food. They then headed out to the stable where half a dozen burros were housed, and Friar Thomas was given an old female named Esther whom nobody liked to work with anyway, and who was too old to bear any more young. They did not return to Friar Thomas’ room for anything because there was nothing in there to take; all of his clothes and prized possessions were contained on his person.
Friar Thomas had mentally pictured himself leaving quietly on foot, leading the donkey, while the other monks carried on unsuspectingly with their chores. They wouldn’t miss him until dinner and would be left to wonder in silence whatever had happened to him. However, the twenty other brethren of the order lined up to bid a silent but cheerful good-bye to him. Friar Thomas hadn’t heard a word spoken to indicate what was going on, yet everyone knew. He had no choice then but to mount the reluctant donkey and ride off into the desert morning with his former brethren waving him off, armed only with a beaten up old SHE FF badge, a few old newspapers, and a sack of crummy food.
Is it any wonder, then, that his heart soared with the freedom of the hawks that circled above him? With his back now to the other monks he pinned the badge to his chest where it rested over his heart. The wind rustled his fringe of hair, the donkey picked up her feet bad temperedly at his request, and Thomas – Friar no more! – sallied forth bravely into the wild, Wild West.
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
Amusing placards at Conference
So...my parents are service missionaries at Temple Square and have been for about a year. They act as ushers at the Conference Center or the Tabernacle when there are events such as Conference, The Spoken Word or any other event. They love it and I get to hear about a bunch of things that I wouldn't necessarily ever know. Anyway, my dad called tonight to find out what my favorite talks were because he wasn't able to hear any of them as he was serving outside on both days. During our conversation he told me about some our favorite people who come to the Conference Center every spring and fall: the protesters and street preachers. They just can't stay away, can they? My dad was really amused by a couple of interesting placards that were being marched around. The first one was being held by a young woman in her twenties. She was holding it high and proud as she paraded around the faithful and the not-so-faithful. It read:
She got a lot of smiles and 'thumbs up'.
Another was a young man dressed in black suit with a top hat and cape with red fringe on it and carrying a pitchfork. His large placard read:
"Hi, I'm Satan
and these
street preachers
are my missionaries"
!!!
That one got a lot of laughs.After conference the young woman and young man met up and walked off together. Ya gotta love Conference. *smiling*
Friday, October 2, 2009
Fizzy, Bear, and 'no'
Fitz has so much going on in his little head. He really cracks me up. He doesn't talk except with some basic "mamama nanana dadn" sounds and some really complicated glottal noises in the back of his throat but he makes himself understood nonetheless. He really likes having an entourage when he does things, and *expects* all present to participate in his doings. Instead of taking my hand when wanting me to come, he gets behind me and pushes at my legs to get me moving. He also thinks that the word 'no' is the funniest thing ever. He used to take me seriously when I said it but not so much any more. He grins and laughs the does the 'no' thing with more gusto than when he started before the word was said. He laughs at his mother as she says 'no' as he heads towards the street...running! He laughs when I say 'no' before he throws his food to the floor, or starts pushing buttons on the DVD player.
Fizzy has a good friend here at the house. He's a very large floppy bear that Stephanie left here. He's bigger than Fitz and Fitz just loves hauling him around and flopping on him and generally treating him like a much beloved pet. Bear sits in a chair while Fitz eats and will be fed some items off the tray. Bear also has a new button sewn on his tummy so that Fitz can point it out when identifying parts of the body.
Bear has become quite the friend for Fitz and is most always part of the entourage. Fizzy pushes him around and hauls him by the fur, and lays on him and generally abuses him without any complaint from Bear.Last night as Jeni was eating dinner, Granpa was playing with Fitz and bear in the living room. Granpa was making Bear walk behind Fitz and talking to him when Fitz decided that he wanted to play with the things on what Steve calls my Winnie-the-Pooh Shrine table. We've pushed them all to the back of the table so they're hard to reach but he tries anyway. Welllllll...this time as Fitz was reaching for the no-no's, Bear, in a deep and softly solemn voice says, "Nooooo Fitz, don't play with those." Fitz turns around,stunned, and looks at Bear, whose shaking his head, standing there with Granpa behind him. Then looks at Grandpa, who says in his own voice, "Bear says no," sounding a bit stunned himself. Then Fizzy's little face crumbles and he starts crying, inconsolably! Jeni and I were in the kitchen and Jeni says, "Dad, what happened?" and Granpa carries the crying Fitz into the kitchen and tells her the story, as Fitz continues to cry alligator tears of very real sadness and disappointment. Jeni and I look at each other, stunned ourselves, then we start laughing! Jeni, so hard that I thought she wouldn't be able to catch her breath! and Fizzy still crying like his heart would break. His best friend, his malleable companion, his patient-in-all-things buddy has told him 'no'. I'm not sure now if their friendship will survive or if we'll have to be really careful of what Bear says and does so as not to take advantage of his influence over this small boy. It's funny what kids get into their small heads.
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