Thursday, August 26, 2010

CREATIVE DRIFTING---COME WITH ME

MY FRIEND FLIES AWAY----but endings are beginnings and the highways of America are waiting. She dips her wings goodbye and instantly I'm rechallenged to generate meaning for myself. How will I spend my day? Come---I'll show you how I do it!
I look at the map till it speaks to me--drawing me to the West Coast via the scenic route through Sandpoint Idaho. But here, I'm still in Montana and this is still the valley the humongus flood passed through.
Stopped at the Trout Creek Huckleberry festival--love to walk around these things.
Never seen this before--bowls made of rope.
Took delight at this---smokers huddled together in shame--outcast--sinners--disreputable--fit only for each others company. They turned away when they saw me readying my camera. Oh sweet people we have these addicted--foul smelling holdouts on the run. I'm moved to poetry:
WHAT WOULD MAKE A SMOKER QUIT?
The world discovered some time ago
that smoking would make your lungs black,
so a law was passed requiring a label
of warning be stamped on each pack------(the number of smokers barely declined)
And when we discovered that second-hand smoke
takes others along for the ride,
a law was passed protecting the workplace;
smokers must smoke outside.-------(but smokers just took it in stride)
You must have seen them shivering and wet
in the snow or sweating in the heat,
puffing on their cigarette
outside in the alley or street.----(but the number of smokers held firm)
So the government raised the price,
imposing a hefty tax,
hit em in their pocketbooks
made 'em pay to the max.--(but the number of smokers stayed the same)
Soon all smokers will be required
to stand on one foot as they smoke;
hop up and down and whistle a tune
before and after each toke.---(but the number of smokers will stay steady)
The price will be raised to ten bucks a pack.
The smokers will keep on smoking.
Then they'll brand them with an "S" on their forehead.
But the tokers will keep on toking.---(and the number of smokers may grow)
Then the government will get drastic;
forbidding all smokers to marry;
they won't be allowed to vote or have kids;
or serve in the military.---(but still they'll continue to smoke)
In the end we'll discover that addicted smokers
will pay any price obsene;
life and love, body and soul,
they'll trade for nicotine.---(and keep right on smoking)
Didn't know this organization was still alive--putting bibles everywhere--gave me one. They are a tempting and easy target but somehow I resisted the urge--almost---I decided to ask them just one of the seven deadly questions --working it carefully into the conversation--I asked if they wished that all those false religions would stop indoctrinating their children? (makes it so darn hard to sell them the TRUE religion) Doesn't it? They sheepishly said yes--I left them to ponder the implications.
Then I went on to Idaho--for the 4th or 5th time this summer.
And settled for the night at the Sandpoint, Id. Wal-mart. I love staying at Wal-Marts. Soon I had company--campers are drawn to others.
A high point of my day was getting this lady to peel for this shot. I admired the art and asked to photograph it--works every time. Do you see the panther stretching down the shapely model?
So ended the day! Noticed that my site has picked up hits from 4 new places: Panama, Brazil, Monte Carlo and Kenya. Welcome all--let us hear from you.

Tomorrow I will take you on another single day's travel and answer the question: Does a town named Ritzville have a Ritz Theatre?







3 comments:

Nomad said...

What are the other seven deadly questions? Are they in another post you could direct me to?

Randy said...

Yes Nomad--the blog of 9/5/08 (the King of Kodgers konfronts a preacher)list them all and gives some tangible reasons for my distaste for religion. http://mobilecodgers.blogspot.com/2008/09/king-of-kodgers-confronts-preacher.html

Anonymous said...

When you were in Sandpoint you were only 70 miles away from our home on the Pend Oreille River. You should have stopped in.
Patty & Tom