A Haunting Message

The following is something I came across not long ago. It's message struck me hard and continues to haunt me as I think about current events. I thought I'd share it with you.

Well, how do you do, young Willie McBride
Do you mind of I sit here down by your graveside
And rest for a while ‘neath the warm summer sun
I’ve been working all day and I’m nearly done
I see by your gravestone you were only nineteen
When you joined the great fallen in nineteen-sixteen
I hope you died well and I hope you died clean
Or young Willie McBride was it slow and obscene

Chorus
Did they beat the drum slowly, did they play the fife lowly
Did they sound the dead march as they lowered you down
And did the band play the Last Post and chorus
Did the pipes play the Flow’rs of the Forest?

And did you leave a wife or sweetheart behind
In some faithful heart are you forever enshrined
Although you died in nineteen-sixteen
In that faithful heart are you forever nineteen
Or are you a stranger without even a name
Enclosed and forever behind the glass frame
In an old photograph, torn and battered and stained
And faded to yellow in a brown leather frame

Chorus
Did they beat the drum slowly, did they play the fife lowly
Did they sound the dead march as they lowered you down
And did the band play the Last Post and chorus
Did the pipes play the Flow’rs of the Forest?

The sun now it shines on the green fields of France
There’s a warm summer breeze, it makes the red poppies dance
And look how the sun shines from under the clouds
There’s no gas, no barbed wire, no guns firing now
But here in this graveyard it’s still no man’s land
The countless white crosses stand mute in the sand
To man’s blind indifference to his fellow man
To a whole generation that were butchered and damned

Chorus
Did they beat the drum slowly, did they play the fife lowly
Did they sound the dead march as they lowered you down
And did the band play the Last Post and chorus
Did the pipes play the Flow’rs of the Forest?

Now young Willie McBride I can’t help but wonder why
Do all those who lie here know why they died
And did they believe when they answered the cause
Did they really believe that this war would end wars
Well the sorrows, the suffering, the glory, the pain
The killing and dying was all done in vain
For young Willie McBride it all happened again
And again, and again, and again, and again

Chorus
Did they beat the drum slowly, did they play the fife lowly
Did they sound the dead march as they lowered you down
And did the band play the Last Post and chorus

I Got the Fever but Don’t Need No Doctor--a Boulevard Will Do Just Fine Thank You Very Much

Off and on, I’ve been afflicted with the fever for the better part of my life. But it’d been years since I was plagued by it, so naturally I thought I was cured. I was so wrong.

Now, the fever never really goes away, not even if you expose yourself to its cause in hopes that your immune system will build a resistance to it. No, it just lays dormant, plays possum with you, waiting for something to stir it back to life.

It was just a couple of years ago when that aforementioned something happened to me. Younger brother phoned me, seeking my help with an important task. I declined. He’d caught the fever too and I was afraid any contact with him would awaken that sleeping giant of a fever within me.

But that night younger brother showed up at my place and I stepped outside to greet him. In retrospect, I should’ve locked the doors, pulled the blinds, and acted like I wasn’t home.

You see, as soon as I saw that brand new motorcycle strapped to the bed of younger brother’s truck, well, as the saying goes, “that was all she wrote.” Bike fever reared its ugly head and I just had to take his bike out for a spin.

“I’ll just take it down the block and back,” I assured him. Forty-five minutes and 35 miles later I pulled into the driveway and parked the bike next to brother’s truck.

Over the next few months, while brother was learning how to operate his new toy (the irony of it all, that I was an experienced motorcyclist without a bike and brother, who had no experience yet owned one, was not lost on this boy), I broke in his bike exploring the highways and byways of the greater Orlando area, intensifying my desire to once again own a motorcycle.

There’s just something about riding motorcycles that makes driving a pleasure, not a chore. Perhaps it’s the raw power underneath you, or a sense of freedom, a feeling of being unencumbered by doors, dashboards, and bumpers that makes riding so fun. It’s hard to explain to those who don’t understand.

There’s also a brotherhood among bikers. It’s an unwritten rule that when passing on the highway you wave to each other (not a typical “Howdy” wave, that would be what the kids now-a-days call gay, but a “cool” wave—stick your arm straight out and low, hand closed except for a pointing index finger).

It’s also an unwritten rule that when you see another biker to the side of the road you stop to make sure all is OK and offer any assistance that you can. It felt great to renew my membership in the brotherhood.

Anyway, if there was any chance to totally squelch my fever for a bike that chance itself was quashed when six months after brother bought his motorcycle eldest son went out and bought him one. And like younger brother, eldest son also had no experience operating a bike, so pops (that would be me) continued to get a lot of riding in as he broke in son’s bike too.

Often, I’d take day trips, exploring the back roads of Florida with youngest brother or with a date, preferably the latter of the two. Hey, I love my brother and all but come on, riding along side of him as apposed to having a nice lady sitting behind me, legs squeezing me, arms wrapped tightly around my waist--well, it’s a no brainer, folks.

I even owe it to eldest son’s bike for helping me know that Sweetie and I could possibly make a beautiful life together. It was only our second date when she hopped on the back of the bike and we rode 90 some odd miles through the Ocala National Forrest and back. Any woman who’d do that is a keeper as they say.

Well, all that bike riding was more than I could stand and the fever for a motorcycle finally overcame me. Just before Thanksgiving of ‘07 I bought a new bike, a black Suzuki Boulevard, one beautiful cruiser.

Oh but this bike is not for pleasure you see. Oh no, with gas upwards to $3.00 a gallon, I bought it strictly for economic reasons. At least, that’s how I explain it to everybody who asks why I went into debt for a bike just after paying off my car. It works for me.

Tis the Season

It’s election season again and it seems that during the presidential election people are just chock full of ideas of what they would do to improve this country if they were president. I’ve yet to hear, though, any ideas that are sensible, ideas that would really make life better for the poor, downtrodden, the masses yearning to improve their status in life.

So, I took some time (about 3 or 4 seconds) to ponder the question, “what would I do if I were president to improve life for the general masses?” The following is what I came up with.

· Government negotiators would bring together the manufacturers of hotdogs and hotdog buns and help them hammer out an agreement to pack the same amount of buns as there are dogs in their respective packages. Why can't those people get that right?

· Ties would definitely be outlawed. Personally, I believe ties were invented by women to pay men back for inventing the brassiere.

· Sleazy talk shows on television would be banned.

· Public transit would have to quit asking for “exact change.” If they want me to give them exact change then they should take me exactly where I want to go!
· Stores wouldn’t be allowed to advertise or display Christmas paraphernalia until after Thanksgiving.

· Calling Thanksgiving “Turkey Day” would be a federal offense. Man that just bugs the heck out of me when people, especially those in the media who are trying to chum up to us, do that! Of course, there should be a penalty for violating this law. Maybe the guilty party (or parties) should have to lick a huge castor oil sucker until it’s all gone. Naw, that sentence is too light.

· It would be lawful for a patient to bill a doctor for lost time at work if the doctor is late for the patient’s appointment. Hey, if we’re late the doc reserves the right to refuse to see us but yet bill us for the missed appointment. Turn about is fair play, isn’t it?

· Personal hygiene commercials, E.D. commercials, and sleazy talk shows would all be banned.

· Personalized license plates would have to be decipherable. I wouldn’t be surprised if most car accidents are caused from people trying to decode personalized tags when they should be watching the road.

· Hanging up the phone without saying a word when you get someone’s voicemail would carry a stiff penalty—I think a 10 year sentence of having to spend 8 hours, every day, watching the first O.J. Simpson trial over and over would be appropriate.

· It would be law that mayonnaise jars would be made so you could easily get the last of the mayonnaise out of them.

· Childproof lids would be relabeled for what they really are, ADULTPROOF!

· I would make it a felony to wear spandex. I hate that material. I don’t care who you are—Miss America, Mr. Universe, it doesn't matter—you put on spandex and you’ll ugly yourself up in 30 seconds flat!

These are just a few of the changes I’d make in America if I were president. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to draw some pretty pictures with my crayons on the padded wall of my cell before my doctor stops by.