Hobo Jungle
Jon, she tried to feed me that stuffwhen I was a kid. Just the thought makes me sick. however, she did get me started on beer , so yes Tramp ,I'll have one . Shortly before she died she smoked a Lucky Strike and drank a Fort Pitt .
roger
I support thread drift.
If God didn't want women to be looked at, He would have made 'em ugly. RAH
I support thread drift.
If God didn't want women to be looked at, He would have made 'em ugly. RAH
Here's an old poem that has my grandmother in it. She's dead now, but lived to be a hundred. The odd thing is that she asked for my father and myself in her last days. My father was long dead and no one told me at the time.
IRISH FATHERS
When he was 56, my grandfather died;
He drank himself to death in northern Canada
While living with an Indian squaw—
At least that's what my dad called her.
I never met my grandfather,
Who was dead before I arrived, though
My grandmother is still living.
I have only seen her twice:
Once when I was nine and once when I was nineteen,
And I quickly came to understand why my grandfather
Left for the northern wilderness.
Yet my dad didn't invite his father to his wedding,
The wedding of my parents,
And he ended up regretting it his entire life.
His mother had worked him against his father,
“Oh, the man was nothing but a no good drunk,”
And liquor was ever allowed in the house,
(He had to stand outside in the yard to drink a beer)
But I think it was just that, for her,
All men were the same—bad.
So his mother worked him against his father,
Succeeded too, until later,
Until it was too late.
But by then he was drinking as well,
My dad was drinking, and in some ways
I think he wanted me to hate him:
Kind of the giving up my love
For the love he'd denied his father.
But I wouldn't hate him,
Though he gave me good reason
And I got real close.
Once, when I was fourteen,
He tried to stab me with a kitchen knife.
He thought I was selling him out to my mother
Over the telephone—but of course it wasn't true.
He came at me with the long knife,
His thinning hair sticking up, his eyes gone crazy,
But I leapt up on my bed and started to open the window.
He went for the window, and I slipped past him
Out of the room and out of the house.
Outside it was snowing and rather cold,
And I was only in my underwear.
I ran along the dark streets,
My bare feet slipping on the ice.
I ran to my friend's house,
Ran hard trying to keep warm,
And there, I stood long and embarrassed
Calling up to his window, “Dean, Dean,”
A little louder with each call, “Dean, DEAN.”
I didn't want to knock and wake his mother,
But of course his mother heard me before he did.
And though she had never liked me much,
She let me in—I guess I looked pretty pitiful:
A blue ninety-pound kid in white underwear.
Just as my grandfather had died at 56,
My dad died when he was 56,
But he had still lived with my mother on weekends.
Sometimes when I am driving alone,
Driving up a good straight run of road,
And the low western sun is gilding
The inside of my old car and
Almost blinding my eyes,
I lift the cold beer between my thighs,
And I raise it up in front of me,
And I say, this is for you,
This is for you dad,
And then I drink for him,
I drink for my father,
As long as I possibly can.
IRISH FATHERS
When he was 56, my grandfather died;
He drank himself to death in northern Canada
While living with an Indian squaw—
At least that's what my dad called her.
I never met my grandfather,
Who was dead before I arrived, though
My grandmother is still living.
I have only seen her twice:
Once when I was nine and once when I was nineteen,
And I quickly came to understand why my grandfather
Left for the northern wilderness.
Yet my dad didn't invite his father to his wedding,
The wedding of my parents,
And he ended up regretting it his entire life.
His mother had worked him against his father,
“Oh, the man was nothing but a no good drunk,”
And liquor was ever allowed in the house,
(He had to stand outside in the yard to drink a beer)
But I think it was just that, for her,
All men were the same—bad.
So his mother worked him against his father,
Succeeded too, until later,
Until it was too late.
But by then he was drinking as well,
My dad was drinking, and in some ways
I think he wanted me to hate him:
Kind of the giving up my love
For the love he'd denied his father.
But I wouldn't hate him,
Though he gave me good reason
And I got real close.
Once, when I was fourteen,
He tried to stab me with a kitchen knife.
He thought I was selling him out to my mother
Over the telephone—but of course it wasn't true.
He came at me with the long knife,
His thinning hair sticking up, his eyes gone crazy,
But I leapt up on my bed and started to open the window.
He went for the window, and I slipped past him
Out of the room and out of the house.
Outside it was snowing and rather cold,
And I was only in my underwear.
I ran along the dark streets,
My bare feet slipping on the ice.
I ran to my friend's house,
Ran hard trying to keep warm,
And there, I stood long and embarrassed
Calling up to his window, “Dean, Dean,”
A little louder with each call, “Dean, DEAN.”
I didn't want to knock and wake his mother,
But of course his mother heard me before he did.
And though she had never liked me much,
She let me in—I guess I looked pretty pitiful:
A blue ninety-pound kid in white underwear.
Just as my grandfather had died at 56,
My dad died when he was 56,
But he had still lived with my mother on weekends.
Sometimes when I am driving alone,
Driving up a good straight run of road,
And the low western sun is gilding
The inside of my old car and
Almost blinding my eyes,
I lift the cold beer between my thighs,
And I raise it up in front of me,
And I say, this is for you,
This is for you dad,
And then I drink for him,
I drink for my father,
As long as I possibly can.
-
penncentral8885
- Posts: 3012
- Joined: Wed Aug 17, 2005 10:09 pm
- Location: Indiana
No doubt Petey,,and look at the Grandma's!!!!
http://www.indianarailwaymuseum.org/
Turn to the dark side!,,,,Penn Central 1968-1976
"from there to here, from here to there, funny things are everywhere.",,,,,Dr. Seuss
Turn to the dark side!,,,,Penn Central 1968-1976
"from there to here, from here to there, funny things are everywhere.",,,,,Dr. Seuss
I don't know about a gated community, but these fella's in dark suits and sedans are always parked down the road with binoculars and cans of Cheez-whiz. 
A couple of "glowing" bugs are out this evening as well as a slow moon rising through the pines. Man, what a spectacular nightfall!!
Tomorrow we'll start a new contest!!!
A couple of "glowing" bugs are out this evening as well as a slow moon rising through the pines. Man, what a spectacular nightfall!!
Tomorrow we'll start a new contest!!!
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