Category: random

It was Christmas Eve, snow coming down
The Army was halted on frozen ground.
Soldiers on half-ration, coffee, hard tack.
Supplies were short, such an awful fact.

Lieutenant commands some season cheer,
Men wishing for barreled buttered beer.
Alas, he orders a squad deep into the trees,
Snow so deep, they thought they’d freeze.

Once they returned, behind them in jolly tow
Was pine tree for camp, their Christmas show.
Green was its beauty against glittered white,
Bringing them hope amid the coming fight.

Ever so gently it was decorated by hands,
Rough from living by any means they can.
A found ribbon here, color paper from there,
Carved figures, hand painted, hung with care.

All that was missing was Angel on top.
First Sergeant bellowed all work to stop.
Demanding feathers, chicken or ostrich plume.
If not, work details, to each man their doom.

It was a Corporal, who suggested the idear,
One both Privates and Captains like to hear.
They gathered as one, though it quite unusual
For Officers and Enlisted to break such a rule.

The Corporal said, “There’s a pair of boards
In camp on which to top the tree. They affords
Broad wings of silver and rest upon our Colonel’s
Shoulders.” Three cheers went up, hurrah, eternal.

Yet the Colonel had other thoughts so clear,
A single tin-type, his family, truly so dear,
Those more precious, where love dwells.
Ones he calls his God given living angels.

Come the morning, that Christmas Day
Company broke camp to make their way
To distant battlefields, leaving for all to see
A hundred Angels atop their Christmas tree.

There is one thing in my life for which I have been strivin’.
It’s somethin’ I’ve wanted since I was jus’ a little kid.
When I die, I wanna go in my sleep like my Grandpa did,
Not screamin’ like my Grandma, in the truck he was drivin’.

I do not understand this metaphor
That crashes and smashes and thrashes
Through my waking daydreams.
I see him plain as a cloudless day,

The bronco buster cowboy man
With kack and tack and on hoss back,
Rolling with Hell-bound abandon.
It is like a child frolicking at play.

And I can never be like this one,
Just as free, just to be, just me,
For I do not comprehend myself
Wanting a time that has died died away.

Senator Harry “Pinky” Reid has been in the headlines of Nevada the last couple of days. A recent statewide poll shows he would be defeated if elections were held today and if someone with solid name recognition came up against Pinky.

This comes after having received Reid latest book entitled, “The Good Fight: Hard Lessons from Searchlight to Washington,” and giving it a read through, one needs to ask has he ever been in a healthy state of mind? It appears not.

The book comes with pictures. They fall between pages 116 and 117.

One of the photographs shows Reid in his Capitol policeman uniform, next to the Nevada Cherry Blossom Princess. Next to her is Nevada’s Democrat Congressman Walter Baring. 

Jus’ so you’ll know Baring was Nevada’s only Congressman at the time, since it was such a sparsely populated state. Baring Blvd. in Sparks is named after him, though I doubt anyone but old timers know who he was to Nevada.

Anyhow, Reid claims that on the day President John F. Kennedy was assassinated Baring told him it was good thing as JFK was leading the U.S. into Communism. Obviously, Reid believes making the long-deceased Baring look bad, makes him look good.

There’s nothing to compare sittin’
In the remote manless place
Where God is your only company
And wind fills the empty space.

Lookin’down a mile into valley,
You see what life can turn to.
Imagination pictures younger time,
And you know exactly what you’d do:

You’d saddle up and ride away…
As you sit alone in a high place,
God is your only companion, wind,
His breath, fillin’ the empty space.

Tinderbox needed no urging as she and Tommy headed out of the corral gate. “Be gone an hour or so,” he told his cousin. Tommy wanted to ride up over the evening side of the ridge before he had to leave for his home in Nevada.

The wide-open skies of southeastern Montana made him feel at peace. Yet he had his own spread to get back to.

The horse flew with an easy gait through the high grasses. She had a feel for the land on which she was running and therefore Tommy gave the horse her head and let her lead the way.

Together they crested the ridge and walked down the slope. Tommy had spotted this area from his cousin’s small plane nearly three years ago. The canyon below the ridge looked peaceful and Tommy wanted to explore it.

Tinderbox made an excellent tour guide as she weaved her way down the canyon side. It was perfect for a cowboy like Tommy. All he had to do was lean back and enjoy. The horse appeared to know what to do.

Once in the canyon with three hundred foot walls surrounding them, Tommy got off the horse and walked awhile. Above them he could see the Petra glyphs of the long since vanished wild Indians. He paused and investigated a small cave opening then remounted Tinderbox for the journey back to the ranch house.

Tommy reached down and patted the horse on the neck and commented “I’m going to miss this place.” Tinderbox seemed to understand as she flicked her ears back momentarily and shook her head up and down.

Again she picked her way up out of the canyon with a gentle and graceful zigzag motion. Her footing was sure and she seemed to enjoy herself as much as the cowboy on her back.

The grasses waved in the breeze as they cleared the canyon edge and made a sweep along its lip. Tommy thought that this would be the perfect place to take a breather.

He climbed down from the creaking leather saddle and ground tethered Tinderbox. She immediately took advantage of the situation by burying her head in the sweet grass and started chewing away.

Tommy ambled over to the edge of the canyon to have a look straight down. Then he proceeded to follow the edge around and over the slight rise before him.

Kneeling down he picked up a small rock and tossed it into the canyon. It struck bottom in about a second. He stood up.

As he stood there surveying the scenery he noticed movement over to his left. Then he saw the massive head raise up, sniffing the air. It was a Cinnamon Bear.

The bear made a huffing noise then rose up on its back legs to get a better view. He stood and watched the lone man.

Tommy knew he had only a few choices. One was to be stupid and run, knowing that the bear could easily out pace him at any distance. Another was to find a shelf or even a handhold over the edge of the canyon. The last was to raise his hands above his head and make himself appear larger than he was as he backed away.

So Tommy raised his hands over his head and waved them. He yelled out at the bear. It stood there and watched him as Tommy stumbled and fell backwards onto the ground.

Tommy bounced back to his feet and looked for the bear. It had dropped on all fours and was running at him. Tommy turned and ran up and over the ridge.

Tinderbox was still in place yet was startled to see Tommy dashing at her. Tommy grabbed her reins as she danced in a circle. He gave up trying to mount her from the left side and grabbed the saddle horn flipping him into the saddle.

The horse was unaccustomed to the weight of the rider being thrust down on her wrong side, bolted head long for the ridge. Just as Tommy settled into the leather, Tinderbox discovered the bear.

She turned sideways as the bear ran head long at her. She screamed in terror and spun to the left as the bear glanced off her right side and Tommy’s leg.

Without hesitation she took off at a dead gallop up the ridge and out on to flat land. By this time Tommy was just holding on to the horn, as he could not manage to reach either rein.

Only when tinderbox was inside the coral yard did she slow down. Tommy sat there stunned as his cousin rushed out to see what the matter was.

Tommy did not have much to explain as he reached down and plucked a tuft of golden-red hair from the mountings of his stirrup. He showed it to his cousin then climbed down from the now-calm Tinderbox and walked her to the stables.

Inside the stables he unsaddled the horse and gave her some oats as he brushed her back. Then he sat back on a bail of hay and recalled how frightening the cinnamon bear had been. Then he put the tuft of hair into his medicine bag around his neck remembering that the Cinnamon Bear was usually called a Grizzly.

The day we wore our uniform
And said, “yes-sir” to Mr. Brown,
He looked down at us as he had before
Then over the crowd of people gathered,
Saying loudly, “I could never get him
to be so polite in class back then.”
We turned, then and simply walked away.

A Waddie bought a new cowboy hat.
It made him feel kinda sassy and fat.
Spent half a months paycheck
Jus’ to replace his worn out wreck.

His new hat was fittin’ jus’ right.
Ain’t too loose and ain’t too tight.
And when all was said and done
It kept out rain and kept off sun.

That Waddie has jus’ one little problem now
And it doesn’t happen when he’s with a cow.
It has to do with the Old Cowboy Code
And when he’s no longer on the back road.

It’s when he’s gotta go inside,
To show what he can’t hide,
And with the world he must share,
The fact that he has cowboy hat hair!

Now when the family gets together
We laugh and we sing and we drink
Then “Do you remember…” stampedin’
The tears we find hard not to blink.

My kinfolk will poke fun at my style
Of clothes that I’ve chosen to wear.
“Code of the West” is fiction to them,
Even though common stock we do share.

I swear I’m a Mick through and through
As they guffaw and fill me with guilt,
Til I point out my boots and hat ain’t bad,
When most of the men are wearin’ a kilt.

Thanks to President Barack Obama and Senator Harry Reid we may all be driving so-called smart cars like this one.

It kinda makes me long for the day of the Yugo…

Not really.