Irene's Store

Sorry, I didn't realize this poem for Hertige Women's Book
was not finished. This is the final version. I hope.
I make many mistakes, grammer, spelling, punuation, etc. I
need to fix. This should give the worst writer in the world
courage. L.

IRENE’S STORE

In the town of Boulder, Utah
My mom, Irene, for awhile, had
The only store for thirty miles around
She had everything in that store
That you could think of
Groceries, blocks of taste cheese
Levies, cowboy boots
Lasso rope by the foot
Cattle vaccine, pocket knives
Sweet’s candy and cookies
Bread brought by the mail truck
You could get gasoline by
Pumping up five gallons by hand
Then shooting it down to your tank
You could even get a tire
Fixed at Irene’s store
Or darn good instructions
On how to do it yourself
You had to break it down
By running a car next to the rim

Mama liked to have fun
And you could always hear her
Musical laughter ringing out
High above everyone else
I think mama’s laughter just
Made people feel good
And that’s why so many people
Stopped by to visit so often
From all over the place
Daddy tried to get Mama to
Take the doorbell off the store
So we could have one meal
Without someone coming to the store
But she never did and “Ding dong.”
Somebody always had to
Jump up and run, usually her

Mama was the first mayor of Boulder
So we talked a lot about the town
She helped get the first water system in
And we stopped scooping mice
Out of that old cement cistern
She talked Dad into giving the town
The spring from the upper ranch
For great tasting drinking water
That needed no chemicals
It’s still the greatest tasting
Water in southern Utah

Mama became the first president
Of the Utah Cowbell association
And even helped think up that name
She got bored with the Cowboys
Having all the conventions and talk
The Cowbells put out a beef cookbook
With some of my mama’s tasty recipes
Including Hunter’s Delight,…yummy.

The store was where
We helped Mama put together
Case machinery just outside the door
That she sold to the ranchers
Where we had to help Daddy
Put in a new motor in his cattle truck
Where she taught men how to
Sling gas barrels off a truck the right way
You had to roll and move the weight
Where we had to lock the door
To run and help the young heifers
Next to the store in the catchall
Have their first oversized calves
She had me run back to the store
For these great big sulfa tablets
While she held the cows uterus
Then she stuffed it and the pill
Back inside clear up to her elbow
Then she cussed Daddy for
Buying that great big Herford bull
The cows lived and word got out
The store was where the dog ran in with
Hundreds of porky pine quills in his nose
That we had to extract with pliers
Where, Daddy drank up all the Shillings vanilla
Stuck out his chin and challenged her
“I know you’re mad…hit me right there.”
Mama knocked him right off the porch
Where he lay flat on his back
While his buddies laughed
I thought he might get up and kill her
The store was the only place to be
When Daddy and his buddies
Were passed out all over the house

But best of all were those
Two tables filled with arrowhead
Where you could sit with a cold coke
Or a beer and talk about everything
We five girls were Mama’s helpers
Especially when she drove off
To show tourists the back country
Or went to Richfield for freight
We were often there starting
Or getting in on wild conversations
There were more things discussed
In that store than anyplace in town
Maybe in all of Southern Utah,including church
In that store we could discuss anything
With many a sweaty cowboy over from
The round up at the Government corral
Needing cold refreshments or lunch
We’d be quiet when Daddy came in
To guzzle straight down one small cokes
Then reach for another, real coke in those days
But I remember Daddy cussing a lot
About all the stupid talk going on

What chance did we five girls have
Growing up in a store like that
Everybody coming by to see us
Everybody talking about everything
Some adventure always going on
Always meeting somebody new
Teasing, joking, flirting having fun
Doing flips, walking on my hand
Getting ready for the dances
I think two of my sister even
Found husbands in that store
I know some of us are still
The biggest talkers around
Hoping to spread a few new ideas
Still looking for new skills or new truths
Fighting causes, or discussing things that should
…or maybe shouldn’t be talked about
And laughing all the time just like Mama
And still wanting to have that fun
We became fearless just like her
She let me climb the highest ledges
My other sister chased wild steers
Another one nursed sick people and animals
Right in that little store, just like Mama
My older sister launched forbidden subjects
We could debate with the best of them
And doing it still, when we get a chance
But I wonder about those “hot rocks”
That those uranium hunters brought in
That Mama used to let us handle
And test with her Geiger counter
Maybe that’s what wrong with my hand right now

I can’t really blame Mama for how I turned out
Restless, curious, seeking, adventurous. gambling
Looking for a cause, a party or laugher
Always wanting something wild and crazy
Just being raised in Irene’s Store
…Linda King 2/18/2010

GROUP THERAPY ON LINE

I miss my group therapy in Phoenix and since it was free, paid for by the gambling Casinos who had to agree to this in order to set up their Indian Tribes Casinos in Phoenix. They knew they were going to make a lot more money than therapy costs...and it costs a lot. I blamed my gambling on them just to give therapy a try. They didn't know I started gambling clear back in the 70's when Bukowski and I used to head for the track. There is nothing like a horse running down the track to the finish line to make your forget the miseries in the world. I was the only "action" gambler. The other girls just sit with a one armed bandit and got robbed. Our therapist said action gamblers are the hardest to cure. They just need that action. If I wasn't so old maybe I could convert the action to running or skiing or something else to get my adrenalin rush. I would have been alright it they hadn't opened off-track betting right next to my house.

My therapist didn't say much, just listened. In fact, I was getting tired of driving all the way to Scottsdale just to entertain her with my stories. The Indians didn't pay for my gas. I often went from therapy to catch a couple of races. She knew and I knew I was never going to stop going to "off-track" two blocks from my house. She encourage me to go to San Francisco...someplace she has always wanted to live. She loved my poetry...Here I am. It's hard to believe I been here almost a year.
I didn't loose my house over just gambling. I guess it started when I wanted to see Europe after a free trip to a Bukowski eventin Germany. The money came out of the house. After the first "refi" it was easy. Kind of like sex. You want to do it again. Especially when they are telling you your house is worth ten times what you paid for it. It's like betting on the big six. It was a gamble. I saw Paris, Amsterdam and England. And then all of America went crazy. I knew the stock market gang was nothing but a bunch of gamblers...it takes one to know one. In their scheming mind they figured out just where some untouched money was...ah ha...it's in hard working retirement accounts. They really worked at converting those accounts to their gambling operations. Who has the money now?? A lot of IRAs are still going that way.

Maybe it not really the group therapy I miss, maybe I just wanted to tell those sad faced slot players I made it to San Francisco...maybe half transplanted...even though just yesterday, after a family upset, I had to fight with my steering wheel so it wouldn't drive to Golden Gate Fields...where, on Sunday, the hot dogs, beer and parking is only a dollar.
Now, I don't think it's just me, but everyone in the world needs a little group therapy and I might as well start it right here on VOOMAN'S VOICE. This last year has been rough, what with my numb hands, losing my home and hearth, my dogs, my lover, my dignity, my credit, almost my sanity...but it is all in your mind set. I made these hands do one more sculpture and it's a beauty.. Jack Hirschman. But I fell into a hole after it was done. Maybe I am afraid one of these sculptures is going to be my last. With all the rain, the sculpture started growing mold instead of drying. I thought for a time in was my own head growing mold. It's starting to dry now. I feel better...but all these earthquakes and people in so much misery has not made me happy. I dream last night that a giant wave had me and these houses right in front of the zoo tumbling out to sea. With my dream is could come true or just be my tumbling fears. I can't stop myself from finding out what is going on it the world. Let's face it the world sucks, America suck, our government sucks, the weather sucks "Humanity you never had it from the beginning"...as Bukowski said it.

The other night I fell into the lips of a man. It was easy and good is good, other than, I know it's the wrong man...but maybe their never was a right man or never can be a right man. Maybe that is one of the fantasies that we like to believe. Maybe marriage is a false institution that millions of people are captured in like prison when they are really wanting someone else, or sometwo or somethree else. Maybe my singleness is primo and I don't know it.
If anyone would like to join Vooman's Voice Group Therapy...men are welcome, I would be happy for all intelligent, wise or humorous voices that might make me believe there is still hope, happiness and humor out there...jump in and say your say. Scream your scream. Let us commiserate together. If you have a blog...a blogspot address. How can I go on living a blogless life. My sister, who is a mathathon blogger, is outrunning me everyday. My muscles are limp. Help!!! HELP!!!