This photo was taken on my senior trip at Knott's Berry Farm. I was always half way in love with Tony Reynolds, but he always had another girlfriend. I think I fell in love at first sight at the school playground at the old elementry school in Escalante when I was about six years old. That old brick two story school that should never been torn down. It was historic. Aunt Nethalla helped get half of the historic building in Escalante bulldozed. She was cleaning up the town. I have always loved old buildings. I think Dell LeFevere and Janel Spencer look pretty good in the photo too.

The photo was taken when my dad, Clyde King, was driving cattle probably to King Bench or to the Circle Cliffs. Much of the country looks like this in what we Boulder people called Down Below. I don't now how it got that name. Maybe the cowboys went through a little hell herding cattle in those rugged canyons and mesas.
Another rancher, Truman Lyman, had to get their cattle out of one of those canyon one winter during heavy snow. He said, "We only took the Lyman cattle, we left the King cattle and they all died." Since he later became a churchman, I felt like he felt a little guilt for leaving those cattle. Those trail were very dangerous and the cattle wild and unperdictable.
I drove cattle up the trail to King Bench and also drove them off the same trail. On old cow was so thristy and hungry, she ran out on the edge of the cliff to get a mouth full of grass and the edge broke off and she fell into the canyon, called The Gultch and died.
Daddy broke a leg on that same trail when his horse fell. My mom, Irene and I went down to pick him up. The men who had come to help went ahead of us. I ask how they got him out of there. He said, "After we put on a splint, we carried him off, four men...one on each corner of a blanket down the trail. Once down, we walked with four horses with him in the middle tied to each saddle with a lasso. We moved slowly up the canyon. It was not an easy ride for a man with a broken leg and horses walking in the dark." I remember we waited and waited a waited until they arrive about three in the morning. We load him in the back of the Power Wagon for another bumpy ride home...where they switch cars again to take him the 100 miles to the hospital where they could set the leg and put a cast on.

BLOG THERAPY
Since I’ve missed my group therapy in Phoenix. I thought I might have a little Blog Therapy at least once a week. Anyone who has a problem can join and try to get their problem discussed. I think the most healing thing about group therapy is that you realize in group that you are not in this alone. There a lot of other people with problems as big or bigger than the ones you have. Somehow that makes you feel better.
I know there are probably a million or more people out there who have my problem and they just go get a facelift instead of face it. IT'S THE PROBLEM OF GETTING OLD. The face lift doesn’t help their skin or their elbows or their knees. I used to never notice the old, hobbling around, moan and groaning, but now I see them all the time. I wonder how come someone is limping or why someone else can’t get up from their chair.
I should have known I was trying to avoid old age when I took up with that man 20 years younger. That did me no good…especially when he didn’t want to walk in a room with me. Well, men do it all the time, it is still not acceptable in women …COUGAR TOWN or not.
I’m seventy and I still haven’t lost the desire to make love to a man that I adore and I still miss that one man and it has been over 2 years now. He kept me laughing, on my toes and looking good, but I did need this job in S.F. I didn’t think it was fair to him to be with someone as old as I am. And there was a small problem of him running out of money. He says he hasn’t found anyone else, but I wonder. I’ve had a couple of married men want to give me a sliver of their pie, but I don’t want that. There might have been a time I was willing, but not now.
Men my age, if they have money, are looking for women at least 40 years young. If they are broke, they are like me…looking depressed and not even on the prowl. That leaves the illegal men and we mostly don’t speak the same language. For the most part, their women are in Mexico, South America or China. They might have a job…I had one man come and open his wallet right in front of me …actually showed me he had money. Of course a man who really had money would never do anything like that.
I am just throwing this problem out to the world. THE PROBLEM OF GETTING OLD. Maybe someone has found a way to deal with this problem. I see happy older people out there. I think they are the ones who have mates. I see some laughing, joking...probably been drinking. I sometimes think…would I want to undress this falling apart body… in front of someone new, and I look good for my age. I wouldn’t even go see Cher. trying to look 20 year younger than she is. I don’t like that look. I want the happy, laughing contented look …satisfied like maybe she just got a little that morning. Help Anyone? Therapy Anyone?
I have a little exta problem and that’s having been Charles Bukowski’s girlfriend years ago. Writer or poets who admire him think…she would never go with me after him. True he was a damn good writer…but he’s dead. Other who have seen him think….Charles Burkowski’s, that man’s, ..not his discards. Wait a minute… it me who left him. …If she would go with a man that ugly there must be something wrong with her. And if they have read Bukowski…forget it. They’ve read about me.
The illegals don’t know who in the hell he is or can‘t read…thank God. I could go out a look in a bar or a dance place…but hell…I’m shot for today.

VOOMAN’S VOICE

I have dragged myself out of my bed to face the world…to find my voice. I am Vooman and I do have a voice. I think I crawled under the cover never to come out because I can’t face this fighting world, a war on every front with people sleeping in the street and not getting enough to eat all over this freaking planet. Flood, fires, famine, bombs, fighting, murder are a weekly happenings. Somewhere deep inside you feel like you should do something about some of this despair, but know your are in no position to do anything. Hardly in a position to take care of yourself let alone help anyone else.
Not to understand, but wondering if there is any intelligent master over all this, I opened the Jewish Old Testament. And read war after war after war. It only made me realize how long this has been going on and how little chance there is that it will stop. Those bad boys back then were going out and slaughtering thousands and thousand in one day. God had no shame about marching these thousands and thousand of Jews into other people lands and towns and just taking over. No wimps in those days. David slaughtered thousands and Solomon slaughtered tens of thousands. Our little drones that only kill 15 or 20 people is nothing.
I really need to go back to comedy. I have become too serious. The Revolutionary Poets Brigade that I have joined is too serious for me. Too many problems on every front. And my 32 year old son can’t get a job. The jobs are in China, India or the Philippines. If I don’t post any blogs is because I am afraid I cannot said anything intelligent, funny, interest or of good report. Okay, I admit I don’t have the answers. I am getting one day older every day. There is no turning it back. My face is getting more wrinkles and I laugh a whole lot less. Give me a break. I think I should stop watching CNN. But I am addicted to what is going on. I need to know. Maybe this is something like heroin you need to go through withdrawal to get off news addiction.
I need to go to a withdrawal camp where you are not allow to get a fix of bad new for weeks at a time. Maybe I should start one. I have no pep or energy to pop this stuffy bubble I am in and have been in for weeks. Give me a break. Just give me a break. Let me get back to some fun, if there is fun still in the world.


CALIFORNIA ONLY 23 BILLION DOLLARS IN DEBT

How is it that California is limping along 23 billion dollar in debt. Everything seems to be running somewhat the same as always. There are still Policemen, firemen, schools, the tram is on the track. How can this be? Maybe the idea of money is only relative, maybe it is not real. Maybe 23 billion dollar doesn’t mean 23 billion dollars. When my money runs out, I can’t buy food, gas or pay the rent. What is this debt that shadows our lives. This is not suppose to be part of the American dream. America is suppose to get richer, live bigger and better in their pursuit for happiness. Is the 23 billions just part of our happiness…spend, spend, spend? Can we borrow more? Since we have the most artillery maybe other country are afraid not to loan us their money. It seems to me that the English had a better idea, they just conquered and took what they wanted. I have never seen so many treasures as those in Buckingham Palace. In the Bible, when you conquer you take the spoils. It is expected of the winner. When Americans win, they give, give, give to build back what they have destroyed. This is a crazy kind of war. We try to be the nice helpful guy and conquer at the same time. It is impossible to do both. The spoils of war used to go to the winner. Is this why we never win? We could conquer and make these places another part of USA, our land ….our oil. Who found the oil, who drilled for it, who built the processing plants?
With our country not paying back it’s debts, the states not paying back their debts, how come we the people need to pay our debts. These debts are certainly not happiness. I have not read one article of anybody who has any solution to this vast American problem. I don’t really expect anyone to come up with a way to allow anyone to spend more than they earn. The Government could take care of the lazy, the fat, the addicted, the crazy, the poor, the unemployed…if they weren’t trillions of dollar in debt. How was it that Bill Clinton actually brought down the national debt?? Maybe, I ,like everyone else, should go along with this fantasy…maybe it is like a Disney movie, it will all end up happy ever after in the end.

LOST IN A KALEIDOSCOPE

Thursday night I was the feature reading at ANGER MANAGEMENT, a poetry reading at THE KALEIDOSCOPE. I realized, before we left my driver was drinking more than he should have been. I ask my driver to let me drive. I couldn't fire my driver as he was carrying the video camera that was going to record my performance. I tryed not to say much as I knew my driver had had a bad day. He had a conflict with the thief who is trying to steal his $100,000 movie. That could drive anyone to drink and possibly even out of their mind after working on this movie project for the last five years. He told me earlier that he was ready to move on...MOVE ON...ON,ON,ON!!!
We had a terrible time finding parking, but we finally found a spot. I gathered my poems and hurriedly made it to The Kaleidoscope, which was a full house. I was the first reader after the band played a few numbers. My driver headed to the bar for more to drink. He was the only one in the place talking loudly through the music. I tried to catch his eyes, but by then he had the attention of a beautiful brunette with long legs.
The band played their own music, which I thought was funny and original. The two singers were comic and good singers.
I was the first reader and had picked out what I thought was my best anger poems. I did alright until I got to the one I had just written earlier that day and I didn't have it under my belt yet and kind of stumbled and read it badly. They had told me 15 minutes and I had to cut it to 10 when I got there. There are many poets in San Francisco just waiting to read. I said, I had found it a little hard coming from Phoenix where there was a drought of poetry to San Francisco where that was a flood of poetry. I got some laughs and some claps. I was happy.
The poetry reading went on and Jessica read and she does performance poetry. I thought she did very well. Most of the poets only read one poem, but my driver,S. D., was getting restless. Poetry sometimes seem to get him a bit uinhinged. He feels like he is getting peppered by words like tiny bullets. He can't take too much, too long, especially when he had had to much to drink. Maybe he has not been subject to the written word long enough. His own words would probably entertain him more.
I agreed to leave at the half, even though I didn't really wanted to. I wanted to make a night of it...as long as I was there and I was the feature reader, but, I had had one other bad night with this same driver when he had too much to drink. I didn't want a scene.
We went out to our car, which I was sure we had parked on Mission between 24th Street and 23rd. The car was not there. We went looking for the car on other streets for the next two hours. My driver blaming me and I blaming him, as he was too blind in his state to see where we were. As it was close to midnight the vultures of the night started circling. When he was off on another street looking, I called and I begged him to come back to where I was as I was getting a little nervous with all of these circling vultures. Finally, we decided to go back to the Kaleidoscope and we, by luck, caught the anger manager on the way to his car. He gave us a ride back to my daughter house where we called the cops and waited another hour or two for the cops to come for a stolen car report. I had already called to find out if it had been towed. It had not.
The next day, after driving my grandkids to school, I stayed in bed for twenty-four hours, with my head covered, because I knew I had already caused my daughter countless tickets, towing fees and other San Francisco craziness and now I had lost her car altogether. I didn't have good dreams. God, I didn't want to get up again.
She came home from her trip across the big pond and for some reason her and her husband went down and started cruising around The Kaleodoscope. Somehow, they found their car on a different street South Van Ness between 23 and 24th Street.

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