Buddy Holly and Other Memories

Today is election day, outside it is cold and raining and I am reduced to running up and down the stairs for exercise.

I have already voted, yippie! (note the slight sarcasm) I live in a very Republican state, I am a registered Republican and always wondered how my grandparents could possibly be Democrats.

That's the subject never talked about around the Thanksgiving dinner table, politics. The thing is, I can see both sides to the argument. But I think Republican vs. Democrat is too narrow a scope for the attention of American voters. We need an argument for personal responsibility and the dignity of hard work.

Anyway, that is my short commentary on politics for the day.

I have been trying to recapture the essence of who I am. Years of schooling has sucked the life out of me so to speak.

I am not an empty vessel ready to be filled with others ideas, I am intuitive and thoughtful, and I have never felt to harm anyone. Being the calm spirit can sometimes be difficult, not everyone has this type of an attitude. There is a lot of maliciousness out there, I don't understand this type of behavior.

I am a writer, but sometimes uninspired and I cannot write a word. This is usually during a time when stress and outside influences comes over me.

On the note of my articles title. Buddy Holly, his music has inspired all types of artists The Beatles, rhythm and blues, Elvis, and many others including a Reggae artist that I heared today reprising Buddy Holly's songs.

Sometimes I love to be able to curl up in a comfortable chair to re-live favorite memories. Today is one of those day's. The dark grey and rainy weather always seems to bring out melancholy musings in me.

Perhaps I will describe to you the thrill of "surfing" down the river.

In the middle of a hot July, my cousin and brother and I decided that we could take the heat no longer.

We didn't have money to go to the public pool, besides it was too far away and the repressiveness of finding money and walking down there was unappealing to us.

So we decided to go down to the river. The water was more pristine than now, there was far less gang activity down there.

Though you could still see signs of it under the bridge where the train crossed the river, seeing graffiti always gives me nervous shivers that the miscreants had been there only so many hours before.

We would walk as far up the trail as we could stand and then tentatively we walked down to the water and dipped in our feet. The others preferred to slowly immerse themselves, but I hated the process and rushed in.

I came out of the water gasping, but felt the vigor of it throughout my whole being. Rushing water ran over me as I steadied myself in my place and waited for the others.

I splashed them a bit to get them into the spirit of it and they protested slightly then wiped the water from their faces and then turned and leaped into the rushing water.

I turned after them and felt a rush as my speed built and I felt carried away by the current. The thrill of turning over control of my body to the raw nature of the rushing water was magnificent.

When the water was deep I turned my body into a surf board and "dove" down the stream.

The roiling water took me Up and over the boulders and rocks and with fascinated thrills I felt the fish as they swam around my feet.

When the water was shallow we "sat" as the water carried us along. We laughed and scooted along on our bottoms.

When we would come to a small waterfall we wouldsometimes go over them, but usually we would get out and walk around them on the trail.

Shivering as we walked because of the evaporating water on our skins. We rushed back to the water as quickly as possible and continued on our journey.

At these moments the world faded away, mans feeble attempts to lay claim on the stream became foolishness in our eyes. We passed backyards of fortunate ones who held property along the water, but we somewhat scoffed at them because they like us held no claim upon the rushing water.

Joy, incomprehensible joy and fear of the water was our emotional state as we sailed along.

Then suddenly a stong fear of the water came over us as we came to a dyke in the water holding it back and creating a ten foot drop. The powerful currents were pulling us ever closer to the edge.

We swam hurriedly to the side, but found the bank too steep to climb and had to slowly make our way back, with the aid of low hanging branches, to a more promising stretch of land to climb out onto.

We got out and surveyed the dyke and the drop and breathed in a sigh of relief. Then we ran back up the trail to have another go at the river.

Once again we ran to the water, this time we got out well before the bank of the river got too steep.

Then once more we ran up the trail for another run before we walked languidly back home again.

We wrapped up in towels and laid out in the hot sun, now friend as it warmed our chilly bodies. Then one by one we showered and went in for a nap.

Now when I walk by the river, I can scarcely keep myself from rushing to the water, especially on hot languid days. But then, the shoes on my feet and the baby in my stroller keeps me from jumping in.

Plus the water is filthy now, and there are so many more people along the trail.

It's not the same, but the water lapping against the rocks and rushing down it's designated path reminds me of hot summer day's when life was simpler and a lot more fun.

~Strawberry Girl