Filed under: animals, humor, politics, writing | Tags: feminism, fowl, Mexico, vegetarians
Chick sat, feet up, sipping red wine, relaxed and secure, on the lovely roof garden overlooking San Miguel and watched the welcome rain drench the thirsty flowering and succulent plants on the jungle- like patio. Life was, once again, good. Now, her only real problem was a lingering intestinal upset.Yes, thought Chick, once again, fortune had smiled on her, rescuing her from the jaws of Hell.
Several years ago, she had been vacationing in San Francisco, and had stayed for two weeks in a charming B&B, run by an equally charming couple, Emily and Sharon, who had taken Chick under their wing (no pun intended), showed her around town, and been all around great pals during her stay with them. They had a large fuzzy dog, Bella, who was gentle as a mother hen with Chick, and a West African Gray parrot named Pano, who had the run of the house, and with whom Chick had many long conversations. The beautiful bird was quite content in the loving care of his human companions, would sing Toscanini at the drop of a hat, and imitate Judy Garland. The friends had kept in touch by email infrequently over the years. Emily and Sharon had moved permanently to San Miguel when Bush stole the second election, and Chick knew they were due back from a trip to the States soon after her arrival.
So, one might ask, how did Chick come to be ensconced in her friends’ beautiful home when we last left her in less than desirable lodgings?
The morning after her fitful night in El Crummy Casita, Chick realized that without a phone she couldn’t even call her old friends to let them know where she was. After a struggle pouring water from the huge jug in the kitchen, watching nervously as the propane stove sputtered and coughed, she was finally able to down a cup of lukewarm coffee, enough to fortify her for a walk across town to see if Emily and Sharon were indeed, at home.
Chick’s rose-colored glasses had slipped down her beak, and her mood had slipped along with them. This morning the streets looked dirtier, the people poorer, the gringos richer, and speaking of slipping, Chick lost her footing on a slippery stone walk and landed smack on her derriere. Her face hot with embarrassment, she smiled and profusely thanked the young Mexican man who kindly helped her to her feet. Style over sensibility, thought Chick, knowing her poor choice of footwear was the cause of her fall. How ever did women walk in high heels? And why?
She resolved to toss these offending sandals and buy some sensible shoes……soon.
With the aid of her trusty street map, she easily found la casa de los amigas, centrally located a short block from the main mercado. Just as Chick contemplated asking a passerby for help to pull the out of reach bell ringer, the door opened. It was Sharon, and she swept her feathered friend up in a big hug.
“Chick! So good to see you! It’s been too long!”, said Sharon, depositing her in the middle of the gorgeous living room.
“Wonderful to see you, too! What a charming place you have! I love it! Is Em at home?” said Chick, suddenly realizing how quiet the house seemed, and how gaunt Sharon looked. And where was Bella?
“She is home, Chick, but she’s ill. She got terribly sick on the trip home, and was in the hospital for the past three days with a bad case of food poisoning. Something she picked up in the States, ironically. But she’s on the mend now, and no worries, it’s not contagious. So, tell me about your trip! Where are you staying? You know, you’re welcome to bunk with us any time”, smiled Sharon.
“How about right now?” The question flew out of Chick’s mouth without engaging her brain. She went on to relate her saga of her disastrous move to new quarters, trying to make the story funny and light-hearted. “So, another San Miguel travel adventure for the books!”, Chick finished up laughing.
“Just let me tell Em you’re here”, said Sharon, getting up. “Can I get you some coffee?”
“Oh, no, thanks,I’ve had my daily quota”, said Chick regretfully. “Listen, I’ll just come back in a few days when Emily’s up and around. I don’t want to bother her.”
” Wait,I’ll be right back, Chick. I need to check on Em”. Chick sat back looking around the lovely room at the collection of Pre-Columbian looking sculptures and contemporary paintings adorning the walls.
In a few minutes, Sharon was back. “Go pack your bags, grab a taxi, and come on over here. You can have the guest bedroom and bathroom upstairs. It’ll be great to have you here.”
“Oh, no! Sharon, I couldn’t possibly.I was only joking about staying with you!”, stammered Chick. “With Emily sick, I’d be in the way and imposing!”
“No, you wouldn’t, not at all. It will be good for Em and she wants you here…..And, we certainly don’t want you to leave our city of San Miguel with bad feelings! Now, here’s your key to the front door!”, said Sharon. “Just let yourself in.”
So, with a light step, Chick trotted across town, threw her things in her suitcase willy-nilly, and left the dreaded dump without a backward glance. She took the fresh flowers.
Next: The Good, The Bad, And The Scary
Filed under: animals, humor, politics, writing | Tags: Mexico, travel, vegetarians
Chick was learning, one baby step at a time. She tossed her store-bought loaf of Bimbo Bread to the birds and bought a fresh baked whole grain offering at the Blue Door Bakery for 50 cents, and at Bonanza, a large bottle of Microdyn purifier. Chick had suffered through an entire night of Montezuma’s Revenge, that unfortunate aspect of nearly any stay in Mexico. She thought she had been careful, but her discomfort could possibly be traced to the raisins she had put on her oatmeal. Her new neighbor told her to first purify everything, even bananas! Everyone American had their own horror story involving their bowels, a subject rarely touched upon mornings at Take Me Magical Places. Yes, here in San Miguel, one discussed with ease the state of one’s digestive functions with people you met on the street. Amoebic dysentery with projectile vomiting was not a story to be told over coffee in Melrose, thought Chick. Nor could she understand the lack of refrigeration. Her fellow beings lay dismembered and quite warm in meatmarkets all over town. What about salmonella? But carnivores deserved what they got, was the phrase that ran through her mind, not for the first time.
On a more cheerful note, last night she had been invited for a glass of wine by an American artist she and her friends had met on the drive to town from the airport. After a horrendous trek uphill beyond Juarez Park (she was still a bit weak from her “indigestion”), she knocked at the brilliant azure blue double doors, carved with images of a sun and moon, surrounded by angels. Harriet Horner, a well-known local artist, and her two poodles, answered her knock. One was a black Standard Poodle, the other a tiny white ball of fur. Both dogs were quite interested in Chick, in stark contrast to the scrawny street dogs, who barely glanced at her, thank goodness, intent on wherever it was they were going.
Harriet’s home was out of a magazine, indeed had been featured in Architectural Digest and on the town’s House and Garden Tour. Massive rock walls, glass brick skylights, paintings, sculptures, objects de’ arte filled the blue and purple house, replete with terraced gardens, overlooking the Parroquia and the setting sun. It was a cocktail party with several neighbors downing wine and tequila and scrumptious tidbits. Chick got a glimpse of local gringo culture, the culture of big money. She was in one of the million dollar homes that hung on the hillsides of San Miguel, overlooking the town. And overlooking many Mexican citizens who could barely feed themselves. Chick struggled with what she perceived as a moral dilemma on a daily basis. On the one hand, the huge influx of Americans living here brought jobs, commerce, and ongoing financial support to the local economy, schools, and programs for indigent Mexicans. On the other hand, to live in such conspicuous luxury in the midst of such poverty! How do these people sleep at night? Yet,this was the way of the world, wasn’t it?
Now, today, Chick had her own problems. Much to her dismay, she still had to remain in close proximity to a bano. She dared to venture out only after chewing four Pepto-Bismol tablets, wearing three pairs of underwear, and toting a change of clothes. One could never be too careful in these matters.
In a quandary about where she would spend the next ten days, she had rented a new casita sight unseen. The taxi deposited our intrepid traveler and her luggage in front of a set of tall metal gates. As the driver sped off, Chick realized she could not reach the buzzer, so she had no choice but to pound on the gates. After what seemed like forever, one of the other tenants, a friendly Texas woman, let her inside. The courtyard was charming, with tropical plants, tilework, and ivy covered coral colored walls. But when the young Mexican maid arrived,arms laden with fruit and flowers for Chick…….and opened the door…….Chick saw with a sinking heart just why the casita was so inexpensive. Unpretentious, the ad had said. Oh, dear, she had rented El Dumpo! Looking around, she took in the sorry sight. Sagging furniture, a broken lamp, a bare lightbulb on a frayed cord. Still,it was very clean, painted in pretty blues, had a tiny bedroom, dining room, and a red and yellow kitchen. There is a certain charm, thought Chick, trying to cheer herself up.
An hour later, she was having second thoughts, as she sat waiting for Martine, the handyman to install new innards in the ancient commode, which had overflowed from the tank twice, flooding the living room. There was no phone. Luckily the woman who lived upstairs had a cell phone and was able to call for help. I wanted to be in El Centro, thought Chick, aware that she could have had a beautiful place a bit out of the center of things for the same money. Can I really stay here for ten days?, she asked herself nervously. Oh, Dear!
When Chick finally got out of bed the next morning, after a fitful, nearly sleepless night, she was ready to pay any amount to change her reservation and hop on a plane to the States, and she was homesick to boot. The little bedroom had a damp, musty odor, she couldn’t open the window for lack of a screen and the bloodthirsty mosquitoes, there was no water pressure, the shower and bathroom sink merely a dribble. The propane stove was old and scary, and the antiquated small water heater for all four units continuously roared just outside her back door. She had spotted several crawling things last night as she was about to retire, and to top it off, as Chick had pulled back the threadbare sheets on the lumpy mattress, a dead roach.
“Oh,Help!”, said Chick out loud.
And Someone was listening. Perhaps the Goddess, perhaps the Patron Saint of little gringo chickens alone in Mexico, maybe her personal guardian angel, but more than likely it was the serendipitous nature of Chick’s charmed life.
Because, in a few short hours, everything had changed!
Next: A Friend In Need
Chick and her three friends perched on a rock wall under a big shady tree waiting for the start of Dia De Los Locos parade, in English, Day Of The Crazies. They had arrived at 1oam to secure this excellent, desirable viewing spot. Now it was high noon and our American girls were fidgety and restless.
“Wasn’t it supposed to start at 11?”, asked Mary. “Hey, Mom, chill. We’re on Mexican time”, answered Julie. Chick didn’t really mind the waiting. She had already fallen in love with Mexico, with San Miguel, and everything about it. Her little head was chock full of plans and schemes to move here and become an ex-pat. It was all so exotic and wonderful.
Last night Chick had sat with a bottle of Corona on the roof of their casita and watched a fiery pink and orange sun set over the dark blue mountains. The church steeples were awash in shades of ochre and gold, the houses all in a jumble of magenta and yellow, turquoise and mauve. Colors good enough to eat. Dogs barked, roosters crowed, strange blue-black birds screeched. A hummingbird hovered right in front of Chick’s beak, momentarily mistaking it for a flower. Chick soaked in the luscious flavor of a culture far different from her own. To her, San Miguel appeared peaceful, relaxed, warm and loving, and she yearned to be a part of it.
Yes, there were people begging in the streets, and Chick could not pass a person in need with an outstretched palm without dropping coins into that hand. And small children sold gum and trinkets in the jardin. The city was a study in contrasts. This town is straight out of a movie, thought Chick for the hundredth time. She had been here for a week and it felt like forever. Her minimal Spanish came back to her when she needed it, which was frequently, since most folks, of course, spoke Spanish. Chick was spending a lot of time on her own, as she simply could not keep up with the others, and was loath to take a taxi as a point of pride. She loved to walk, but let’s face it. She was no match for a person with legs. By the time Chick arrived at a restaurant, her friends had already eaten and she couldn’t blame them. And she had to scurry across the cobblestone streets, as buses, trucks, cars, jeeps, and the popular ATV’s made unexpected turns without benefit of traffic lights or stop signs. But it worked. She had yet to see an accident or road rage. Everyone was incredibly polite to each other, and it warmed Chick’s heart.
The Mexican people were so friendly, loving, and happy! Oh, Chick knew that was a blanket statement. Of course not everyone was happy, nor even well fed, though it did seem that folks in this town were prosperous, partly due to the large influx of American dollars. But surely Mexicans suffered from the same neuroses, fears, and foibles as her compatriots. Didn’t they? There was no heading in the phone book under mental health therapists.
Life was different here. Even the birds were different. With a bang and a clang, and blaring horns, at long last the Locos parade began. The biggest, most colorful, wild, and yes, crazy, parade Chick had ever seen in her life! Hundreds of costumed characters, jumped, clapped, sang, and marched along to the tunes of ear-splitting music. She saw people dressed as huge bugs, coal black cavemen, a bizarre bunch of babies and storks, clowns, every sort of animal, including chickens, Bugs Bunny, Nixon, Cheney, and George Bush, all throwing candy, beads, and kisses. Thousands of people, a sea of humanity, and all kinds of street food Chick and her fellow gringos were afraid to eat. They could only drool at the huge bowls of sliced watermelon, papaya, and mango, while smells of fried tortillas assailed their nostrils. Chick and Mary had already suffered through two Pepto-Bismol mornings, the cause of which could be anything, even water in your mouth when showering.
Her diet was out the window and Chick relied on cheese enchiladas as a staple. She could only hope all the walking would compensate for the extra calories. Their days were filled with new adventures. A highlight was the trip out to La Gruta hot springs. Cascading blue pools, high rock walls covered in bougainvillea, and the magical surprise, a deep tunnel you swam through, ending in a high rocky dome of steaming water, a small beam of sunlight the only light source.
But now it was the last night for Mary and Julie and the four friends were gathered for a farewell dinner at Tio Lucas, along with a Canadian fellow named David they had met on the jardin. He does look a tad like David Niven with a red nose. Probably a heavy drinker, Chick mused. She felt a twinge of jealousy as it was obvious that David was quite taken with Julie. Why, he was old enough to be her grandfather, thought Chick indignantly, suddenly feeling every bit of her sixty-two years. And when the three ordered steak, Chateaubriand, nonetheless, Chick could barely hold her tongue. At least Teda was a vegetarian. They both had the eggplant which was filling and delicious, and hopefully not genetically modified. She soon felt her minor irritations fade away as she enjoyed her wine and the soothing sounds of Doris Rodgers, a jazz singer long a fixture in San Miguel. She reminded Chick of Nina Simone. Yes, Chick was a most lucky chicken!
Alas, plans are just plans, and the best laid plans can change in an instant. The next morning, Teda was unexpectedly called back to the States. The others had departed, and Chick could either cut short her wonderful trip, or gather her wits about her, and find another, less expensive casita. Luckily, she had just learned to use her ATM card.
Our intrepid traveler would be on her own in Mexico!
Next: Mysterious, Magical, and Mundane
Filed under: animals, politics, writing | Tags: humor, political, politics, poultry, random, satire, vegetarians, writing
“What shall we do first?”, squawked Chick, so excited she could barely contain herself.
“Look, sweetie! The first thing we do is get out of these wet clothes”, answered Pearl. “We’ll head over to the condo, freshen up, then hit the streets.
And just when our dear Chick thought things couldn’t get any better, they did.
“Like it?”, smiled Pearl, as she opened the door and Chick’s beak dropped open in awe. The condo was beyond gorgeous, right on the water, brand new, and designer decorated. They each had their own bedroom with a balcony overlooking the beach.
“Could I just live here forever, Pearl?”, sighed Chick as she flopped down on the bed. “It’s beautiful!”
“You can visit whenever you like, girlfriend!”, laughed Pearl as she poured them both a glass of red wine. In another hour, the two were strolling Duval Street with throngs of other tourists. And throngs of other chickens. For once, Chick wasn’t the only chicken on the street, though she was the only one sporting a turquoise backpack and wearing a flowered sundress.
Yes, there were 2000 wild gypsy chickens strutting their stuff in Key West. It was wonderful! Chick was in heaven! She felt happy and safe. Gone was that uneasy nagging worry that kept her glancing over her shoulder, even in Melrose. Here, as a chicken, she was revered and protected. All around her, in the streets, the parks, the old cemetery were chickens! That they weren’t dressed like her and didn’t speak, at least in English, Chick barely noticed. They were her fellow beings, wild and free! How strange and amazing life could be!
Giddy with happiness, Chick proudly marched beside Pearl as they headed for the sunset. The friends had stuffed themselves at The Place, a great vegetarian cafe tucked on a sidestreet. Now, they clapped with everyone else as the sun dipped below the water in a blaze of radiant orange. The only bummer, in Chick’s opinion, was the man who coerced housecats to jump through hoops of fire and perform other humiliating tricks. Chick had turned this jerk in to the Humane Society in Atlanta a dozen years ago, and now here he was again, still plying his cruel trade. I’ll have to deal with it when I go home, thought Chick. Pearl seemed to think the show was cute.
So off they went to watch the turtle races at Harry’s where they had one too many cocktails, then hailed a taxi back to the condo, where they quickly donned their jammies, neglected to brush their teeth, and fell exhausted into a deep and peaceful sleep lulled by gentle waves breaking on clean white sand, yet sprang out of bed by 8AM, eager for the day ahead which they crammed with as much Key West flavor as they could. A glass bottom boat ride, Nancy’s Secret Garden, drinks at Hemingway’s, shopping, a visit to The Chicken Store, of course, coconut cake in Bahama Village, and a swim in the condo pool. By evening they were decked out in their best finery and headed for dinner at The Blue Heaven.
Sadly, this is the point where our story takes a 90-degree turn, where the idyllic little pastel colored bubble Chick had been floating in, bursts, where illusions are cruelly shattered, and the grimy, seedy reality of life once again triumphs over a lovely dream.
Blue Heaven! This charming eatery came highly recommended and was jammed with tourists and locals alike. Pearl ran into two old friends, Charlene and Sunny, and the four sat together chatting and downing Bloody Mary’s for a good hour before being shown to a table. Chick was famished and ready for a great meal.
“Yum! Let’s see….what looks delicious?”, said Chick, opening her menu, and smacking her lips in anticipation. Her eyes froze! There, right in the middle of the menu was……..Chicken!……..Jamaican Jerk Chicken!
“Oh!”, gasped Chick. “Oh!……Oh, no!……I thought……I thought.”
“What is it, Chick?”, asked Pearl. Her companions looked at her with concern.
Chick wasn’t born yesterday, as we’ve mentioned before. She was no spring chicken. She knew that 96% of people in the U.S. ate meat. If she wanted to fit into society (and she did) and go out dining, she had to go with the flow. She wasn’t about to put a damper on this little party. Inwardly devastated, but relying on her innate social graces, she put on a happy face, swallowed her sorrow, and ordered the tofu. She prayed that no one at the table would order the chicken entree, and thankfully, no one did.
After dinner the foursome hit nearly every bar on Duval Street. Chick danced long into the night. It wasn’t until the long drive home that she even allowed herself to think. She tried to curl up and sleep, but she could not get that nightmarish menu out of her mind. People ate chickens in Key West, just not the Key West chickens. Chick had tried all her life to educate folks, by example, by giving speeches, by supporting PETA, seemingly to no avail. People would not eat their pet dog, but they would eat a chicken, a far more intelligent species. Chick knew full well that billions of these innocent beings were raised and slaughtered under horrific conditions yearly in her country alone.
But Chick, in her naivety, had briefly believed that in the tiny paradise at the edge of her world, Key West, the chicken had found a true sanctuary.
We all have our cross to bear. I should have known better when I saw that giant yellow M, thought Chick bitterly as she fell into a fitful sleep.
Next: The Search For Inner Peace
Filed under: animals, humor, politics, writing | Tags: humor, traveling, vegetarians, writing
As always, the night before anything exciting was on the horizon, Chick barely slept a wink. At 7:45AM she wheeled her suitcase out to the road to wait for Pearl. She’d packed and unpacked three times, and tried on nearly everything she owned, hoping to come up with just the right outfits, nearly forgetting her swimsuit and sunblock 45.
Darn, was she still preening her feathers for Mr. Right?, Chick mused, though she quite enjoyed her single status, answering to no one, and free to do whatever she liked whenever she liked. But there were times, especially on chilly winter nights, when she longed for a companion to warm up the bed. She did have many wonderful friends, and here came one of them now to pick her up. Pearl was right on time, looking splendid in her……….Her Hummer!!! Egads!! Pearl was driving a brand new shiny black gas guzzling Hummer!!
Oh, this can’t be happening, thought Chick with dismay. But it was happening. If she wanted to go to the keys, she’d be going in this environmental abomination that belonged in the Sahara desert. Before she could even sputter a word, Pearl jumped out, grabbed Chick’s bag and tossed it in the back, and in one swift movement shoved Chick’s butt in front seat, buckled her in and they were off before Chick could even begin to protest (which in truth she would not have because…..she had her heart set on this trip). I can sacrifice my principles for this one teeny tiny weekend, can’t I?, thought Chick, in burst of pure selfishness.
In a short space of time they were barreling down I-75. It had been plenty of time, however, for Chick to remember that several years ago she had vowed never to get in a car with Pearl as the driver, a sickening fact that she had conveniently forgotten, and now here she was, trapped in a hated horrible Hummer with a lead-footed maniac!
The landscape was a blur, but Chick couldn’t see it anyhow unless she stood up in the seat. “Oh, Pearl, I’m so sleepy, I think I’ll just doze off a bit”, said Chick, and, using a tactic that served her well in times of stress, she fell into a deep sleep, lulled by the sweet sounds of old Joni Mitchell tunes and Pearl’s off key sing-along.
Hours later, she awoke to Pearl’s finger jabbing her in the side. “Wakey, wakey. Lunchtime, sweetie”. Pearl had already spread their repaste out on a shady rest area picnic table, a delicious vegan dish of eggplant parmiagian, carob cake for dessert, and a bottle of sweet red wine. It almost makes up for her driving, thought Chick, as she wiped her lips on the pretty linen napkins.
“Two more hours to Key Largo”, Pearl said as they quite literally climbed back up in the Hummer, whose purchase Pearl defended by some malarkey (in Chick’s opinion) about carbon credit exchange.
“Wake me when we’re there”, mumbled Chick, already nodding off as they pulled onto Alligator Alley. The next time Pearl jabbed her they were turning into John Pennekamp State Park.
“Let’s go for a swim, girlfriend”, said Pearl with her usual enthusiasm. They parked and went into the bathouse to change into their suits. Chick remembered a trip here nearly twenty years ago with her friends Bobbi and Teda. Darn, she also remembered looking pretty good on that trip, too. She decided to put her shorts back on over her suit. Even though she was wearing a slimming black Speedo, it wasn’t enough to hide the bulging and sagging that were inevitable at her age, even with rigorous daily exercise (which she didn’t do). Pearl obviously felt the same way as she emerged wrapped in a silky print sarong that covered her ample body completely. Yes, the days of bikinis for these two were over.
The protected swimming area was just as Chick rememberd it, at least until she put her snorkel on. There were definitely less fish. But it was still beautiful, the turquoise blue water, the azure skies, and the clear air. As she floated on her back, toes pointed skyward, a feeling of peace washed over our little chicken. “Oh, it’s paradise, Pearl”, she said to her friend who had swum up beside her. “No, this is gorgeous! But paradise is two hours south. Let’s hit the road!”
So they dried off, grabbed their clothes, and, still clad in their damp suits, hightailed it back to the Hummer. Pearl fixed up a booster seat of sorts with their luggage so Chick could see over the dashboard.
“Sorry, Chick, I forgot how little you were or I would have gotten you a carseat”.
“Very funny, Pearl”, answered Chick. It wasn’t the first time someone had voiced this insulting suggestion. She had learned to ignore it.
The Hummer was nearly three feet above most of the other cars on the road. Chick turned her head in shame when a couple wearing Sierra Club t-shirts and driving a Prius glared at them. It’s not mine, she thought, but she felt culpable all the same. Well, she wouldn’t let it spoil her trip, she vowed and quite soon Chick forgot about everything else, awed by the sheer beauty of the vista before her. The smooth cerulean blue water, deepening to azure and ultramarine, meeting puffy white clouds with a touch of pinkish rose. The road stretched ahead seeming to disappear in the water and then a lovely little island popped into view, tiny cottages perched on the sand and……..enormous new condos. No, she simply would not allow herself to think about anything negative for just this one weekend.
Didn’t she deserve a respite? A break from carrying the weight of the world on her small shoulders? A reprieve from wearing her heart on her sleeve? Yes, it was her turn.
Chick spotted the sign first. Welcome To Key West, it said, and perched atop was a statue of a chicken. I’m home, Chick thought, with tears in her eyes. This is my spiritual home. I love Key West.
Next: McNuggets in Paradise
Chick gazed at herself in the bathroom mirror. Yes, she could almost see dissolutionment written all over her face. Yesterday she had been flying high, so sure her bus odyssey for peace was a Good Idea, but Boom!, in one fell swoop all her big plans came crashing to a halt, and with them, her spirits.
I feel like going back to bed and staying there, thought Chick morosely. Maybe I am bi-polar. In the wee hours of the morning, caught in the throes of yet another bout with insomnia, Chick had come to the realization that Turkey, bless his heart, had been right.
Last evening Chick’s friend Dorito had driven her to the Gainesville bus station to buy a ticket to Bradenton. Even though the sign said, Open, the door was locked tight. They were closed. A small knot of people huddled against the wall trying in vain to avoid the downpour. There were two women with small, crying children, a forlorn looking man carrying what appeared to be all his worldly goods, and a huge scary looking guy with weird hair and a lot of tatoos. Everyone looked like they had problems, big ones. With a sinking heart, Chick knew right then that she couldn’t do it. She couldn’t go waltzing up in all her feathered finery, talking about war protests and contacting your Representative to people who, in all probability, were worried about the rent, their next meal, or worse.
I’m too chicken, thought Chick, so distracted she didn’t even realize how absurd that sounded. I have to do Something More, this refrain ran through her mind for the thousandth time, forgetting that she already spent a great deal of her time engaged in political activism. One of her friends had even given her a button that proclaimed, I’m Here To Save The Planet, which she frequently wore,along with her Jail Bush button. She was just about to turn on the tv and watch Dr. Phil when she remembered reading that he made 90 million dollars last year. What had he done with all that money? Chick felt the beginnings of a migraine, though she’d never had one.
She peered into the mirror again, inspecting a suspicious spot on her beak. Why hadn’t she stayed out of the sun when she was younger? Now the “experts” were saying some sun was good for you. It was all so confusing. Though no longer prone to true depression, there were days when Chick could almost see a black cloud above her head. Today had all the earmarks of one of those days.
Her stomach growled, reminding her of the dangers of a drop in blood sugar. I’ve gotta shake off these demons, thought Chick, and, still clad in her nightie, she padded into the kitchen for her morning bowl of cholesterol-lowering oatmeal.
“Oh, fuck it. I’m having a chocolate donut”, said Chick out loud, pulling out the box of Entenman’s hidden behind the canned goods. As she opened her mouth for the first bite, of course that’s when the phone rang. She picked it up out of habit, forgetting to check caller ID. Happily, it was her old friend Pearl’s customarily booming voice blasting in her ear.
“Chick, is that you? What’s shakin’? You’d better be free this weekend ’cause I’m invitin’ you to come to Key West with me!”, yelled Pearl.
Chick’s little heart leaped. A road trip to the keys! She would go, of course she would. It had been years since she’d been there, one of her favorite places in all the world. Her peace plans would have to wait.
“Well, let me think, Pearl. I did have plans on Saturday, but I could change them. I’d love to go”, said Chick. She didn’t want Pearl to think she was a complete dud with zero social life, especially since Pearl had buckets of money, connections, a jet-set lifestyle, and in Chick’s opinion, way too many possessions. In point of fact, Pearl was the poster girl for conspicuous consumption. But Pearl was an old friend, had inherited her millions, and spent lavishly on her pals, her whims, and herself, but pumped a lot of bucks into good causes, too. She lived in a big house on the water in St. Augustine when she wasn’t off traveling the world. The rich were different, yes, but they were still people. with the same hopes, dreams, aspirations, and foibles as the rest of us. In short, they pulled their pants on one leg at a time. What this proved or disproved was an unknown quantity, but it made Chick feel better to think it.
Pearl confirmed the arrangements swiftly. “Fantastic, Chick, I can’t wait to see you! It’s been way too long. I’ll pick you up Friday at 8AM. We’ll have a fabulous dinner at the Blue Heaven and then catch the Sunset. And bring your dancin’ shoes, girl! We are goin’ out!”, shouted Pearl.
And just like that, in the wink of a blink of an eye,Chick’s world turned bright and beautiful. The sun came out, the music came on, and she danced round and round the living room to her favorite Donna The Buffalo CD. And…..life was good.
Next: Paradise
Filed under: politics | Tags: animals, humor, opinion, politics, vegetarians, writing
I’m not always late, thought Chick the next morning as she opened the door to the coffee shop at 10:45 a.m.
“Chick!”, Patricia greeted her warmly as usual, which Chick greatly appreciated. The place was jammed with the regulars, Dorito, Happy, Kooky. Even Turkey was there today, though it was a Tuesday with no chance of Helen’s wonderful wild West Virginia tunes.
And just as she had thought, there were Goosey and Henny already enjoying homemade quiche and a whole wheat bagel. Chick had to forgo the quiche. Eating an egg made her feel like a cannibal, altough it didn’t seem to bother her friends in the least. “I’ll just have a cup of that delicious coffee, please”, said Chick, plunking herself down next to Goosey.
“Hey, girlfriend, what’s this great idea of yours?”. Goosey always go right to the point. “I’ll have you know I rescheduled showing a house to meet you!”.
“You look great, Goosey!”, Chick told her friend, giving her a hug.
“I lost ten pounds and I’m going to lose ten more! I feel fantastic!”, said Goosey, barely remembering her chocolate indulgences of a few days ago.
“O.K.! Here’s my idea!”, began Chick, and with great enthusiasm and many wing gestures, she excitedly outlined the detalis og her Great Greuhound Bus Adventure. “And, I can get a 60-Day Discovery Pass for $538.00. I’m hoping one of you will come with me!”, finished up Chick on a note of expectation.
There was a stunned silence. Finally, Dorito, one of the women from Melrose Surge For Peace, said quietly, “Well, that is quite an idea”.
“Ride a bus? For two months?”, said Goosey. “Oh, I don’t know….I don’t think….Ummm…..I….For once, Goosey was speechless.
Patricia spoke up, “Well, I for one, think it’s a wonderful idea, Chick. A life affirming journey for peace, an empowering step for your species and women everywhere. I would go with you, if I weren’t stuck in this coffee shop, which, don’t get me wrong, most days, I dearly love.”
“I’ll go with you, Chick! It’ll be fun!”, shouted Henny, just as her cell phone rang with annoying musical tones. She rushed outside, out of respect for the others, and the big sign on the wall, No Cell Phones.
“I only rode a Greyhound bus once in my life”, said Happy, with a farwaay look on her face. Everyone began talking at once, weighing the pros and cons of Chick’s plan.
Then Turkey, who had remained silent up until now, cleared his long throat loudly and stood up. “Chick? Do you have any grip on reality at all? You apparently are under a delusion that bus riders are a representative sampling of society. No, my dear, the truth is you will be dealing with the poor, the downtrodden, the alcoholic, the desparate fringe element, not to mention homeless veterans who may very well not only disagree with you, but wish you ill will. You will be seen as a dilatante, traveling by bus as a lark, while for your fellow riders, this mode of transportation is the only one open to them. Believe me, you will not be welcomed with open arms, you and your message of peace. The true believers of God, guts, guns, and country are out there in droves. Go down to the Deli! You’re naive, Chick! You could well end up in a stew pot, along with dumplings and gravy……Just looking out for your well-being, sweetie”. Giving Chick a pat on the head, Turkey walked out the door.
“Humpf!”, said Kooky, “Don’t let the door hit you in your big fat feathered butt on your way out!”
“What? Did I miss something?”, quiered Henny, coming back in after her cell phone chat.
“A man was just giving his much over-rated opinion”, said Patricia, rolling her eyes.
“His opinion on what?”, Henny asked.
“My Greyhound trip for peace. Would you really go with me, Henny?, answered Chick, hoping for support, yet unsure as to how a Republican McCain supporter could be a rider for peace.
“Go on a bus? Why, Iwouldn’t be caught dead on a bus, those smelly, dirty things, packed like sardines with all manner of unpleasant characters, stopping at McDonald’s to eat! Not me!”, Henny threw up her hands dramatically.
“But, Henny, you just told me twenty minutes ago it would be fun”, stammered Chick, puzzled.
“I most certainly did not! I would never even consider such a trip!”, Henny said in a loud voice, grabbing the tambourine and shaking it.
Chick caught Goosey’s eye. They were both thinking the same thing, Chick knew. There was something wrong with Henny.
“Look, Chick, you have friends in Bradenton, right? Why not take the bus down? Check it out first before jumping in with both feet”, Dorito said gently.
Chick looled at her gratefully. “That’s a good idea. I’ll do it soon”.
Next: Chick Takes A Trip
Chick knew she had a good idea. Alas, she had this idea in the middle of the night, in the throes of another bout with a persistent insomnia, and now, in the clear light of early morning, she simply could not wrap her brain around that most brilliant idea.
“It had to do with peace, world peace, something I could do to promote world peace”, Chick mused as she lay in her bed, wiggling her newly polished toes, and listening to the welcome gurgle of the coffee pot. “I could bicycle……no, not that……not swim, either…..oh, I could go on a peace walk, to Tallahassee or even Washington!” Chick had read with admiration of a young couple who had biked across the country last summer in an effort to get folks thinking and talking about the war in Iraq.
“I could do this!”, said Chick, already excited about the possibility. But could I do it alone? If she couldn’t even convince her friends to stand on the corner, undoubtedly they would not be up for a walk to Washington. Maybe one of the women from the monday group would be interested, she thought, though they all seemed to lead full lives. I’d have to eat in restaraunts at least once a day. And where would I stay? I couldn’t count on a church every night, and that means motels. I couldn’t very well camp out by myself. And how would people know I was walking for peace? I guess I could wear a sign, like the old sandwich boards……
Chick gasped. How could I have come up with that analogy?…..On a sandwich board would of course be……a chicken sandwich. Yes, there was a very real danger that someone would see her as……just a meal. The road is a scary place for a woman alone, and infinitely worse for a small chicken. Her good idea was beginning to sound not quite as good.
And, could she really afford a trip like this? Chick had a modest savings, and, though she could scarcely believe it, had begun collecting social security on her last birthday. The catch-22 here was…..how long would she live? Her savings and the interest it earned might possibly last her lifetime (barring unforseen medical catastrophes). But what if she should live on and on? And on?
One of life’s little jokes, Chick said to herself. Put something away for a rainy day, they tell you. Yes, it’s a rainy day, you run out to bring the clothes in from the line, and lightning strikes you dead two weeks after you retire. (This actually happened to an old high school aquaintance, and ever since Chick checked the sky frequently when bringing in the laundry.) So all your scrimping and saving was possibly for naught. You only live once, thought Chick, although since her study of Buddhism, she wasn’t sure if that was true.
All right, she could swing it financially, she decided. But was this walk such a good idea after all? Chick pictured her rather tiny feet trudging step after step after step, mile after mile.
“I need coffee!”, exclaimed Chick out loud. As she jumped out of bed, she felt a familiar twinge of pain in her lower back. Right, she thought. I’ll walk to Tallahassee! I’m so out of shape, I get winded walking to the corner! I’m going to start that new exercise program tomorrow, thought Chick for the gazillionth time.
She settled on her porch with her mug of coffee,slowly sipping the life-giving fluid.
If only I could drive! I could buy a van and put peace signs all over it and even sleep in it! Or I could do an art car! Or anyone of a number of wonderful things!
Her inability to obtain a driver’s license was one of the great personal frustrations of Chick’s life. Goosey is so lucky, fumed Chick, briefly consumed with jealousy toward her dear friend. Goosey was just a foot and a half taller than Chick (depending on whose foot one used), but because of her added height, she could drive. Goosey had her own bright red Mini-Cooper, outfitted with special controls, and she could damn well go wherever she pleased, even though she mostly went shopping.
But Chick was just too small. She couldn’t go on certain rides at Disney World.(She longed to ride Space Mountain). And, she couldn’t drive.
Suddenly, a light bulb, the spiraly kind, went on in Chick’s head. The bus! I’ll take the bus! The Greyhound bus! Now that was a Good Idea! A tremendously Good Idea!
I’ll wear Code Pink T-shirts and all sorts of peace buttons and I’ll pass out literature and I’ll talk to everyone, real people from all walks of life and I’ll start a blog so everyone can follow my progress and when I come back I’ll write a book and be on talk shows and NPR and I…..I’ll discover the heartbeat of America!
Chick grabbed her phone and punched in Goosey’s number. She couldn’t wait to tell her and Henny Penny! But wait she would have to, since both their phones went to voice mail. “Meet me tomorrow at 10:30 at The Cup And Saucer!”, screeched Chick excitedly into the phone. “I have a Wonderful, New, Good Idea!”
She had no doubt her friends would be there.
Next: Bus Bust
As the weekend rolled around, and she received by e-mail, the reminder about Standing On The Corner For Peace, Chick felt herself becoming energized. “Why! I think I’ve rediscovered my social conscience!” thought Chick. Maybe she could round up a few friends to join the group. She knew that inviting Henny was a lost cause, but perhaps Ducky Lucky and Goosey Loosey would accompany her. (Turkey Lurkey was of skiing in North Carolina.)
“Hi Ducky, it’s me,” said Chick when Ducky answered the phone.
“Me. I know quite a number of folks named Me, including Me,” Ducky said in a vaguely sarcastic tone.
“Listen, Ducky, cut the crap, I have something important to tell you”, replied Chick, already exasperated.
“You always do, my dear Chick. I believe last time it was something about the sky?”
“That was a long time ago, Ducky,” said Chick, her face turning hot with embarrassment as she recalled the acorn incident. Still, Chick told him with enthusiasm all about her stand on the corner last week and the wonderful women she’d met.
“Oh, Chick, Chick, Chick”, Ducky said with a long drawn out sigh. “When will you learn? The sixties are over! Everything is done on the Internet these days. Yes, I fully support your efforts, but I shall be protesting from the comfort of my armchair, thank you very much! Count me out, honey! But give Goosey a jingle. She may well be up for making a public display of herself. I hear she’s lost fifteen pounds!” Ducky chortled. “Ta-ta. Gotta go”
“Geeezzz. Men.”, thought Chick. ” Why do I bother?”
She dialed Goosey, who was delighted to hear from her, at least until Chick asked her to stand on the corner. “Oh, Chick, I just couldn’t. I’m so sorry. Not here in town. I could lose clients. Look, I’ll go to D.C. with you, or Orlando again, but not in our small town. Try Turkey. Or Henny Penny.”.
“Turkey’s out of town”, said Chick, “and well…..Henny’s not the Henny we knew any more. She told me she’s voting for McCain.”
“Honk!!! What?”, yelled Goosey, coughing and choking on the slice of chocolate cake she was enjoying as they spoke. “You must be joking!”
“I wish I were. She switched her party, from Green to Republican a couple of months ago. I can’t believe she’s not backing Hillary!”
“Oh, that just can’t be true”, sighed Goosey, calming down a bit. “No one in their right mind would vote for that war monger. And he may choose Huckabee as his running mate! I swear, if those two end up in the White House, my entire flock is heading for Mexico!”
Chick began to feel uneasy. Was there something amiss with her old friend Henny’s mind? For surely no woman in full possession of her faculties would support a man like John McCain, a man who would keep our country in Iraq for what?…..100 years?…..1000 years? A man who was quite happy to have the support of Pastor John Hegee, whom Chick had nightmares about. Yes, McCain was Bush with a brain, an evil brain.
So, something was definitely up with Henny. She had been dressing rather strangely of late, showing up at a Sierra Club meeting wearing red Converse hightops and a poodle skirt!, thought Chick, forgetting that she, too, sported the same footwear.
Lost in this quite unpleasant reverie, Chick remembered that Goosey was still on the phone. “Sorry,” said Chick, “I was spacing out. Let’s do lunch soon. We’ll go down to The Cup And Saucer,and if she pulls that McCain ca-ca in there she’ll have to deal with Patricia. Oh, by the way, I hear your new diet’s been working.”
“Uh, well…..I had company, we ate out a lot, and you know, well, it’s hard”, Goosey stammered, her mouth full of chocolate. “Call me. We can go next Wednesday for music.”
So, a mite disillusioned, but still determined, Chick went to the corner on Monday without her closest friends. And sadly, this week only two other women were there. “Damn it all!”, said Chick, in a burst of profanity, that, for her, were becoming increasingly common. “There oughta’ be hundreds of people out here protesting this illegal war!”
And Goosey should be here, thought Chick. That would give new meaning to their sign Honk For Peace! At least Chick still had her sense of humor.
Next: Chick Has A Good Idea
