David McClain's Open Salon Blog

To the Grandchildren of my Grandchildren

Thu, 31 May 2012 16:05:43 -0400

I posted this in 2009, shortly after joining OS. The project it pretty much complete now and upon my death my children will be given copies to pass along to their children.

Four years ago I sat down and wrote the first of what, so far has been five letters to the unborn generation of my family who will come along after I am gone. The letters are to be passed along to my children after I die and to their children after them.

There is no greater knowledge a person can possess than the knowledge of where they came from and who came before them, for to know these things, one will surely know themselves. So this is my gift to the future members of my clan.

The following is the first of what is, so far, five letters....

To the Grandchildren of My Grandchildren

Greetings to you who have yet to be born, from one who lived before you. I am writing you this letter which hopefully you will read when you have reached adulthood and can understand the things I am going to try to pass along to each of you.

I am your long dead ancestor and I was born in the year 1949 in the small Texas town of Livingston, Texas. My father was Rufus Fount McClain. He was born in the year 1917, in Trinity, Texas. My Grandfather was Sep Yuree McClain and he was born in the year 1876, also in Texas. My Great Grandfather was named Sam Houston McClain. He too was born in Texas, in the year 1849. And, finally, my Great Great Grandfather, William Zedekiah McClain was born in the year 1812 in Tennessee.

I give you this brief family history so that you each may better understand a
point I want to make to you with this letter. We are each the sum total of those who came before us. Each of you, like myself, has been touched by history from the time we were born. I grew to adulthood influenced either by the presence of these men, or the stories of their lives. So too will you be influenced by these same men and perhaps, in some small way, by the stories of me.

As I write this I have no idea where you will begin life. Today my five children are scattered from Texas, to the state of Washington so as you read this you could be anywhere. You might be rich or you might be poor or somewhere in between; you have an equal chance to be any of these. But, what you all have in common is the fact that you are all from the family, McClain. Whatever your future holds, you will always be the distant product of the men I have named above.

In writing this I hope to give each of you a small insight as to why you act the way you do and why you react to the world around you the way you do, for each of those men are with you as you read this, in some small way.

Each man I have named had a few things in common. They all were fiercely independent men and all lived what would be considered by most as lives of poverty. None of them, to my knowledge, ever had a lot of money or material wealth. What they did have and, I suspect, what each of you will possess is an overabundance of personal pride.

Now many will tell you, as they did me, that pride can be a bad thing and I agree to some extent. Pride, when it manifests itself as an arrogant, superior self assurance can indeed be a bad thing. But, when that pride leads you to hold yourself to a higher standard of conduct, then it can serve you well in life.

Know this…Each and every one of you are descendant of men who had a strong moral code, who stood up to be counted when their country or their neighbor needed them. These simple, hard and straightforward men never asked “why”, they just answered every call. When the time came that their sweat and blood were no longer required they each went back to their lives and got on with quietly raising their families.

None of your ancestors were ever involved in the important decision making of this country, they were just the men who saw to it that the needs and wishes of the people, their call for help or defense, was answered. Sometimes they won out over adversity and sometimes they lost but no matter what the outcome, they persevered.

Now I am sure each of you grew up hearing stories of those of us who came before you and I would like to address that for a moment. Each of those men I named and perhaps myself were the subjects of some of those stories you grew up with but I want you to understand something very important…All of us were just men. None were anything to be considered out of the ordinary. Each and every one of your ancestors were just normal men who lived normal lives. These were lives that included moments of extreme courage, moments of soul filling joy and abject grief…just like each of you, in turn will experience throughout your life.

We, none of us, were anything special except for one thing….How we raised our families and what we passed on to the future generations….you.

So, my Grandchildren’s grandchildren, remember those of us who came before you with a smile and maybe a little pride. Carry on the good we passed to you and remedy the bad. Then, when you are old and see the days of your life coming to an end, pass on a letter to those who will come after you or maybe a series of letters telling them about you and maybe a little about us so that they too might understand better who they are and where they come from.

I will try to write you again, another day and talk about the past so you might use it in your present.

Your Ancestor

Unrequited Love

Tue, 29 May 2012 13:05:26 -0400

A few folks who have come to know me through this blog have expressed their envy of the fact that I live on a horse ranch surrounded by beautiful creatures. I will concede the fact that I am indeed surrounded by beautiful animals but there is one very important part of that lifestyle that has been forbidden me this past two years….I can not ride.

Due to health issues like four mini-strokes in the past two years I am lacking in the one key ability that anyone who rides has to have and that is Balance. You must be able to keep your weight centered and low in the saddle and you must be able to coordinate your upper body with the motion of the horse. Think of it like dancing with another person; your bodies have to move in unison…one follow…one lead and if there is no coordination then not only does it look awkward, but one of you could very easily trip and fall or at the very least get stepped on.

Now, on a good day, I think about trying to ride again, but then I think about the results if I get in the saddle and suddenly have a dizzy spell. Mel would be left to do all the work on the ranch alone while I was laid up nursing broken bones and we simply can not afford the hospital bills that would come with such a spill.

So I hesitate. I wait. A love that is unrequited.

Not long ago I wrote about my own personal Time Machine, the one I named Shadow Dancer. She is a beauty and she is almost the twin of the first horse I ever owned. I referred to her as a Time Machine because riding her would send me back to my most happy and carefree days….being a teenager and riding like the wind through the great Pine forest of East Texas. I have been obsessed with that idea since the first day Shadow Dancer came into my life. I dream about it still.

Every morning now, as soon as I walk out onto the front porch and Shadow sees me, she comes trotting over to the fence and stands with her head over the top wire….watching me expectantly.

Each morning I do the same thing. I walk over to the fence and stand close to her while she lowers her great black head and nuzzles my shoulder gently. It is her way of asking: “Today daddy? Is today the day we ride?”

And each day I have to answer the same way. I gently stroke her head and lay my face against her cheek and whisper: “Not today, sweet child, maybe tomorrow.”

Unrequited love.

The thing is though, I know how I am and I know that one day soon I will have had enough and I’ll just say “Fuck it!” I will pay no attention to how I feel, whether or not I’m having a dizzy spell, whether or not the legs are working as they should, and I will throw a saddle on that beautiful creature, climb up on her back, touch my heels to her muscled sides and we will fly away across the pastures and into the forest.

Oh what a day that will be, when Love is finally realized in full.

This entry was inspired by Poor Woman's wonderful work yesterday and after I left my comment I realized that I had not really shared this story with readers of this blog. Thanks PW for the inspirtion.

The Spirit Land.....OS Fiction Weekend...a repost.

Sun, 27 May 2012 12:05:41 -0400

Three years ago I was new to the site and I posted one of my short stories which garnered six rates and four comments which surprised and pleased me to no end. So I figured I would repost it today to celebrate the OS Fiction Weekend. I hope you enjoy the read.

Gray Wolf, the last Shaman in a long line dating back a thousand years, was a man torn with hate. His spirit was black-stained with anger and sorrow and he knew he could only find the answers he craved in one place: The Spirit Land.

Many times, throughout his life, Gray Wolf had made the pilgrimage to the Spirit Land to find the answer to his tribe's problems; truth be told, he loved that land as much as he did his own in the waking world. Something told him though that this would be his last trip to that magical place. He was an old man now, well past his prime, and he knew his days were numbered but he still must go one last time. This time, the trip would be for him alone and not the tribe, after all the tribe no longer existed. He was the last of his people. This time the answers he sought would be for his spirit alone...Gray Wolf needed peace at last.

Slowly, he eased his tired stiff body off the hard plank cot that served as his bed and positioned himself on the dirt floor of the small room. The stiff muscles in his back complained loudly as he forced himself into position: knees bent, legs crossed and back ramrod straight. He folded his arms in front of his chest and began to chant the words taught to him so many years ago by his grandfather, who had also been a Shaman of the tribe.

Gray Wolf closed his eyes and continued the chanting in a low monotone voice, the words running together as his speech quickened and his voice dropped to almost a whisper. After what seemed a long time but was, in reality, only a few minutes, he opened his eyes.

The walls of the room had retreated, the cot was gone and he was greeted by a low-lying fog that covered the rolling, grassy plains that had been the home of his youth. He stood up and was pleased to discover that while in the Spirit World his body was no longer old, his bones and muscles no longer gave him pain.

On his feet now Gray Wolf felt a sudden stiff breeze that moved and dispelled the fog nearest him and he was able to see an approaching figure of an old friend.

The Shaman could not help but smile as his old companion of the Spirit World approached him. Out of the parting fog he trotted on four great, silent paws, his head held high and the fur along his shoulders and back bristling slightly in recognition.

Wayah, the great wolf, was the Shaman’s namesake and his spirit guide in this world. The wolf padded forward and stopped in front of the man. He gazed at the Shaman with cold, piercing, blue eyes.

“I have been expecting you,” the wolf said, in a voice sounded like gravel rolling downhill. “I feel your troubled spirit and I know you seek answers.”

“Yes, Wayah,” the old Shaman said in a tired voice. “This one last time I come to you. I need your guidance. Hate fills my spirit and I feel that I must be lost to it if I do not find some kind of answer. Can you help me, old friend?”

The wolf regarded the man for a space of time, silently. Here in the world of spirits, man and beast always met as equals, the beasts of the earth all had the power to speak and the humans had the power to understand. Here they met as friends. This wolf and this man were joined, connected by fate. It had been this very wolf who had, many years ago, in his life upon the earth, come into a dwelling and discovered a newborn human baby laying on the floor, wrapped in furs.

The child’s mother had been there, but could do nothing as the great beast stood snarling over the child. The wolf had to make the decision whether or not to take the child as food or leave in peace. In that moment the wolf had looked down at the child and saw in his eyes, a connection to himself. He had backed slowly out of the dwelling and ran back over the prairie. Thus it was that the Shaman had gained his name, given to him by a grateful grandfather who was then the Shaman of the tribe.

Thus it was that Wayah, the great wolf became this human’s guide in the Spirit World and thus it was that he now stood before him once more.

“What would you have of me, oh great Shaman of The People?” The wolf replied, staring deeply into the eyes of the man. “I cannot take away your hate nor your pain, I can only show you what was and what is.”

Gray Wolf, the Shaman, nodded slowly. “What more could I ask of you old friend?”

The large wolf turned on his heels and headed away from the human in a slow walk. The Shaman fell in behind the wolf, once again walking the ground of his youth. They walked silently for an hour before reaching a tall hill. Walking up the incline, they reached its top and down below them stretched the land. It was a land of great beauty, of wandering river and tall grass. Upon its surface grazed endless herds of Buffalo and deer.

The Shaman’s breath caught in his throat...it was such a beautiful sight.

“Do you know what you see, man?” The wolf asked gruffly.

“I see the land of my youth.”

The wolf gave a sharp bark that could well have been a laugh. “No, you simple being. What you are looking at is the land before your people came upon it. This is the land of MY ancestors. Here there was no Man, it was only the beasts of the forests and the plains. Here it was that MY kind ruled supreme as did yours in their time.”

“Yes,” the Shaman replied. “I see it now, there are so many of the beasts-- even more than in the time of my youth. It is truly beautiful.”
As the wolf and the Shaman stood on the hill and watched the panoramic view of the animals passing below them, the Shaman caught sight of something moving on the horizon.

“Great Wolf, what is that in the distance, moving closer?”“Look closely,” the Wolf replied. “Do you not recognize your own people?”

Sure enough, now the Shaman could make out the figures of the people who moved closer. It was his tribe, yet unfamiliar. These were the first of his people who came out of the great north to take this land. As he watched, the tribe fell upon the beasts of the prairie and slew them. The humans took the meat and the hides and they lived from this. They now held dominion over the land and the animals shrank back from view...their time was done.

The Shaman was saddened by the death of the animals and somehow ashamed that his people had, by their quest for life, destroyed the world of the animals. Even as he watched, though, another movement showed itself on the far horizon-- a moving mass of pale creatures in the distance.

“Wolf, look there, what is that which comes this way?”

The wolf looked up at the Shaman and there was a note of compassion in his eyes as he answered.

“Look closer Shaman, can you not see that which swept your people away? That is the White Man.”

The Shaman was almost brought to tears as he saw the truth of the wolf’s words. This was indeed the white man marching ever forward, like a plague of locusts covering the ground. He watched in sorrow as his tribe was pushed ever backward and slowly destroyed.

As he watched this sight he also remembered his own childhood when he and his family were hunted and hounded by these whites. He remembered how he had fought them, how he had led his tribe after the death of his father and grandfather at their hands. He remembered how, as the years passed, the tribe grew smaller and smaller. Hunted and starved, one by one they died. His wife, his children...all dead. Until, at last there was only him, left alone, the last of his people.

The Shaman felt the hot tears streaming down his cheeks as he watched all of this unfold below him.

“Yes, Wolf, this is the source of my hate. I could not save my people and now I am alone. I failed in my responsibility to my people and I let these pale savages cover us over. Oh how I hate them!”

“Why?” The wolf asked simply.

The Shaman looked down at the wolf in puzzlement. “How can you ask that? You see what the White Man has done to my people. How can I not hate with all my heart?”

“Do you hate the storm which ravages the land? Do you hate the flood or the blizzard which kills without remorse?” The wolf asked the man.

“Of course not, that is simply nature. It happens as the Great Father says it must.”

“You mean,” the wolf replied, “like when your people came upon the animals of the land? Should I hate you for doing what was natural?”

The Shaman listened silently, beginning to understand.

“We all have a Time,” the Wolf continued. “The animals had their Time and your people came and took our place. You became the dominant force of this world. Then came the White Man and he pushed you out and took dominion. You had your Time and now that time is past.”

“But what of the White Man. Is he to forever have dominion of this land?”

“Of course not,” the wolf answered softly. “There will come a day when another will come and then it will be the White Man’s turn to fade into the past. All things have a time, my old friend. I had mine and you had yours and one day the time of the White Man will be over...it is written.”

The Shaman sat down on the hilltop next to the wolf and put one arm around the massive shoulders of the great beast as he watched the passing parade of the past flow below them. He was aware of feeling something then that he had not known for many, many years: peace. He was suddenly aware of a growing acceptance within his heart. What is, is and what will be, will be....forever and always...as it should be.

He was about to thank the wolf for showing him these things when he noticed something else. Down below them there was now a wall of blackness, like a great curtain hanging from the sky to the ground, and nothing could be seen behind it.

“Old friend, what is this I see now?” he asked the Wolf.

The wolf looked down the hill for a moment, then turned his head and looked back at the man.

“That is where I go Shaman, it is my home. You may follow me to my home now, it is a good place. I think you will like it there.”

Without waiting for an answer, the wolf took off down the hill at a quick trot. The man stood silently for a moment, watching the wolf disappear. He had never been asked to follow the wolf to any place the spirit animal called home and he had never talked to him this long in the spirit world. A part of the man was curious to see what lay beyond that wall before he awakened in his own world, so he set out after the wolf.

The man was still a few feet behind the wolf but catching up fast, when Wayah, the Great Spirit Wolf reached the black wall and, without pausing, walked directly through it. As Gray Wolf reached the same wall, he paused for just a moment, staring at it in wonder.

It was then that a great arm and massive claw reached through the wall and clamped around his neck. The Shaman felt the life began to ooze from his body as the claw strangled him.

“ENOUGH!” The cry of the Wolf echoed back through the black wall. “He comes of his own free will. He is at peace. Let him pass.”

The crowd of people who stood around the gallows let out a collective gasp as the body of the old Indian dropped through the trap door and hit the end of the rope. The body convulsed and twitched for a moment and then was still.

“Man, that was something else,” remarked a man in the front row. “Did ya see how he was smiling there at the end, before they dropped him? I tell you that damn old Indian was just plain crazy.”

“He must have been,” the man’s companion said. “Why else would he have come down out of the hills and try to steal chickens from good, law-abiding, white folks? Crazy old bugger must have been starving and crazy as a loon from living up in them hills alone for so many years. Hell, there ain’t been no Indians around these parts since ’95, and that was more than fifteen years ago.”

The two men turned their backs and joined the rest of the crowd headed toward the saloon to celebrate the hanging of an Indian for chicken stealing. Neither man saw the two figures who stood upon a hill, in the distance overlooking the town. Had they been able to see them at all, they would have wondered at the strange sight of an Indian and a Wolf standing alone together. Of course the two figures went unseen and unnoticed even as they turned together and walked away....to their home....in the Spirit World.

A Plea for help from Libya!

Thu, 24 May 2012 15:05:59 -0400

Today I received this heartfelt plea for help via my Open Salon in-box.

Attn: Dear Mr Torman, (She didn't get the memo that I no longer blogged under that name I guess)

Good Day and My compliment to you and your entire household,My name is Mrs Zainab Ahmed i am contact you Due to the current war and political differences going on in my country Libya, I have been thrown into a state of hopelessness by the administration lead by Col Muammar Gaddafi.I have lost confidence with anybody within my country.I got your contacts through personal research,and had to reach you through this medium. Due to security network placed on our daily activities by the Col Muammar Gaddafi lead government.

My late husband who was killed last three months by Col Muammar Gaddafi officials, before his sudden death, my late husband used to be a special Assistant to Col Muammar Gaddafi just because he resigned and asked Col Muammar Gaddafi to do same for the interest of the people of Libya, He sent his officials to kill my husband. Since After the death of my late husband ARIF Ahmed, Col Muammar Gaddafi lead government has taken over and sized all my late husband properties and closed all his local bank accounts here in Libya and place me and my family under house arrest after three of his men raped my second daughter to death.

Please I need your assistance to transfer the sum of 9.5 million dollar my late husband Deposited with a bank in UK in my name as the next of Kin into your private bank account in your country. I need you to help me secure this 9.5 million dollar in your private bank account before the new transition government in Libya will have knowledge and of it and frozen the account. This 9.5 million pounds is the only hope I and my entire family have to start a new life once again and I cannot afford to lose it to any government that is why i need you as my foreign beneficiary that we stand to contact the bank for the release of the funds to you and i promise to give you 40%per of the funds.

If you are interested to help me in transferring my funds to your account, do kindly provide me with the below stated information of yours.

(1) Your Full Names
(2) Your Contact Address
(3) Your Contact Telephone number
(4) Your Age And What you Do For A Living

Once I receive the above stated information from you, I will provide you with the 9.5 million deposit slip of the funds and the Information and direct you on how to contact our bank to enable them transfer my 9.5 million dollar to your account in your country reach me true this email : ( zainab2ahmed@yahoo.com )

Sincerely Yours,
Mrs Zainab Ahmed.

My question here is this: Is there anyone on the planet gullible enough to fall for this crap?

Note to Kerry: Up the power on the ole Spam filter, bubba.

Dinner time at Almosta....When Momma Calls!

Tue, 22 May 2012 12:05:05 -0400

Around Almosta, when Mel yells out from the front porch that dinner is ready I come running, just like I did as a little boy and Momma use to call me inside to eat.

The same is true for all the animals on the ranch....When Momma calls, they come running.

They can be out in the back pasture or on the edge of the forest grazing....

But when they hear her voice they immediately stop what they're doing and begin to move toward the sound. It is usually Jeremiah who starts the migration....

He is quickly followed by his daughter Snowball and her mom, Jenny...

The rest of the mares hurry, single-file toward their Momma and the barn.....

But my sweetheart, Shadow Dancer, has to stop by the fence and pose for her daddy just one time before hurrying on to Momma....

As the mares and donkeys come to the barn for dinner, Mel's babies in the barn wait their turn.....

And to end this pictorial record of feeding time at Almosta Ranch I leave you with a picture of Mel's day lilly which is the only flower to survive our critters when they graze in the yard. I hope you have enjoyed the show.