Daring Moonbeams
Posted by Jefferson Davis in Short Stories on Sunday, March 7, 2010
I lay in a deep slumber after a week of travelling and an arduous workload.
buzz….Ring….buzz…Ring….Ring
I awake to a fuzzy and out of focus bedroom with moonlight still filtering through the curtains. An eerie tune pierces my subconscious, as I glance over to find my mobile vibrating across the bedside table. I go to grab it but my arms are not quite obeying my brain yet. Finally, I make more effort and am able to grab it. I gaze, vision still blurry, at the caller id and lay in shock for a moment.
It can’t be. What’s she doing calling me after all of this time?
In disbelief, I answer the incoming call.
“Hello”, I mumble in disbelief.
“Hello stranger”, a quirky feminine voice says.
“What time is it?” I demand while wiping sleepiness from my eyes.
“It’s time for you quit dreaming and talk to me. It’s 9A.M. and brilliant out.” She states in a chipper tone.
“Aaarrgghh….That means it is 4A.M. here”, I exclaim while trying to get my bearings.
“Early to bed, early to rise, right?”
“Auld Ben would be proud to know that his proverbs are still being reverberated around the globe”, I mutter whilst primping.
“I would hope so, yes.”
“I’m very glad to hear from you, but it’s early so what are you after?”
The silence and lulling buzz of thousands of miles of wires is deafening.
Don’t screw this up JD. She called for something.
“I’m sorry. It’s just early and you know how I am before dawn”, I utter in an apologetic fashion hoping to hear her beauteous vocalisations again.
“I called because….” Her voice broke while trying to tell me why she was calling.
“It’s alright. You can tell me.”
“I….. I had a dream about you last night. I dreamt that I was walking alone in a moony ancient misty woodland. instinctively, I walked between two rows of old oak trees. I searched through the hauntingly thick fog to no avail. I could only see the naked limbs of the trees stretching out and almost touching one another above my head. I peered through the bare branches to discover a clear yet starless night sky. Only a lone and focused moonbeam lit the path ahead of me….”
“Oh, this is getting good…” Says i with a wee bit of a humorous tone.
“Don’t interrupt. Anyway, as I was saying, I was following this moonbeam through an ancient woodland when a silhouette came into focus. I couldn’t tell who it was but I felt that I had to reach that person, so I walked faster being guided by the brilliant moonlight. The light stopped and shone on the person at the end of the forest. Suddenly I realised that it was you standing at a fork in the path spreading out in four directions. You motioned for me to come closer. My heart was racing, as I jumped into your warm embrace. You grabbed my hand and a brilliant white light flooded the dark forest with rays of a warm summers day. In an instance, we were standing atop a mountain overlooking a valley covered in wildflowers….”
“Wow”, I yell in awe of her incredible story.
“Almost finished so zip it. Anyhow, we ran through the wildflowers hand in hand laughing and….”
“What else did we do?”
“You took me to a clearing in the tall wildflowers where a cloth had been laid and food was waiting. We talked and laid there for hours and you promised to never leave me. We fell asleep in each others arms. I awoke to find myself back in the misty woodland. I searched and cried your name in that lonesome place for what seemed for an eternity. I woke up this morning screaming your name.” She cried, whilst trying to hold back her emotions.
“I bet yer husband didn’t like that?” I laughingly enquire.
“We…We are separated. I couldn’t care less what that gobshite thinks.”
“Are you serious?”
“Yes, I tried to make it work but we got married for all of the wrong reasons”, she answers, as her tears rush through the phone weakening my knees.
“I’m sorry. I know….”
“Dammit, it’s yer fault”, she exclaims whilst squalling.
“How is it my fault”, I demand in a serious tone.
“Because…Because, I still love you, Jefferson Day-vees.”
A great chill ran down my spine as a lone tear ran down my sleepy countenance. I had waited so long to hear those words from her.
“I have never stopped loving you, my dear”, Says I, as a warm surge of life leapt back into my body.
“Well then, come and see me, and let us see how it goes. I can’t the weight of being without you any longer.” She pleads whilst breaking down over the phone.
“I’ll be on the next plane out, so I should be there by tomorrow morning”, Says Iin a hurried manner.
“Call me back as soon as you get an arrival time and gate number. I’ll be there to pick you up. I love you.”
“I love you too. I’ll see you soon.”
The next thing I knew, I was packed and on a plane crossing the Atlantic. As the plane approached and crossed over the familiar rolling green hills, I couldn’t help but smile, knowing that she’d be in my arms in just under an hour. While looking out at the cloudless horizon, which was rare for this area around this time of year, I discovered a bright orb approaching our position at an incredible speed. It was flying towards the very window overlooking the left wing that I was facing.
Suddenly, I was blinded by the incredible radiance emanating from the orb.
I jumped from my seat screaming her name and realised seconds later that I was back in my bedroom alone. It took several minutes of head scratching to realise that the entire episode was just a mere dream and that I was back in the real world.
Exhausted and in disarray from such an eerie dream, I slowly looked out the window to see a bright and tepid Saturday morning. So, I got ready and went for a walk in the sunshine to clear my head.
Sometimes I wonder why we have such whacky dreams. Mind you, I had to fill in a few gaps where the woolgathering memory lapses. I’ve never been able to understand why I and others can remember our dreams and others can’t recall anything from a dream. I think our dreams are an effort of our subconscious enacting what we truly want. Some may dream of flying into space, while others may dream of changing something in their lives or hearing words they’ve wanted to hear but know they’ll never hear.
Dreamland is a mysterious place to visit but not a place to stay. 
Lady in Black
Posted by Jefferson Davis in Me, Myself, and I on Friday, January 8, 2010
I have for years been terrified of getting involved with a woman that my father has had relations with in the past. In fact, I have asked women in the past if they knew of my father. He’s a great man and all, but…ahem…to say he’s a ladies man would be putting it lightly.
Last night, I was at a wake for my grandaunt. She was a great lady and will be missed by me and the rest of the family. But, we know that she’s in a better place. While at the reception of sorts last eve, a gorgeous dark-haired woman walked into the vestibule. She was wearing a netted at the top black blouse, a short black skirt, black stockings, and black knee high boots.
I was standing with two Uncle’s and a cousin discussing something that I could have cared less about. I couldn’t keep my eyes off the woman. She stood in the doorway and stared back at me for what must have been ten minutes. I turned away and started a conversation with another cousin, not wanting to be obvious or weird. She walked to where I was, looked me up and down, but never uttered a word.
She walked over to my grandmother and talked to her for a few minutes. Her dark eyes and black dress stood out from the crowd and she knew it. I didn’t figure it right to introduce myself and flirt at a wake, so when she left, I started asking around trying to get a grasp on who she was. She could’ve been the devil for all I knew.
Later on last night, I discovered who she was but that was just the beginning of the story. Have you ever seen someone from across a room and knew that there was something there and that you had to speak to that person and find out more about them? It has happened to me on a few occasions, last night being one of them.
The internment was this afternoon, so I was hoping to catch up with her today. She didn’t show up but I figured I’d find out more from my cousin who she knew.
After the service, I called my father and told him about the lady in black. I described her perfectly. He paused for a minute and started telling me that he knew her. To make an x-rated story short, he told me that he used to know her very well. My pops has since straightened his life out and is living the way he should.
Uncle Elathon stopped by my house earlier. He laughed when I told him the story, and said, “It’d be your luck to fall in love with a woman with a son or daughter and to find out that the kid would be your brother or sister”.
I laughed, and said, “My greatest fear is to fall in love with a woman and find out that she’s my half sister or something”!
Almost spilling his coffee with laughter, he asked, “Is that why you go to Ireland so you don’t have your father to compete with?”.
“Shut up and drink yer coffee auld fella.”
I don’t go to Ireland or anywhere else looking for women. The usually find me. 
Dust off Yer Boots
Posted by Jefferson Davis in PodCast on Thursday, December 10, 2009
In this massive episode laced with craic, Brian F., K8 the Gr8, Grandad, Dr. Don, and myself hash out everything about nothing. K8 and Grandad savour their Curry while Brian collides with the law. We discuss the pork industry and the hysteria that is H1N1. Brian bitches about the cold and Dr. Don and myself reminisce about radioactive snowcream from a bygone era. We ramble on about a main street trampling and deer whistles. Do they attract or detract?
Later, we learn the meaning of deer jerky along with every other kind of jerky. Christmas and wee sprrogs are mentioned as well as court dates. I wonder about my future wanderings through Ireland with nothing but a backpack, a camera, and a smile to keep me company. We debate whether Indian food is slimming or fattening. Saint Patrick’s Day and the roaring Celtic Tiger are uttered.
In the final bit of the show, we discuss electric pipes, podcasting microphones, the best version of Windows, celebrities, the media, camel toes, metro-techies, and much much more. Please tune in for the next instalment.
Download it Now: Dust of Yer Boots
Being that I’m a country boy (can’t escape it no matter where I go), I decided to add this hilarious song about a chap that wins the lotto. It’s called “Toes”. That’s relevant to Boots, right?
Otus asio
Posted by Jefferson Davis in Me, Myself, and I on Friday, December 4, 2009
A couple of days ago, I was having an arduous day at work. I was in the back doing inventory, when I heard one of my fellow employee’s call me to the front. I went to him and asked what the problem was, and he said, “Two more fuckin’ Mexican’s just came in – you help them”.
I work with a bunch of xenophobes. I do not like the fact that a large percentage of Mexican’s do come into this country illegally, but I’m not going to hold it against them. They are just trying to provide for their families. It’s far easier to say that an entire group of people are bad, rather than to realise that there is good and bad in all of us. No one, certainly no ethnicity, is pure or without sin. Some of us are more educated than others but that certainly does not make us perfect.
Researching my own family history has taught me more about myself than anything else. I became humbled, as I went through the records and realising what my ancestors had to overcome. Most were either running away from oppression or starvation. Still, others were ran off their land that they had resided on for a millennia.
All of this being said, I do not treat others like third class citizens because of where they were born. So, I approached the man and woman discovering that they were not Mexican’s at all.
“O si yo (hello)” I said whilst smiling and approaching the couple.
The man adorning a tan leather jacket and denims, smiled, as he leaned in whispering to the lady wearing a black dress and an enormous smile. She was short with jet black hair draping across her back and dark mystical eyes. He was tall and hefty having similar long jet black hair and dark mystical eyes.
“How did you know?” He asked whilst smiling and laughing.
“The Screech Owl pendant was a dead giveaway”, I answered, as I leaned in to shake their hands.
“You’re Cherokee?” The man asked with earnest intrigue and disbelief.
“My grandfather was half Cherokee”, I replied.
“Well, you’d never know it with the freckles and light hair”, he said whilst laughing.
“You might say I’m a bit watered down…There’s more Irish in the bucket of paint than anything else”, I laughingly replied.
“No way, my great-grandfather was Irish”, he yelled whilst patting me on the back.
We continued talking about the Cherokee Nation and our grandfathers. We also discussed our fiery tempers and which group of our ancestors we could blame for that. It was good to reminisce about all things Cherokee and mother earth. Native American’s are thrown to the wayside far too often. I’m still waiting for a Native American President!
When I finished talking with them, I walked to the back to finish inventory. The lad walked to the back, and asked, “What did the Mexican’s want?”.
“They were not Mexican’s, my brother, they are Cherokee, Native Americans.”
He smirked, and said, “Same difference”.
I jumped up from my kneeling position, looked him up and down, and walked away. I felt like decking him right then and there, but that wouldn’t solve anything. Nor would it be worth my time to explain it because you can’t educate those that don’t want to be educated.
I am very proud of my ancestry and am not ashamed of being from the Southern United States.
Brooding Mare
Posted by Jefferson Davis in Me, Myself, and I on Tuesday, November 24, 2009
A few days ago, Dr. Don and myself went over to my mothers ranch to clean out horse stalls. We spent two days hauling truckloads of horse manure and soiled sawdust out of the stalls and barn. We replaced it all with fresh and clean sawdust.
On the second day, we finished the arduous job and I proceeded to wrangle the horses back to the field that leads to the barn. I grabbed a scoop of my mothers specially mixed equine feed and walked out into the muddy field where I had them secured.
I walked close to the six of them, including one gelding and five mares. I whistled for them to follow and shook the feed bucket. They happily came running thinking that it was feeding time. At the same time, Dr. Don was watching from a safe distance. He’s afraid of horses!
Before I knew it, I was surrounded by them with nowhere to go. As I laid the bucket down and started shooing Sunny, one of the mares, back, the gelding decided he wanted the entire bucket for himself. Docxy, the eldest mare and my favourite out of the bunch, side kicked him in the arse coming within centimetres of me.
Remembering my father getting kicked and almost killed, I turned to Dr. Don with an ashen face and eyes as big as feed buckets and waited for him to say something.
He’s always insightful.
He walked up with a blank countenance, put one leg up on the rustic fencing, spit his beloved chewing tobacco, and said, “Yep………..I told you women are cruel, and you didn’t believe me”.
I couldn’t do anything except laugh. The gelding is fine except for his pride. I guess he’ll stay out of the head bitches feed bucket from now on.
Me?
Life is grander than it has been in a long while and only getting better. I’ve been out chasing after mares every night since. The two legged kind.
P.S.: The song, I’m Alive, is by Kenny Chesney and Dave Mathews. I had to add something a wee bit country western to any post that speaks of horses and manure.
