Kicked out, part 3

If you read either part one or two, you may notice that the kicked off part is not there.

Hence, part 3:

I did not realize that the ropes were separating from the handles on a regular basis until I was riding and two riders-one very good, one pro, hollered at me from the water–I lost my rope!

I was not sure what they were talking about so I let go of my rope and asked them.

They both told me the same thing-they had been riding when suddenly the rope separated from the handle and they were left in the water with only a handle.

Weird.

I then quizzed a group of good riders, the cable operator, the cable manager, and one of the owners about how the cable rope was affixed to the handle.

The answer is-like a Chinese handcuff the rope is threaded through itself.

Which means that threading it right is crucial.

The cable operator told me his safety policy was to let everyone know they should expect to lose the rope.

The owner said the manager sometimes said stuff without thinking it through.

The manager said I was being a troublemaker.

The owner said I brought too much drama and was taking up too much of his employees’ time.

But by the time I had quizzed a dozen people I realized that 80 percent of them had a rope-loss story within the last two weeks.

I realized I might have had one as well…

There are falls and losses in wakeboarding all the time.  These things often happen in isolation.  A rider, even a good one, may not realize that a fall is due to operator neglect or park negligence unless they know that it is happening to other riders, sometimes with alarming regularity.

Within the two weeks following the refunding of my family’s membership the ropes continued to separate from the handles while in use.

I hope that someone remedied the situation eventually.

Kicked off the ranch part 2

It is a basic tenet of writing lists–of you have a part one you have to have a part 2.

So this is it:  how I went from dragging my kids to the Texas Ski Ranch every day –to-how I was told to leave no matter what.

First, the bikini contest-reminiscent of nothing more than a stock show.  A stock show to sell price inflated Corona?! Treating beautiful young women like commodities?

Then there were the poorly attended juvenile detention peeps.

And last there were falling ropes.  It seemed to be clear that either through operator negligence or rope defect the ropes were separating from the wooden handles–off the dock, in mid-air, on structures riders were falling because their ropes had failed them.

Safety has to be a paramount concern in extreme sports.  When it is not taken seriously, people get hurt.

So that is how I was kicked off the ranch.  But just as interesting as that is the waiver that TSR and Springloaded require participants to sign.

Worth careful perusal.

Traveling Clothes

You wake up after

This utterly life-altering event

Dressed in your wedding clothes!?

In a TSA-ish place

Long lines, blue gloves, weary travelers

Only the music is surprisingly good

Break-up songs

Break up songs for people

You did not actually want to

Break up with 

Break up songs for old bones

Rough joints 

The fear of falling

But also the grandkids

And the possibility of

that elusive die-in-your-sleep-ending

Standing in line 

Somewhat dazed because the

Last thing you remember was planning

This church thing 

Windy road…some singing in the van 

The trip Home is always just

A normal day

But getting there-

heartbreaking

Revelations in ordinary time

today it was teeth.

teeth and sunshine

teeth and mountains

teeth and where all the rivers run

teeth and the names of famous men

teeth and meat-eaters

Baby teeth.

Teeth in the mouths of ordinary women…these two, for example–

Quite beautiful, eating midnight food together, their voices lift and carry

Down the corridors 

of night

A wide-awake, lumbering  thing

Moving fast, rushing past

Keeping watch…

with teeth.

Still Falling

The dog from Corpus Christi appears bemused 

by the still-falling snow

Cold to the paw and to the scruff 

he shakes his mane as if to say directly

This is no fun 

No warmth in the cold, in the dark 

as the boy worries about the man outside

Trudging through the storm

I know this:  we cannot save ourselves 

We have rifled through both fervent prayers and familiar hymns

The angel appears

Driving a jeep through the dark

Willing to detour for us

Make salvific suggestions apologetically 

As though we could ignore our perilous need for rescue

Push us up the hill and tell us the direction home

As snow falls all night on the mountain 

We hold each answered prayer

snowflakes in our hands

Like the confusion about light years

Just like the confusion over light years-

Unit of time?  Unit of distance?

Grief is more than ordinary synonyms

Loss, sorrow, mourning.

No, grief is a place you go sometimes

Sorta like a cruise or a bus tour, I guess

Or trip to a fancy casino

Only of course all the slot machines are empty and 

You have no stomach for the buffet.

At first you think

This trip will never end

But it starts to let up after

A very long time

Then, just when you thought you were home 

Safe, with your bunny slippers on,

You fish up

Back on that dammed boat, that bankrupt resort

And somehow your inability to escape this

All expenses paid vacation

Makes you weep, weep in the weird soulless light

Of this world of broken pronouns

Standing in for faces in a picture, once so vivid alive

Before the fall…before all the terrible falls

Crash into light years.

Not-so-clingy Mcguffin

What if losing you

were like nothing so much as

watching a child throw

an erstwhile boomerang

into a once-drowned field?

Even with the approximate knowledge of descent, I pace,

Shift aside the long grace

..shift aside the long grass…with my feet

Look for signs of you-markings like the body of

a coiled snake

Glint of color, perhaps

but you are lost out there

Needle-in-a-hay-field

And I tell them things to tell myself 

You are not a boomerang 

Even a boomerang is not always

a boomerang (when it fails to return across  the field)

Oh darling

Come back to me

in the end.

Dear Sir,

Imagine the mountains

you would move to save

The one you loved

then switch

to the hills you might shift

for someone you were

merely fond of

then calculate the dirt

in disheveled piles

you might consider

scooping here to there

for a stranger

then last of all take this into account:

all real love stories are also physics problems

Either stones rolled in place over deliberate tombs

or somehow, miraculously

Rolled away.

Sleeping Beauty and the treachery of images

they say her dress

obscured her face when they found her in the river

he as young as his eventual wife would be

when she went from girl to muse

muse is a tricky thing, Child

who never was a pipe

I inventory both the cause and the cure for addiction

The need, the proper remedy, the clouds white amidst blue in the cup of your head

Chose a different slumber

Not opioid, not heroin, not poison in the fruit or spindle, not locked in a room, not guarded by dragon

Medicinal sleep

Antiseptic reset, white coats, gently beeping monitors

Let the girl rest

Let her own dreams fell the dragon

So that when the spell is broken 

The clouds and sky will spill out over her

Beautiful, fragile babies

What if this is the real world?

what if this is the real world?

what if you are the ghost?

what if it is your own child

you see in the sudden picture 

on the other side of the scrim 

Holding 

worlds both together and apart

You do the math when 

you see her–how old she 

was, is, will be

If she makes it that far

Refrain in your head thudding 

like fists on plate glass

because you are the ghost

voice thin and impossible

just the other side of glass

as you watch her slowly 

slip away.