Lois Chapin - Paddle to Paddle

Paddle to Paddle Lois Chapin Nightingale Rose Publications Yorba Linda 2019 Acknowledgements I wish to thank all those who were instrumental in making this book of poetry happen, including The Los Angeles Poets & Writers Collective and Jack Grapes, as well as Chiwan Choi, Baz Here, Bambi Here, Dave Barton, Laura Border, my Imua ohana, my sweetheart, Mike, and our four kids. Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the authors imagination or used in a fictitious manner. In order to maintain their anonymity in some instances the author has changed the names of individuals and places, the author may also have changed some identifying characteristics and details such as physical properties, occupations and places of residence. Nightingale Rose Publications 16960 E. Bastanchury Rd.

Yorba Linda, CA 92886 2019 Nightingale Rose Publications All rights reserved ISBN 13: 978-1-889755-10-6 ISBN 10: 1-88975-01-9 Library of Congress Catalogue: TX 8-696-1521 If you want to change the world, find someone to help you paddle. William H. McRaven Dedicated to those who found a way out. Proverbs 29:15 Seems like Jesus mom was cool. Encouraged him to argue, and disagree, let him hang out with older friends, and disappear for days at a time, allowed him to live at home through his twenties and make mind-altering substances. She even believed everything he said, and didnt believe an unpaddled child disgraces his mother.

If only Mary had written Child Guidance, and not Ellen, the cult leader. Home Youre so heavy! Its the first time Ive ever seen you. Im trying not to move in my wooden rocking chair with the cut-out heart and two red bird stencils. I guess theyre supposed to be nightingales. Thats your name now too. Daddy put you in my arms.

Youre lying on my lap, your head on my arm. He told me to be careful not to drop you. Youre a lot bigger than I thought. Your blanket is so soft. Oops, thats your pacifier on the floor by my foot. Mommy left for a long time to get you out of her stomach.

She was sick. She almost died. She had toxemia . Its from not eating good when growing a baby. Sorry you got sick too. Daddy said you were born blue with a rope or something wrapped around your neck, twice.

You had to stay in the hospital after Mommy came home to make you well. Im glad youre okay. I hope you dont have to go back too much more. Maybe Mommy will be nicer since youre here. In the mornings before Daddy goes to work at the lab he eats boiled potatoes with salt. I ask for a bite, but he says I need a better breakfast and makes me eat Ruskets.

I hope he doesnt get sick from eating cold potatoes. Great grandma Mimi played with me while Ive been waiting for you. She takes me for walks in my stroller with Baby Doll by the canal. Baby Doll is a lot lighter than you. Her eyes open and close and are blue like yours. Ive never seen real blue eyes before.

Your eyes are so blue! When you talk, Ill teach you stuff. Mommyll want you to call her Mummy. Thats what Moses pharaoh was called, so I call her, Mamma. When youre bigger you can go outside with me when she gets mad and makes me leave the house. Well catch snails. Im good at catching them in the front yard so Mommy can rest.

Ill show you how to put them in empty peanut butter jars. Boys are supposed to like that stuff. Your hands are so tiny. You grip my finger so strong! Theres no one to play with when Daddys at work. I cant wait til youre bigger and can play. Click! Poof! Thats Daddy, he takes pictures of everything.

Those flash bulbs wont hurt you, you just see white dots for a while. He goes to school at night and works at the hospital in the daytime. He drives the car. We live up on a big hill. Mommy doesnt drive so we stay up here and take naps. Looks like you like sleeping, so, thats good.

Sometimes they fight real loud. I dont know about what. But when they ask you which one is right, its best not to answer. Shell get mad at you no matter which side you take. She has some stickers of little children of the world, she sings a song about them too. Anyway, you lick the back and stick them on paper.

But dont touch them unless she gives them to you. She hits just like shes cleaning a carpet. Can I show him the pollywogs in the canal? I guess everything is after you get bigger. Can I feed him so he gets bigger faster? Safe Only one relative from either side ever left us anything in a will. A conman and a drug dealer, well, he ran bootleg as a kid after his family lived in a box car, he graduated up to selling the hard stuff. Anyway, when colon cancer killed my grandfather at the VA he left my mom enough ill-earned green to add on to the most important room of the house, the study.

Books from carpet to ceiling and two desks pressed into our den. A secret portal waited under my fathers desk. I pulled the chair back in after I hid there. The wood smell ticked my nose; I had to be careful not to bump my head on the drawer glides. But the best was the safe. The smaller safe of course, the one we were supposed to show robbers my mother said if we were held at gun point in a home invasion.

The closet hid the big safe. Heaven was where we were supposed to store up treasure, I guess ours waited in the big safe for Brinks to get it up there. I spun the notched knob of the safe with my fingers. Clunk, clunk the tumblers clunk unseen as I turned the cylinder over the white painted lines between 5 and 10 and back over 30 and 40. A bandana robber from the wild west took control of my hand. My horse, tethered outside the bank, stomped waiting for saddle bags filled with gold nuggets.

Great gold nuggets like sheep brains with knotty cortexes gold nuggets that gleamed in the sun. Prospectors believed this bank was safe, Ha! A car backfires on the freeway. The sheriff shoots my lookout in the front of the bank blocking my escape. I need to drag these overfilled saddlebags. The wood plank floor boards smell of varnish. An Indian penny winks up at me through the dust.

My hearts beats tom toms in my ears. The 91 freeway always has traffic. I hear Slippered Feet, the deputy shuffle down the hall, its now or never. I dart for cover under my mothers desk. The sound of papers crumpling threatens to give me away. Pogo, Bugs Bunny, Tom and Jerry comic books sprawl over buck-tooth Mad magazine covers, and shiny Playgirl Centerfolds tumble from the piles stacked to the pine drawer gliders.

Theres no room to squeeze against the pillars of newsprint with my saddle bags. The silver tip of a fountain pen impales the shag carpet. Ill never make it to my loyal appaloosa. Shes pawing the ground. Her whinnies urge me on. Shell gallop me away from this corrupt sheriff town out to the freedom of the desert.

Its not a mirage. These gold nuggets will buy me all I need. Cacti hold survival water. Move over, my brother says. This is my spot! I give him a shoulder shove. Its too tight for both of us and wrinkled magazines tear in our scuffle.

Maybe hes after my gold or wants to escape on my horse. Another gun shot. Im hit. Take the bags, I say and I clutch my chest. Blood spurts. I look to see if it is separated.

Separated blood means youre dead. What bags? he asks. The ones with the gold nuggets, like sheep brains. I leave him to read the forbidden cache of comics and crawl wounded back under my fathers desk. The knob clicks as I turn it. The door still wont open.

I spin it faster, its my only chance for escape. Safety, and my outlaw grandfather who I dont know, lie on the other side. I just need to guess the right combination. Fishhook I poke the fishhook through the pink fish egg. Pop. Its like giant caviar.

Not that Id eat caviar. My brother and I are being raised vegetarians. like Daddy. Shes a carnivore. We are fishing for her. The planks of the pier are rough under my bare feet.