Twas a dark and dismal Wednesday; low, thick, doom-laden clouds weighing mightily upon the sharpened icicles of our January angst.
Yes, Wednesday, and the boy was visiting, boredom overlaying our fresh-stoned simplicity like a blanket soaked with the tears of a million soon to be euthanized baby pit bulls.
"What to do?" I asked the boy.
I saw it then, emerging slowly on his face, that grin of his, the grin subconsciously stolen from the Grinch long before he was old enough to realize that the Grinch is mostly evil.
"Dad, I've got it! We can go to Arkansas, a few latitudinal lines to the south to adjust our attitudinals. There we can enjoy mystic serene vibrations from the ancient White River while fishing, smoking fine ganj, drinking our faces off, and planning the virtual demise of herr rude, or token, or bernie .. whatever it is this week. I think it appropriate irony Dad, that this be done at the WHITE river."
"Genius!" I declared. "So it is written. Get on the box where info on all things is available and find us an affordable cabin son."
And so he did. "Best pricing, winter discount plus my military discount, is at THE HOLE resort old dad."
"Place the order kid!"
Thursday, southward bound through wood and glen, past the Church of Our Heavenly Father's Guns Ammo and Liquor, dodging sheets of near frozen falling sadness we did blaze.
Near Springfield the suicide rains subsided, only to be replaced by a death fog of biblical magnitude. As we approached Mansfield, former home of author Misty Ingalls Wilder, for the final turn south, we could see no further than a burrowing mole at new moon midnight can see. Harrowing indeed.
Oddly maybe, or lucky more likely, for we have that certain sort of kismetical juju flowing through our hillbilly blood, Friday dawned at the cabin light and cheery like we had somehow slipped through Glinda The Good Witch's secret portal of gaiety and bliss.
"What is that peeping over the top of the rocky ridge where the buzzards lurk son?"
"Shut up old dad. I am yet sleeping."
"That's right son, it's THE SUN and it's smiling!!"
"Huh? WHAT? OK I AM UP!"
Feathery breezes of grace and benevolence lightly wafted up our jeans right into our underpants, evaporating the cloistered mutual torpidity of heathen nutsacks.
And so we ate heartily and offered the ashes of magical queen sativa to Freya, wife of Odin, party animal of the ages .. so they say .. for Friday is Freya's day, as we are all well aware. Much philosophy discussed then, while falling in step with the river's cadence, slow and hypnotic, the boordom of real life far behind us.
Later, as the sun slipped away, we fished and were blessed with several slimy silvery beasts, and then, at dusk as we thought appropriate for the purpose, finalized our plan for the virtual decimation, ass-kicking if you will, of herr rude, or token, or bernie .. whatever it is this week.
The minutes of that meeting are top fucking secret. Didn't think I'd share that shit right here on the box where info on all things is available did ya?