"I just found out!"

  The service-oriented people among us didn't bat an eye.  The notion of  somebody just finding something out was not "news".  We'd broke camp early, us American citizens, after dividing ourselves into "misfits and rogues". 

     "Well, I'm not really a rogue in the proper sense of the worf, but my husband was or is, and, can I use the rest of this hot water?"  No less than seven British Car Show vehicles had brought this lady and a man to our campsite.  The woman dropped a tea bag out of the sleeve of a medieval-looking blouse.  And poured tea. 

  Another woman sat staring at it.  "The steam smells so delicious," she finally said.  "Are you also a tea drinker dear?" The woman slowly nodded.  Her hand raised and she waved at the others at nearby picnic tables drinking coffee and really starting to come to life. 

How It Came To Be

  There we were "whittled".  The man acting as an interim creative director had once again overcome his own struggles with blending life experiences into "a real job".  To the tune of I need a new drug, we scratched and clawed our way out of the forests.  I need a new job, one that don't hurt like hell....

     All the training had amounted to an en masse dismissal, at least until we get this sorted out, one man said as one woman said, until we get this fine tuned.  Both were correct in their phrasing of that stage.  Meanwhile all the outreach, analysis, data collection, and program agendas were being loaded onto discs and through keyboards onto "software".

     "So...they needed a break?" 

     "Not exactly but almost everyone older than us is already on a career path.  And they are all coming up against changes in the economy and," the person's voice broke off though there was no distraction to merit why. 

    "It's like, is it like what I had to tell the Detective?" 

     "What did you have to tell the Detective?" Some pals and a parent wanted to know.  "Very little.  Almost nothing." Because I'd been being loyal to commitments with non-profits and also as a trainee more than an independent writer. 

A stop just past Wartburg, Tennessee

has me meeting Wade Brown.  He has some onions and quail eggs for sale.  Brought those from Alabama.  "Lived here all my life," he says.  "You like it here?" 

     "Oh yes." He tells of his father and mother.  His dad "built the place, did mechanical work," a car goes by on the highway. 

      Wade Brown, 2025

     "A jack of all trades?" 

     "Oh yes."  

     Wade had just got nine cases of the quail eggs and "done pretty good with those." Says he might try a new thing next time he goes down--pickled polish sausage!

    The body of the woman, naked, powdery over graying sallow skin, "perfectly chiseled like a Rodin" landed like a dragonfly on a lilypad.  Others who'd been flown inside an openair stadium to an older wall than the one contested recognized the fellow but decidedly acted nonchalant. 

     "Alright. Then I'll have a brät," said one man under an umbrella foodstand.  "You like ah spicey?"  The man was ordering ones and twenties in his hands.  He glanced at the vendor; "Sure, sure, I'll take a spicey." He found a hidden five dollar bill and kept it out while filing the other bills into an otherwise empty wallet.  "You know what, just give me two."

    Afterwards she'd tried to describe (i)what she was feeling(i) in the thick of it.  "Well, I don't (i)know, I, I..." She motioned me over.  We were maybe two loops and several sites out of an Impact Zone.  She and I.  "What is this about?" I asked casually. 

    "IT'S ABOUT A KID WHO GOT KIDNAPPED," "OKAY, okay, you don't have to yell." My own stomach lurched because I'd had siblings that had gone missing, been taken hostage, almost sold, and kidnapped.  "She's deaf," her working partner explained with a hand coming out of her pocket and then gently waving the whole conversation (i)down, down(i). 

  

        "Actually that's not how I see it." To silence.  "Let me rephrase that." Still silence.  "What I mean is that there's more than one way to see it." 

     "Go on." 

     "Well, maybe I mean there's more than one talking point in there." 

     "Jesus' parable," a person already sitting briefly summarized (i)what's going on(i). The two people joining had only water bottles.  One asked, "Which one?" The other asked, "Has lots?!" 

     "Before I lose my train of thought

     "Thanks for letting me interject.  This.  That the Bible doesn't criticize the Apostles for wanting to be Numero Dos, but Jesus finally says, I'll have to read that part again to quote him, but Jesus wants them to understand it's (i)not about rank(i)." 

     One person picked up the garbage while another started a cooking fire.  Position after position had been eliminated and the (i)areas of concern(i) were becoming more like Swiss cheese than (i)what it used to be(i). 

     It was around sunset each day that people made way to the camp.  Most brought a (i)feeding bowl or food bowl(i) if they were feeling down or bitter, but some chose to go the opposite way with their language.  "Time for high tea," and "Break out the china, supper's almost ready."  The food would be what people had found salvagable, been given, or the last of...."Eat it or die." 

     "As long as I don't die by eating it!!" 

     Most people had been sticking "together", loosely.  Not like a family or a band of a tribe, but in a caring way.  There'd been (i)blow outs(i) like, "How many times do I have to tell y'all...." 

     "But you're NOT IN CHARGE!!!!"  And, moments of falling apart.  But survival forces the hand and people get through whatever comes up. 

     There hadn't been any food for a few days when one of the guys brought up hunting.  This brought up an ethical debate about licenses and "illegal" and brought more and more people to not-reveal too much about their "past lives" but, pull from their toolboxes of experience and knowledge. 

     "That was how I started writing," a person said.  "Made my books better." 

     "We pooled our resources to start our own." 

     "It came and went fast, our youth." 

     "Don't really keep in touch much." 

     "I have some.  But I have an idea, then forget it."  Someone gave the person pens and a little notebook. 

     Over time the fireside chats brought news and information, gossip and laughs.

     Then everything started to get going again, the economy settled into (i)here(i), (i)doing it(i).  Possibilities became more realistic as different fields focused on priorities and longer term goals.  Some people had paid attention to what they'd witnessed and felt and experienced.  Some refused to "get back in the game" 

     "But...." 

     The camps were mobilizing for (i)our Big Move(i). Since Eddie's Camp's motto was "Let's Do This," we needed to diplomatically ask another Camp if they'd stop saying that. "Okay, okay," Carrot Lips considered the reasoning behind (i)the Request(i).  He put two fingers in his mouth and whistled louder than a steam ship's whistle.

     Sweaty, working-hard people came from all around.  First, he looked real serious.  People furrowed brows and tried to guess.  Then he growled like a Red Wolf, "WHOOO said it?" People looked around curiously.  A tall black woman with a knapsack caught his eye and gestured (i)okay to put this here?(i) onto the split-log table.  "May I ask, who said what Sir?" An equally tall black man said and then stepped sideways.  Behind him was "the fat kid" and behind him was two healed up Rays.

     Carrot lips broke his serious composure in a Flashdance head swing, put out Kung Fu arms, and turned his voice into cartoonish and blurted, (i)badah, badah, er, What's up Doc?(i) People just looked at him.  "All right, no takers, hmmmm, how 'bout this one?" He did Karate moves, a full swing around of his whole body off the ground, landed on solid feet and imitated a movie-star: "I'll beee bahk." 

     "Oh!  That was, um, can't think of the guy's name." 

     Someone else yelled out (i)ShwartzAnegger(i).