LFS: The Storyteller

©2007 by LeeZard Somewhere, In the Middle of Nowhere, Washington - That's where I found this farm. It is on a lonely two-lane blacktop running 30 miles east from Yakima, WA to the northern end of the Hanford Nuclear Reservation. Just outside of Yakima, the road takes you through vineyards and hops farms but slowly gives way to mile after mile of empty rolling grassland, and then - The Farm. What's so special about this place? Not only is it lonely, it is eerie and abandoned. I'm guessing it's been abandoned for at least 50 years. I base this estimate on the age of the rusted out vehicles sitting there with only sagebrush and tumbleweed for passengers. It seems as if the people living and working here just walked away, leaving their life as a monument to days long gone. As the years have rolled by, modern times - and sentiments- have overtaken history.

©2007 by LeeZard I am a walking, talking miracle. By the end of 1997, I was clinically depressed, stuffing more than 220 pounds onto a frame built for 175, struggling to breathe when I walked up a short flight of stairs and suffering intermittent internal bleeding. At 51, I was virtually unemployable and emotionally alienated from my family and friends. I was a late stage alcoholic. Had I continued down that path I certainly would have died a lonely and ugly death if I didn’t kill myself (and/or someone else) first while driving drunk. I would’ve been in and out of jails, hospitals and perhaps a mental institution or two. Instead, I decided I couldn’t live that way anymore. I also knew I couldn’t stop drinking on my own so I turned to the 12 Steps of Alcoholics Anonymous. That was the beginning of my miracle. I’ve been sober since June 10, 1998. I weigh 190 pounds, power walk 3-5 miles nearly every day, have a challenging and well-paying job and an overall sense of peace and gratitude....

Sometimes, words appear in my head in rhythm and/or rhyme. I'm not sure why; I'm not a big fan of poetry. Go figure. Someone told me a long time ago that a lot of my poems seemed like song lyrics. So, recently, I've been writing with that in mind. I have no musical talent whatsoever but, the following would probably make a good Rock & Roll tune. ©2007 by LeeZard Blue Streak, Blue Streak, I’m ridin’ in the Blue Streak. Flyin’ down the Interstate, Top down, feelin’ great. She’s a low slung mean machine, Drive ‘er fast, keep ‘er clean. Tap the brake, make the scene, Hit the curve, she won’t lean. She was on Ebay, That’s the way you buy today. Low miles, high style, Punch it down, eat the miles. Blue Streak, Blue Streak, I’m ridin’ in the Blue Streak. Flyin’ down the interstate, Top down, feelin’ great. Fat tires, leather seats, Jump on in, have a treat. Ain’t no Beemer, ain’t no ‘Vette, Ain’t no car that’s beat her yet. Never thought I’d own this ride, Ne...

I spent four days in Southern California at the height of the wild fires. It was both tragic and awesome. The night and day fire shots were taken along I-5 near Camp Pendleton. The flames were creeping right down to the freeway. You could toast marshmallows. The smoke diminished the region's already questionable air quality. It also created an orange-tinged haze that filtered each dawn and dusk, adding to the other-worldly feel of the entire situation. The family shot represents the more than 10,000 evacuees who "camped out" at Qualcomm Stadium. These were the folks who either didn't have insurance or, whose insurance did not cover emergency living expenses. It was a very sad scene.

Copyright 2007 by LeeZard I know I'm not the first writer to be inspired by a visit to Boston's fabled Fenway Park, but I must tell you about my recent pilgrimage to that ancient ballyard. Even I was surprised at my emotional response. I grew up in New York City. Yankee Stadium, with its huge crowds and vast outfield, was where I learned to love the game. For some reason though, I never had the opportunity to visit Beantown so I used the excuse of a recent business convention in Boston to visit Fenway. It didn't matter that I've always hated the Red Sox; as a baseball fan, I've always respected their great players. And, I wanted to see the stadium before its renovation. Even though the team was on the road, I was told if you're lucky, you can talk the security guard at the service gate into letting you in for a peek. It would have been nice to see a game, but I wanted to see Fenway--to worship at the shrine of that storied leftfield wall, "The Green Monster...