Regrets of a Country Western singer, once removed

Regrets of a Country Western singer, once removed

fiction
edward w pritchard

I was never one to call a woman by a nick-name or a love name but today I am trying all the pet names to keep my old Ford truck running. I have seriously neglected the old girl, bald tires on three of four rims, with the good tire in the front of a rear wheel drive ten year old Ford Ranger with the passenger style light chassis. No weight in the bed either, no eighty pound bags of rock salt from Wal Mart, and no sand from Tractor Supply. I could fill the bed with snow but as you'll see I can't risk straining the battery with a  restart.

I am somewhere in the badlands of New Mexico, only about forty miles from El Paso, Texas, but a freak snow storm is slamming me and my truck. Thirty five mile an hour winds are driving a hard snow horizontally, up from the Old Country road I am traveling on. It's a white out blizzard, like in a cartoon, although I suppose my life is more like a cartoon than regular reality. No wipers either, well they do work but I keep turning them off because they work only at one terrific clacking speed; its already frantic and loud enough in the cold cab of Daisy Mae, that's the love name I am calling my Ford truck to keep her from stalling or sliding off the path in this frantic storm. My truck is a good ole girl, not even complaining about the lack of heat, my fault too, I never got around to fixing the blown fuse last summer.

The real problem is first gear is out and the clutch slips badly. Me and Daisy have to go slow on these treacherous country roads because of the bad tires and the ice. I have been in second gear for over half an hour and the engine is straining to stall. I am barely moving forward on this old Country road and if Daisy stalls I am not sure if the battery is up to a restart. The starter sticks and sometimes just whines and won't turn over the engine without a push start. Because of the noise from the road and engine I have to rather intimately keep my left hand on the exposed metal door frame of Daisy to detect unusual thuds or shimmy's from the engine that might pre-sage real problems. That's why I address my Ford with a feminine nick name.

Still I risk having on the radio, all Country El Paso my favorite station. Country music is never noise to me, more like a whisper from God and today it's Loretta Lynn " I was raised on Country Sunshine".  Wow I wish I could meet a lady like Loretta. A girl who gets up early to feed the horses and then happily stands with them at the fence and watches the Sun come up before she starts her day. Well at my age no more pretty women like Loretta I guess and besides I haven't met a woman in a long time who would take the time to care for much of anything, least of all animals.

Now,  I love New Mexico. White Sands desert, Cloud Croft Mountain and of course Taos is one of my favorite places on earth; Taos with the fabulous light for artists, it's up there with Paris France or Madrid Spain. But here today, in the badlands nothing is familiar. I am on the wrong path, with a stalling Ford Ranger and if I stall out here I could definitely freeze to death before someone else comes along.

Hank Williams "Your Cheatin Heart" on radio El Paso now and I sing along which cheers me up. I was once a Country blues singer myself you know, not in Hank's class but I was famous once down this way and rich too, for a while at least. That was before all the throat problems.

Man I wish I could write words and music like Hank. " I saw the light, I saw the light".  Hank was a genius!

Hank just help me and Daisy find an Old Country road over to El Paso Texas. And Daisy if you get us through this storm I promise, first thing to go straight to the Wal Mart garage and get you three first rate used Goodyear all season tires, a rebuilt starter and if there is enough room on my credit card I'll get the heater and wiper motor fixed too. Come on Daisy, its getting dark out and I doubt the battery can supply the power to run the headlights for too long.

Maybe I am a little crazy to talk to my truck and maybe it's odd for me to ask Hank Williams for help when I am in a jam, him dead and all,  Hank gone all these years, but I do have an ace up my sleeve. I am wearing my Father's Hat. It's a very fine leather, brown cowboy hat, over a hundred years old; and My Father's hat always brings me luck and always helps me get out of whatever mess I have gotten myself into. For more on my Father's Hat see part two of this story next on this blog by that writer, Ed Pritchard.

But for now come on Daisy and Hank I need your help to get back on the path to El Paso.

Searching for lost Time
a cowboy's lament

Sorrow flows,
plunging downhill
making a silent roar
voiding the songs of the world.
Sorrows pool into a stagnant stinking green pond
disappearing in the late afternoon of life.
Far off, West
the Sun disappears.
Drink beer and listen to Country blues music
and count our regrets and lament lost time.
Morning soon, feel the Sun heralding another day.

end part one