Hi, folks. Ole Lon, whom I am glad to call friend to his face (as long as we're far enough from others so we're not overheard, one can never tell when he's gotten himself into trouble down at Ledeu's, and I don't want to be stuffed in no gator hole without even knowing why)has sold you all out and given me the password to the sheepfold. I'd be the guy who told him he could post my foot-of-the-bed thing to your site. He encouraged me to take a look. And you seem a personable enough crew for me to chance it on my first internet adventure. I'm a novice and don't know what a lot of the specialized vocabulary (multiple parenthesis and such)is about, so I so I hope I don't seem too out-to-lunch at first.

My only concern with the site itself is the little thing that indicated a "permanent" record of the proceedings was being retained. I'm not sure by whom or for what purpose, but it seems a little radical and begs the question "whatcha gonna do with all that?"

That being said, and by way of further introduction, I'll submit the following, which seemed apropos, for your consideration. You can let me know if you want me on board:

Come to My House and We'll Talk

Come to my house, and we'll talk of knives and guns. We'll talk of the high up mountains and the deer trails, the beaver and the muskrat. We'll talk of the darkness and the campfire and the icy nothingness, of the cold trout and the marmot, the windy point and pine whisper and aspen's gentle clatter, of the sandhill crane flying below the slow, ponderous snow clouds, of the tire chain and the drizzling rain and the quiet, lonely ride. Come to my house, and we'll talk of old trophies killed by our fathers, of dragon and antler, of men gone and their camping places lost in the swamp, of country we saw before it was covered by the fine dust of tourist compliments sifted down from the new road. Come to my house and we'll talk of women and cars and loss, of the sounds of horsepower in our hands and the flash of bat and cleat, the quick puzzle of men in motion and its solution and collision, of youth and age. We'll talk of things we know and things we can't and how and why. We'll talk of being lost and fear and bravery, of the comradeship of dead animals with whom we almost commune on the long trek home, of thoughts and death and life, of Christ and truth and light. Come to my house and we'll talk of politics and title fights, of archery and temptation, of philosophy and economy and the smells of coffee and bacon, new cut grass and new split oak, of books and of bucking hay and bosses and pay, of the places we've been, of adventures, of pain and bitterness and forgiveness and my grandmother's pecan pie. Come to my house and we'll talk, and maybe the mystery of friendship will condense on the sides of our tea glasses and pool on my furniture in pleasant circles. We'll not think how such things sometimes fail to catalyze in the chemistries of the kitchen or in the rustling shade beneath the trees. Come to my house, and we'll talk and see.

[I'm not quite sure how to sign off, considering some of Ole Lon's (and others')flights of whimsy and fantasy!] Thanks-jsnider@hal-pc.org

-- j (jsnider@hal-pc.org), October 01, 2003

Answers

WAY COOL!! Welcome!!

Don't worry about the permanent record thing. There IS a permanent log of our board and all the greenspun boards, but no one does anything with it that I know of. Never, never, never post anything private. Don't post your full name, location, or phone number. We have a password right now, but sometimes we "decloak" and anyone can come in.

All of the women here are princesses. As long as you remember that, you'll be ok. >;)

-- helen (princess@shoes.pinch!), October 01, 2003.

Thank you J, for that welcome into your home, and into your view of the world. Quite a lovely post it was! I can see all of us jawing with you, on one topic or another. Of COURSE we want you, silly! I think you'll fit right into this ole group of, um, friends, yes friends! Welcome friend!

And just listen to Helen, ok?

-- Queen Bee (Aunt__Bee@hotmail.com), October 01, 2003.

Helen & Bee, thank you for the welcome mat. I'll remember to wipe my feet before stompin' in. (Maybe slick back my hairs--both of em--too, considerin'the princesses.) Couple of questions: All the sites?? And how do you enter poetry? I noticed that all I saw was double spaced. Is that it? (Would seem kind of awkward looking, but then one should allow enough space to read between the lines.)Thanks again--J

-- j (jsnider@hal-pc.org), October 02, 2003.

Princess Gayla and Princess Tricia know about all that poetry stuff. We'll have to wait until they pop in.

-- princess helen (princessing@primly.and.prissily), October 02, 2003.

Princess Gayla checking in.

Welcome J! I'd like a piece of that pecan pie please.

I just saw my first Marmot last week. Made me think of Rob's beavers.

You'll see a couple of my pictures on other threads. One is of Aspens turning gold.

If you'd like single-spaced poetry, you will need to use an html command for spacing. All html commands are preceded by the less-than symbol: < and followed by the greater-than symbol: >

To make a page/line break, you will use br enclosed in those symbols. Like this: < br > but without the spaces.

Welcome to our little community!

-- Gayla (privacy@please.com), October 02, 2003.

As the Founding ChiefTin of this here FRL, it is my great duty and privilege to extend a hearty, or liverly, or kidneyey, or some kind of formal WELCOME to you, J, our newest FRLian.

We have one rule, but I forget what it is.

Anywayz,... Welcome, J! I hope you find it to be fun around here.

Long Live our Fruitcake Freedoms!

Long Live the FRL!

-- (sonofdust@Chief.Tin), October 02, 2003.

PGayla (don't feel obliged to write rap, I'm just trying to save my fingers), thanks for the welcome and advice. Let's see now, for poetry I type , and for page/line breaks, I type
. Hmm. If I can get line breaks, what do I need with a poetry command? As you see, I crawl around in the dark in my computer, bumping my head on the walls of the maze. I thought html was an abbreviation for hotmail. But since this is not a computer training forum, I'll get Ol Lon to give me some pointers if he's gotten his PC back from Ledue (who sent some bayou muscle and confiscated it to satisfy Lon's bait tab). When I figure it out, I'll offer a poem with pecan pie and (drool) pear preserves, too. Oh, and about those marmots--I don't know what your first impression was, but they are not nearly so elegant as beavers. More like prairie dogs on steroids. Locals in Colo. call 'em ground hogs, but I don't know if Punxatawney Phil (did I thpell that wright?)is a marmot. If those were your postcard-like items on the other threads, they're beautiful. I try, but it takes me many a roll (yes, I still use the old fashioned film--I have a fancy 'puter camera, but if I can't speak html, you think I can make my camera walk and talk? Even my telephones are smarter than I am these days). I did get a good shot of a muskrat wake in the high country years ago. Never knew muskrat's could play dixieland until then. ChiefTin, howdy and thanks. I already got the rules--"all the women are princesses" (Helen) and "listen to Helen" (Bee). Your hearty or liverly line reminded me of an old movie (Goodbye Columbus). I only remember it because I think the line was delivered by Ali McGraw, whom I considered a princess at the time. And did I read you right-- you get some blame for this site? Only kidding--we'll change "blame" to "credit." Seems like a pretty weird, er, I mean cool community to me.--J

-- j (jsnider@hal-pc.org), October 03, 2003.

Hello J and welcome to the friendliest site in town. I enjoyed your writing very much. I'd love to be a fly on the wall when you and Lon sit drinking coffee and telling tall tales.

-- Carol (c@oz.com), October 04, 2003.

Gayla, I just read my last response on the site, and discovered that it don't mean nuthin'. Apologies. My comments can sometimes be without meaning, but in this case, I'll blame it on another objectionable convention of computer-eze. Apparently, when I typed the symbols, the system just left them and everything in between out. (Just occurred to me--I think there's a rock (rock?)group called "rage against the machine." I've never heard any of their songs so far as I know, but kinda like the moniker.) What I meant to say was:

"Let's see now, for poetry I type (less-than sign)Pay attention to my keystrokes, you stupid machine (greater-than sign), and for page/line breaks, I type (less-than sign) br (greater-than sign). Hmm."

Try it now. It may not make any more sense, but at least you'll not think I had a stroke at the keyboard, keystroked a board while surfing the web...whatever.

Carol: Hello.

You give us too much credit. On those occasions when Ol' Lon & I can get together, We don't tell tall tales, which has a certain air of fantastic respectability about it, so much as swap lies. "Hey, no fair! I gave you two lies and you only gave me one." "Yeah, but mine was actually a GOOD one, and you still owe me three outright ones and one little white one from last year," etc. There are sometimes dead flies around the walls, but we don't hafta use insecticide, we just bore 'em to death. We usually see eye-to-eye, so to speak, but when we disagree, in actuality it's kind of unsatisfying to glare at somebody with your good eye when you know he's just doing the same thing at your eyepatch too. Yar! We used to go toe to toe, but don't have the builds anymore and can't do it without falling over backward. Now we just get nose-to-nose which is closer than we want to be, so nobody stays mad long. I'll never forget the week we waited to see who blinked first. (What was IN that coffee?!)

(By the way, you need to know the only way I'm able to lay down all this drivel is that I know Ol' Lon is out-of-pocket for a few days and can't warp the discussion to his own nefarious ends, er, I mean can't defend himself. If he were here, I suspect that the paths of my flights of fancy would be strewn with drifting feathers.)

-- j (jsnider@hal-pc.org), October 04, 2003.

And the creature arose from the bowels of the earth, the dark and steaming places, the cradle of nightmare, the cauldron of creations forgotten. Noxious fumes in hues of sulfur and mold swirled around his misbegotten visage; the slime of unclean places slithered and dripped from his balding pate. Narrow eye slits gleamed a dull yellow and the nefarious cranium swiveled a full 360 degrees, surveying the peaceful world which had come to be in the lands above; the sweet and pleasant fruitcake meadows where his hideous paw now scrabbled for purchase, his ancient and curved claws gleaming a dull ivory in the unaccustomed light. The cloven hoof of a rear leg lifted itself clear of the forbidden nether land, and thudded sullenly on a hapless flower of the fields.

A solitary and simple swamp dweller cowered in the shadows, hiding his eyes and his upwelling horror behind calloused and work worn hands. In a desperation born of unspeakable loathing, he finally lowered his trembling hands and gathering a final effort of courage so common in uncommon men at times of impending disaster. And lifting himself up to the full height of his aged and withered frame, he addressed the phantasm, now arisen from the unspeakable abyss,

“Well, J, I see you finally got here!”

-- Ole Lon (simpledweller@the.swamp), October 04, 2003.

Uh, Lon, was that poor squished flower me? That would explain the challenges I'm having getting in here to welcome J to our circus. (Did you show him the circus threads and the other oldies and goodies? - Make sure he has lots of time and a few handkerchiefs so he can laugh 'til he cries!)

Welcome, J! Flights of whimsy, fantasy and poetry are some of our specialties. We allow just enough of the real us to show through to plant some real friendships - hope you'll develop some here :-)

-- Tricia teh Canuck (jayles@telusplanet.net), October 05, 2003.

Wow. Lon had a real twin all this time, and we never knew 'til now.

-- helen (settling@back.for.some.good.times), October 05, 2003.

Ouch, Helen! that was tacky, just tacky. After all, he said "nefarious" first, and about my end, at that. (this is going in your permanent record, young lady!)

-- Lon (lgal@exp.net), October 05, 2003.

My dad has kneefarious trouble when he tries to walk a long ways...

But the brace helps.

-- Robert & Jean Cook (Cooks@home.ga), October 05, 2003.

LOL J. and Lon. Such eloquance. I reckon one "nefarious" equals one "misbegotten visage" so be nice or there'll be tears before bedtime.

Crikey Lon that description is the stuff nightmares are made of. I think perhaps there IS a secret Stephen King in you.

-- Carol (c@oz.com), October 06, 2003.

He's back. Whad I tell ya! See! See! Run for your lives. Ol Lon is the master monster, the vilest visage, the...the (wait a minute, I'll have to read some more sci-fi from my back shelf to continue). Apparently, lack of sugar makes the beast cranky. Throw him a butterfinger to put in his glove box and smell occasionally when the fits are upon him, or we'll all perish. And don't worry, Ol' Boy, smelling candy won't rot your nose the way eating it would rot your remaining fang. (No "nose candy" puns either, this is a clean site-- or so I was led to believe. Yet it would put up with the slim slimy salamander scratchiings of the likes of Ol' Lon and then welcome my angelic presence as an apparent offset. A conundrum, no!)

To Tricia for the welcome and to those who justly chastised the swamp beast for his maligning remarks, a mighty 'thanks.'

To the kooks with their kneefarious joints, a low groan.

A solitary simple swamp dweller--Ol'Lon, you oughta be ashamed!

-- j (jsnider@hal-pc.org), October 06, 2003.

I'm taking J's side cuz Lon still owes me a hamburger!

-- Princess Gayla (privacy@please.com), October 06, 2003.