RE: Million Pines with Angie

["Kathy Mayeda" <kathy_mayeda@atce.com>]

Howard, you know you are in love with Angie and it's a love affair that's
not going anywhere!!!  The problem is that writing about Angie is
entertaining - at least for me - but she has a real live husband and she's a
real person with feelings.  And I bet those feelings aren't real "simple"
right now.

You sure know how to stir up a pot.

Why don't you put your feelings about Angie into a fictitious character
(with a different name) and let your imagination go wild?  It's already
pretty active.  Who knows, a fictitious novel may come of it.  You may be
the next author of a book like "Even Cowgirls Get the Blues"  (was that Tom
Robbins?)   I would certainly buy your book.

But then again, you are HOWARD.

Kathy



-----Original Message-----
From:	Howard4567@aol.com [mailto:Howard4567@aol.com]
Sent:	Wednesday, April 12, 2000 6:51 PM
To:	ridecamp@endurance.net
Subject:	RC:  Million Pines with Angie

We got there on Thursday, late in the afternoon.  Early Friday morning,
I
awoke and came out of my tent.  I couldn't help but notice a group of
riders
all looking up, towards the sky.  The Witch had arrived earlier than
expected; Susan had told me last night to expect her around noon.  It
was ten
AM.

I looked up and the words BEWARE HOWARD were boldly printed in the sky
above
me.  I watched the witch finish skywriting the letter D, then I followed
her
flight downward and marked the location in camp where I saw her land.  I

grabbed a cup of coffee, stiffened it with a shot of Crown Royal, and
marched
towards her landing zone.  That song "Eye of the Tiger" played in my
head as
I walked towards the abyss.  My nemesis, Angie, aka Witch Alabama, from
Rocky
Mount, Tennessee, currently living in Georgia, had just arrived.


I hadn't seen the Witch since October, a lot of bad blood had  passed
between
us and under our separate bridges since then.  I figured I'd approach
her to
see how things were going and to, maybe, extract some information from
her.
There were things I wanted to know.  I'm not all together a brave man;
in
fact, most of the time I'm proud of my chicken heritage.  But for some
reason, today, I thought confrontation would be a healthy goal, an
objective
that had to be met.  Looking back on it now,  I was never more wrong.

Approaching and talking with Angie is more like addressing the Pope or
Valerie K.  All three have an entourage and an adulating public.  This
is a
problem that I've never had, my horse is my best friend, and most people
who
know me well understand I'm a little strange and on the quirky side.
Thus,
too much popularity, for me,  is never a burden.  But for her Highness,
The
Witch of the South, it seems you need an appointment just to get in a
few
words.  I had no appointment and I dared, but she had no plans on making
it
easy for me.

She saw me approaching and even acknowledged my presence with an almost
friendly "Howdy."  I had the feeling that was just a ploy to lure me
closer
inside her den.  A few riders looked from afar, realizing that the two
enemies were within gunshot of each other and closing in.  Historic
Peace
Talks might be taking place.  That was my intent; but it wasn't Angie's.
She
had gone over the edge, and I didn't even know.

I tried to ask her what I wanted to know, but others constantly
interrupted.
And Angie, obviously, had no problems with this.  If she had wanted to
talk
with me she would have spoken.  I think she rather enjoyed my
frustration at
waiting and trying to find the time to speak to her.  Imagine trying to
speak
with a popular Mayor during a busy and crowded parade.  It's just not
quality
time and there can be confusion and misunderstanding.

I finally got her attention.  I did have to knock a few others over and
bark
at a dog to accomplish this, but some days I have no patience.  I
finally
blurted to her, "So how did you like my last story?"  I was talking
about
"Death Visits Ridecamp," an almost sad tale that she had never commented
on.
And I knew her not commenting on it was intentional cause she comments
on
everything; from bra size to easy boots, except my one story she chose
to
ignore.

She said to me, without batting an eye, "You know, Howard (emphasis on
the
"Howard"), I like you better in person than I do on the computer."
Intentional pause here.  Then she says, "And that ain't saying much."

She's not done.  I don't utter a sound.  She says, "You know, not many
people
bother Bill.  It takes a lot to bother Bill (Bill, is obviously her
husband).
 He's here with me today. (I find myself wondering if her broom has a
passenger seat.)  Howard, you bother Bill."  Another intentional pause.

"Now why don't you just skee dattle (it might have been "skoot") on down
the
road there, before Bill sees you."

Well, I skee dattled, like she instructed.  And I guess she has good
reason
to dislike me.  But a long, long time ago, she had told me it was all
fair,
nothing would be taken personally, and if I could take it I could dish
it
out.  I guess one of us went too far, or we forgot to include Bill into
the
equation.  My wife, and even my daughter, who rides, has no idea who
Angie
is.  But Bill seems to know me rather well.

So, that was it.  Probably the last conversation I'll ever have with the

woman.  My point is, now, do I take her out of all my stories?  Do I
stop
writing about her?  Is the deadly bantering between us over?  Or will it

continue on till one of us dies?

I've spoken to my clone brother, Truman, on this issue and he informs me

apologizing is way too late and too little and a waste of time.  War has
been
declared, battle lines have been drawn and separate camps are being
built
right now.  I do believe she's related to either the Hatfield's or the
McCoy's (pick one), so I don't expect it to be over any time soon.

cya in the trenches,
Howard

PS.  I'm counting votes on whether I should extinguish Angie from my
previous
and future stories.  I think just one bucket of water should do the
trick.
Let me know.


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