My siblings are all very cool people, who have at one time or another inspired my muse. This is my tribute to my oldest sister, Gay Linda Ganzer-Offutt, who, I believe was practicing horse riding in her mother's womb from the moment to the moment of her entry onto planet earth. I'd not thought too much about it, but my Grandfather Harry Ganzer, just LOVED horses (the trotters), maybe even more than he loved to go through the charts on the weeked (typically 12-16 hours of research, poring over the racing charts on the dining room table, his mother-in-law, my Grandma Lachel snorting, derisively each time she passed the table, "Einstein never spent so much time with numbers." I had never before made the horse connection from Harry to Gay, although, I made the whittling connection from my maternal grandfather Raymond Dale Hockett to my youngest sister Marianne a LONG, LONG, time ago. This is one of the great catharctic benefits of writing (and re-writing); taking the time to make the time to remember, to touch your words, view your words, hear your words, speak your words, and to sometimes glimmer just where your words came from, and what lessons you had missed for so long, that suddenly seem so obvious now. Thanks, dear Lord, for giving me parents who imbued in me early the love of the writeen word. AMEN.
You,
from the moment of your conception
Deamt'
only to be an equiestrienne -
Those
ponies, stallions, palaminos – they were all
Pal
'o youro-ohs – ho, ho, ho, HOR-SEE HO!
And
you did and do ride, ride, ride, did and do ride, ride, ride,
From
the moment the first you spotted that saw horse
“This
is for me,” you said with glee while that horse
upon
the floor, reflected magic in your eyes,
perhaps
magic and something more – a calling
And
you did and do ride, ride, ride, did and do ride, ride, ride,
Delighting
next-door Bud and Lou-eeze Stevens too,
So
long and far back in time, and yet so near and dear
to
our hearts and memories, so near and dear to you,
And
you did and do ride, ride, ride, did and do ride, ride, ride,
In
that almost safe, not quite small, but emminently sincere
Community
where you, John, and Marianne were born
and
we did play each day away as best we could
In
Summer, or in Shadow, you were riding, riding, riding,
you
did and do ride, ride, ride, did and do ride, ride, ride,
Gliding,
gliding, gliding, and oh how you so loved
When
Bud Stevens would call you and Marianne over to ride
On
the buggy that their beloved horse pulled aournd the
Outskirts
of our fair Streator town, delighting children from
Neighborhoods
far and near, oh such joy, oh my dear
What
kind of sainted sinner was that man who worked
with
hands always grit-dirt black, although he gloved them,
And
face always smiling, so kind, so soft, so warm, so gentle,
So
kind, so sharing, so caring,
And
rides he gave, to every one in that town fiar,
where
we all were Lower-middle class folk, just trying to make our way
While
our fathers worked and our mothers stayed and made
our
homes, safe, comfy, and warm happy places.
Fearing
not to send us along on our way, out the front door
even
before making those oh-so-huge 2,500+ calorie breakfasts
for
the men folk who worked the bone hard strong back requiring jobs
which
were available to any man, even boys, who wished to shoulder a load,
but,
oh, the enormous breakfasts, where the workers would sit
thoughtfully
sipping coffee, luxiriantly smoking a non-filtered ciagrette,
and,
OH, those breakfasts, which ALWAYS taste so sinfully good:
you
will eat flap jacks, biscuits, gravy, taters, bacon, sausage, and
then, they were all set to go out and face another dreary factory
day,
or
day in the fields of harvest, or day at the office, or day teaching
school
to
be followed by night coaching sports, and week-ends coaching or
officiating, collecting money at the gate for the sports teams
events,
parking
cars, anything, to bring in that extra five dollars for three hours
that
stretched so mirculously far, back in the day, when a working man's
pay
got
a house overhead, warm blankets on bed, good food in the belly and
more,
while
the wife could stay home to make sure the children did not roam,
or
hang with the wrong kind of kid, that the kids would not do stupid,
and
then try to escape punishment playing Cupid,
no,
the law was laid down: three hard smacks
on
the behinds, and this was enough.
You
meanwhile were all the day riding, riding your did ride, did ride,
riding
you did ride; gliding riding deciding, this riding was your purpose
the
reason the Good Lord put you here on earth, first, and foremost,
you
would never bluff, or do anything to hurt your horse;
and
your gentleness to him, and his to you, were so perfectly reflected
in
the gentle way you treated all who crossed your path, even the ones
who
could say the most unkind things, in the most unkind ways,
you
pined not for happier days, because you could ride, could ride,
could
glide, could fly, could sail beyond it all, and dream that
horsey
riding, dream that horsey flying, dream that horsey riding,
ride,
ride, ride, you did ride, ride, ride, you did ride.
Your
voice he obeyed, always doing what you what you said,
But
wordlessly too, the two of you, oh, you two, so perfectly in
mind-tandem
naught
would do of random, oh so disciplined you were, and how so much
did
that grand horse adore you for the discipline you bore, for the
discipline
was
what compelled you to feed him on time, to groom him in time,
to
shoe him so he need not climb nor clamber round inappropriately shod,
oh
those bonds between you tied so close, that even today I can see his
ghost
nuzzling
up behind your honey-haired head, with the softest snort he whispers,
You
loved me so well, my beloved sister, and I miss you though in
heaven
here I rest. Of all the ones who loved me, you were first on that
saddle
above me, riding, riding, riding, gliding, gliding, gliding, oh my
fair one,
oh
my wan one, oh my gentle one, oh my small one, you my master, you my
fate, you to take me through the gate, and if you but have say the
word I jump
so
close to the heavenly, with so much love aplenty
rider
and me, with but saddle between, we were one, I swear
The
two of us would run, when the long day was done,
and
it was time for you to return – your heart a'fire its glowing
embers warming
heart
on fire with the love, the desire, hope and dreamn'ere to leave
my
charmed stallion's back – though the time, come it must
Your
Sputnik you can always trust trust, to be loving you when you
left
as much love as I returned. It was I your favored hourse,
Who
let you run me on the course, and in our harmonios song,
You
came along, and blossomed into woman
Love's
light is reflected, love's light n'ere rejected
Love's
light shown as a halo surrounding you
In
the pictures the family sees it – when you were here I did feel it
Love's
light reflected, resplendant, warming radiant and shining from you.
I
loved you Gay Linda G – and all you are you were to me and from
this
Heavenly
pasture I do watch – do watch as you and Jake, that sometimes
Perilous
trail partake, and I make sure the angel horse's guard your way.
You
were my favorite love, and as I watch from here above,
I'm
as happy apart as even when I was with you,
For
although you've grown and changed, at heart you are still the same,
That
eager young girl who dreamt' me in her mother's womb;
One
day again we will go riding, riding, gliding, flying,
And
no order will your have to give; It's enough for you to think it,
In
a blink I will obey, every thought or word you say,
You
own me, my love, and my love, I own you.
You,
from the moment of your conception
Deamt'
only to be an equiestrienne -
Those
ponies, stallions, palaminos – they were all
Pal
'o youro-ohs – ho, ho, ho, HOR-SEE HO!
And
forever you will ride, with that love that burns inside,
And
the world's a lot better just having known you.
With
Love and undying Admiration, to you
for
all you are, for all you've been, and for all the new surprises
you
give us again and again.
Freré
Marcos
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