Brother George, as you go out in search for excitement created by the full charge of an angry sex craven Grizzly sow, remember that you are essentially a city slicker that read a lot of books about mountain men and early explorers. Neither you nor I are real outdoors men. Our tiny bios note that we hiked through Joblin Hollow and, maybe, hunted some squirrel on Old Man Lewis's farm. Aside from that we are basically wusses. Virgins in the forest. So don't count on mace to make you safe. Don't count on running to save your ass. Your genes are too inbred to allow you power to outrun lions and charging rhinos. We've gotten too far away from the church to be able to rely on the power of prayer in the midst of genuine adversity. And, to make things even worse, because our Dad taught us not to be sissies, we don't even know how or even have the capacity or fortitude to scream like frightened chickens. So if you can't kill'm, you can't out run'm and you can't scream at'm, go to the Portland Zoo and walk up to the cage bars and hoot at a Griz. It's the safer, saner thing to do.
Now, about general health, I am on a program of recovering the zest for life. My present goal is to eat lots of fattening, enriched food to restore my once attained 255# weight so I can bite down on folks that bug me and laugh. It has been a long time since I have really been able to laugh. Laughter kills the devil and cures any ailment life offers. Without it the Sun never shines, birds never sing, and your heart never really has the capacity to feel the joy of Life and being in love. So my simple therapeutic goal is to get fat and happy. Buddha was not a skinny man!!!
Now, how about you? What's pissing you off? How's your liver functioning? What are your goals? What do you really want to be and do? Are you retired, put up to fodder or are you just getting started, and if you are getting started, what-the-hell are you up to, Boy?
It's true, I really miss smacking the back of your cranium maximus!!! I have met people who have kissed the Blarney Stone but I can only count on one hand, preferably my right hand, the few truly blessed individuals who have had the honored privilege to smack you in the back of the head. The only four I can think of are Billy Clendenning, Bernard Knox, Bus Knox and me; and each of us has been affected in a very special way because you are one special person in our lifes. So, Dr. Shrink, what do you think the real source of my bouts with depression may be, besides being too thin? Perhaps it is the missing of very essential human contact, the whacking sound of a hand smacking something of substance, the back of my beloved brother's head. No psychoanalysis, no sex therapy, no aerobics exercise, no indi-guruing, Chinese medicine, witch doctoring, etc., etc., etc., can fill the void of your physical absence in my life. I miss you very much. So what?
At least I know where to start. I'll meet you on a plateau in Montana surrounded by snow covered peaks. I will smack you in the back of the head. You will reciprocate. And then, after a few moments of head jarring glee, we'll go out and find a congenial Grizzly and attack it before the critter has time to try to make us run or scream, both for which neither you nor I have the genetics or inclination. What happens after that God only knows.
As I told you in our last telephone conversation, I met with John Green. I really believe that John Green is a holy man because whenever he prayers over a Knox brother, he cannot resist to grab our heads, close his eyes and pray to the Lord God Almighty who created two of the hardest craniums on this planet!!!
He knows the source of our power.
He affirms are being.
He grabs our heads.
It sure as hell beats a proctoscopic examination!!!
I may be crazy, really and actually nuts looney, screw and or off the rocker, but I know absolutely that I love you, Brother George, and that makes all the difference in my life. Now what the hell do you have to say about that? (Saturday, August 14, 1999)