Christmas Tree Caper

A month or so before every Christmas the Old Man would borrow the big furniture truck from Jimmy No Nose. He never took me with before but this time I was told I was coming along. I wasn’t sure what I was getting myself into but I was excited to be a part of it. My brother, four years older than me, along with Dominic, my Old Man’s partner in crime, were driving up to Wisconsin from Chicago. There were a few Christmas Tree farms near where our cottage was located. They filled me in on the drive up to Adams County Wisconsin. We were headed there to cut down and steal as many trees as we could safely get away with.

The first night right after it got dark we sneaked into the back of the tree farm through the Woods. We were in an area where the trees weren’t mature enough to cut down. There were some that grew faster than the others and the Old Man tagged them with a red ribbon meaning to take them. My brother and I started cutting those first while Dominic and the Old Man scoped the area where Scotch Pine and Douglas Fir trees were located. Those are what most people preferred and would cut down for their Christmas Tree.

The farm was still open and people were wandering around in search of the perfect tree. If they encountered a customer they’d act as though they worked there. Sometimes they even helped people pick out a tree.

You could hear families arguing over which one was the perfect Christmas Tree.

My brother and I were cutting White Pine trees down as quickly as a team of professional lumberjacks. After six trees credited to my count my arm became sore and I was panting like a worn out dog.

“Hey, get to work!” My brother ordered with a commanding whisper.

“Give me a minute. My arm is sore from sawing.”

” Then use your other arm dumbass.”

I don’t know why I didn’t think of that. And on top of it, I was wet and cold from lying in the snow. I figured it wouldn’t be a good idea to mention that.

The Old Man and Dominic showed up dragging ten trees or so.

” How many you got dare boys?” The Old Man asked.

“I’ve got nine and Santi has six I think “

“Ya six.” I proudly declared.

“Okay, that’s good. We got eleven, that’s twenty tree.” (No that’s not a typo, it’s the way he talked. He couldn’t pronounce words with ‘th’. So with was wit, that was dat, three was tree. Get it?)

“No, it’s twenty six. It’s twenty six trees all together.” I corrected the Old Man.

” Okay Einstein, little smart ass.

That’s enough for now. We’ll get more tomorrow night from this place. Let’s get these back to the truck.” The Old Man ordered.

I knew better than to correct him, it just came out of my mouth without thinking. He hated being corrected or told he was wrong.

A year or so ago, he was reading the Comics to my sister, it was the only part of the newspaper he was interested in. I sat down next to them as he read a comic strip out loud. But he wasn’t reading the actual words printed, he was interpreting the story from what he thought the pictures meant.

” That’s not what it says. You’re not reading what it says, you’re making it up.” I yelled out.

I then realized he couldn’t read. He never learned to read. But he sure knew how to spank your ass when you pissed him off. I got it good that day. Instead of explaining why he couldn’t read he decided to give me a beating for embarrassing him.

The Old Man was a Depression Era kid that never made it past the third grade. He dropped out of school to go to work and help the family since my grandfather left my grandmother. Plus he was a drunk.

The Old Man always preached ,” Get a good education, no one can take that away from you.”

Although he never wanted to know what you learned and you had better make sure to never try to teach him anything.

We’d bunch a few trees together and wrap a rope around them. Then drag them through the Woods over the snow to the truck parked half a mile away.

It wasn’t an easy job pulling them through the snow in the dark. I was the last in line so I wouldn’t slow them down. Dominic saw me struggling and gave me a hand pulling my load the remainder of the way.

After an exhausting twenty minutes of dragging what felt like a dead horse, we reached the truck.

“Okay Judge, you and your brother head back and bring the four or five we left behind and Dom and me will load these into the truck.”

Are you kidding me? I wanted to scream. But I’m sure by my disgusted expression and the act of throwing my gloves to the ground accompanied by my very audible groan, he understood my displeasure.

“You got a problem wit dat? I don’t hear your brother complaining. If you want your cut we make from selling dees ya better pull your weight. Now get your ass in gear and catch up to your brother. Go on, get!”

All I could do was obey his order. My animosity for him grew with every minute we spent in one another’s company. I caught up with my brother which gave him the opportunity to give me grief.

” What the hell is wrong with you? You always give him a reason to get pissed off and then everybody suffers. Then he takes his anger out on anyone around. You know he has a quick temper. Stop giving him a reason to fly off the handle. You’re a dumbass.”

“Okay I’m sorry. It’s just that he…”

“Shut up, I don’t want to hear it. I’m not gonna argue with you, just do what I say. I’ll be eighteen next year and then you can kiss my ass goodbye. So can you help to make it a pleasant next few months until I’m gone? “

It’s always about someone else’s life, never about Santiago’s.

There were four trees that had been left behind that I believe could’ve been taken with the first load. My brother bunched three of them together leaving just one for me.

“Thanks Cary.”

“It’s okay now come on he’s going to want to hit the Tree Farm on Highway thirteen then Robert’s Christmas Tree Farm. These next ones are really easy. The first one closes early and it’s just an old guy with his wife. He hires a couple of kids to help out but they’re gone when he shuts down. Robert’s place is simple and quick. We’ll be done in a couple of hours.”

” Thanks for giving me the heads up. Do we have to drag the trees far?”

“No, where he parks is close to the lot and the truck can’t be seen.”

We get back to the truck and the Old Man and Dominic are sitting in the truck smoking.

“Hurry up. Youz took long enough. I don’t want to hang around here all Goddamn night. Move it.”

Could he be anymore condescending? Always with the criticism, never with the compliment. Where did my mother find this guy and what did she see in him? It had to have been an arranged marriage. There’s no way any woman would marry this guy of her own free will. I’m going to ask her when I get a chance, if I ever make it back home.

What really bothers me about this Christmas Tree Caper, is the hypocrisy it represents. I got caught shoplifting at the Five and Dime and the Old Man gave it to me for stealing. I explained my conundrum to my brother.

” You are such a dumbshit. The reason you got a beating was because you got caught, not because you were stealing. You embarrassed our family. Do you get it now?”

It all suddenly made sense to me. There is an unspoken code which should never be mentioned or acknowledged but strictly followed. Someone could have just told me. Although I imagine it’s something you have to learn on your own.

Just as my brother said we arrived at the other Tree Farm and I was given strict instructions. There was to be no talking, no making noise of any kind or complaining. Him and Dominic both had hamburger meatballs in a plastic bag. There were dogs protecting the tree lot and you didn’t want to draw their attention. He wasn’t sure if they were attack dogs or not but I didn’t want to find out. The meatballs were to act as a distraction if we encountered the dogs.

The Old Man started giving hand signals like an Army Sergeant would give to his soldiers on patrol in a war movie. I didn’t understand what in the hell he was trying to communicate so I just followed my brother. Dominic sawed faster than I’ve ever seen anyone cut trees before. I only had four trees cut when the Old Man slapped me on the back and gave the no more signal with his hands. The two of them must have cut twenty twenty-five trees between them and my brother had eight trees cut. We quickly bunched them together and didn’t leave any to have to come back for. It was a short distance to the truck and we loaded them up in record time. It had to have taken only forty-five minutes and we were on our way.

Just as we were getting in the truck two dogs came running up and one of them bit my brother right in the ass. He let out a holler along with a “you motherfucking son of a bitch” comment. Dominic grabbed a club that was kept in the cab and swung it with precise accuracy, hitting the rabid dog on the head. It definitely knocked the German Shepherd out or killed him. The other Collie type dog hung back and barked. My brother acted as though he was going to challenge him and quickly lunged in his direction, with that he ran away.

Then he walked over to the incapacitated Sheppard and started kicking it hollering a list of choice profanities while rubbing his ass.

“Okay, that’s enough. Come on. How’s your ass feel? Are you bleeding? Come here let me take a look to see how bad he got you. Dominic give me the flashlight.” The Old Man almost sounded concerned. Cary sticks his hand down the back of his pants and pulls it out covered in blood looking at it under the flashlight.

” Better let me take a look at it. Maybe you need to go to the hospital.”

” Forget it! I’m not going to pull my pants down in front of you perverts so you can look at my ass! I’ll be fine. Santiago, take off your Cubs shirt and let me use it to stop the bleeding.”

“You must be high on drugs. I’m not giving you my Cubs shirt for you to bleed all over it. There’s no way.” I protested.

Dominic handed my brother a small piece of cloth that he stuck down his pants.

” There wasn’t really anything I could do.” The Old Man apologized.

” Where were you two with the fucking meatballs? You saving them for breakfast ? A lot of good they did. Let’s get outta here. Come on.”

We climbed into the cab with my brother grimacing and groaning.

The dog was still laying there not making a move as we drove away.

We had about thirty-five or so more trees. That meant we had harvested over fifty-five trees. At fifteen bucks a pop that was over eight hundred dollars. And we weren’t done yet. There is one more Tree Farm we were going to stop at before the night is over. For some reason the Old Man became angry when he talked about this one.

” One more boys and we’ll be done for the night. We need to get fifty trees from this spot. It’ll be easier than the others. This son of a bitch deserves getting ripped off. I’m just getting even for what he tried to get away with.”

He stopped talking without any further explanation.

“Well aren’t you gonna tell us? Don’t stop there. What did he do?” I pleaded

“None of your Goddamn business. If I want you to know I’ll tell ya.”

My brother gave me the lowdown later that night.

Seems this guy, Roberts made a couple passes at my mother, when we were up here for the summer without the Old Man. I guess it didn’t stop there he’d buy her drinks when she went to the tavern. Then he’d pester her asking her to dance over and over until she finally gave in. He even sent her flowers. This farm boy, jack pine savage had no clue who he was dealing with. When the Old Man found out and he was well informed, he slapped my mother around accusing her of being a whore. Then the following weekend along with Giovanni, Dominic and Jimmy No Nose along with the Old Man paid him a visit. (Okay I’ll tell you why Jimmy was given his nickname. Seems a prostitute became upset with his disrespectful demeanor and bit off a good chunk of his nose). They found Mr. Roberts in the B&B Tap in Dellwood and gave him a lesson in Italian street justice.

Someone called the County Sheriff but the Old Man was good friends with Sheriff Buzz Cummins and he had been given a heads up about the event that was going to take place. The cavalry was without their horses so there wouldn’t be any rescue.

Mr. Roberts wouldn’t be harvesting any corn for a while. I guess he spent close to a month in the hospital. And on top of it he’d sold the Old Man a foundered horse he’d bought my sister as a birthday gift.

Next stop was Mr Robert’s Christmas Tree Farm. The take was over sixty trees and we called it a night. An incredible haul over sixty trees.

After three nights’ work we were loaded down with over three hundred Christmas Trees. We had Scotch Pine, Douglas Fir, White Pine, Blue Spruce as well as a couple other types. The Old Man sure knew his pine trees, I’ll give him that. I figured it to be around four thousand five hundred dollars. I was already making a list of what I was going to buy.

On our way out of town we made a stop at the Sheriff’s house which is near our cottage. The Old Man got out two trees from the back and set them on his front porch. We also stopped by the Catholic Church and he did the same thing there.

It was a four hour drive back to Chicago and we weren’t done yet. We still had to deliver the trees to the different Christmas Tree Lots. Luckily Dominic was hungry and wanted to stop and get something to eat at a roadside restaurant. The Old Man did not approve of stopping once he was on the road. It was Express from start to finish. Dominic was driving, without paying any attention to the Old Man’s objections he took an exit that landed us at a Sambos restaurant.

I was excited, it was a rare occasion when we had a chance to dine out. I could even see a small glimmer of excitement in my brother’s expression .

“Okay but let’s not take all Goddamn day in here. We still have deliverys to make. And don’t go ordering a cheeseburger; they charge fifty cents extra for a single piece of cheese. And no jukebox either, you hear me Judge?”

“Yes sir I hear you.”

He walked off to the bathroom which gave us time to look at the menu without the Old Man pressuring us to hurry up and make a decision.

” If you boys want a cheeseburger you order a cheeseburger, I’m buying. Ya know what goes great with cheeseburgers? Thick chocolate milk shakes. What do you say chiccos?”

” That’d be great Mr. Dominic, thanks.” I yelled.

My brother just shook his head like he always did. He wasn’t one for conversation and he didn’t talk much. I never asked him why. Tell ya the truth I really didn’t care.

” You can drop the Mister, Santiago. I know you respect me and you’re old enough to call me Dominic. Okay? “

He turned to my father who had just come back from the bathroom.

” I’m buying Vinnie, so don’t worry about the extra fifty cents they charge for cheese. The guys are also getting milkshakes. You want one too? Ya know it doesn’t hurt to give in a little you tight ass.”

” Don’t tell me how to raise my kids.”

Here we go.

” I’m not telling you how to raise your kids. I’m just saying it’s nice to be generous every once in a while and spoil them. Show your appreciation for them being good boys. And you’re lucky because they never get in trouble, they show you respect and are hard workers.”

” Generous? They have a roof over their heads, three meals every day and clean clothes on their back. That’s more than I had when I was their age.”

” Okay forget it Vinnie, can’t ever talk to you without ya getting all pissed off.”

It was a very quiet meal with no one at the table saying a word. The Old Man only ordered a cup of coffee and gave me ominous stares as I ate my cheeseburger and drank my chocolate shake. When we finished I thanked Dominic again and headed to the bathroom with the Old Man hollering at me to not take all day.

My brother was in the bathroom with his pants down trying to look in the mirror to see his dog bite. But it was in an area where he couldn’t observe his wound.

“Santi tell me how it looks, will ya?”

“Okay, turn around and I’ll take a look.”

I look at the bite concluding that the wound wasn’t serious at all. There wasn’t any redness or teeth marks. In fact it looked as though the dog only nipped him. Now was my chance to get even for all the times he teazed, taunted and physically assaulted me.

” What do you think Santiago? How does it look to you? Is it bad?”

I don’t want to freak you out but it doesn’t look so good. It looks as though it might be infected. Does it feel like it’s swollen at all? Because I’ll tell ya it’s swollen and I can see where his teeth marks are. What if the dog had rabies? You’ll have to get a bunch of shots. Ya know rabies can kill you.”

He pulls up his pants and looks as though he’s on the verge of crying.

” What’s wrong? Does it hurt real bad ? You have a lot of pain?”

” Ya, it hurts real bad. Does it look that terrible Santi, really?

” It’s oozing some yellow stuff. “

” I wondered if that’s what I felt.”

The Old Man pops his head in the door.

“You two girls done putting on your makeup? Come on, you’re holding us up. Move your ass.”

We pull onto the interstate with the Old Man driving now. Dominic starts singing softly ‘ ‘You’re just too good to be true. Can’t take my eyes off of you.’

He has an incredible voice. I’m totally impressed with his singing, thinking he should be a star.

“Come on Santiago you know this song. Sing along with me.”

“Dominic, you have a great voice. You should make a record or sing with a group.”

“Thanks for the compliment. I used to sing with a group of guys for quite a while. We were pretty good and I made a couple of records with them.”

“Who were they? Tell me Dominic. Would I know them?”

” They’re some guys I grew up with in Jersey. Have you heard of the Four Seasons?”

“Really ? You were with the Four Seasons? No way you’re screwing with me.”

“No Judge, he’s telling you the troot. He sang with the Four Seasons. He’s not lying.” The Old Man added.

“What happened, why aren’t you with them anymore?”

“It didn’t work out. Too many Egos. Frankie isn’t such a wonderful guy like everyone thinks. Everything had to be done according to the way he wanted it. He was the boss, it was his group. I just got tired of taking orders all the time. Frankie used to call me the Fifth Season.”

“But there’s no fifth season.,”

“Exactly his point. It just wasn’t fun anymore.”

“Well I think you’re great and I bet you are going to make it big. And I’ll be watching you on American Bandstand, telling my friends; I know that guy.”! I tell him while patting him on his shoulder.

Suddenly my brother starts balling, with loud long cries. I was surprised due to the fact I had never seen him cry in my lifetime

“What in the hell is wrong with you? What are you crying for?” My Old Man’s feeble attempt at sympathy and concern.

“Santiago saw my dog bite in the bathroom at the restaurant. I couldn’t see it in the mirror. He said it looked bad and maybe infected. Then he thought the dog could’ve had Rabies and I’d have to get a bunch of shots in my stomach and I could die”

“First of all, if the dog had Rabies do you think the farmer would keep it around the house? No he’d get rid of him. So he didn’t have Rabies. Why’d you start that shit Judge? You knew that dog didn’t have Rabies. What’s wrong with you scaring the shit out of your brother like that?”

” I was just saying. I never said he had Rabies and the bite looked all swollen with red and oozing stuff. So I said it might be infected, that’s all. That’s what I get for trying to help. Thanks a lot.” I said in my defense.

“So you want to go to the hospital? I’ll take you when we get to Chicago, if you want.” The Old Man offered.

“Well, answer me. Don’t just shake your head. You’ve gotta tongue, use it.” The Old Man’s temper begins to rise.

“No.” My brother whispered.

“What did you say? I can’t hear you. Turn down the goddamn radio, will ya.”

I reached over and turned it off. I didn’t want anything distracting me from hearing.

The Armor Of God

The sculptor of my soul, the shaper of dreams,

The lighthouse guides me through life’s raging streams.

The lifeline of love, a man built to inspire,

His hope fuels my growth, his words light my fire.

A leader of strength, my champion, my guide,

A shoulder of dreams where ambitions reside.

His bald crown, a playground for childhood delight,

His scolding, my spark, my source of bright light.

The hero of heroes, my pride,

A warrior protecting, with love as his guide.

F: A Fighter, shielding through life’s every storm,

A: An Armor of God, steadfast and warm.

T: A Trailblazer, charting the map of success,

H: A Helper, who stands in each moment of stress.

E: An Enthusiast, spreading joy without end,

R: The Realist, who mends where we bend.

Father, The savior.

Like a tree rooted deep, reaching high to the skies,

He holds us together, where our happiness lies.

A protector, a fighter, a beacon of grace,

In his shadow, I grow, in his love, I embrace.

First of all, contributor Jeff Rasley invites people to consider this opportunity to further education in Basa Village, where he has spent much time.

From Jeff: The people of Basa Village, Nepal, have requested our Foundation’s help with two projects commencing in 2025. Funds are needed to help pay the salaries of three of the village school’s teachers. If private funding is not provided, the school’s English, Science, and Social Studies & Computer Literacy teachers will have to work for no pay or resign. Because the village’s family farms are all subsistence farms, many of the 85 elementary school students will eventually leave Basa. Acquiring education that will help to make the village’s youth employable in a city may be vital to their future. The Foundation is seeking contributions to fund those three teachers’ salaries for one year.

The second project is the development of a commercially viable herd of goats and pigs. The villagers are dependent on subsistence farming and money earned by some of the adults working in the tourist industry as support staff for treks and mountaineering expeditions. Disastrous earthquakes in 2015 and the 2020 COVID pandemic virtually shut down tourism for two years following each of those catastrophes. The village leaders realized that a sustainable business is needed to support village families, when jobs in tourism are not available. The first animals were purchased this year, but to make the endeavor profitable, more animals must be purchased and cared for. The goal is to have a profitable co-op business of selling goat milk, cheese, and yoghurt and pork within two years after the requisite number of animals are acquired. Money earned above costs will support the village school and provide assistance to any families in need.

Please consider contributing to our fundraiser for the school and farm projects via our website at https://www.bvfusa.org/donate

Or, send a check to our corporate treasurer David Culp 2322 E. 66th St. Indianapolis, IN 46220. Let me know if you have any questions about the projects or the BVF. The Basa Village Foundation USA, Inc. is a 501(C)(3) organization, and financial contributions to it are charitable donations, per the US Internal Revenue Code.

Now, for this month’s first issue: Who Will We Become?

John Edward Culp personifies the human journey through life as a child learning to walk under a giant sky. On the other hand, Ilhomova Mohichehra’s work honors the beauty and longevity of a tree.

Sayani Mukherjee communes with the hidden longings and feelings layered within a landscape as Rubina Anis melds colors into gentle natural scenes. Christina Chin and Jerome Berglund’s collaborative tan-renga highlight vignettes and observations of humans co-existing with nature. Raquel Barbeito’s art zooms in on pieces of nature – flowers, spiders, a skull – in black and white. O’tkir Mulikboyev wishes to become part of his natural environment and bring nutriments to those around him.

Alan Catlin presents human and animal wildness in its feral glory: hunger, fear, crashing ocean spray, animal eyes in the dark, earthworm trails. Sidnei Rosa da Silva’s prose poetry depicts the lonely calm of a northern winter. Christina Chin and Kimberly Olmtak’s collaborative tan-renga becomes more personal and domestic, presenting cozy tea and houseplants.

Duane Vorhees furthers his poetic exploration of sensuality, fecundity, and history. Brooks Lindberg’s poem probes the linkages between older mysticism and newer beliefs given our understanding of physics.

Isabel Gomez de Diego’s photography positions youth and new life as a continuation of the world’s cultural and natural history. Kylian Cubilla Gomez captures the off-center wonder and mystery of childhood through his photographic close-ups of toys.

Mashhura Ahmadjonova sends in a piece on how quickly life passes and Akmalova Zebokhan Akobirkhan reflects on the steady stream of life, one day after another, as Rashidova Shahrizoda Zarshidovna urges us to live with intent and purpose.

Jacques Fleury’s pieces address awakening, surprise, and discovery. JoyAnne O’Donnell celebrates the manifold ways ordinary people can find joy in our everyday lives, including love and close relationships. Lilian Dipasupil Kunimasa conveys the deep joy of intimacy, friendship, and love. Mesfakus Salahin evokes quiet moments of peace brought by a tender love. Sara Goyceli Serifova wishes to live a long time with her beloved partner, as her grandmother did.

Z.I. Mahmud examines the characters’ journeys out of self-absorption toward empathy and wonder in Antoine Saint-Exupery’s The Little Prince.

Layla Adhamova suggests that happiness is accessible to many people, not just the wealthy. Gullola Nuriddinova laments the betrayal of a lover who chose money over their beloved. Bill Tope’s short story illustrates a youthful form of justice against family favoritism and classism around the holidays.

Brian Barbeito conveys the wisdom of age in his piece on a friendship between a young boy and a kind elderly neighbor.

Haitmurodov Ismoil reflects on how a father’s love can sustain you throughout life. Azimbayeva Dilrabo gives a tribute to a caring father who passed away, Iroda Sherzod offers up a tribute to her caring and selfless father, and Rahmiddinova Mushtariy pays tribute to her father’s wisdom. Olimjonova Muslima pays tribute to her parents’ continued support all along her academic and personal journey.

Sobirjonova Rayhona shares tributes to beloved teachers here, here, and here. Shahnoza Ochildiyeva’s story illustrates how a teacher brought about justice in the classroom without shaming anyone. Shoxijaxon Urunov’s essay highlights how teachers accomplish so much more than imparting information.

Dilbar Koldoshova Nuraliyevna reflects on the difficulties and hard work of the creative life and her determination to pursue that path, as Kass probes the solitary inner drives of a literary artist.

Rick Reut tinkers with the arrangement of words in concrete poetry exploring time, memory, and language. Vernon Frazer’s words pop out of juxtaposed shapes and images while Mark Young serves up a heady word-marinade. Maftuna Yusufboyeva looks into a different way of using language, examining the role, goals, and purposes of advertising. Texas Fontanella links ideas and words and bursts of thought together in his Pound-inspired modern canto.

Federico Wardal spotlights the elegance and cultural history of Andrea Ceccomori’s San Francisco flute performances. David Sapp illuminates a moment of rapturous ecstasy in the view of sublime art. Dr. Jernail S. Anand’s poetry reminds us that the truth about history and humanity is often difficult to stomach and that art helps us process our knowledge. Thus, the literary arts are a worthy calling, despite the lack of remuneration.

Farangiz Abduvohidova analyzes the ancient Greek influence on some words in the Uzbek language. Muslima Murodova contributes a patriotic piece about Uzbekistan as Ismailov Shukurillo offers a paean to his Uzbek heritage and Jasmina Makhmasalayeva conveys her pride and joy in her Uzbek homeland.

Norova Zulfizar outlines various historical sites in Uzbekistan while Rustambekova Nozimakhon sketches life in her neighborhood, showing her pride in her community. Khalida Nuray’s poem urges people of Turkish ancestry to rise up and defend and protect their homeland and culture.

S.C. Flynn’s poetry illustrates the tragedies of incomplete journeys and transformations: beautiful thoughts, creatures, and relationships that never develop into what they are meant to be.

Taylor Dibbert’s poem reflects the quiet anxiety many Americans felt over the 2024 presidential election. In a similar vein, Daniel De Culla satirizes Donald Trump’s values and personality through poetry and a photo. Pat Doyne bitterly calls out the United States’ less welcoming attitudes towards immigrants. John Ebute poetically seeks signs of life in his native and troubled Nigeria. Abigail George mourns the loss of life and the obfuscations of international politics in her poems on the war in Gaza. Alexander Kabishev ends his saga of the trauma of living in St. Petersburg under siege. David Woodward reflects on broken American political systems with concrete poetry using absurdist forms.

In a more general vein, Anvarova Nilufar laments the harsh state of the world and human nature. Goyibnazarov Abdulla reminds us how people often overestimate their abilities and knowledge.

Mykyta Ryzhykh’s undercapitalized works evoke the barren, alienated landscape of modern life. J.J. Campbell offers up a bah-humbug to the festive season, showing overworked cashiers, commercialism, pain, racism, and loneliness behind the holiday mood. Jim Meirose sends up a quirky tale for the season of online electronics shopping.

Tempest Miller explores memory, trauma, and the absurdity of existence through his pieces on zebras, crocodiles, industry, and nature. Jake Cosmos Aller revels in the surreal wild spirit of a crazy night of passion and booze. Paul Costa uses the language of Western-style adventures to highlight struggles within and among people.

Ilhomova Mohichehra reflects on human vulnerability and on gratitude for her health. Graciela Noemi Villaverde reflects poetically on the loss of a great love. Mahbub Alam also mourns an absence that has become visceral and inescapable. Philip Butera’s poetry explores personal and relational grief, loneliness, and the desire to escape from oneself. Christopher Bernard expresses similar sentiments in his poetic tribute to writer Marvin R. Hiemstra and other deceased writers, which focuses less on than on the individuals who passed and more on the implacability and universality of death.

Christina Chin presents a third round of collaborative tan-renga, this time with M.R. Defibaugh. Its protagonists bring a quiet determination to face unexpected twists of fate.

Maja Milojkovic presents a glorious vision for the world, where everyone enjoys peace, freedom, and mutual respect. We hope that this publication brings Earth a step closer to that goal. Please enjoy the issue!

Right Between the Eyes

When I was very little, my family used to visit my dad’s mother twice a year: once during summer vacation when school was out and again in December, for the Christmas holidays. The main thing on our minds during Those trips was, would the old jalopy my dad drove make It all the way to Franklin County, located about 100 miles South of our home, which was just across the Mississippi From St. Louis.

Bessie lived in a one-time mining Community called Buckner, named after an incompetent Confederate general who served during the Civil War. We were joined at these get-togethers at my grandma’s House by my Aunt Blanche, my dad’s sister, and her husband Art and their two children, David and Christine.

Now, the Millers were everything that we weren’t: my dad worked in a glass factory as “unskilled labor,” while Uncle Art was a Foreman at General Motors in Flint, Michigan. Which meant that Art made about three times as much money as my dad. And never let us forget it.

Where my mom had dropped out of high school at 16 and my Dad never went beyond the 7th grade–he enrolled in FDR’s Civilian Conservation Corps during the Depression, probably helping to grade the park where you grill your hotdogs on the Fourth Of July or making the redwood benches at the forest lodge you use come Autumn–the Millers were “educated,” which in those days meant they had finished high school. Aunt Blanche had even had a year or so of secretarial school, making her the family intellectual; she was very much looked up to!

She had worked for Public Assistance, which in those days was called “Relief.” Being mean to poor people gave her an additional sense of superiority. Dad’s sister’s family always seemed to arrive at Grandma’s at the same time that we did. Perhaps it was a coincidence; maybe Uncle Art Just wanted to show off the new Cadillac he bought every year. In any event, the Millers always commandeered the one spare bedroom, leaving my parents to rough it with the kids, scattered across the living room floor. I guess it had something to do with Dad being the older brother who had always helped take care of his sister, the “baby” of the family. He had helped pay for the secretarial school she had attended, a fact no one ever mentioned.

And so it was one Christmas when I was four years old; my brother Gary was eleven; David was six, and Christine two. During these adventures, my brother always seemed to escape, to pal around with his “hoodlum” friends; wherever he went, he must have sought them out, because he sure found them. More on that at another time. As we pushed through Grandma’s door, we beheld there on the hardwood floor a miracle: the tallest, fullest, most beautiful Christmas Tree that– Even to this day–I ever saw. There were crystal, sharp, brilliant lights– Not like the old ones I was used to, where the red paint on the bulbs was scraping off–in all kinds of magical shapes: doves, reindeer, ginger bread men, Santas and many others.

They glowed bright and clear as Stars. There were the “perpetual motion” ornaments, with little seesaws or propellers which were powered by the heat of the nearby Christmas lights, and the millions of shimmering icicles. Someone had spent long, arduous hours hanging them individually, no one touching the other and each strand reflecting the vivid colors of the ornaments and lights. They were like metal–probably lead-based in those days–stalactites hanging in a Christmas grotto. There were miniature Nativity scenes–done in wood, not the plastic that you see today–with each individual wise man and angel clearly delineated in pewter. There was even a very tiny silvery Christ Child in the creche. Elaborate sun-colored garlands were draped majestically over the boughs, like strands of Golden Fleece. These were intermingled With others, thicker and fluffier and red as the planet Krypton. And the scent of that balsam fir was–heavenly.

And there were presents! Literally scores of beautiful, individually wrapped Christmas presents, all swathed in the finest, prettiest wrapping paper I had ever seen. I wondered, how could any present do justice to such wonderful wrappings? I just stood rapt and absorbed the scene, admiring. My dad said, “Lotta presents this year.” “Yeah, and most of them are probably for Christine and David,” my mother muttered darkly. It didn’t quite register at the time, just what she meant, but I understood later.

I knew that my folks had bought David some more of his seemingly unending supply of comic books and they had gotten for Christine a special friction toy, a kind of large top. When you pressed down on the handle, it spun madly around, rather like a gyroscope, with a fairy princess display encased within the glass bubble, which would unfold and sparkle as music played. I was convinced it had been created by magic elves.. It was a marvel. When mom grumbled about the price, I sagely pointed out that if Santa were going to get Christine a gift anyway, then why did she need to? To my memory, that question went unanswered.

I had badly wanted to play with It before it was wrapped–even if it was a girl’s toy–but my mother admonished me not to break it. “Christine will do that soon enough,” she conjectured wryly. We had dinner: turkey, of course, like a scene out of a Norman Rockwell Illustration; all the trimmings. But that was just a requisite prelude to the real order of the day: the presents, the lucre, the loot! “What if, when I open a present, I don’t like it!” David asked obtusely. Duh! It was a present, you goof! You can’t but like it. What was the matter with this character?

“Just say you like it,” whispered Blanche, glancing furtively at my mom and dad.. “We discussed this, David.” Apparently, his expectations weren’t too high in the present department. My jaw jutted out in resentment at the callous jab at my parents. Finally, we all sat around on the floor to open the presents. David had a big bag of Christmas candy that he wouldn’t share. I may have growled at him. Well, truer words my mom never spoke: virtually every present there was for Christine and David. David got an electric train; David got a new red wagon; David got a first baseman’s mitt; and on and on. Christine didn’t do badly either. These were the days before Barbie dolls and G.I. Joes or else my cousins would have had dozens of each.

Christine was relishing no less than six baby dolls–Tiny Tears was big then–and a crib to put them in, clothes to dress them in, and on and on again. Forgotten was the neat new friction top that my dad had worked two and a half hours to earn the money to buy. That was left idle, still in its box, the wrapping paper scarcely disturbed.

All It had gotten out of my cousin was a petulant, “I don’t like it!” I could have swatted her like a fly. Grandma got a lot of fussy “old lady stuff” from her children and their spouses. Blanche got a fur coat of some sort that she paraded around in for what seemed like hours, and Art got yet another pipe, like the ones you saw on the back cover of Esquire magazine, with the bright yellow bowls. I don’t believe my parents received anything more than a package of new handkerchiefs apiece, from grandma.. But they were mollified; Christmas was for kids, after all.

My older brother got a cool Timex watch with an expandable metal band, which was all the rage at the time. My parents had spent $10–like $150 Now–to buy that watch because they didn’t want their oldest son to be embarrassed by his Christmas gift in front of the snooty Millers; I was proud of him, too. Of course, David had to upstage him up brandishing His new “chronometer,” like the “kind the frogmen use.” Sea Hunt was also very big back in the day. Lloyd Bridges was a star! What did I get? A tiny cap pistol with a translucent orange plastic handle. I stared down at it, not sure what to say.

While David and Christine were reveling in their loot, I stood there. forlorn, because I didn’t see anything else for me. Whenever I made to select a present, David would jump up and shout, “Mine! Mine!” and snatch it out of my hands. What did I know? I was four years old; I couldn’t read the gift tags. I thought to myself, why did Santa double-cross me? He seemed to like the Millers so much more. Everything in the world seemed to belong to my cousins. My mom touched my shoulder gently and murmured, “There’s no more in there for You, honey.” I caught Dad’s eye and he gave me one of his grins that crinkled his eyes. I knew then that things would be alright.

The pistol hung down limply from my hand. I blinked, but no tears came. Next, my cousin walked up. David glanced down at my pistol, looked over at his Official Roy Rogers Six-Guns–with the real leather holster–then looked back at my tiny cap pistol, and he laughed. He laughed! Ever since that night I’ve felt like I owed my cousin David a punch in the stomach. Sure, I was disappointed that I hadn’t gotten more gifts, but I really felt bad for my parents, whom I loved very much and I knew wanted so much to make me happy.

For my dad, who worked four times harder than Uncle Art but who gleaned so much less from his paycheck; and my Mom, who scrubbed other women’s floors, on her hands and knees, for a buck an hour! So I aimed that wonderful cap pistol with the translucent orange handle–which I have to this day–squarely between David’s eyes and defiantly I pulled the trigger. And ended him!

(Central Asian teen girl with long dark hair, dark eyes, earrings, and black and white striped vest and pants over a white collared shirt, standing in a school hallway with posters on the wall)

Analysis of the Greek capital words in the letter “P”.

Abduvahidova  Farangiz 

3rd stage student of Samarkand State University named after Sharof Rashidov

Annotation: the article contains comments about the borrowed words that entered the Uzbek language from the Greek language. In addition, a list of Greek words, their spelling and explanation is provided. The history of the creation of the Greek language is also covered.

Key words: Greek, layer, language, analysis, annotation, sample.

The Uzbek language is one of the languages ​​with an ancient history. The Uzbek language went through many stages and periods before reaching this level. During this period, the number of lexemes increased, some words came from foreign languages. As a result of the addition of Uzbek suffixes to the words that came from this foreign language, the layer of Uzbek words became richer.

In connection with the serious changes in the structure of the Uzbek language dictionary, there was a need to create an explanatory dictionary that meets the requirements of the time, and under the leadership of our Academician A. Hojiyev, the Institute of Uzbek Language, Literature and Folklore of the Academy of Sciences of the Republic of Uzbekistan ( 5-volume “Annotated Dictionary of the Uzbek Language” was created and published by a group of lexicographers of the former Alisher Navoi Institute of Language and Literature. This source contains about 80,000 words and phrases that are widely used in the Uzbek literary language, terms related to the fields of science, art, culture and technology, historical terms and words used in the dialect. . 

In 2020, this annotated dictionary was revised under the editorship of Abduvahob Madvaliyev, Ph.D. reprinted and made available to the general public.

The Greek language is at the initial stage in the history of the Greek language – mill. Av. It was used from the 14th-12th centuries to the 1st-4th centuries AD (now a dead language); the ancient language of the Greeks. Together with the ancient Macedonian language, it forms a separate Greek group in the family of Indo-European languages.

There are a total of 1047 words starting with the letter P in the explanatory dictionary of the Uzbek language. These words are formed with a layer of self and assimilation. Borrowed words came from Persian, Greek, Latin, German, French and Russian languages. 115 of these words came from the Greek language. Here is a list of some of them.

1) Pielet – inflammation of the kidney cup 

2) Easter is a holiday dedicated to the resurrection of Jesus, the founder of this religion, in the Orthodox sect of Christianity. 

3) Patriarchy – the era of patriarchy, the period when men dominated family, economic and social relations after the matriarchy of the primitive system.

4) Pathos – high spirit, enthusiasm, joy.

5) A pen is a writing and drawing tool that is used to write with ink, ink, etc.  

6) Perigee – the closest point of the moon’s orbit or the orbit of the earth’s satellite to the earth. 

7) Perimeter – the length of a closed curve (for example, the perimeter of a polygon is equal to the sum of all its sides)

8) Pegology is the teaching of children

9) Peritonitis – peritoneum

10) Pantheism – God

11) Papax- telpak

12) Paragraph is the name of the title of a text, such as a book or an article, which has independence in terms of meaning

13) Parabola – I) open, flat curve; formed by the intersection of a right cone with a plane parallel to one of its constituents. II) an ironic image with a symbol in fiction; a literary genre between a symbol and a symbolic story

14) Paradigm – I) a system of language units, grammatical forms united by their general meaning, different according to their specific meaning II) a system of forms of a word’s variation or inflection.

15) Paradox – a traditional thought accepted by the majority, an unexpected thought, reasoning that sharply contradicts experience with its content and form.

16) Parasite – gratuitous, sycophantic

17) Paco – ancient

18) Paleography is a science that studies ancient manuscripts and writings, the history of the creation of written signs and their appearance (writing method, letter shape, type of writing material, etc.).

19) Paleolithic – the oldest stone age, era.

20) Pandemic – spread of an epidemic disease throughout one country, several countries or continents

21) Panzooteia is a very rapid and widespread spread of an infectious disease among animals throughout the country, several countries, and continents.

22) Panorama – I) a surrounding view of a place visible to the far horizon. II) type of fine art; a very large picture, which is painted horizontally on the wall of a circular hall, looks like a real scene to the viewer.

23) Psyche – the first archival part of compound words of international assimilation: it means connection to psyche, psyche  

24) prophylaxis – I) a set of measures aimed at maintaining people’s health, preventing the occurrence and spread of diseases, improving the physical development of the population and ensuring a long life. II) in general, measures to be taken to prevent an incident, mechanisms, machines from premature failure, damage 

25) protocol is a document drawn up by a responsible person and confirming an event or situation 

26) proton – a stable elementary particle, a component of the atomic nucleus with a positive electric charge; the nucleus of light hydrogen

27) prosthesis – a device made in the shape of an organ of the body or placed in place of a damaged or removed organ (for example, an artificial hand, an artificial tooth) 

28) problem – problem

29) prologue – introduction

Greek accusatives also have features of morphemes and polysemy. Words such as paxa, parasite, protocol, prologue have many meanings; Similarity of form is evident in words such as parabola, prophylaxis, paranoma, and paradigm. In addition, many terms related to mathematics, history and mother tongue are borrowed from Greek. We can see these in the example of words like parabola, paradigm, pathos, patriarchy, perimeter, psyche and paragraph.  

List of used literature:

1) An explanatory dictionary of the Uzbek language. – Moscow: “Russian language” publishing house, 1981.

2) An explanatory dictionary of the Uzbek language. – Tashkent: “Uzbekistan National Encyclopedia” State Scientific Publishing House, 2006-2008.

3) An explanatory dictionary of the Uzbek language. – Tashkent: Gafur Ghulam publishing house, 2022.

4) uz.m.wikipedia.org.

5) www.ziyouz. com.

6) comment.uz

 

The first stage is the stage

 The stage is a little bit more 

 The first stage of stage 

One and then I will have 

 The Last Stage in o my room

The next day and the next 

Morning the next morning 

 The next night we are in bed 

 The next night I am awake 

 Another night I have to go 

The only way owning my 

The World is if I’m not able

Akmalova Zebokhan Akobirkhan Kimyo International University in Tashkent Primary education 1st stage student Family 

A tree

You grow from the ground,
If you have fruit, you are prey.
Your head is always proud,
Proud of you as well.

You stayed in the winter, my dear,
But you see my house.
You in the autumn month,
Get rich in gold.

In the spring you bloomed,
You sent elegance.
Even in the summer you are dressed,
You've had your fill of green.


Ilhomova Mohichehra, 8th grade of the 9th general secondary school of Zarafshan city, Navoi region

Ilhomova Mohichehra Azimjon's daughter was born on August 22, 2010 in the city of Zarafshan, Navoi region. Member of the Republican "Creative Children" club. She is interested in writing poetry.She is interested in writing poetry. Author of many poems. Her poems are regularly published in Uzbek and English languages in prestigious magazines of Uzbekistan, Africa and Germany and she is the holder of many diplomas and certificates. In addition, she has won many international certificates. She participated in competitions and won various prizes.

Her poems were also performed on the radio station "Uzbekistan radio" in Uzbekistan. Her poems were published in "Raven Cage" magazine of Germany, "Kenya times" of Africa, and "Smile" magazine of Uzbekistan. Mohichehra's poems appeared on the Google network. Taking an active part in competitions organized by the "Creative Children" club throughout the year, she also received a 1st degree diploma and souvenirs. Her books "Buyuk orzular" and "Samo yulduzlari" are sold all over the world.