Thursday, October 04, 2012

“Fishnet Mom”


       
c.2012 Rod Ice
All rights reserved
(9-2012)


It was a cool afternoon at the Icehouse. Fall colors were everywhere. I had decided to enjoy a moment of leisure time on the front porch, with my guitar. A copy of the Maple Leaf waited on our wicker table. The breeze rustled its pages gently, while I strummed along. With a light Country & Western melody in the air, I began to read a headline that fluttered in the wind.

“Fishnet Mom gets 10 months in jail,” I whispered. “The Hiram mother of three arrested last October wearing nothing but fishnet and high heels will spend the next 10 months in the Geauga County Safety Center for her indiscretions, which include operating a motor vehicle under the influence.”

Riley, our Black Lab, who was stretched out by my chair, raised his head with curiosity.
“Fishnet Mom,” I sang out loud. “Fishnet Mom…”

Loose words began to flow. I took out a notebook and scribbled lyrics while improvising a chord pattern.
Suddenly, a yellow Buick pulled into the driveway. It was my neighbor, Judy Hudepohl, from across the street.

She rolled down the window. “Is this a free concert, Rodney?”

I could see that she was dressed in typical gardening attire. A plaid scarf covered her unruly, gray hair.
“Consider it an ‘open microphone’ event,” I laughed. “Anyone can sing along.”

She took a seat in the porch swing. “I haven’t seen you with a guitar in months!”

“No,” I agreed. “Too busy this year. I worked right through the summer.”

“Well then,” she observed, “some relaxation will do you good.”

“My family has always complained that work manages to creep into everything we do,” I confessed. “There is always another story… and here, it has happened again.”

Judy was puzzled. “What do you mean?”

My head bowed, slowly. “I came out on the porch just to play guitar. But then, a story in the newspaper caught my attention. And I was back in work mode… writing another feature…”

She pondered for a moment. “Story in the paper?”

I reached for the Maple Leaf issue. “Chardon Municipal Court Judge Terri Stupica sentenced Erin Holdsworth, 29, to 18 months in jail, six months of which were suspended. Holdsworth previously had pleaded no contest to four misdemeanor charges: OVI, driving under suspension, refusing to take a blood alcohol test and fleeing and eluding police.”

My neighbor shook her head. “So, why did that report grab your attention?”

“It was the headline above Glen Miller’s story,” I answered. “Fishnet Mom goes to jail. That is priceless, don’t you agree?”

Judy wrinkled her nose. “Rodney, I think you have a twisted sense of humor.”

“Not at all,” I protested, quietly. “Listen to what I have been writing, this afternoon…”

With a smile, I began to sing:

Fishnet Mom, you turn me on
But why, I have no clue
Perhaps it is, because your trip
Has brightened up the news

Fishnet Mom, you spur me on
Spinning on four wheels
I read the headline, so divine
‘Wild mother in high heels’

Fishnet Mom, this is your song
A verse or two, in haste
A NASCAR drive, through the night
With the Sheriff giving chase

Fishnet Mom, you bring the dawn
To a world, gray and black
Your outlaw run is finished
But your fame keeps coming back

Fishnet Mom, you turn me on
But I must be discrete
I think of you
Flashing red and blue
In the driver’s seat

Fishnet Mom, a night gone wrong
In jail for a spell
But years from now, on morrow’s brow
You’ll have a tale to tell

Fishnet Mom, you make me want
To see you on TV
With Dr. Phil, or Springer
A star-struck ride, complete

Fishnet Mom, a media bomb
I just can’t look away
I follow you, like I’m stuck on glue
Bonnie Parker on parade

Fishnet Mom, wild and strong
Better run for cover
You’re Geauga-proud, but a bit too loud
This taste of fame is over

Fishnet Mom, you bring the calm
Of promise now fulfilled
We write for pay, and bless the day
That you gave us a thrill


Judy shuddered with disbelief. “You are really going to submit that to your editor?”

“Not sure,” I declared. “Still, you must admit it makes a great story.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Rodney, I am speechless.”

“Why?” I stammered. “Don’t you realize what Ms. Holdsworth has done for us in Geauga? Her story is the most compelling tale since Bill Armstrong, the ‘Bulldozer Man.’ This is journalistic gold!”

“GOLD?” she shouted.

I nodded in wordless affirmation.

My neighbor sighed loudly. “So, what’s next? Recording your song for radio airplay?”

“Sounds like a great idea,” I nodded. “A friend of mine works at WKKY in Geneva.”


Judy squawked like a wounded hen. “That’s eeeeeeenough!”

“Kidding!” I apologized. “Just kidding…”

She jumped into her Buick. Gravel flew as her tires spun for traction.

I put down my guitar, at last. The musical tribute was complete. Somewhere, the ‘Fishnet Mom’ was serving her sentence in a county facility. But for now, only one priority remained – a need to finish another column for the newspaper.

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