{"id":98,"date":"2006-03-25T09:56:08","date_gmt":"2006-03-25T09:56:08","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.buffyholt.com\/blog\/?p=98"},"modified":"2008-08-30T02:37:13","modified_gmt":"2008-08-30T02:37:13","slug":"i-tell-you-what","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.buffyholt.com\/blog\/2006\/03\/25\/i-tell-you-what\/","title":{"rendered":"i tell you what"},"content":{"rendered":"

I like stories. Full of everything-real and colour. <\/p>\n

Small, heavy words soaked with life. Words you can’t find in a dictionary and couldn’t spell even if you tried. <\/p>\n

Words that mean more than they ought – because they’re so little and all. <\/p>\n

I want to be a storyteller. But my tone is never right. My words always fall short. I stutter and turn sideways and focus too much on grammar and intellect and forget what it’s all about.<\/p>\n

I’m no good at telling stories. My grandfather is. So I steal his voice, because I know he won’t mind. <\/p>\n

It’s soft, deep gravel that goes Boom Boom Boom and “Boy, I tell you what”<\/em>. It reminds you of wise men from the East, turned Appalachia, and a little boy running through the mountains with no daddy and no shoes. <\/p>\n

When he remembers, you see it in his eyes. When he tells stories, he does it with his hands. <\/p>\n

They wave and jump and spread to the tune of him. There’s life in them, and when they still, so will he. <\/p>\n

They’re hold-up-mountain strong; and that’s no play on words. That’s what they did. For years. <\/p>\n

William was a roof bolter. <\/p>\n

He drove steel spikes into the ceiling of the mountain. Sandwiched the layers together so they wouldn’t fall. Machines do it now. Pa did it with his hands. <\/p>\n

Hands that were crushed and broken. He had his fingers cut off the week I was born. They sewed ’em back on. Crooked. One without its tip. He plays the piano with them now. <\/p>\n

Hands that laugh and cry and hold the mountain off your back. <\/p>\n

Full of stories of life’s been hard ….. but ain’t it grand!<\/em> <\/p>\n

\"Pa\"<\/center><\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

I like stories. Full of everything-real and colour. Small, heavy words soaked with life. Words you can’t find in a dictionary and couldn’t spell even if you tried. Words that mean more than they ought – because they’re so little and all. I want to be a storyteller. But my tone is never right. My<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[7,5],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-98","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-hum-drum","category-photography"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.buffyholt.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/98","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.buffyholt.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.buffyholt.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.buffyholt.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.buffyholt.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=98"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/www.buffyholt.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/98\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.buffyholt.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=98"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.buffyholt.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=98"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.buffyholt.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=98"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}