In a Different World

Orange Girl

2009-07-23T06:56:00.002-04:00

She has absolutely nothing to do with the brain damage. This I am certain of. The first time I saw her I was fine, absolutely, perfectly fine. Now she is my constant silent companion. Well, she is not really my companion. I just enjoy looking for her and feel like I have won some sort of prize when I find her among the other people. Her name is Amanda. Actually, Amanda is what I call her, just to keep things simple. To me she is Amanda the orange princess.

Baggy orange sweat pants that hang down over the elastic and onto tiny, white velcro shoes. Her clothes are clean, she is well taken care of. Not poor, no, she is not poor, not like some of the children who come into the hospital covered in dirt and little else. I have grown to like her silly leopard print sweatshirt. While shopping I find myself looking for that pattern, hoping to find my own silly shirt. I had a leopard print bathing suit many years ago. I think I was ten. I’ve seen pictures.

I suspect that Amanda is deaf, possibly also dumb. Whenever I have tried to talk to her my effort is met with a blank stare. She is always looking straight ahead. Could she be blind as well? Her little face holds the intensity and complacency of an eighty seven year old man. Endless possibilities for expression remaining blank, unseeing and uncaring. This may be how she would seem to the casual observer, uncaring. I am not a casual observer.

Amanda is always peeling an orange. What a strange occupation for a three year old deaf, dumb and blind girl to have! Occasionally I catch her placing a small sliver from one of those plump little oranges into her tiny mouth. I’ve never seen her chew or swallow the fruit. It is as if she places it on her tongue only to relish the flavor and not to sustain the body.

I go to the hospital almost every day. Sometimes I’m there to see one of the sixteen thousand doctors who want to fix me. Other times, I think the doctors only want to study me. Being studied sucks. I feel like a million piece puzzle in shades of gray. Those study doctors, they only want to put all the pieces into the right spot in order to create a flat gray surface.

Knowing how bad it feels to just be studied I try not to let Amanda know, I try not to make it obvious that she is my puzzle, my leopard print puzzle.
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Thoughts of wizards, witches and buckets full of water penetrate my otherwise unpleasant thought processes, forcing my lips to smile. A can or two of yellow paint... Oz comes to Hong Kong.

The alley is between two fruit vendors, just beyond the meat & fish market. A deep breath confirms my aromatic preference for fruit and flowers over the mountains of flesh just around the corner. A tornado of color, disguised as people, produce, product, has been rushing past me for hours now. My feet hurt, I am seriously entertaining the thought of mutiny.

The camera in front of the man understands my pain. I can wait here while he goes back to the meat market for a few more shots. A quick kiss and he is off to immortalize the moment. I am alone in an alley and he is content with only his camera for companionship. What a perfect moment to be caught forever on film. I have no doubt the result will be a treat for the eyes.

Another deep breath and I begin to relax. I am standing there, watching the lives of hundreds, thousands, of people, pondering the essence of existence, mine and theirs, wondering what matters and what does not. I once saw a play, in Atlanta, I think. Faust. Toward the end everything moved so quickly that I was unable to comprehend the meaning. There was a message and I missed it. Could I be making the same mistake now?

There is a fair amount of foot traffic in my alley. Exotic people purchasing exotic fruit and those less than exotic moving toward the building at the end of the alley, many of them carrying recently purchased flowers. I am not alone, nor am I an any danger. As my eyes follow a basket of flowers leading a little old man and his cane I notice that there is a sign on the door of the building. Ruttonjee Hospital. My little alley is also a place where people come to for help.

Her leopard print shirt instantly catches my eye. As I watch she grabs an orange from a basket and looks up at the woman I assume to be her mother with a determination that is almost exclusively reserved for little ones. Suddenly the little thing turns, replacing the first orange, runs to the other end of the display and decides upon this, the perfect orange. I feel myself falling instantly in love. With the orange or the girl; perhaps a combination of the two? A princess and her orange!

I stand there trying not to obviously stare at the little girl pealing her orange. She knows I am watching her. Defiance reigns on that dot of a face. Each piece of rind falls to the ground once it is liberated from the fruit center, piling up at her feet. I begin thinking of the thousands of oranges before, wanting to know the thoughts of this princess and transporting myself back to a time when all that mattered was finding the succulent, sweet and tangy pulp within and savoring it.

"What type of orange is that?" I ask the returning photographic genius. "I don't know." he says and starts to walk away.

"No, look at her." and he does, and he sees. This is one of the things that matters.

What he sees I can not say. Perhaps he sees all the oranges of his past or projects all the future oranges in his life? Perhaps he is allowed a glimpse into the quiet determination of my little princess, a reflection of self? Perhaps he too falls instantly in love. Perhaps we two can find help in an alley that is also the entrance to a hospital.
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He gave me flowers that day, beautiful tulips of white, pink, orange and green. Then he died. He died and I have brain damage. Not exactly the ending I wanted.

The doctors won’t let me leave Hong Kong. Something about the cabin pressure of an airplane worries them. So I stay. I had them put his body on a plane back to France and here I stay.

My daughter calls almost every day. Mostly I let the phone ring, she leaves a message: “Mom, mom, I know your there. Please answer. I’m getting so worried about you. The kids would love to see you. Please come to San Francisco. I can buy you a ticket, just to visit, so the kids can see you, so I can see you. OK, call me back and let me know, please.”

I’ve told her a hundred times that I’m not allowed to leave. She doesn’t listen, never did.
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Some days I sit at the corner of Queen’s Road and Spring Garden Lane, where it happened. I can sit for hours. The Lady gave me a chair last time I was there. She said I could use the chair when I came to pray, I think she said pray. I can sit in the chair and watch the traffic as it passes by. All I have to remember is to put the chair back inside the wall of windows when I leave.
I love my new chair but sometimes I still like to sit on the sidewalk. I stay right against the windows so that no one accidentally runs over me.

Amanda is never here. I wish she would come here with me. I talk to her anyway.
Sometimes I count the convertibles, or red cars, or delivery trucks, whatever strikes me as interesting. I can count anything I want. Sometimes I just count the flowers across the street, so many beautiful flowers.

Going to the corner has a calming effect on me. If I am confused or sad or just lonely I can go to that corner and find peace. Before the accident I never realized the healing power that a building or piece of sidewalk could have on a person. I know so much more now.
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It was hard when he died. It doesn’t get any easier, not yet anyway.

At least a dozen times I have thought about taking all of his things, clothes, music, furniture, everything, and getting rid of it. If I could somehow find the strength to do that, to move forward, maybe then I would feel better. Maybe then I would move on with my life.

Then I think about my face, the scar across my forehead where his camera hit me as it flew out of his hands. I imagine his body flying over the red convertible and slamming onto the ground just before the delivery truck ran over him. I didn’t actually see the delivery truck run him over. What I do remember is the sound. Thousands, possibly tens of thousands of pounds of steel rapidly decelerating as it obliterates one woman’s reality makes a very distinctive sound. I imagine a bullet sounding like that truck, a bullet the size of a small house.

I’m not certain I am ready to move on with my life. What is the correct amount of time for grief? I asked the lady at the library, I think it was the library, perhaps it was somewhere else. The lady was never able to give me an appropriate answer to my question.

I had a cup of mocha in my hand and an English newspaper on my lap, USA Today. Amanda was sitting across from me in an overstuffed, purple, leather chair. She kept hiding her orange in the massive folds of leather the color of eggplant. Leather worn and stretched over decades of use apparently makes for a good game of hide and seek.

The chair reminded me of my mother’s house, when I was grown. Nothing was perfect, everything was well worn, old, and, perhaps even tired, like me. In a place where nothing fits together nothing is out of place. __________________________________________________________________________________
Yesterday I was sitting on the floor in our apartment, putting together a puzzle of the Eiffel Tower at night. He gave me the puzzle for my birthday in November. 2,500 pieces. I find it strangely relaxing to sit working on a puzzle and listening to music, Franz Ferdinand. There are candles burning, their lavender scent reminds me of walking the streets of downtown Niort in the rain. It is almost like being transported to another time, another city, another me.

When you have brain damage you can never be certain if what you think is happening is really happening, at least I can’t.

I know it was fake, knew it as it was happening, my imagination playing tricks again. It has to be my imagination. After all he is dead. But, also, because just before he showed up, knocking at the door, I was wishing he would come home. Willing him to appear and make everything better again is what I was doing. Hoping for the impossible, wanting something so badly that my mind made it happen.

First there was just a tapping sound, as if someone were out there knocking on my door. The noise startled me; I was confused for a minute. I decided to just sit there and work on the puzzle. Sometimes if I pretend the illusion isn’t bothering me, if I focus really hard on reality, then the hallucinations will go away. Dr. Hun taught me that.

He is knocking hard now, calling my name, wanting me to open the door, wanting to talk to me, to see me, to know I am safe.

I scan for a single exterior piece among the two thousand plus pieces, looking for the one piece to finish the border. The border is the easiest place to start, because all the pieces have a single straight edge. After a few minutes of focusing on the puzzle with my back to the door I sense a presence in the room. I didn’t hear the door open, or close, the “presence” is just my imagination. I know that if I don’t focus all of my attention on the puzzle, the one thing I know to be true, I will become lost in another fantasy.

When I feel his hand on my shoulder heaven and hell collide within me. Heaven; all I want is his touch. Hell; I know this is not real. Tears fill my eyes, making it hard to focus on anything. I can see the lone straight edge among the thousands of jumbled pieces, as I cautiously reach for that special piece everything becomes a blur. My eyes are no longer reliable.

Five senses, people have five senses that, when properly utilized, make up their reality. Sight, sound, smell, touch, and taste. “Melissa, look at me.” My eyes refuse to open as the music continues: “I know I won’t be leaving here, I know I won’t be leaving here, I know I won’t be leaving here, with you . . .” My ability to hear what is real, gone.

I think about Amanda. She lives life without being able to see or hear. This thought gives me strength. If what I see and hear is not reality then I will pretend not to. I curl up into a tight ball on the floor, as if I were sleeping. Dreams are easier than illusions.

I can feel his touch, a touch that can never be true. I hear his voice, whispering to me, causing the music in the background to fade into nothing. The scent of lavender that I found so relaxing is gradually replaced. Garlic and cigarettes. I can’t believe he is smoking again. Even death can’t stop that addiction.

The rest of the afternoon is mostly a blur. I know that my imaginary lover, my dead lover, stayed for a long time. I know that he talked of pictures, plane rides and accidents. I can vaguely remember him yelling at me, shaking me, holding me and crying. He said I should not love him. He told me to go back to America that I would never recover here.

When I awoke several hours later I noticed two things almost immediately. The first was not too surprising, my tongue was swollen. Sometimes, when the pain and confusion is too much, I bite my tongue. There is something about the localized pain combined with that salty flavor that helps me to put everything back into perspective. When I was in the hospital I learned that trick.
The other thing was that the television and radio were missing. How could I have been robbed while curled up in a ball on the living room floor?
__________________________________________________________________________________
Dr. Hun told me today that I’m getting better. He said that I don’t have to come to the hospital every day, I can come just when I feel confused and one of the nurses will help me. It was the only time I’ve ever seen him smile, smiling when he told me I was getting better every day.
I didn’t have the heart to tell him about yesterday. He was so proud thinking I was fixed, thinking he had fixed me. How could I ruin it for him? What kind of person would I be if I took that away?

The nurses don’t know what they are doing. I can never imagine a set of circumstances that would necessitate my coming to them for help. They are not helpful, they treat me like I am crazy. You would think that trained professionals would be better equipped to handle someone with brain damage in a way that doesn’t make them feel crazy! No, I will just stay away from the hospital for a while. I still have my corner.
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It turns out that I wasn’t robbed. I had, somehow, taken all of his possessions out of the apartment. This wasn’t the first time something like this had happened, little losses of time are normal with my type of injury, but it was the first time I accomplished something useful while in that state.
__________________________________________________________________________________
I am not calm. The healing power of my corner is forever shattered. There is a poster taped to the window. Amanda as I always see her; standing before the hospital in that silly leopard print shirt, peeling an orange. “Who killed me?” written below the picture in six different languages.

I run, run away, run, running from Amanda, she is everywhere. Running down Spring Garden over to Cross Street, then onto Wanchai Road, I see her face. Even when I stop, hiding in an alcove on Johnston Road her eyes remain on me, forcing me to see what I had worked to hide.
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He gave me flowers that day. Beautiful tulips of white, pink, orange and green.

It was turning into a sunny day as we drove down Queens Road.

We had just left our favorite coffee shop; Pacific Coffee Company.

We were driving his BMW convertible, red.

The traffic was fluid; it always is early on Sunday.
__________________________________________________________________________________
My mocha is still too hot to drink so I blow cool air into that tiny whole at the rim of the lid.

“Like a child” he says as he shifts gears and begins digging into his backpack behind my seat. “You look just like a child, a silly, beautiful child.“ I smile, I can do little else.

Finished rummaging through his bag, he pulls out his camera and turns it on. Laughing I take the wheel as he points the lens in my direction.

Screech.

It happens quickly, the blink of an eye, snap of the shutter.

Whack.

Blood running down my face.

“They will execute me, if I stay I die.”

“Go then, quickly.” My words are flat, mechanical.
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A Streetcar Named Desire

2009-07-06T10:24:00.001-04:00

Ladies and Gentlemen:

Auditions for Carroll County Community Theatre’s “A Streetcar Named Desire” written by Tennessee Williams, directed by Michelle, will be held Monday and Tuesday, July 20th and 21st at 7:00 at the Carrollton Cultural Arts Center. Production dates are September 24th through the 27th.

Parts are available for six men and six women, possibly more. We are also considering the possibility of having live music at certain parts of the production as well as pre-show and intermission, so, if you know any musicians please send them my way. Perusal scripts are available at the Cultural Arts Center.

There are still a few highly coveted technical positions still available at this time.

Please feel free to contact me if you have any questions about this amazing play or your ability to help us make some more magic on stage.

Do, PLEASE, tell all of your friends and relatives!!!!

Children

2009-02-23T20:51:00.006-05:00

We went to Supercross this weekend... I had never been, due to my overwhelming fear of crowds and lack of enthusiasm for motorcycles, the kids and I had a blast.
Please, never, ever, tell me that I am too hard on my three children. One of the reasons they stay out of trouble, for the most part, is because they know what consequences feel like.
The Daughter requested a piggy back ride from the Youngest. I will never make "mother of the year" letting the Daughter wear new shoes, cute little heals with bows on them, we must have walked 5 miles that day/night, ouch!
Mine, the Eldest, the future beach bum-or-college professor, is the one in the middle... I can't wait to show this to his children a few decades from now!

St. Petersburg, Russia February 7th - 15th, 2009

2009-02-18T10:03:00.007-05:00

The most beautiful city I have ever been to! Would be interested to see it in the summer.

Dido revisited

2008-11-26T21:32:00.001-05:00

I have a question about this one. Do you know the story I have decided to re-tell? I only ask because, apparently, my teacher does not, this concerns me. Should it?

This is not finished, no, not at all.

The lock sounds like an explosion1 in her head as it slides into place. She rests on the coolness of the door waiting for the pain to pass. Long ago the queen ordered the conversion of this cave into her own place of retreat. One brass door opening into the mountain, double doors lead outside to the cliff, fire and sea. Hundreds of hours she has spent here. Watching the water vainly attempt to break down the rocks below is the only meditation she knows.

Slowly she makes her way to where Anna has lit candles, their light casting shadows on wall and floor. Her feet strike the damp mosiac floor, slow beating drums. Smoke from the fire outside creeps through the opening and into the cave, crawling up the walls only to dissipate high above leaving behind its bitter sweet smell. Dark, spicy and masculine.

She finds a hastily written parchment near the candles:

“My sister, my queen,

You will find some theriac on the table next to the pitcher of water. I noticed your pain when we met in your rooms earlier today. My potion should only be taken in small amounts, too much could prove fatal.

Everything you requested, all that I found, is near the fire, as you desired. Perhaps here you will find some comfort and closure.

I hope you will stay, one day forgive me.

Your sister, your servant,

Anna”

She knows that she will not take the medicine, this needs to be felt, cherished even. Dido smiles. Anna always searched for comfort, even in the darkest of moments, especially for her beloved sister.

Her sister has done well. Next to the fire she has placed his effects in an orderly fashion. Sandals and sheets, his capes, cloaks and armor all separated and on display. At the end of the bench are his dagger and sword. The painting, commissioned by the queen herself, a man with his back to the sea, leans against the rock wall.

His dagger she places in her belt and absently fondles through the night as the fire burns and the piles, pieces of Aeneas, evaporate into smoke.

The fire is low, soft even. The moon is high, bright and almost full. Sailors would be safe on such an evening, if sailors there be. She feeds the fire long into the night; relishing the destruction of each item. Only while the pieces burn is there relief, then it is gone. Nothing remains where there once was flame.

As the painting turns to ash in the fire, her beautiful lover melting before her eyes, Dido removes the dagger from her belt and tosses it in the fire. Only now do the tears begin to silently roll down her face.

Once she was the flame, now, the nothing.

Revisions of an old one...

2008-11-26T21:29:00.000-05:00

This is the metamorphosis of the opening scene from a short play that I wrote several years ago, and never finished. I started working with these characters, among others, after reading a small news blurb online about authorities in Columbia arresting the worlds most prolific serial killer. I became fascinated with the idea of an ordinary man hiding a much darker side, and what happens to that man, and those he loves, when his dark side is brought into the light. These questions and I are not yet finished.

“Good morning. My name is Angela Gonzalez.” Angela stands in the small room, at the edge of the table, holding out her right hand, giving him a few seconds, then places her hand on the table. “I'm your court appointed attorney.” Still nothing, the man in the chair does not even look up at her.
She decides to allow the silence to grow. Retrieving from her briefcase a pad of paper and pencil, the tools of the trade, Angela allows the seconds to stretch onto themselves, she is in no hurry and her actions are designed to relay this information.
“And you are Luis Ui?” She says absent mindedly, as she shuffles through the complaint. This is not an uncommon occurrence for Angela, the initial silence, at least with the pro-bono clients. She already knows the name he has given the authorities is an alias, she even knows his real name, these things will take time for him to recognize, if at all, and only if necessary.
Putting down complaint, Angela takes a minute to examine the man sitting in front of her. She is not looking for the specifics, no, hair color, eye color, age, height, weight, these things she already knows from his processing paperwork. “May I call you Luis?”
As it is with all of her clients, he is poor, which is almost always a synonym for uneducated. Along with a lack of education often comes a lack of trust, a lack of faith in their fellow man. His real name, Garivito, not the alias he still claims as his own, suggests Latino descent.
He is small, not just short, but small, there is no fat surrounding his small frame, yet muscular, just on a smaller scale.
“Are they feeding you well enough? Is there anything I can get for you?” Slowly he looks up, no longer is the corner demanding all of his attention. There are tears in his eyes, he is not crying though, nor will he allow himself to blink, not until the moisture is no longer a threat.
Their eyes lock for only a second, it is Angela who looks away. Somehow the combination of strength and weakness in that one look has taken her breath away. Unexplainable, yet, undeniable.
“Do you know why you're here?”
Luis holds his hands to his chest, covering the “Property of Fulton County” patch on the front of his jumpsuit and sighs. “Do I know why I'm here? Do you know why I'm here? Porque estoy aqui? Saves porque estoy aqui?“ As if holding a small child he begins to rock himself back and forth in the chair. His eyes are now staring in the direction of the corner, yet, unfocused. “Te dan sufficiamente comida? Sufficiamente? Well enough?”
Looking straight at him, both hands flat on the table, leaning down towards the chair where he is seated. A stance of power is necessary. A show of fear, even in the slightest, would escalate the situation. “I'm here to help you.”
He suddenly stops rocking and speaks plainly. “Don't patronize me.” Slowly he turns his head towards Angela, and smiles.
The smile is contagious “I'm sorry” she says with a lilt in her voice. “How old are you Mr. Ui? May I call you Luis?”
Enunciating each word, giving them purpose and meaning like never before. As though he were speaking to a ghost, looking in every direction of the cinderblock room. “Will you stop with the questions? Questions, questions, questions.” Slowly, purposefully, exquisitely he begins to sway in his chair once again.
She takes a minute to sit, shuffling through the pages of the complaint, searching her mind, her training, for the next step. Seeking the right combination of authority and curiosity, hoping to keep any trace of her previous condescending tone from showing through in her voice. “Answer one question for me and I'll ask no more today. Simple enough. Do you agree?”
Like an actor in a role far superior to her ability Angela finds that her hands have little minds of their own, attempting to convey meaning with their movements, fluttering above the table, in front of her face and shoving themselves into her jacket pockets.
The rocking simply continues.
“Do you know why you're here?”
“Do I know why I'm here?” He quietly returns the question and resumes his rocking, refusing to look at her.
“Well, do you?”
Slamming his right hand on the table, his hand glides along the rim as if searching for an imperfection. He then begins tapping his palm on the edge. Luis continues to rock, matching the rhythm of his rocking with the tapping of his palm.
“I'm frightened.” there is no inflection, real or perceived, in his words. “When I get frightened people get hurt.”
Rather than tears this time Angela notices a bead of sweat rolling down his face, tracing his hair line and becoming lost below his chin. She is suddenly cold and can not help but pull her jacket closer to her body. Perhaps for warmth, perhaps for security? The only trace of her fear is shown in a quick glance towards the door.
Slowing his rocking motion “Two plus two is four, that's what God is for. I know that one.” Again, he slowly turns his gaze to Angela. There is something disturbing in the purposefulness with which he produces this slight action.
“Do you remember that one?” Once more his lips slowly turn into a smile, this time the smile reaches his eyes where there is a glint of genius quickly glimpsed by Angela. “My turn to ask the questions.”
Desperately trying to stay on topic, attempting to reestablish control of the conversation, Angela asks once more. “Do you know why you're here?”
“Two plus two is four, that's what God is for. I can never remember the rest. Tell me how it ends.” Luis asks in earnest.
“How it ends?” The words forming the question come out of her mouth before she realizes they are gone.
Her loss of control, giving him the lead in the conversation, allows Luis to smile, with a nod of appreciation to Angela. “What comes next? After God? I can't remember.”
Hands flat on the table, knuckles quickly turning white from the pressure she repeats her question. “Do you know why you are here?”
“Yes.”
“Will you tell me? Why are you here?” She says as she breathes a, hopefully, silent sigh of relief.
His eyes drift off back into the corner of the room, the rocking begins again, as if the past several minutes had not happened, any signs of playfulness from him are long gone.
“Because men with hats and guns and those, what do you call them? Those black stick looking things, they hang on their belts. I don't know how, but they do, they hang there until someone needs a good bashing. That's what they call it, you know, a good bashing."
“A billy club?” Damn, she did it again!
“Yes, a billy club. You win the prize!” With that he turns to fully face Angela, elbows barely toughing the table he clasps his hands together. “I'm afraid I don't have much to offer you. Limited funds and all.” He has returned to that playful character, the one which Angela is quickly finding irresistible in a repulsive sort of way.
“O.K., so, they brought me in here. Lovely room, don't you think?” He pauses, waiting for Angela’s reply, daring her to look at the room with the swipe of his hand. “Well, it may not be up to your standards but, compared to the rest of this hotel, this room is lovely, simple and lovely.” Their eyes meet once again. This time Angela focuses on the details, the length of his eyelashes, his clean shaven face, all in an attempt to calm something within herself. “Yes, simple and lovely, like you.”
Angela shakes her head, stepping back, trying to escape his touch as he reaches out for her. “Not this room, this is a jail. Do you know why you're in jail?”
Impulsively she begins packing her items back into the briefcase where they came from. Quietly, almost to herself. “I'm not a therapist. I don't think I can help you. You need a psychiatrist not a lawyer.”
“Lawyers get psychiatrists.” Luis states this as a he begins to stand, forcefully spitting out each word.
For a second there is no movement, no sound, only two people, each standing at opposite ends of a table, neither wanting to move first, neither able to stand still.
Angela resumes her packing, throwing a pen into the briefcase, not caring where it lands. “I sent one. You refused to talk to him.”
“I like talking to you. Your psychiatrist is, is” as if searching for the right word, while searching her eyes “well he’s a quack.”
“Quack?” Is all she can manage in reply.
His eyes are searching for something from her, her expression is left intentionally blank. “I like talking to you.” His words glide through the air, attempting to seduce her, pleading for tenderness.
Finding the anger within her boiling, rapidly rising to the surface. “That is not the point. I am a lawyer not a psychiatrist.”
Luis sits and once again resumes rocking in his chair, his eyes once again, staring blankly in the corner. “Two plus two is four, that’s what God is for. Two plus two is four, that’s what God is for.” The words slowly turn into a low humming emitting from the back of his throat, no longer words, yet the meaning remains.
“You do know. Don't you? Why you're in jail.” Angela asks as she sinks back into her chair, once again pulling her jacket tight against her chest.
Again, as if stating the obvious. “Yes.”
Digging through her briefcase in search of a pen. “Tell me about it.”
Suddenly, the rocking motion stops and all is still.
“You're not a therapist.” As Angela turns from her briefcase to look at Luis, knowing before her eyes see, there is a smile, no, a smirk, there is a smirk on his face, and there is.
Perhaps if she will let down her walls, shows him something more than a struggle for power, perhaps then he will begin to trust. “No, I think we agree on that much, I'm not a therapist.
I am, however, your lawyer and if I'm to come up with a defense for you I need to know what happened.”
“What are the charges?”
“You know what the charges are.” She waits, one-one thousand, two-one thousand, three-one thousand. “Why am I wasting my time?” More to herself than the man sitting across from her.
“You have something better to do?” He asks as, in one graceful move, he puts his right foot up on the corner of the table, hands crossed in his lap.
Angela sinks into her chair, almost defeated. “I'm not sure. I mean, I do have other things to do.” Leaning forward she asks. “Will you talk to the psychiatrist if I send him back here?”
With his left hand he traces the arch of his nose all the way down and to his lips, slowly circling his mouth, deep within his own thoughts. “Questions, questions. I suppose that is what lawyers are for. Yes, I will speak with your quack. Under one condition.”
Angela snatches her briefcase off the chair, steps toward the door, quickly swings around to face Luis. Then, cautiously, she moves back to the table where she sets her briefcase in the chair and hisses at Luis. “You still don't get it! This is not a game.”
“Oh, but it is a game. All of this. Just one big game.” His voice booming across the table at her. Then gently now, “Just ask the Quack, Pedro, was that his name? Pedro the Quack. This is, we are, simply something to have fun with, something to make you laugh. Life, life is just a game. The more you enjoy it the more you do it, the more you do it the better your score. Are you ready for my condition?”
Angela can only nod.
“You will be here. That's all. You will sit right here next to me while I talk to that man. Do we have a deal?” He slowly rises from his chair holding his right hand out across the table toward Angela.
As if acting on its own volition Angela watches as her right hand slowly raises to shake the hand of a murderer. “Deal. Now will you answer my question?”
“Question?” He tilts his head to the side. “Two plus two is four.”
“Why are you in jail Luis?”
“Because, as your psychiatrist will inform you, I am insane. Nutty as a fruitcake. Nothing more, nothing less.” With that he sits in his chair, propping his foot on the edge of the table.
“What happened?” She can’t help but ask. Searching his face for some sort of answer.
“You'll know. Soon enough, you'll know.” That look, as if he sees straight into her soul. “Will you still love me?”
“Love has nothing to do with it.” As she straightens her jacket, retrieving her briefcase, as if it were a shield. “Listen, you are my client. Nothing more, nothing less.”
That smile again, no wonder so many people trusted this man. “Good girl. You're learning. When will I see you again?” He asks with a subtle pout and tilt of his head.
Angela again turns, this time motioning to the guard that they are finished. “With the psychiatrist. Soon. Good day Mr. Ui.” She says as the guard opens the door and she exits.
“Wrong again, my lovely friend, wrong again.” Luis whispers to himself, his eyes focusing on the corner of the room.

The Horse

2008-11-26T21:27:00.001-05:00

No worries. Incredibly busy with work, school, kids, holidays, and health.
Me

For the past 14 months Susan has taken the dirt path leading north into the pasture beyond the mare’s barn to retrieve her horse. Even on the brightest of days this four foot wide section of beaten down earth remains in shadow. The fresh and clean fragrance of recent rain is perpetually replaced with the scent of decay. In the fall the gold, red, yellow, green and brown leaves blanketing the ground simply sink into the earth under the weight of a foot. A low sucking sound that pops, like a bursting bubble, can be heard as the boot is lifted. Susan hates this walk.

Today the barn boy, Susan thinks his name is Lucas, excitedly told her the news, his voice breaking as he addresses her “Um, Ms. Harris, I’ve got good news.” His mouth is so full of tobacco he must spit before he can continue. Susan imagines the brownish black ball of mucus must be what cancer looks like, on the inside. “Vet said she was all better, good as new, so we put her out in the field with the big horses.” Little plumes of dust are created as he shuffles his feet from side to side. “Says you can even sit on her for a few” Raising his hand to illustrate a stop sign “Sit, not ride, just sit, that's what he said.” With that he turns and leaves the barn.

Halter, lead rope, a hand full of oats in a bucket and she is ready to go. As she steps out the barn door Susan instinctively moves her sunglasses into position, protecting her eyes from the brutal sun. The walk along the roadway scattered with fall leaves is a symphony of sounds as the colors crush beneath her feet.

The Purse

2008-10-22T07:25:00.001-04:00

“I think you should just take me to my mothers.” Caroline could not prevent the quiver in her voice nor could she stop he brown eyes from tearing up. A single tear runs down her face only to get caught at the corner of her mouth.

“I’m taking you home honey, we are going to get through this. Alright?” Taking his right hand off the steering wheel he reaches for her only to find dead air. There was a time when her entire body would have gravitated toward that hand as it reached out, that time is not now.

Almost in a whisper she say to him “He took my purse Jim.”

“It’s fine, I’ll take care of it. You won’t have to do a thing. I’ll cancel all the cards in the morning, put a hold on our checking account and buy you a new purse. You may have to go to the DMV to get a replacement for your drivers license though. I really should have asked them about that at the police station. Anyway, that can wait a day or two.”

“I want to go to my mothers.” This she does whisper as she leans her head on the car’s window, pulling her long legs to her chest she wraps her delicate arms around them, locking her hands. Watching the streets as the car silently moves closer to home and further from her mother’s home. The one place she believes would grant her the safety and security she must have in order to survive the night.

“What honey? Come on, what did you say? Caroline? I want to know.” These words are said with the patience of a man scolding a five year old child for mumbling.

“He could have hurt me, I mean really hurt me. I was so frightened.” This time there is no stopping the flood of tears from exploding down her face. Suddenly every muscle in her body is shaking, as if she were the epicenter of an earthquake.

“Oh, baby, everything is alright now. He did not hurt you. Lucky for us that patrol car came by when it did, yes terribly lucky for us. Come on now, stop crying. You‘re with me now, you‘re safe.” This time his hand reaches her elbow, resting there as if waiting for some secret signal to continue.

Shifting her position in the passenger seat, his hand returns to the wheel. “He knows where we live. I would feel better if we went to my mothers, please take me to mothers.” Instinctively this is said with power and purpose. Her please comes out more as a now.

Waiting for the light to change to green, he turns to her. Seeing his wife, perhaps for the first time that night. The beginnings of a black eye, her face from cheekbone to forehead is swollen , appearing blue in the dark car. Without uttering a word her eyes speak to him. Telling him all he does not want to know, all he chooses to ignore.

“I don’t like sleeping at your mothers. Why don’t I find us a nice hotel for the night. Everything will look different in the morning?”

“Everything already is different. Take me to my mothers, then you can go home.”

Easier said than done.

2008-10-20T06:34:00.002-04:00

She slowly walks now, she feels as if her body has stopped any forward momentum. Leaving behind that short, well rounded, which is to say slightly overweight, woman and moving toward the end. She wonders if she is having an “out of body” experience. The thought makes her smile. Staring straight ahead her essence continues, moving away from that woman, in slow motion, continuing down the street.

Occasionally she hears things, distractions really, sometimes distractions can be good. The sound of a car door slamming, perhaps a bird singing on a lovely spring day. She suddenly knows, without a doubt, if she were to turn her head to the right she would see a baby crying.

He always wanted a baby. This thought does not produce a smile. Three years since he died. Three years of absolutely nothing productive. She needs this, for her, for his memory. Twelve years ago today they met, exactly like this. Well, not exactly, then she was young and full of life. This, finishing this will help her, somehow, she just knows it will.

Hot, so incredibly hot. She should look for a nice pub, somewhere with air-conditioning and good beer. Wouldn’t that be nice, to sit back and drink a nice cold one? “Later.” she promises her taste buds, we need to finish this first.

The water is good, pure, refreshing. Never in her life has anything tasted, or felt, so right, so perfect. She has no idea where the water came from. The water would feel good on her head, to just have it pouring down and through her short red curls, and engulfing her sweat drenched back would be heaven. And it is.

Picking up some speed now, close to the end, too close not to give it one last push. He would say “time to turn on the afterburners.” The body is screaming now, begging for relief, yet her mind refuses to budge. There is no better feeling than overcoming something, finding the strength and power from somewhere deep inside to keep moving.

Her feet are still moving. All she has to do is look down and know that her feet are still moving, doing exactly as she commands. The feet still move while the rest of her body, from her little blue eyes to her cute pink toenails, all else, wants to stop.

Push, push, push. The finish line is now in sight. Just a few steps more and the rest of her life can begin, finally.

And it begins... I hope!

2008-10-17T07:27:00.002-04:00

This is for a class, and a grade, so please feel free to tell me what you think:

Its not that anyone was listening, she simply could not resist talking. “Spinach, sprouts, other green stuff, cranberries, pears, some almond shavings, sprinkle of goat cheese, with dressing on the side. Raspberry Balsamic vinaigrette, if you please. This my friends, neighbors and fortunate co-workers of mine, is how you make the perfect salad.” This last part being said as Laurence’s pudgy hips gently nudge her out of the way of the salad station with the single mindedness of a four year old getting into his sandbox.

Laurence the lion, king of the weeds. Jolene wonders, and not for the first time, how he ever made it into law school. Then again, the West Georgia School of Law didn’t exactly have a reputation for a stringent admittance policy. “Money goes in, lawyers come out.” That’s what the locals thought of the school. Not being a local, and having recently received a full scholarship, Jolene still allowed herself to hope for better.

Laurence may not have been the most studious of pre-attorneys, nor did he have a talent for “this whole business of bringing people food and drink“, as he often called it, but he had a kind and generous heart. His parents owned Coeurs et Fromage, and insisted that he work in the restaurant every weekend. If only Jolene’s parents had pushed her towards that type of responsibility, pushed her towards anything at his age... If only, if only.

No time for that now.

“Look out, watch it there, perfect salad coming through!”

Three hours later the restaurant is transformed from a bustling place filled with the smell of garlic and the laugh of good drink into something more akin to an apple orchard, at night and with a full moon. There is still the gentle fragrance of good times and better food lingering, yet quiet, dark and sanitized. Jolene sits at the bar with Javier, the dish washer, Laurence and his mother, Michelle, counting money, cursing the economy and trying to stay awake.

Michelle only hangs out at the bar after she and Javier are finished with the dishes and obligatory kitchen cleaning. Javier downs the last of his beer, a treat for those who work until the doors are locked, rinses his glass at the bar sink and puts his jacket on.

“Come on Dorothy, I walk you to your car.” he says as he places his keys on the bar.

Jolene can’t help but laugh, Javier has called her Dorothy since the first night they worked together. “My car is in the shop, again, Mr. Tin Man.”

4840 Miles

2008-10-14T22:14:00.002-04:00

Is one hell of a long distance argument. Man, that sucks!

Tomorrow is another day.

Home from Helen, GA

2008-10-12T20:35:00.003-04:00

It was wonderful seeing Richard, Denny, Zonker, Georgia, Rick, Kelly, the Senior Chief, Dax, Velociman, Key, little Key, RSM, Eric, the better half of Eric, Charles, and they guys at Auto Zone!

Now a few quotes, not necessarily in chronilogicle order:

"Stump!", "A good goat will do that", "CSI Helen", "Keep your change", "it's just 1/2 a mile", "WTF", "You came back", and "What religion are you?"

One thing that should have been said, and yet was not:
Richard is many a splendid things, mechanic is not one of those things!

So, many thanks to all for not hanging me from a tree for being a: comunist; marxist; left wing fanatic; socialist; democrat; and for still drinking with me! Can't wait to do it again.

Tired, tired and a weeee bit sad.

2008-10-02T22:00:00.010-04:00

So, it appears as if all of my "excitement and fun" is over for a few days. I can not even begin to tell you of all that has happened in the past 7 days..... but, I can let you see a picture or two.Honestly, did you think that I was joking about the ladies dancing in cages? No, it happened, it was there, it was wonderful.

The Eldest tried to get his revenge for not being cast. Luckily security arrived and escorted him from the building before the house was open.

Yes, I know, amazing, simply amazing!

These old guys were pretty gosh darn good too.

All in all, a very nice production. It makes all the difference in the world having an amazing technical staff and actors that know their craft! If you happened to miss it, try to make the show next time. I work very hard to make it worth the while.

Now, lets see what the Youngest was up to this weekend:

It seems as though his confidence has been restored this season! Turning into quite a good goal keeper. Did I tell you he is now running cross country just to improve his soccer skills? Well, he is.

Tomorrow we have a wrestling match, a cross country meet and a soccer game. I guess the Daughter could not find a horse show to attend as well, just to make it more fun finding gas!

I saw JJ off this afternoon and walked tiredly back to the car. The visit was very fruitful, new sink, new bathroom counter (almost complete), new shelving, yes quite the handy man he is. Best of all, I am now wearing a piece of clothing that once belonged to his great grandmother, how cool is that? Yet, I would trade all of these things to be next to him right now...

Death & Cages

2008-09-19T01:04:00.002-04:00

I just wanted to share a picture or two of the set for our upcoming production of "Death of a Salesman":

"Death of a Salesman" - Call for tickets, limited engagement.

2008-09-10T21:18:00.002-04:00

Tickets are on sale now!

Carroll County Community Theatre presents Death of a Salesman by Arthur Miller, Directed by Michelle.

September 25-27 at 7:30 and Sunday September 28 at 2:00 p.m. in the Carrollton Cultural Arts Center Theatre. Tickets are $10.

Winner of the 1949 Pulitzer Prize and the Tony Award for Best Play, Death of a Salesman revolves around the last days of Willy Loman, a failing salesman, who cannot understand how he failed to win success and happiness. Through a series of tragic soul-searching revelations of the life he has lived with his wife, his sons, and his business associates, we discover how his quest for the “American Dream” kept him blind to the people who truly loved him. A thrilling work of deep and revealing beauty that remains one of the most profound classic dramas of the American theatre.

Carrollton Cultural Arts Center
251 Alabama St Carrollton, GA 30117
Ph: 770-838-1083
Fax: 770-838-9686
Email: plewis@carrollton-ga.gov
Website: www.cprcad.org

The ladies are in the cage and the strippers are ready! Don't miss your chance to see a one of a kind production!

FREE opening night, Thursday, September 25, 2008, wine and cheese reception sponsored by La Fiesta Warehouse!
Seriously... Food, wine, sexual situations and a night of theatre all for $10.00!

Fannie, Freddie takeover - What does this teach?

2008-09-08T22:35:00.002-04:00

Forget welfare, forget unemployment, pay no attention to bankruptcy, ignore any other bail-out you have ever read about, witnessed, heard about, or imagined, this is the one that gets my blood boiling like never before. This will cost the American people more than even I can imagine, wars can be won with less money, principles be damned.

What lesson are we teaching our children with this?

"Greed is good!"

Hell, that is the only thing this is teaching me!

Being an election year, with so many people on all sides effected, not one single politician that I have seen is saying "NO!!" Why? I honestly wish that I knew. Perhaps it is because the greed that is responsible for the current "housing situation" knows no bounds, crosses all political, economic, sexual orientation, racial, and fiscal lines, it is evenly spread and highly contagious. The simple greed that has caused this "crisis" comes from all walks of life.

From the builder and buyer, to the real estate agent, mortgage broker, mortgage company, appraiser, and secondary lender, right up to Freddie and Fannie, that is all it was folks, greed. Each and every one of them improved their lives via greed and now my tax dollars will finance that greed.

I never thought I would use that line "my tax dollars".

There was a system in place where everyone was making money hand over fist and those with the power to stop it either benefited from it or turned a blind eye. This was unique though, this system of greed was propelled from all angles and it disgusts me. Talk about the ultimate victimless crime, until now. Now each and every one of us will pay, even those of us who gained nothing from the crime.

The kick to the gut is this..... we will bail them all out. All, not just a few, those that knew how to work the system then, will work it now and continue to benefit to some degree. None of the criminals in this scandal will pay, there are simply too many of them. From the big mortgage companies down to the guy making minimum wage living in the 200K house, they will all get to keep the spoils.

What ever happened to knowing the difference between right and wrong and simply refusing to do wrong. Don't lie on the loan application, don't advise the buyer what not to disclose, stop pressuring the appraiser into raising the home value, stop caving to the pressure. Why did it just simply not stop, somewhere?

Jiminy Cricket is Dead, I will dearly miss him.

Train Stations

2008-08-13T22:17:00.008-04:00

This is, admittedly, not the worlds greatest picture, it is, however, one of the first things I was privileged to see upon my arrival in Ostrava, Czech Republic. That little blob to the left is JJ running to rescue me, or rather my luggage.

I would have to admit to one minor flaw in my character... I am, still, at the age of 30+, incredibly naive when it comes to safety & the protection of valuables. That blob to the right, all of our luggage. I just wanted to get a picture of the walk-way before it filled up with people again...

This is the train station in Ostrava, I had just gotten off the plane from Prague and we were now on our way back to Prague via train. Which is another long story, one which I will save for later.

Yes, I had read in all of the travel books, brochures and web-sites to keep my belongings close to me, especially in train stations, so as not to loose said belongings to beggars and thieves. I just thought that information would only be pertinent once entering Prague. JJ thought differently. I am proud to report that, due to a more than diligent JJ, not one single item was taken from us during the entire trip.

The train was incredibly HOT, the air conditioner in our unit was not functioning, at all. Which is really not a big deal on a train, if the window in your cabin opens, ours did not. The perfect beginning to a dream trip? Well, actually, yes. I curled up in a ball and slept, leaving the "security" up to my trusty traveling companion. Trains are much easier to sleep on than planes.

Some several hours later, we arrived at the Prague train station, the wrong Prague train station...this we did not realize until the return trip. Another little piece of advise given in all the Prague travel related items we had been scouring through for weeks went something like this: "Taxi drivers are sometimes con artists, only use a reputable taxi service!"

So, we called a taxi. (This was only after following hand painted signs into a dark tunnel where sixteen men, were sitting at a table and enjoying a rousing game of cards. Suddenly, upon their seeing two obvious tourists, in unison, all of them dropped their cards and came running at us asking us, with sign language, passable English, and possibly other languages, if we needed a taxi. "No, no, we were just looking for someone, we don't need a taxi, thanks.")

So, out to the front of the train station.... where is the front, which is the front? There were two definite possibilities. We took turns "guarding" the luggage and checking the other entrance, and waited, and waited, and waited.

During one of my trips to "the other side" a young man approached me and said something like this: "Být příjemný darovat mne nějaký peníze , JÁ am hladový." In total frustration I began shaking my head and waiving my hands, much like the "fake taxi drivers" earlier. The boy just looked at me... I said "No, no, English, only English." with irritation, sadness and a touch of shame in my voice.

"Oh, OK, I was just wondering if you had a few crowns you could spare for a fellow traveler" says this young man in ragged clothes with dirty hand held out to me. Shaking my head and muttering no, no, I simply walked away........bilingual bums, who would have thought?

My little construction workers!

2008-08-09T16:27:00.003-04:00

I needed help measuring for the new shelves in September, how much help can one mother handle?

Prague, at a glance

2008-08-02T01:13:00.006-04:00

No words........ just a picture or two.

Rehearsal - Day One - Death of a Salesman

2008-07-28T23:09:00.004-04:00

WOW, I can not say more..... well, you talked me into it!

This is a wonderful group of actors!

The art work is wonderful.... for whatever reason it will not allow me to upload.. but you can go HERE and find it in and among tons of other really cool art, which you should buy, really you should!

I think I have freaked the actors out with my vision... belly dancing, sex scenes, more dancing, women in cages, flying footballs, not to mention nudity. (only three or four will make it to the final cut) Hey, I want this theatre packed! Sex sells, it really, really sells..... Marketing, I need a marketing guru to come and save the day!

These actors are true professionals. I am, yet again, a truly lucky lady.....

Mark your calendars: September 25, 26 & 27th at 7:30, 28th at 2:00, Carrollton, Georgia! Bring a friend or eight.... we may even be giving away some cool stuff... not really, just wanted more interest!

Sex Sells?

2008-07-24T07:10:00.003-04:00

After passing this billboard a couple of times in our travels we were left with only two questions.......... what are they advertising and where can we get some?

David Cherny - Art? Heck yes.

2008-07-20T08:30:00.006-04:00

As JJ and I enjoyed a nice cappuccino and Turkish coffee with some honey cake we spent a couple of hours watching people react to this fountain..... the reactions were widely varied and most entertaining. Most of the visitors wanted their picture taken in front of the fountain, some in rather erotic positions. Many of the women, and some of the men, actually "held" certain parts of the statue.

Here is a video that JJ took in the weeee hours of the morning, before the stinking tourists appeared.

I could not get the stinking thing to stand upright so you will have to turn your head....

The fountain, is that the proper term?, stands in front of the Kafka museum, which we did not take the time or energy to view on this trip. We must save something for our return!

I can honestly recommend to anyone Prague as a European travel destination. Many times I hear people use the language barrier as an excuse not to travel. In Prague this was not a concern! Everyone we encountered, even in some of the smaller towns, knew enough passable English to make things run very smoothly. So. Go. Just Do It.

Ostrava Bound!

2008-07-11T06:55:00.004-04:00

I leave you with a picture of the picnic site awaiting me at my final destination this week.

Some pictures from the beach...

2008-07-07T23:16:00.005-04:00

Although JJ was not there to do his photgraphic genious ... I think the Daughter did a fine job with my little camera here...

A new hat...

2008-07-07T23:07:00.003-04:00

It is my honest opinion that Elisson has found a new hat...

Just listen to the laugh.

UPDATE:
I don't know why you can not see anything here, on my computer it is very light... close your eyes, picture Elisson in shorts, T-shirt and Dr. Seuss hat, all red, white & blue................... No, that does't work either.. hell with it, the post stays!

Oncologist Visit

2008-06-24T22:35:00.002-04:00

On each and every visit I had been confronted with incredibly strong women looking death straight in the eye and laughing. Most of my visits were filled with laughter, around the tears at times, but laughter none the less. I have to tell you that if any of your mothers, sisters, aunts, lovers or mistresses happens to need an oncologist and lives in the state of Georgia, I know where I would send them. These people are wonderful.

We planned a picnic during one of my visits, honestly planned a picnic while in the waiting room. It will always, for me, be the picnic that never was. Fantasy picnic, if you would. Two ladies awaiting test results, one for a preoperative appointment, one mother there supporting her 52 year old daughter and me. We were going to have a picnic, one day.

One of the ladies was from Italy, another's accent screamed New York, in a husky whisper she spoke of balaclava. My mouth was watering just to think of all the flavors from all of the delicious recipes promised at our picnic. We even invited a couple of the nurses who laughed uproariously and promised to join us. I was in charge of desert, visions of cheese cake and lemon meringue pie danced in my head, I promised these deserts would be some of the best I had ever made, even if only to myself.

It was not so much that we wanted to have a picnic, or even to see each other again that was so exciting. It was the planning. When people plan like we did, they want to know that there is something the next hour, the next day, the next month, the next week even the next year, something. Something was all that we were looking for. A fantasy picnic is what we found.

I know that cancer is an enthusiast disease, that it can, and will, attack those from all walks of life, regardless of age, race, sex, education, religion, income, and orientation, sexual or otherwise. It was practically the only thing that these ladies and I had in common, it was enough.

2000 Volvo S70SE - and it is mine

2008-06-23T19:57:00.004-04:00

Well, after much blood, sweat and tears I finally have a reliable car that I would feel safe taking anywhere! I am a happy lady. Want proof?

Prague, Ostrava, Frydek Mistek, Czech Republic

2008-06-22T22:18:00.008-04:00

I am once again asking my three readers to look into their knowledge banks and come up with some wonderful places/things to see on vacation.

The next trip will be to Prague, Czech Republic. Don't ask why, just accept that I go on some pretty cool adventures.We will spend five days in Prague, take the train to Ostrava and then onto Frydek/Mistek for a couple of days in the small town environment.

I already have my trusty Rick Steve's guide. What a cool job that he has! What I am looking for from you, my trusty reader(s) is insight into the real thing. I will, of course, hit the big tourist traps, but what about that little out of the way restaurant with the best espresso you have ever tasted? Perhaps it is an art gallery, or theatre you just fell in love with? I want to know. To help inspire you I will add some pictures which JJ has already taken in Ostrava and surrounding areas.

100 Words, Again

2008-06-19T21:49:00.003-04:00

I honestly hope that all three of my readers take a few minutes to listen, read or, perhaps, write something for what is quickly becoming one of my favorite contests.....FOUND HERE.

Dragon Strikes in Park
Early Monday afternoon newly formed Boyscout Troop 714, from Detroit Michigan, was planning a simple Fourth of July party, Mexican style. A quick meeting in the park suddenly turned to tragedy when the dragon struck yet again.
Volunteer parent, Janet Turner, was the only survivor of the attack. Troop leader, Melinda Cox, was heralded as a hero for using a pinata costume and distracting the dragon long enough for Janet to escape by building an airplane, according to directions found in the boyscout handbook, and flying away. The plane crashed, killing the other sixteen parents onboard.

Teacher

2008-06-08T00:41:00.003-04:00

He was washing his hands. A simple act, one done millions of times, water, soap, scrub, wring, pool, rinse, rinse some more, turn water off, dry hands...

The simple things, the quiet times...that is when he finds himself, on occasion, thinking of her. The acts done thousands of times, the lessons he now gives, what he teaches his own.

“You butter the bread, not the pan.” or “The way a bed is made is the way the maker sleeps.” even “Floss before you brush, but only at night.”

With his hands dry, towel still in hand, he sits at the kitchen table lost in memory. Twenty two years without her, those years have gone by in the blink of an eye. So many lessons learned, remembered and passed on without conscience thought given to the source.

“This is what remains.” he thinks and smiles looking around the kitchen. Allowing himself to remember many of those lessons about food, about books, about babies, about life. Much was learned, more was forgotten.

Go, vote........think of it as practice

2008-06-07T00:09:00.000-04:00

Just click here......

100 Words, its like the plague or something!

2008-06-03T21:48:00.003-04:00

So, I was over at Ellison's site looking for tales of adventure. What I found was this little contest. Intrigued, I decided to give it a try...... a try is what we (I) ended up with....... will someone please tell me how to make a flipping MP3? GOSH! I have a story, pretty good story telling voice and no way to understand the technology to put the two together! I made a sound file.. ends with wav, not MP3.

Oh well, you can read my story below:

“Rode hard and put up wet.”

She heard it very clearly, chose to ignore. What good would come of confrontation? “Hell,” she thinks to herself with a chuckle “that weekend in New Orleans, 85, rode hard and put up was exactly what we were, and damn proud of it.” Her smile fades with the expression of remembrance, that was a long time ago, so long ago.

Years of the chase made her somber, not sober, somber yes. Head in hands now, red dreadlocks brushing the table, sagging bosom heaving with sobs. Another smoke, another shot, another night. Whiskey & me.

Drunk Painting

2008-06-02T20:09:00.001-04:00

A sport that I highly recommend! Depending on the results seen in the morning, this opinion is subject to change!

Now, off to cook dinner . . .

A Chair

2008-06-01T20:12:00.004-04:00

"Have you ever been inspired by a chair?" She asks with that twinkle in her eyes, telling him more, all, and nothing without uttering a word.

"Perhaps I have, who knows?"

"How do you know?" She whispers. "What truly inspires and what is merely muddying up the water?"

"Why do you ask so many questions?" He says now with understanding, his lips do not form the smile lingering in his tone.

"Why do you give so few answers?"

He knows these are the words uttered, if only for his ears. Swelling with joy and sorrow, mingling within his blood, consuming his being.

"A study in contradictions." isn't that what she always said he was to her? Perhaps this proves her right, yet again?

His sun is setting. His sun.

Here is the proof,
of something more
of something less
of metamorphosis.

Little things

2008-05-29T23:59:00.002-04:00

There is something inside my mind that is scratching to escape, to see the world a new, possibly it will change my world, possibly is will just be. But for now, it crawls, creaks, bangs and itches, just around the edges, looking for that escape valve that moves from the mind through the neck, into the arms, around the elbow, past my wrists, into my fingers, and, at last, onto the paper.

As soon as that happens, you will be some of the first to know.

New Purchase

2008-05-29T22:19:00.002-04:00

It is rare to find a new CD in my collection, I prefer to "borrow" from those around me. Jack Johnson's new (to me) mix is nice, not much different from the last one though.. which makes me happy & sad. His music - now that moves me.

I'm so excited!

2008-05-20T21:52:00.003-04:00

Auditions for Carroll County Community Theatre’s Production of Death of a Salesman, written by Arthur Miller, directed by Michelle will be held on July 21 and 22 in the Choral Rehearsal Room of the Carrollton Cultural Arts Center at 7 p.m. Parts are available for 8 men and 5 women.

The debut of Death of a Salesman was greeted with enthusiastic reviews, received the Pulitzer Prize for Drama in 1949, the 1949 Tony Award for Best Play, and the New York Drama Critics Circle Award for Best Play. Death of a Salesman is the first play in history to win all three major awards. Produced worldwide, the searing drama confirmed Miller as an internationally-known playwright.

Production dates are September 25-27 at 7:30 and Sunday September 28 at 2:00 p.m. Tickets are $10.

Feel free to contact Michelle to request more information.

Postcards From Paraguay

2008-05-07T11:46:00.001-04:00

DoDo Does Hong Kong

2008-04-29T22:16:00.013-04:00

Run and Hide!

2008-04-28T22:44:00.001-04:00

Get off of the road, the Eldest is driving now!

Remember to remind me, please.

2008-04-14T23:50:00.002-04:00

I rented Kite Runner and must say that I was terribly impressed. Some things were changed from what was in the book, but the essence, the feel of the story was there and wonderfully acted, for the most part. So, if you get the chance, rent it. Better yet, read the book!

Honestly, I nearly cried...at the end ... something that never happens with me and movies. OK, not never, Steel Magnolias can still make me cry like a baby, no matter how many times I see it. When Sally Fields is in the cemetery, my goodness!

I think that part of what was reaffirmed to me, tonight, watching that movie, the thing that I loved so much about the book and could never put my finger on. The main character was not a bad man, he was just a man. He made some mistakes, terrible mistakes that, I feel, he tried to forget/erase his entire life. He failed someone he loved, honestly who among us has not? We can not forget or erase those mistakes. We must learn to live with them, not to allow them to haunt us but to learn the lesson necessary and behave differently next time. He had to learn that he was more than the sum of his mistakes. Wouldn't that be wonderful, to know that we are all more than the sum of our mistakes? Not better, no one is better than their mistakes. But if we are changed by them, if something is learned, no matter how small, we are better because of them.

I am more than the sum of my mistakes, more than the sum of my past, more than the sum of what I have done or said, and more than the sum of the things that have been done or said to me. It is easy for a person to say that, and a much different thing to believe such is so. Right this minute, I believe what I write. Perhaps in eight hours I will need to be reminded of that belief and learn to have more faith in my own abilities.

Did you notice that I changed from first person, to second person to third person all in one post? Talented I is.

Yesterday

2008-04-13T18:46:00.004-04:00

I took several pictures yesterday of the Youngest and the Daughter. The Eldest was at the motocross track for his birthday, happy birthday kiddo!

This is only one of two that survived my virgin voyage of transferring pictures from new camera to computer. There was one of her and her father that was breathtaking, would have made a nice gift for her.

Needless to say I was incredibly disappointed with my self for flubbing up and loosing all of those pictures.

Until, because I had nothing else to look at I really looked at this photo. A thousand stories could be launched by this one image. Nothing is certain, nothing is clear. Not the time period, not the horse, age, sex, disposition, nothing to tell the viewer where we were or what we were doing.

If you look closely at her face you know the daughter is not old, what is she thinking, just beyond our view? Imagine the thing capturing her attention. Is she alone or surrounded by Indians? Spring or fall? Georgia, Australia, England, where are they?

I like it now, and will keep it and treasure it for the rest of my days.

Now, relax and take a deep breath . . .

2008-04-09T19:43:00.000-04:00

Shit, fuck & Damn....

We now return you to our regularly scheduled programming.

For three weeks . . .

2008-04-07T19:00:00.000-04:00

I lived the dream:

I could see her,
the woman of dreams,
almost touching,
She and I.

Now she is gone.
I want her back!

Is it genetic?

2008-04-05T03:56:00.003-04:00

These words came out of the daughters mouth Friday night. Hey, at least she knows the definition and how to use it in a sentence!

So, I've been having some health problems that lead to a bit of surgery this last week. Some of you may have noticed the lack of posting in these last few months.....

I really don't want to go too in detail, as those things do not matter, but could not resist posting about my daughter's first question when informed of the situation. The last thing that I wanted was for my children to worry unnecessarily about any of this, so I did not tell them until after surgery and an almost clean bill of health. It was easy with the eldest and the daughter, they stay with their father during the week, so I just rearranged a couple of weekends with their father, using Easter and JJ's visit as a excuse. The youngest found out while I was having surgery, and did a really nice job of keeping himself centered and positive, it helped to hang out in bed with me for about an hour when I came home.

I actually only told a hand full of people, really I could count them on one hand! Why, because it felt like mine and I knew how frightening those three words can be, cancer, specialist, rare. Come on, it took me weeks just to wrap my mind around. That first one is the most difficult to come to terms with. I know two people in the last couple of years who have died from cancer and more who are undergoing the roughest of treatments. It scared the hell out of me and I did not want to spread that fear too far. So, five people knew, if you are one of those five then your fit into one of two categories, I love you and needed your support or I work for you and swore you to silence.

So, all is well and, unless the doctors are keeping me totally in the dark, all will remain well as well.

Is it genetic?

I was really worried about telling the older two, not knowing how they would take having been in the dark for so long:

Their father brings them to my house for the weekend, which is rare, as we usually meet somewhere, I was just too tired to drive and, well, sitting for too long is incredibly uncomfortable at this point.

They come in and I hobble around a bit showing them this or that bit of improvement around the house (JJ could not stay still during his three week visit), I give the Eldest his birthday present, I will post about that at a later time, and we look at some pictures taken the last time we went hiking together, then we sit down...... I need to talk to you two about something. Stares and casual "OK, sure."

"A few months ago the Doctors found some cancer which necessitated that I have some surgery last week." I say with complete calm and much care. "What, Where, When, How, Why"... all of this from the Eldest, he has always been the need to know kind of guy. So I explain as much as I feel they need to know, tell them that we are basically out of the woods physically, and inform them that we will not be going bowling, or hiking, or any of our usual activities this weekend. Which makes them smile and giggle because they wanted to see a movie instead.

Then the silent one speaks, with a bit of a squeak in her voice, "Is it genetic?" How could I not love a 13 year old with that type of perspective on life?

One positive that came out of the situation: I haven't smoked in about a month. This was helped along by a visit to a hypnotist, believe it or not.

Today, tonight.

2008-03-09T23:26:00.002-04:00

So, lots going on in the life of Michelle, so much so that I just truly don' t know what to think, feel, believe or, mostly, say. And it is thus that I explain my silence.

The play is done, finished, oh not completed, just without inspiration and therefore now being relegated to the drawer once more, to be pulled out, dusted off, and revised, once again, in the hope of a complete project. Shit, I hate that!

The munchkins? Wonderful, amazing, awe inspiring, frustrating and just in general perfect.

The eldest qualified for the State wrestling competition! Yes, this is his first year wrestling, yes it was a fluke of the numbers, and HELL YES it was cool. I have video of his second bout, the kid almost made it the first two minutes. I was truly proud...because he is my son, because he is amazing but more so because of the pride that his accomplishment instilled in his little sister. The daughter was in charge of the video for the event, she did a wonderful job:

The eldest walks out onto the mat, doing that little jump to pump himself up, the competitor walks out, this kid is built, shorter than the eldest, but built. All of a sudden the video shakes and we are now looking at the top of a seat and hear "Come on, your bigger than he is." The daughter, giving her encouragement.

The match begins with much dancing, the entire area around us is screaming the boys name, because they too know what an honor it is to make it to this competition for a freshman. So, they dance, for what seems like forever, a slap here, a grab there, nothing too aggressive, nothing too physical, these gentlemen are sizing each other up. All of a sudden, like a lightning bolt this boy is on my son, bending, or trying to bend, his body in directions in which the body was not designed to bend. Then he flips the eldest, not into the air, just onto his back.......things are starting to look rough for the eldest, the video shows the beginnings of a pin, and then a miraculous recovery by the eldest, he is out of danger, if only for a minute, everyone is on their feet, chanting, screaming and yelling: "Look at that! Did you see that! Go!" Most of all you hear the eldest's name being belted out by this high pitched squeal of a sound. The camera is jumping up and down, around and over, as it it has a mind of its own. She is yelling so loudly that hardly a word is understood, but the sentiment, oh yes, we hear that and its meaning loud and clear.

It is just a moment, gone and done in a flash, focused once again on the match at hand ........... which only lasted a few more seconds. But in that amount of time....I was proud, proud of my children for, once again, showing me that hard work and determination does pay off in the long run.

I don't want to leave the wrong impression........had this been any type of competition between the two of these, eyes would have been scratched out and no dirty trick would be left untried. But, when it matters, when everything else is taken away........my children stand for each other and everything that we have taught them, sooner or later, all of those good things, well, they do shine through, if only for a few seconds.

They left the competition with almost matching t-shirts. The difference? The daughters was personalized with this statement on the back "___________'s Little Sister, be afraid!

Is that cool or what?

From JJ, I wanted a story about the color blue.

2008-03-04T19:47:00.004-05:00

He was looking at him trying to remember what it was that led him into this place. Nothing that he could remember. The big blank in his mind, although he was certain that he has seen such thing before, he could not organize any meaningful thought around it. Why every part of his body was aching like he has been through the toughest time of his life trying to fight alone against an army? Was he too old already? Was he getting sick against all odd? Yesterday still he was feeling in a good shape. But was it really yesterday? Try to catch a detail something significant enough to use it as a starting point to organize his thoughts, restart his mind. In front of his eyes was passing pieces of details, memories, like those little pieces of paper that the fire did not destroy completely; big enough to guess what they were before but not enough to be sure.
He felt like he was a painful piece of flesh. What was he suppose to do with it? Who was he? Human or something else? It may sound like a kind of stupid question but imagine having a virgin brain only able to feel, what for now seamed pain only.
Try again! Something must have stick somewhere in a remote corner of his memory. Give it a little bit of time, try to relax and not push himself into more stress. What was he looking for again? Oh yes a detail, to help him remember why this pieces of images kept coming in front of his eyes. How long has he been here? What was it looking like? Impossible to say it was dark like in an oven. Oven? Where does that was coming from? There! That has to be an important detail. That must mean something to him. So oven and dark goes well together then. Do they really? It is time to stop doubting all the time. He has to stick with some thought process. The noise! He can hear it again! Something was shaking this place, he could feel it clearly now. It was rocking now! Voices? Could it be voices? Light! A ray of light was now entering this box! Wake up! Someone was screaming wake up. Lets go! I am going to be late! Late? Late for what? It was the last of his preoccupation at the moment! he was more concern about escaping this place. One more effort he must be close now. JJ? Someone was calling like a name! We have to go! The light finally enter completely the place and what he saw was amazingly captivating.
A big circle that was looking like it was moving and changing size, right there in front of his eyes! Besides the spooky shape the color was, no were, because it was such a beautiful mix of grays and blues that it would have been a life work to try to describe it. the voice again was screaming. But what was it saying? JJ we have to go! Why I heard myself saying? I am going to be late for my soccer game! Soccer game? The light was there and the image was focused now. So close in front of me, was this boy staring at me. Soccer game, The Youngest, the name of Michelle's boy. Then suddenly everything went back in place. What a night! I thought to myself looking at the room around me. But it was more than time to go, a boy wanted to play soccer. Life is all about priorities.

Isalakys Perfoulion. . . .

2008-03-03T22:05:00.000-05:00

“Tell me your thoughts maman.” says the child as he continues to stir.

The bowl is of a material new to the child. It is not glass, you can not see through it, nor is it some type of metal, it is not as smooth as either metal or glass. How could an object be fragile and strong, beautiful and substantial, dense and heavy while at the same time exquisite and ethereal?

“Why, child, would the thoughts of one change the being of the other?” A playful lilt to her tone tells the child that he is being tested.

“Must you always answer a question with another?”

Looking up from the task at hand, eyes sparkling with mischief or intent, the child can not tell, Me‘re replies emotionless. “No, but with you it is more fun.”

“As compared to with who?”, the child asks with a sudden ferocity that startles Me’re to the core. “You are all that I know, I am all that you know, how could you say with me it is more fun? There is no one BUT me.” In a large sweeping motion the child grabs the bowl intent on slamming it to the floor, where he will pound and stomp on it with his feet until every piece is shattered to oblivion.

In a single wave, almost unseen by the child, that is brutal and precise Maman replaces the bowl to the table without it touching the floor and grabs the child, bringing him into her strong, and yet frail, embrace. Maman cradles the child with a tenderness and strength that is at once comforting and disturbing. Here the child knows he will remain until his fury passes. That is how it always is.

In a Different World I Loved You, Scene 8/9

2008-02-26T20:46:00.002-05:00

Here is where it truly starts to fall apart...So, constructive criticism is welcome and encouraged at this point, please.

Scene eight: Same set as in scene six. Luis stays in his cell to watch the action. Boy's Choir is heard again singing before lights come up music fades as conversation begins. Angela is sitting across the desk from Gomez.

Alfonzo: You're telling me that Luis is crazy and yet refuses to plea insanity?

Angela: That's about the extent of it.

Alfonzo: And you want me to ask the court to find him insane against his wishes?

Angela: Exactly, there's precedence.

Alfonzo: So, with my help, you want to put him in some place where he can get out and do this again?

Angela: We both know you don't have enough evidence for the death penalty, or even a certain conviction. We go to trial he could be found innocent. Think about it. At Tippling they could help him. Give him the therapy he needs. Keep him away from society for a long time maybe forever.

In the cell we see Pedro enter and sit across the table from Luis. They begin a silent conversation. The solo pianist is again heard quietly in the background.

Alfonzo: As far as I'm concerned he's responsible for her death. Your client is now the prime suspect in the disappearance or murder of 114 children over the last five years. He confesses to 140 killings. I'm not going to help you set him free.

Angela: He wasn't even in the country when several of those children disappeared.

Alfonzo: You're telling me he didn't do it?

Angela: What I'm telling you is that he couldn't have killed all those children. (Pause) You started your investigation believing several people were involved. A cult of some kind. You're not going to hang all this on my client.

Pedro hands Luis a small package that Luis hides under his shirt.

Alfonzo: Hanging's too good for the likes of him.

Angela: You can't be certain he's guilty.

Alfonzo: I can't?

Angela: Just hear me out. When the boy in Tunja was killed Luis was in Quito, Ecuador. Three of the disappearances and murders in Villavicencio happened when I have documented proof that Luis was in Pasto, working. None of the 27 bodies found in Valle de Cauca have been definitively, forensically, linked to my client. In fact you had no confession from him on those cases until Gomez asked him about them.

Alfonzo: Angela.

Angela: Here, this is for you. It's a timeline I'm working on. I'll tell you one thing, he did not kill all of those children! Please, as a favor, look into it.

Alfonzo: The task force has been disbanded. As far as we were concerned it was a clean confession, why would he lie?

Angela: Your guess is as good as mine. I'm trying to get through to him. Look, there is no doubt he killed many, possibly most, of these children but not all. Don't you see? If he didn't kill them someone else did.

Alfonzo: O.K., I'll get Gomez to look into Velle de Cauca and Villavincencio some more. You still need to understand he is guilty and dangerous. This is a game to him.

Angela: The time for games is over. Have your Doctors talk to him, see whether they thing he's sane enough to stand trial.

Alfonzo: You're asking a lot.

Angela: It's important.

Lights slowly fade as a voice of a child is heard reciting the following:
Two plus One is Three. Nothing in life is free.
Two plus Two is Four. That's what God is for.
Two plus Three is Five. No one gets out alive.
Two plus Four is six. Nothing He can't fix.

Scene Nine:
Set from cell again. This time Luis is lying on the table as if it were his bed. Lights instantly come up as Luis bolts up from a nightmare and screams.

Luis:
Two plus One is Three. Nothing in life is free.
Two plus Tow is Four. That's what God is for.
Two plus Three is Five. No one gets out alive.
Two plus Four is six. Nothing He can't fix.
Two plus Five is Seven. Bad boys don't go to heaven.
I know the rest. Two plus Six is Eight. . .

(Pause) Almost done. Come on,

Maria: (Entering) Anything I can help you with little brother?

Luis: (looking around and not seeing Maria) Who's that? Where are you? (Pause) Maria?

Maria: Did you have a bad dream?

Luis: Help me!

Maria: With what little man?

Luis: Heaven, what comes after heaven?

Maria: Two plus six is eight. . .

Luis: Hurry don't be late!

Maria: Yes, yes, don't make us wait.

Luis: No, no, never.

Maria: Why did you do it Luis? Why did you hurt my boys?

Luis: Made you stop. I win this way. (Laugh) I got more than you did! I win! (Laugh)

Maria: You cheated! Cheaters never will! Brother will punish you!

Luis: Don't you see? The game is over and I won. I couldn't let you win, I couldn't let you hurt any more, no not you.

Maria: You broke the rules! Rules are important, brother said so, we are nothing without rules.

Luis: I don't believe in the rules any more Maria. When you don't believe anything is possible.

Maria: You're alone now, you cheater!

Luis: I win, you loose, now get out!

Maria: (slowly backs off stage while repeating this line) Two plus Seven is Nine. Two plus Seven is Nine. Two plus Seven is Nine. (Laughs as she gets off stage.)

Luis: Wait, I'm not finished with you. Maria!

Fast to Black

Dribble

2008-02-26T20:43:00.000-05:00

“I remember nothing.”

That is a lie, one that makes her feel better in many ways, one that makes this new existence easier to continue to the next, and beyond. That is the lie that was once the truth. The lie that must continue if only to find where it leads. To remember and honestly see could, most definitely would, be far more difficult than the here and now. She remembers nothing. She thinks she hides her awakening from all, illusions are at times necessary for continued life.

In a Different World I Loved You, Scene 6/7

2008-02-18T19:33:00.004-05:00

Scene Six: Set is a desk and three chairs placed so that the audience can still see the jail cell. Gomez is sitting at desk talking on the phone. Luis is in his cell. Children saying Patty Cake, Patty Cake etc. . . begins as soon as lights up when they get to "fast as you can" Gomez begins talking and rhyme slowly fades as Pedro enters while Gomez is midcnversation.

Gomez: Yes sir. I understand sir. I have children of my own. (pause) No, I can't imagine what you are going through. I understand. All of the. . . children, have not yet been identified, yet. It may take some time sir. Yes. Please tell your wife that you are in my prayers. Thank you. Try to get some rest. I'll keep in touch. (hangs up phone)

Pedro: May I? (pointing to chair)

Gomez: Be my guest. I've just finished your report. Startling. Can't imagine finding my children like that. No wonder she lost it. What else can you tell me about her?

Pedro: Not much. I'm not her doctor. They had her sedated at Tippling last I heard. Heavily sedated.

Gomez: What about him? This Luis character? Do you think he did it?

Pedro: Up to a jury. I can't talk about that.

Gomez: Guess Angela will be pleading insanity. Try to make the jury believe he didn't know what he did was wrong.

Pedro: He'll have his day in court.

Gomez: Can't blame me for trying? (pause) Why are you in my office? What do you want? I have work to do.

Pedro: Just a visit between friends, we are friends remember. I thought we could do lunch.

Gomez: Can't today. Things are still busy, matching victims to dental records and all that fun stuff.

Pedro: So, with Luis's arrest I suppose the Ritual Slayings with multiple perpetrators theory is debunked?

Gomez: We still have several other missing or murdered children to investigate. (pause) Honestly, with his confession, I don't know.

Pedro: How are the kids, your kids?

Gomez: They want to know when I'll be home for dinner.

Pedro: With Luis in jail you should take some time to be with them. You have your man in custody. His confession should have cleared most of your open cases. Over a hundred and forty, wasn't it?

Gomez: It's not that simple.

Pedro: Yes, it is. If you don't relax and smell the roses, as they say, you're no good to anyone, not your family, not the department, not even your friends. You got the bad guy, take some time for yourself.

Gomez: You just want someone else to beat ion the court.

Pedro: Now that you mention it, how about tomorrow afternoon? We could play, then I'll take the whole family out for a nice dinner. Kill two birds with one stone.

Gomez: Next week is possible, tomorrow is not.

Maria: (offstage) Get your news here! Hot off the presses! Paper sir? Columbian killer confesses! News here! Mothers across Ecuador and Columbia breath sigh of relief! EI Loco in jail! Get your news here! Hot off the presses!

Pedro: What do you know about nursery rhymes?

Gomez: Nursery rhymes? Like "Little Boy Blue"?

Pedro: You have kids, I need to know about nursery rhymes. Specifically, rhymes that teach addition. Do you know any?

Gomez: What? Do I look like Mother Fucking Goose?

Pedro: Mother Goose?

Gomez: (laughs) You're serious? My wife says that nursery rhymes were originally designed to frighten children into proper behavior. We don't do nursery rhymes.

Lights slowly fade as the voice of a child is heard reciting the following twice:
Two plus one is three. Nothing in life is free.
Two plus two is four. That's what God is for.
Two plus three is five. No one gets out alive.

Scene Seven: Jail room is placed as in scene three. When lights come up Margaret is seen sitting in one of the chairs staring out into nothingness. She is humming a simple tune to herself and is startled as Luis is lead in to the room. She stands and holds her arms out. Luis sits rather than hug her.

Luis: How nice of you to come and visit.

Margaret: I would have come sooner but they refused to let me.

Luis: I understand.

Margaret: Luis, what is going on? The papers are saying terrible things about you. I don't know what to do.

Luis: Get on with your life, forget me and all this.

Margaret: Forget? How am I supposed to forget? I love you. Am I supposed to forget that?

Luis: You don't love me.

Margaret: We can get you out of this. I'll hire the best lawyer money can buy. They don't have enough evidence for a conviction.

Luis: I have a lawyer. They have a confession.

Margaret: She's not the best. Please, just tell me you're innocent and I'll do anything to get you out this place.

Luis: (pause) I can't tell you that. (solo pianist begins to play)

Margaret: Yes you can!

Luis: Don't you see? I can't. That wouldn't help, not now.

Margaret: What?

Luis: Listen, I'm going to ask you to do me a favor. Can you do one thing for me?

Margaret: Anything.

Luis: I want you to go to Tippling and visit someone. Just tell them you're her sister in law.

Margaret: Who am I going to see?

Luis: Her name is Maria Alftedo, my sister. Give her a message. Make sure she understands the message is from me.

Margaret: Your sister?

Luis: Tell her to visit Mother. Tell her to go the same route, she can find her. Everything is taken care of

Margaret: I don't understand.

Luis: Pretty Margaret. (touches her face) She'll understand.

Margaret: And then what? Will you let me hire a lawyer?

Luis: No, my love, no lawyer needed.

Margaret: Luis!

Luis: Don't you see? It all ends here. Made sure of that. No more blood to ruin innocence. It's all over now. Or, will be soon.

Margaret: What's all over? You're confusing me.

Luis: Deliver the message, the sooner the better. (stands) Don't visit me again. Relax and smell the roses, as they say.

Margaret: You love me!?

Luis: In a different world, I loved you. (pause) But that wasn't me. Not really me. Now, go, get as far from here as you can. Nothing he can't fix.

Margaret: (as Luis moves her towards the door) We can still fix everything?
Luis: I'm working on that. (Margaret exits and Luis faces audience, music stops)

Fade to Black

Presidents Day!

2008-02-18T07:17:00.001-05:00

So, what WOULD I do today IF I did not have to go to work?

Suggestions welcome...

In a Different World I loved You, NOTES

2008-02-07T18:26:00.000-05:00

This is a play that I wrote several years ago....It is based on a short news article that I read online as part of a playwriting class that I was taking. That article was all the information that I had at the time and I was fascinated with the fact that this man, this terrible monster, could have lived a life that resembled normalcy in any way. He had a girl friend, he volunteered at schools and churches, he held down a job from time to time, he is the worlds most prolific serial killer, he was the guy next door, he may get out of prison....soon.

Since the time of its original conception this play has gone through countless changes and normally comes back to its present state. It needs work, it needs a workshop, it needs a staged reading, it needs help........for so many reasons.....yet, it is good, it is almost good enough.......I just don't seem able to get it there.....YET!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

So, I thought that I could publish it here, I would somehow infuse new life into a tired, old animal.

In a Different World I Loved You, Scene 4/5

2008-02-07T18:12:00.000-05:00

Scene Four: Two young boys are seen delivering newspapers at dawn they are throwing newspapers offstage playing and laughing with each other. Luis is seen entering putting on a monks robes.

Jose: Don't run so fast, I can't keep up.

Pablo: If we hurry I'll have time to meet Mary before Church. She has the prettiest eyes in all the world. I've almost saved up enough to get her a rosary for Christmas.

Jose: Mary Shamary! I want one of those bikes with big baskets in front and back. A red one. We could deliver papers just like (tries to snap fingers) that, with my new bike.

Pablo: We can deliver papers just like (mimics Jose snapping) by walking.

Jose: You know, real fast. (pause) Give you more time to look at Mary before Mass. I don't understand you. Are you ever going to talk to her?

Pablo: As soon as I save up enough money for that rosary. Now, lets get going. (Luis places himself in front of boys, causing Pablo to run into him and fall down) I'm sorry. Oh, hello Padre'. (boys begin picking up dropped papers) Will you be coming back to the school again this week?

Luis: I'm afraid not. What are the two of you doing out this early? Oh, I see, delivering the daily news are you? Would you do me a little favor? I have a few things in my room that need delivered to Ms. Mendex at the school Monday morning and was hoping you could be my delivery boy, or boys. I'm afraid I will be leaving town for a few days and will be unable to deliver them myself.

Jose: We deliver papers, sure, why not?

Luis: Are you sure your mother won't miss you if you're a few minutes late? I just live over the butcher shop down the road. Do you see it? Go up the stairs and knock on my door. I'll have the letter ready in a few minutes.

Pablo: Sure, we'll finish with these and stop there on our way home. Glad to be in the service of God, Padre'.

Pablo and Jose exit still throwing papers off stage as Luis watches them leave.

Scene five: Luis enters his apartment above the butcher shop. Margaret is standing beside the coffee pot watching it brew. She is dressed in a nurses uniform. She is humming to herself Luis enters throwing Monk's robes and walks toward Margaret.

Margaret: Oh, good morning darling. (they hug, she kisses Luis on cheek) How was the audition?

Luis: Well, there were three men and one woman (kisses her) all sitting behind the longest table ever known to man and after my monologue they all just stared at me as if they didn't even see me. I really thought I'd blown it when the woman suddenly comes to life and says: (imitating a woman's voice) "Do you think, Mr. Vi, that you could kill someone with a smile on your face? We're looking for someone who can lose his mind without losing control." Do you know what I told her?

Margaret: (playing with his hair) That you lost your mind when you were a little boy and have been looking for it ever since?

Luis: No, not exactly. What I told her was that I could do it, if it meant that I could get the woman of my dreams to finally agree to marry me and live happily ever after.

Margaret: Well, I hope you're audition was better than that line. (they hug) How long will you be gone if you get this job?

Luis: You didn't let me finish. So, then she handed me another monologue, really strange stuff. When I was finished and looked up all four of them, all four, were smiling so much I thought I was watching a toothpaste commercial.

Margaret: How long?

Luis: The shoot is supposed to be in Ecuador with a two-week schedule. I think they start shooting around the first ofthe month. So, if things go well, I should be home in plenty of time for Christmas.

Margaret: Then can we, you know, find someplace better to live with the New Year? (a more passionate kiss) I know you're attached to this little room, but I can hardly stand the smell anymore.
Luis: Yes, my dear, I was out looking just the other day. That "smell" is all your imagination. I'm telling you things are really looking up. Did John, from down stairs, ever pick up those rolls of plastic?

Margaret: Not unless he did it while I wasn't here. I think they're still in the hall closet. Why can't he store that junk in the shop? Sometimes I feel like I live in a butcher shop, not above one.

Luis: I promise, as soon as I get a few more jobs we are out of here. Don't you believe in me?

Margaret: Now (kissing him again) I really must go before I'm late for work. (Pours coffee into large cup with lid and begins to exit with a smile on her face. At the door she pauses and looks back at Luis) Have a wonderful day darling. I really do love you.

Luis: Off to work now, before you're late. I'll fix something special for dinner tonight. How does that sound? A pre-celebration feast.

Margaret: Pre-celebration?

Luis: I have a feeling I am on the fast track to stardom. One way or another. Get, you still need that job for a few more weeks.

Margaret: See you at dinner. (she closes the door and exits)

(Luis bolts the door and runs to the closet. When he returns he begins spreading sheets of plastic on the living room floor. All this time he is talking to himself)
Luis: Yes, darling. I know darling. Sure thing darling. As soon as you're rich I'll marry you. (Lifts couch and shoves end of plastic under when he stands something about his face has changed) Bad boy. Never do anything right. Don't make a mess on my floor. teach you to make a mess. (goes into kitchen area, rummaging through drawers) Two plus two is four, that's what God is for. (taking our several cutting and slicing devices and placing them on the counter.) Give me that, what do you think you're doing? Bad boy, very bad boy. Two plus two is four, that's what God is for. (taking knives into living area) Late, not good to be late, people get angry when little boys are late. (shoves knives under couch and sits down, beginning to rock) Can't do this anymore... two plus two is four, that's what God is for. Two plus two is four, that's what God is for.

A door slams offstage and we hear foot steps coming up the stairs. Luis gets up and searches for his robes. Finally finds them and frantically puts them on.
Luis: Two plus two is four, that's what God is for. Steady, nothing to worry about. Just a couple of little boys. Two little boys, just like the others.

The sound of the boys coming upstairs stops and we hear them giggle and wrestle for a moment.

Jose: Hey, stop that, give it back, it's mine. If you don't I'll tell Mary you're in love with her.
Luis jerks open door with a smile on his face.

Luis: Are you being bad little boys? Come in, I'll be ready for you in just a moment.

Fade to Black.

Road Trip!

2008-02-03T10:20:00.000-05:00

We had to go somewhere, ol' brother of mine and I....................the timing was perfect: no kids, no money, no time....perfect for a spur of the moment road trip! Brings back memories of days gone by when we were all younger, just do it, go, life is too short, live everything to its fullest, get in the car and go baby, not a care in the world.

Where to go? We wanted someplace with history, old buildings, time honored traditions, something we could really sink our teeth into......many destinations were discussed and tossed, we needed something close, not too close, most of all we wanted history......Burnsville, North Carolina, where else? This little town holds some of our fondest memories of childhood.

Burnsville is where we learned about family, unconditional love, the power of laughter and so much more. Honestly, this is one of the first places I ever remember feeling truly safe, sheltered and wholly alive in a manner that can not truly be described and must be felt to be honored. There was a purity to our visits with family there, as if they said "This is life, it may not be a story book but, we, we are going to live it, we are going to cherish every passing moment, the hard work will be done and the laughter will always continue."

So we went. Threw some essentials into the back pack and left.

Yes, Hong Kong Dou Dou is an essential!

My favorite part about the spur of the moment road trip has to be the many unintended or unforeseen benefits that come from such adventures. When you have an idea of what is ahead and can still remain open to whatever may come, no matter what that may be:

Even if what may come just happens to be bears and boots, you just have to open your eyes to the possibilities and truly see. I had to be quick and stealthy with the camera at this gas station, for I had the feeling, the inner awareness, that the proprietors would not have appreciated my taking pictures, while giggling uncontrollably, of what, I can only assume, was something that just never struck them as strange or funny. Bears and boots my friends a nice combination if I have ever seen one, especially at a gas station!

So this next picture should come as no surprise to anyone, here is the art hanging on the ladies room wall:
I really wanted to see what was in the mens bathroom after taking this picture............the door was locked and I did not have the key.....leave it to your imagination.

More later, now I am tired.

Where the will is declining, the action stop.

2008-02-01T21:53:00.000-05:00

Just three words....................

2008-01-31T20:24:00.000-05:00

Instant attitude modification
The small increased
In value, at least...

Crying harder
Laughing louder
Loving completely
Singing, often.

In a Different World, I loved You, Scene 3

2008-01-30T05:53:00.001-05:00

Scene Three: The set from scene one is now in full view with space left downstage for actors to stand. Luis has stayed on stage during the scene change. Pedro enters the cell with Luis and sits. There is no music or sound of any kind for 60 seconds after they sit down. They just stare at each other.

Luis: Where is she?

Pedro: Shouldn't I be the one asking the questions?

Luis: No, asshole, I'm the one asking you a question. Where is she? (begins rocking)

Pedro: My name is Pedro B_________. Call me Pedro if you like.

Luis: Two plus two is four. That's what God is for.

Pedro: May I call you Luis? Or, do you prefer Mr. Vi?

Luis: I go by many names. One is just as good as another.

Pedro: What do your friends call you?

Luis: (Stops rocking) You are not my friend.

Pedro: No, I suppose I'm not.

Luis: Why isn't she here yet? I'm not talking without my lawyer present.

Pedro: That's fine. Angela is running late. Nothing to be concerned about. (Pause) I can help you. Nothing you tell me will harm your case.

Luis: Nothing I tell you will harm my case? That's just wonderful! I'm not going to tell you anything.

Pedro: How old are you?

Luis: Older than my years.

Pedro: Where were you born?

Luis: I was very young. (laugh) I don't remember. (laugh)

Pedro: Mothers name?

Luis: Stupid question.

Pedro: Standard question.

Luis: She's dead.

Pedro stands as Angela enters the room. At exactly the time she enters a solo pianist is heard playing quietly in the background.

Angela: Sorry I'm late. (Shakes hands with Pedro and sits across the table from Luis)

Luis: What are you doing?

Angela: (without looking up) I have some paperwork here for Pedro to sign and a list of questions for you. Why?

Luis: Why? I asked you what you were doing and you answer me with questions. (laughs) You Are Late. (laughs)

Pedro: I was just beginning to ask Luis some of the background questions we discussed on the phone.

Luis: Are you two in love.

Angela: We are business associates. Now, we have a lot of ground to cover in very little time.

Luis: Would you like me to tell you a story?
Pedro: What kind of story Luis?

Luis: I think you'll like this one Quack. Very short and to the point. Let's say it will let you get to know me better.

Pedro: What's the story about?

Luis: A little boy and the end of the world.

Angela: What's the boys' name?

Luis: The details aren't important. Just listen. You can close your eyes if you want. (laugh) Once Upon A Time. In a land not so far away there lived a little boy with his loving family. (Luis walks downstage while Brother and Mother enter from opposite sides of the stage)

Mother: What is wrong with him?

Brother: (walks to and hugs Mother) Nothing to worry about. He'll be fine. Just fine.

Mother: Fine? He's bleeding. He's just a little boy.

Brother: He is fifteen. He was late.

Mother: Where is Pablo?

Brother: They were late.

Mother: Pablo?

Brother: We sent him to playa game with the other boys.

Mother: Luis, are you OK?

Brother: He is fine, we played a game, he was late.

Mother: That's no reason to . . .

Brother: To what mother? To punish him?

Mother: Punish? No, that is not punishment. (pointing to Luis who is sitting on the floor rocking)

Brother: He'll be fine. And, he'll remember to be on time from now on. Won't you little brother? (Luis nods) If you're late someone has to pay the price. Simple as that.

Mother: Look! There's too much blood. These need stitches, do some of these need stitches? (Sits down with Luis and begins to rock him like a small child)

Brother: You baby him too much. He'll be fine.

Luis: Brother's games hurt.

Mother: Sssssshhhhhhh. Mother is here now.

Luis: Mother's not always here.

Mother: Mother has to work.

Brother: That's right, Mother isn't always here.

Luis: Well maybe that wasn't the end of the world, not really. (Stands as Mother and Brother exit) I was never late after that. I learned my lesson. brother should have learned his lesson too. The end of the game. That's another story. Game, set and match, no more game. When Mother found out, well, she didn't know what to do. But, as I've aid, that is another story. (Sits in his chair) So, what shall we talk about?

Pedro: How did your mother die?

Luis: Killed her self.

Pedro: Brother, where is he now?

Luis: Stupid question.

Pedro: What do you do for a living Luis?

Luis: I'm an actor. (Music stops) Going to be famous one day, a household name.

Fast blackout for scene end.

Notes to the Teacher....

2008-01-28T17:50:00.000-05:00

Below was a bit of "extra work" that I assigned to the Eldest this weekend!

Dear Mr. Algebra Teacher

I apologize for texting during class, it was rude and disrespectful, I now realize how stupid it was to text in the front row. I will not do it again. You had to take time out of your class to get onto me, and that should have not happened.

I accept any and all punishments that i get. I should have been paying attention to the class rather than texting and not paying attention. I promise not to text during your class time again, and I once again apolagize for taking time out of your class.

The Eldest

My own personal addition to the note.

Mr. Algebra Teacher,

Please send me an email, to confirm receipt of this letter.
Thanks,
Michelle
Mother of Eldest

Yep, made him take it to class today. His father even took his phone away for a week. Someday they will understand that WHATEVER they do between the two of us, the parents, we have done it, more than once. Been there, done that, got the t-shirt, little education, and low paying job to show for it!

I have amazing children, they never fail to amuse me!

In a Different World, I loved You

2008-01-27T15:16:00.000-05:00

Scene Two: The set from scene one is still seen by the audience (possibly pushed upstage) When lights come up we hear traffic, children playing and quietly a saxophone plays in the background. Offstage we hear Maria.

Maria: Get your news here! Hot off the presses! Paper sir? You look like a smart man in need of some daily news. News here! You boys finish delivering the rest of these. Be careful, cars never know to watch for little boys. Get your news here! Hot off the presses! (The sound of children playing increases and the stops suddenly)

Maria enters wearing a ragged dress and no shoes. Walks to center stage and stops.

Maria: Oh, sweet mother of God. (crosses herself) No, this can't be happening! Please make it not so. Oh, no, please no! (walks to side of stage) No, please Lord, make this not what I see. (pointing offstage) Make this a dream. (Kneels and begins silent prayers while rocking. Police blue lights are seen offstage. Gomez and Alfonzo enter)

Gomez: Is that her?

Alfonzo: We think she found them. A foot patrol noticed her exactly as she sits now.
Only pointing at the ravine. Screams if you try talking to her. Sorta feel for the woman. Got the shrink on his way.

Gomez: No witnesses? (stares offstage) How many?

Alfonzo: (moving Gomez away from Maria) Too early to tell. Fifteen at last count. They just finished with the photos. You can see fifteen, that may be just what's on top.

Upstage slowly Luis is escorted into the room from scene one. He sits and begins to watch the men already on stage. Music stops.

Gomez: I want everyone questioned. Especially the street people, vendors, bums, churches, schools, everyone. There's no way this could have gone unnoticed, no way. Shit! (Pause) What else?

Alfonzo: Coroner says it didn't happen in one day. The decay isn't consistent. Some have been here a long time, others, well.

Gomez: All children?

Alfonzo: Looks like it.

Maria: (whisper) Two plus three is five. No one gets out alive. (repeats this throughout the rest of the scene, even as she walks off stage. Saxophone begins playing again, quietly.)

Alfonzo: (Staring at Maria) She mumbles. Been doing it all night. Says God a lot. I think she's praying.

Gomez: Say one for us then, say one for us.

Pedro enters and walks directly to where Gomez and Alfonzo are standing. Pedro is dressed in a tuxedo.

Pedro: (Shaking hands with both men.) Gentlemen.

Gomez: Hope we didn't spoil your plans for the evening.

Pedro: Comes with the job. What do you know about the woman.

Gomez: Not much to tell. We think she found the bodies, refuses to talk to us, screams and prays most of the time. No name, no ID, nothing.

Pedro: If I'm not mistaken her name is Maria, peddles news papers on Loco. I think she has a regular route as well. Brings her boys to the clinic, I've seen them there.

Gomez: You wouldn't happen to know her last name?

Pedro: No, sorry.

Gomez: See what you can do for her. We'll talk later.

Pedro: You'll have a report from me in the morning. (Pedro walks over to Maria, holds his hand out and helps her stand. Then they walk off stage together.)

Alfonzo: Have the patrol check the grocery on Loco, they're bound to know who she is, it's a start.

Gomez: Do you remember that case in Armenia last year where they found young boys mutilated by some kind of cult?

Alfonzo: Satanic ritual killings, that's what they called it. Ring leader is doing multiple life sentences, tried to plea insanity, jury didn't buy it. Three others convicted along with him. You thinking Cult?

Maria: (from off stage) Get your news here! Hot off the presses! Seventeen bodies found in Ravine! All young boys between the ages of eight and eighteen! Do police have any clues? Who do they suspect? Find out in today's edition! Killer Cults run ramped in Pereira! Get your news here! Hot off the presses! My babies!

Gomez: Can't see one person doing all this.

Scene ends with saxophone playing.

Time

2008-01-23T22:04:00.000-05:00

When I have more time...

The bedroom will be painted
Bathroom as well
Reading list completed
Dust bunnies blown to hell

3 days off...

Three movies
one, twice
Singing the blues
Quiet as mice

In a Different World, I loved You

2008-01-19T20:54:00.000-05:00

Scene One: The sound of a boy's choir should be the first thing the audience senses as the play begins. This music will slowly get louder until it becomes distorted to the point that is no longer resembles music. When the lights come up Luis is sitting on a chair in a sparsely furnished room with no windows. This set should be placed on wheels so that the room can be pushed up stage while other action is happening down stage. We see him fidget and pace for a few seconds before Angela enters.

Angela: Good morning. My name is Angela Gonzalez (holds her hand out for Luis to shake) I'm your court appointed attorney. (pause) And you are Luis Vi? (Luis stares at her) Are they feeding you well enough? Is there anything I can get for you? (pause) Do you know why you're here?

Luis: Do you know why I'm here? Do I know why I'm here? (Rocking back and forth as if holding a small child) Are they feeding you well enough? (Smacks his forehead) Well enough?

Angela: (She mimes as if talking to a small child) I'm here to help you.

Luis: Don't patronize me. (stops rocking)

Angela: I'm sorry. (pause) How old are you Mr. Vi? May I call you Luis?

Luis: Will you stop with the questions? (Begins to rock again) Questions, questions, questions.

Angela: I'll make a deal with you. Answer one question for me and I'll ask no more today. Simple enough. Do you agree? (Luis nods his head) Do you know why you're here?

Luis: Do I know why I'm here?

Angela: Well, do you?

Luis: I'm frightened. (pause) When I get frightened people get hurt. Two plus two is four, that's what God is for. I know that one. Do you remember that one? (Laughs) My turn to ask the questions. (laughs)

Angela: Do you know why you're here?

Luis: Two plus two is four, that's what God is for. I can never remember the rest. Tell me how it ends.

Angela: How it ends?

Luis: What comes next? After God? I can't remember.

Angela: Do you know why you are here?

Luis: Yes.

Angela: Will you tell me? Why are you here?

Luis: Because men with hats and guns and those, what do you call them? Those black stick looking things, they hang on their belts. I don't know how, but they do, they hang there until someone needs a good bashing. That's what they call it "A good bashing."

Angela: A billy club?

Luis: Yes, a billy club. You win the prize! I'm afraid I don't have much to offer you. Limited funds and all. (Pause) O.K., so, they brought me in here. Lovely room, don't you think? Well, it may not be up to your standards but, compared to the rest of this hotel, this room is lovely, simple and lovely. Like you.

Angela: Not this room, this is a jail. Do you know why you're in jail? (packing up the contents of her briefcase) I'm not a therapist. (Luis begins rocking and humming again) I don't think I can help you. You need a psychiatrist not a lawyer.

Luis: Lawyers get psychiatrists.

Angela: (Stops packing and stares at Luis) I sent one. You refused to talk to him.

Luis: I like talking to you. Your psychiatrist is a quack.

Angela: Quack?

Luis: I like talking to you.

Angela: That is not the point. I am a lawyer not a psychiatrist. (Stares at Luis) You do know. Don't you? Why you're in jail.

Luis: Yes.

Angela: Tell me about it.

Luis: You're not a therapist.

Angela: No, I think we agree on that much, I'm not a therapist. (pause) I am, however, your lawyer and if I'm to come up with a defense for you I need to know what happened.

Luis: What are the charges?

Angela: You know what the charges are. (pause as they stare at each other) Why am I wasting my time?

Luis: You have something better to do?

Angela: I'm not sure. I mean, I do have other things to do. Will you talk to the psychiatrist if I send him back here?

Luis: Questions, questions. I suppose that is what lawyers are for. Yes, I will speak with your quack. Under one condition.

Angela: You still don't get it! This is not a game.

Luis: Oh, but it is a game. All of this. Just one big game. Just ask the Quack, Pedro, was that his name? Pedro the Quack. This is, we are, simply something to have fun with, something to make you laugh. Life, life is just a game. The more you enjoy it the more you do it, the more you do it the better your score. Are you ready for my condition? (Angela nods) You will be here. That's all. You will sit right here next to me while I talk to that man. Do we have a deal?

Angela: Deal. Now will you answer my question?

Luis: Question? Two plus two is four.

Angela: Why are you in jail.

Luis: Because, as your psychiatrist will inform you, I am insane. Nutty as a fruitcake. Nothing more, nothing less.

Angela: What happened?

Luis: You'll know. Soon enough, you'll know. Will you still love me?

Angela: Love has nothing to do with it. Listen, you are my client. (Pause) Nothing more, nothing less. (stands)

Luis: Good girl. You're learning. When will I see you again?

Angela: With the psychiatrist. Soon. Good day Mr. Vi. (exits)

Luis: Wrong again, my lovely friend, wrong again.

Black Out. The Boy's choir is heard again. This time with no distortion and so quiet the audience will almost have to strain to hear it.

A bit of Browning to brighten the mind a bit...

2008-01-19T20:22:00.000-05:00

Never the Time and the Place

by Robert Browning
(1812-1889)

Never the time and the place
And the loved one all together!
This path--how soft to pace!
This May -- what magic weather!
Where is the loved one's face?
In a dream that loved one's face meets mine,
But the house is narrow, the place is bleak
Where, outside, rain and wind combine
With a furtive ear, if I strive to speak,
With a hostile eye at my flushing cheek,
With a malice that marks each word, each sign!
O enemy sly and serpentine,
Uncoil thee from the waking man!
Do I hold the Past
Thus firm and fast
Yet doubt if the Future hold I can?
This path so soft to pace shall lead
Thro' the magic of May to herself indeed!
Or narrow if needs the house must be,
Outside are the storms and strangers: we
Oh, close, safe, warm sleep I and she, --
I and she!

This has always been one of my very favorite poems, I would like to make a story either based upon or using these words, in this order, as a focus.

I shared this poem with a friend (one who had recently learned English as a second language) once, he asked me to explain it. "Don't you see"? I ask...

Why a rain and snow filled day put me in the mind of Mr. Browning? I can not say, perhaps it just is.

I answered all the questions honestly...

2008-01-19T17:29:00.000-05:00

What type of partier are you? Your Result: The Socialite You like only the best liquors, the latest trendy martini's, or the finest single-malt scotch. You are not one for the 'dive bar', you prefer classy lounges filled with model-quality people. When intoxicated, you flirt, but are coy and unattainable, you make your suitors WORK for it.
The Lurker
Hardcore drunk
The designated driver
Bar Social Butterfly
Bar Slut
The rock-star party animal
What type of partier are you? Make Your Own Quiz

These things have no idea!

Let it Snow, Let it Snow, Let it Snow!

2008-01-16T15:10:00.000-05:00

The view from my office window!

It may not seem like much to those of you in the northern part of the world, but this little bit of white magic has had me singing for the last hour now!

It has been years since the small town Georgia in which I currently reside has seen any of the white stuff & and we are terribly excited. Not much work being done in this office at the moment....we are all in quiet reflection............perhaps I will make some inquiries as to what is being reflected upon!

Thought of the day . . .

2008-01-15T18:30:00.001-05:00

Of course, it is very important to be sober when you take an exam. Many worthwhile careers in the street- cleansing, fruit-picking and subway-guitar-playing industries have been founded on a lack of understanding of this simple fact.

Terry Pratchett, Moving Pictures

Inspired by stuff!

Spelling words belong in the dishwasher

2008-01-09T18:38:00.000-05:00

So, I was in the car with the youngest on Friday night on our way back from LaGrange, there we watched the eldest wrestle (what an amazing sport - I have much admiration for anyone who is involved in wrestling - not that crap on the television though). We were talking about education. I am doing the foot work to get the youngest into the local private school & praying for a scholarship, he had about 10,000 questions. It was a really nice, comfortable conversation, those are the best.

We ended up on the topic of "Spelling Words", we both hate spelling words.

Out of his mouth comes this statement: "I just suck at spelling."

What do I say? "Yes, son, you do suck at spelling??????????? No, no can't say that....think........think........think "Don't worry, this will be the last year for spelling." NO, then he will think that spelling is unimportant! MORE think, think, think: "Do you know why that is?" MUCH BETTER! The perfect "therapist" answer.

"No, I just do." UNCOOPERATIVE PATIENT!

Then I remembered back to a book I once read that has helped me a great deal, actually it was a series of books.

"It is just memorization, really not that hard, and you are a really smart kid (butter him up) why don't we try an experiment?"

"What" STILL UNCOOPERATIVE!

"First, you have to stop saying that you suck at spelling, or anything else derogative in reference to your spelling ability."

"Why, its true?" My psychology 101, ten years ago, is about to leave me hanging...

"Just promise to try and I will teach you a little secret about how to remember things." Manipulation 101 still with me!

"OK, I can try." PERFECTION!

We talked for a long time about the mind and different memorization tricks that the teachers are trying to get him to do, writing the words, sentence writing, word search etc... and how these things are designed to work. We decided that it didn't matter why they did not work for him, they just did not work.

Then I told him to decide what building he would like to build his mind into. At this point he thinks I am crazy yet still participates. We decided that, as a start, his mind would look exactly like our house. Then we picked rooms for every topic in school and a few things that he/we just like to learn about. Then HE decided that his spelling words would belong in the dishwasher...I didn't ask. I had him visualize placing the letters of a few words, individually and as a whole into a specific spot of the dishwasher. It seemed to work. Now he can close his eyes and visualize those words, spelling them to perfection every time.

Oh, the series of books........................Written by Thomas Harris, Red Dragon, Silence of the Lambs, Hannibal & Hannibal Rising.....please don't tell the Youngest!

1/10/08 UPDATE: Spelling test tomorrow....................I still hate spelling words!

Same conversation, different point:

2008-01-09T18:00:00.000-05:00

The Youngest wanted to know why I do not subscribe to the "virtual campus" that is offered at all county schools. My answer was simple: You should be the one to tell me how you are doing in school. I regularly email & receive communication from a great deal of your teachers as far as projects and behavior in class. I don't need to spy on your grades.

This is not to say that I don't think these ideas are wonderful, especially for students who are having a hard time academically. It can be a wonderful tool for students and parents to catch a problem and remedy the situation promptly. --thus ends my disclaimer!

Academics has not YET been a problem with the youngest. HERE IS THE POINT: I want to keep the lines of communication open with the youngest and teach him responsibility at the same time. It is his responsibility to inform me of how he is doing in school, if he needs help he knows how to ask, if he does well he knows that I will be there with many congratulatory statements. How can I expect him to be responsible for the work if I do not respect that responsibility enough to allow him the opportunity to stand up and say "I did ________", or "I need ______"? I do not punish for poor achievement! I will, however, punish if I am blindsided with poor grades, not because the grades were less than desired but because he did not live up to his end of the bargain and ask for help. The youngest tends to blossom when given responsibilities, goals and deadlines. I need to give him that space.

I have to share this - SMACK!!!

2008-01-07T20:46:00.000-05:00

oh my god, I just have to share this with you!
I took a TIGER that was soooooo big and TIGERED out sooooo fast that it created a partial TIGER in my lower TIGER. Then the TIGER quickly snaked up through my small TIGER into my TIGER. I even heard the whirlpool that TIGER created as what was left of the big glass of water TIGER drank spun through my TIGER. I heard it, I tell ya! You know how the TIGER sounds as water finishes draining? Like that, only TIGERier. I went from fine to TIGER TURD in about 5 seconds.
Sheesh! I feel better now. What a TIGER... off my mind

Thanks for listening

running away before Michelle smacks me in the head

.... Yeah, until a fucking TIGER EATS YOU!...

Still no words

2008-01-07T19:00:00.000-05:00

To express the pain
Rationalize attitude
Must run and hide

I am going to cook something yummy......if that does not work we are all in big trouble!

Pictures...No words...

2008-01-06T22:37:00.000-05:00

Click on the pretty pictures, they get bigger!

Central-Mid-Levels escalators

2008-01-05T13:12:00.000-05:00

Hong Kong Dou Dou is tired after the climb...
This escalator was one of the things on our "must do" list for Hong Kong. Please do not, under any circumstances, think, for a single second, that this is a continuous moving piece that travels more than 800 meters straight up hill!!! This bad boy has several landings, and a turn or two, that must be traversed in order to reach the top. But WHAT A RIDE!

I can still close my eyes and drift back to that evening, every time I do...I become hungry. Seriously, this was the most pleasantly fragrant walk that I have ever been on, in my life.

So get to the top, take your time, categorize each aroma individually (some of these nasal sensations are not so pleasant - you have been warned) attempt to distinguish each type eatery, make a mental list of those establishments in which you would like to dine. Once arriving at that point in which there are no more magically moving stairs you must choose a place to sit and enjoy an adult beverage while dining.

As you find yourself drifting back down the stairs, oh, by the way.....you have to walk - the escalator only travels one way, down in the mornings & up in the evenings. You may change your mind a time or twenty as to where the "perfect meal" is to be had.

I have one word for you..................sushi.

Wisdom Path - Heart Sutra

2008-01-05T01:43:00.000-05:00

Below I have listed some information about what the Wisdom Path is and suddenly realized that no amount of research, study or information could convey to you, all four of my perfect and amazing readers, the beauty, majesty and serenity felt and finally internalized/believed just being there.

The Wisdom Path is an outdoor display of the Heart Sutra carved on 38 tall, very tall, pieces of wood arranged in the shape of a figure eight - infinity. One of the wooden columns is left blank, without carvings, to represent the emptiness theme central to the Heart Sutra.

Here is my Favorite translation, thus far, perhaps due to my shortened attention span, yes - this does imply that at once in my life the attention span of Michelle was not soooo short - this translation/interpretation of the Heart Sutra was designed to make the study easier for college students by George Boeree, Ph.D.

"The Heart of Prajna Paramita Sutra, with "Verses Without A Stand" and Prose Commentary" here is a PDF link by Buddhist Text Translation Society.

So, once you feel you have done enough research on the topic - try to imagine, or remember, peace. Interior and exterior peace, within and without. This is what I felt and now............crave.

True story...we must find a way to use this power for the good of man kind!

2008-01-03T07:21:00.000-05:00

Sitting around the dinner table several days ago. Children all talking about this and that....my eldest tells me a story from his last week in school before the break:

Apparently he was talking to a friend in class and this phrase comes out of his mouth "You're Mama"...teacher hears and takes him outside the room for a little talking to, here is what happened...

Teacher: Why would you say something like that to someone about their mother? That was rude and disrespectful?

Child: I'm sorry, it is just a phrase, I didn't think about it that way.

Teacher: Do you live with your mother?

Child: No.

Teacher: Is your mother alive?

Child: (looks teacher dead in the eyes, then stares at the floor) I don't want to talk about it.

Teacher: Well, alright then, go back into class.

Just as soon as I reach the point that this does not make me chuckle, I will punish the boy!

it's a little clearer now

2007-12-31T08:19:00.000-05:00

My apologies to my host, I was, indeed trying to post a widget for my trip. And it ended up here, so sorry, so sorry. Which was why I just blinked when Michelle asked me about the novelty theory. Which I don't have a clue about. I mean sure I could go Google it, but why?
Anyway, in 44 days and a few hours, we'll be in the Bahamas. Thanks for the loan, My Belle. And to think, all it took was a few bruises to convince you.
But don't forget to think about that new car, I might need it soon.

Holder & Richard are going to the Bahamas!

2007-12-31T07:07:00.000-05:00

Yes, you guessed it............I had to give them all the funds in my savings account for them to stop the abuse this weekend. Apparently all they needed to purchase their air line tickets was $2.47. Can you imagine what I would look like if they needed $100.00? Just a thought! See below for photographic proof.........this picture was not edited.

Abuse of a guest!

2007-12-30T17:28:00.001-05:00

Have you ever thought about going to the home of Holder and Richard to enjoy some good fun. Well, if you get these two too intoxicated, something like this may happen to you.

How did this happen, you may ask?

All I can say is that Richard gets rather upset when you kick his tail at football & broom! If you should upset little Richard, get he and his lovely wife a weeee bit intoxicated, and then begin to taunt him/them.....well then, that is when Holder gets involved. Not a pretty site at all. All I remember saying is "Please, for the love of God, put down the shovel...

Hong Kong Harbor....Victoria Harbour

2007-12-29T10:23:00.000-05:00

Oh, yes there is a story to accompany this picture. It is a story of love, a story of mystery with a splash of fear and a dose of the Chinese mafia. Yes, the story is all in my imagination, spawned only by fragmented bits of reality, but what a story it is. . .

Time is short this morning, enjoy the beauty of the picture and try to imagine your own story!

Dreaming, dream, dream, dream!

2007-12-23T09:39:00.000-05:00

Dear Santa,

I have been reasonably good practically all year!

I would love a built in dishwasher. Installation would be nice as well, I become easily confused. Could whoever installs it please fix the floor under the dishwasher that I have recently discovered is weak from the flood of water that currently comes out of the old dishwasher? Could you try and make certain that whoever installs the dishwasher and fixes the floor has a nice personality?

That is all I really want.

The kids have been good and, with more than a little help from friends & family, will have some really cool stuff under the tree.

Thanks!

Michelle

The little one...

2007-12-22T09:25:00.001-05:00

This picture was taken in Hong Kong during our visit. (It is, to date, my favorite from the trip. It may only be my favorite because I have only received a few....
....HINT!!!!! <-------why do I even try that? The man doesn't know how to take a hint! I should give all four of my readers his email and let them pester him for the PROMISED pictures!)

At any rate.....The picture was taken at the entrance to the Ruttonjee Hospital. Only now am I wishing we had had the foresight to also have taken a wide angle picture of the entrance. This is where people went to find help, and I thought that it was just an alley, hidden between the fruit vendor and another market.

I was standing in what I thought was an alley, waiting on JJ to return from a "meat market" photography shoot. As I did for much of the trip, standing there and watching the lives of hundreds or thousands of people, pondering the essence of existence, mine and theirs, wondering what mattered & what did not.

This is one of the things that mattered. I watched as this little princess grabbed an orange from a basket, looked up, at the woman I assume was her mother, with a determination that is almost exclusively reserved for little ones, turned, replaced the orange and then decided upon this, the perfect orange. I fell instantly in love. With the orange or the girl? Perhaps a combination of the two. A princess and her orange!

As I stand there and try not to obviously stare, thinking of the thousands of oranges before, wanting to know the thoughts of this princess, transporting myself back to a time when all that mattered was finding the succulent, sweet and tangy pulp within and savoring it.

"What type of orange is that?" I ask the returning photographic genius. "I don't know." he says and starts to walk away. "No, look at her." and he does, and he sees.

What he sees? I can not say. Perhaps he sees all the oranges of his past or projects all the future oranges in his life? Perhaps he is allowed a glimpse into the quiet determination of my little princess, a reflection of self? Perhaps he too falls instantly in love.

Perhaps we two found help in an alley that was also the entrance to a hospital.

Well?

2007-12-22T09:05:00.000-05:00

What is so intoxicating about intoxication?

Another one bites the dust!

2007-12-21T10:55:00.000-05:00

This morning, on my way to work, I purchased a pack of cigarettes. There, now you know, and I feel so much better about being open and honest!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! NOT.

Sleeping, eating, exercise and Guitar Hero

2007-12-16T09:16:00.000-05:00

At this time these are the only activities that I have found that actually accomplish keeping my mind off of the "omnipotent" cigarette.........and that, my friends, is one hell of a sad state of affairs!

I have heard the stories of people smoking one and then putting the rest of the pack in their pocket, and then toting that pack around with them for the next 20 years, if only to remind them of their commitment to stay away. I can guarantee you only one thing....had I kept a pack around, if only to remind me, that sucker would have been destroyed in a tragic fire by now. I'm not talking about the kind of fire that is accidentally started, this fire would have been encouraged and restarted at least twenty different times.

Here is my least favorite questions thus far: "So, Is your house like, spotless, when I quit smoking I scrubbed everything in the house, anything to keep my mind off of smoking?" To which I reply: "Hell no!" Honestly. All I want to do is eat, exercise and play Guitar Hero, nothing else is stopping the monster inside my head.

Ole brother of mine was putting on his shoes early this morning...and I asked: "Are you going out or just to the dump to haul off the trash?" to which he replied with total dead pan: "I would love to just go out, leave for a few hours, but alas, there are two little boys sleeping in the next room, whom I love, and don't want any harm to come to, I must be here to protect them." I smiled, and then asked him to buy me some cigarettes while he was out.......then told him that I would kick his tail if he did.

It is like battling depression and heroine addiction at the same time. It is truly frightening to find out just how addicted to smoking I had become.

Earlier I mentioned the cigarette as being omnipotent, and in the nicotine addiction riddled mind that is Michelle I, at times, believe in these powers. I could handle this ______________ (<---------here you can insert almost any situation, good or bad) a whole lot better if I could smoke just one. I have given the cigarette powers for which it was not designed, or was it?

OK, I tried it cold turkey, and that frightened most people. Went to the store and proudly proclaimed "I need to purchase some patches before I kill someone!" Somehow, that was not all that funny to the store employees, sometimes these lines are just much better in my head......The patch helped the first couple of days, it was kind of like being on speed (from what people have told me, not personal experience), which I thought was helping, now I am not so sure. I think today we are going to go "nicotine free", what really is the point in substituting one for the other, the point here is to be free from that addiction, not to place it in a more socially acceptable, and possibly less deadly, form. The point is to be free, and, honestly, I still want to kill people with the patch on, so why not go for broke?

What is the point to all of this in a post? It is, well, multifaceted, in a way, I am looking to accomplish several things.......Writing is also one of those things that has always, in the past, helped me to enter into a different perspective, a different world of sorts, and that is always a good thing. If I write about some things I am taking away their power to destroy me, or so I believe. Finally, now you know, not that I am a wimp and having a hard time with something that I should have done years ago, but that I am no longer a smoker. Feel free to remind me of this in the future.

I may delete this post...

Testing the water...

2007-12-14T11:57:00.000-05:00

How it will all end
It really does not matter
Just want my friend

So, no worries about kicking it any time soon!

2007-12-14T10:06:00.001-05:00

You'll die from a Heart Attack during Sex.

Your a lover not a fighter but sadly, in the act of making love your heart will stop. But what a way to go.

'How will you die?' at QuizGalaxy.com

Some days...

2007-12-14T09:05:00.000-05:00

It just does not seem worth the effort. Yet, I shall continue to try, possibly fail, and try again, to the end.

Hong Kong was amazing

2007-12-11T21:51:00.001-05:00

And I do not have pictures yet....big hint to those readers currently in China! Without the pictures I do not feel like writing about the adventures.

General observations:
Busy
Crowded
Beautiful
Incredibly nice people
Wonderful food
Me - Master of the chop stick
JJ - Master of the foot massage
Fast Drivers
Fun on a bus
Temples and their burning incense
Begin the process of no-smoking
Shopping
Haggling
Most Popular is yummy
Picture menus
Metro
Metro
Pacific Coffee has the best coffee on the planet - puts that other star studded place to shame!
Avenue of the Stars is a must at night
Chin Li Nunnery, Lotus Pond Garden and Nan Lian Garden = peaceful perfection
Largest/longest escalator, wow

Communication

2007-12-11T20:53:00.000-05:00

What an elusive thing...

She: Did you find any French books at that store?

He: No, all they had was Chinese books in French.

She: Isn't that what you were looking for?

He: No, I wanted to get some novels in French.

She: You mean French novels?

He: No, I don't care what language they were in originally, translated into French would be fine.

She: So, you didn't like any of the novels they had?

He: I just told you...They didn't have any novels. Just books on how to learn Chinese, written in French.

She: Hhhhmmmmmm...

So, which is it?
a) Linguistic
b) Cultural
c) Sexual (as in different sexes)
d) Astrological (as in different "signs")

Words

2007-12-10T23:09:00.001-05:00

There just are not any today, or yesterday, just a blank, posted the dribble of an entirely boring event yesterday, considered the same for today with little luck or true desire. There are some points in life where reflection is best done with pen and paper, now, I believe, may be one of those times. The reassurance of seeing the insanity or, for that matter, clarity, smoothly written in ink allows for a certain amount of reflection that is not easily obtained via any other avenue. Where is this all leading? Time well spent in quiet reflection, a sorting out of the images, impressions, thoughts, feelings, interpretations, losses, gains and current position within the universe without fear, within self. Finding the differences of perception and reality, and boldly stepping into those differences, that different world, that we all face each day a new, that will be the goal of the day, has to be, else face reality from a skewed position.

Monday Morning Blues

2007-12-10T06:10:00.000-05:00

After arriving home yesterday morning here is a list of things that I did:

Scowl at ol brother of mine for keeping a messy house.....I had actually anticipated it looking a lot more "manly" and was pleasantly surprised to see only a few dishes in the sink, clothes (clean) on the kitchen table, shelves in need of dusting and floors in need of attention. Not bad at all, really, but I still had to give him the scowl, least he think I had changed totally over the past 12 days!

Begin the cleaning process with ole brother of mine.

Pick up the munchkins. They were full of questions about Hong Kong & our adventures. What kind of food did you eat? Did you buy us all kinds of cheap electronics? Where was the hotel? I don't know what else they asked me in the car...........as I was beginning to see double of everything on the road, having only little naps over the past 30 hours or so in transit, and wanting a cigarette badly.

Arrive back at home & passing out gifts (which they all loved - finally got it right) to begin the march of the drill sergeant: You clean that bathroom, you sweep the front porch, you fix the electric fence, you sweep & mop, you get out the vacuum............so most of this was done in an hour or so, helps to have so many of them at times.

Then off to a late lunch/early dinner............and where do they choose to dine? Only one real choice Hong Kong, this is a local buffet restaurant with some really nice eats among the rather boring. The daughter wanted me to show her my new talent with the chop sticks, challenged me to eat jello which I accomplished with great flare.

Stop at Home Depot to pick up a new electric fence thingie.

Back home so that they could fight over the computers................lay down on couch for just a second................MOM, wake up, we are going to be late!

Take the eldest to their fathers, return home to help the youngest finish up with the fence, OK, so I just stood there and watched him for a few minutes, making a suggestion or two.

Unpack & do some laundry, I can't stand too much clutter, my house is way too small.

At about 7:30 I found myself on the couch again with the youngest........dozing off. To bed for me.

Now I am ready to return to work..................I can only imagine what awaits me there, as I am not allowed to scowl at the boss for the mess he leaves while I am gone.

I hope to have the pictures from JJ in the next few days and then I will begin to tell you all about our many little adventures.

SMOKING UPDATE: The neighbor boy just called to ask for a cigarette....I gave him the pack that I purchased at the airport in Korea & informed him that his supply from me was officially over.

Home

2007-12-09T12:28:00.003-05:00

And tired & have a million things to do................................more later!

Introduction . . .

2007-12-04T19:05:00.000-05:00

JJ & Michelle would like to introduce you to the newest addition to the family:

Honk Kong Dou Dou was adopted/purchased on December 1, 2007 for the price of $30.00 HK. He will have many great adventures that I hope to share with you.

Hong Kong Dou Dou

2007-12-02T18:27:00.000-05:00

That is the name of our new friend that I will give you pictures of later....today possibly. I have jet laggggggggg & Hong Kong is beautiful, totally packed with people, and some really good food, like I needed that!

Well, it is time for breakfast. Pictures & much much more.....later.

Food stuff

2007-12-02T14:34:00.000-05:00

No word from Michelle yet, she's probably still gets her shirts laundered, so to speak. But I have her son, and he reminds of several things:

1. Some children do appreciate your efforts to feed them, not just bitch about it.
2. Boys talk just as much, if not more than, girls.
3. 3 is not a crowd, these kids are having a blast together.

Now, Michelle tells me she is going to try exotic food stuffs whilst over in the land of lights, or whatever it's called. Maybe even Donkey. Hmmm, what is the strangest thing you've ever eaten? I used to eat tripe stew alot, cow stomach for those not in the know. I wonder if the inside of our stomach looks like that? Stuffed grape leaves were a fave of mine....

Vacation Time

2007-11-27T22:16:00.000-05:00

Just in case I do not have a chance to post tomorrow, I thought that I would drop a line to all four of my readers...

Just last week, after enjoying a wonderful take out from one of my favorite local restaurants, I found the following words of wisdom wrapped in cookie:

"Travel to the east will bring many rewards."

Far be it from me to turn down an offer such as this...

I depart for Hong Kong on Thursday morning and will not be back in town until the 9th of December. I may give Holder the keys to post pictures and possibly some travel advise, so stop in from time to time, either here or at Holder's pad for an update.

Do not fear, I will have plenty to write about upon my return.

Now I must get back to my laundry, packing and cookies.....Yes ol' brother of mine and the youngest demanded I bake them something before I leave as, to use their words, they will be "sacrificing so much" while I am gone. They tried to hold out for the key lime pie, alas..........that takes way too much time and I have a lot more research to do prior to departure. They will suffer through with the cookies and I will bake pies upon my return. So, if you are interested in pie and vacation pictures in a few weeks just drop on in.

Fear is an amazing thing:

2007-11-27T06:10:00.000-05:00

Sitting, thinking, wondering, worried, pondering, meditating, and just enjoying the quiet. The loudest thing in my house at this moment has got to be the wall clock..tick, tick, tick, tick, comforting in a way that is difficult to describe. Continually remind me of the things that must be done, the simple passage of time.

Then the furnace kicks in, muffling the sound of my beloved clock - making the comfortable tick, tick, tick, tick into a background noise, no longer the focus. Dulling the senses and allowing me not to focus on that passage of time, yet on other things.

Now it is the refrigerator, that magical thing that keeps all of its contents cool and fresh. Perhaps I should crawl in there for a while & return cool and fresh? I think not. Although I would very much enjoy being cool and refreshed, I will have to find another way.

I am afraid, my friends, and it has a paralytic effect on my system. I will most definitely continue with the journey to find where it leads, to become the better me One way or another this is what happens when the fear is faced head on and the future recognized for its special powers and magical ability to change a person once it becomes the here and now.

Strange, I am awakened at five in the morning, all on my own without the help of any mechanical devices, senses heightened, sight, sound, smell, taste, all picking up on those things which are normally unnoticed or ignored. This is not the Michelle I know, must be some type of invasion.

One for the Road

2007-11-23T15:51:00.000-05:00

Try to remember that once the hook is in, the heart will always bring you back?

OK, so this is the end of my musical get up and move rant at all of you loverly people. Have a wonderful evening, and don't forget to brush!

I heard a rumor that when the Blues Travelers were touring, they would place John Popper in his own van and he only wanted to get out to perform & eat. Gosh I hope this is not true, but it does give me more motivation to get up and MOVE.

Count, One, Two, Three

2007-11-23T15:41:00.000-05:00

So, not much time remains before this "young" lady heads out for an evening on the town...the mood is almost perfect now, just in need of an adult beverage or two and perfection will be met. Enjoy. This is another one of those songs that makes me want to move, move on down the road.

Get up and move

2007-11-23T15:30:00.000-05:00

Today we will only have music that has a mystical effect on the body...................WARNING, listening the the video posted below may make you want to dance, dance, dance. Like a theme in my life of late! Soon I will be dancing in the streets, keep your eyes open wide when in the great outdoors, I may just dance right by.

Float On My Friend

2007-11-23T15:25:00.000-05:00

When in doubt, always go for the live version.