tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-87249861919339735962024-03-08T02:22:57.668-08:00Thinks, Stinks, and Roller Rinks“You shall know the truth and the truth shall make you odd.”
Flannery O’Connor
T. Lloyd Reillyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11609002400518041058noreply@blogger.comBlogger156125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8724986191933973596.post-57686449407570653992022-10-12T13:28:00.002-07:002022-10-12T13:31:17.009-07:00A Funny Thing Happened on the way to the Bookstore<p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: times;">One day a few weeks ago I found myself going to the closest
venue of the Sage from Bentonville (Wal-Mart) when </span><span style="font-family: times;"> </span><span style="font-family: times;">I came to realize that all of my current
reading opportunities have come from the small section of the store stuck in
between the cigarette aisle and the “20 Items or less” cashier.</span><span style="font-family: times;"> </span><span style="font-family: times;">It is the feed trough of my inquiring
mind.</span><span style="font-family: times;"> </span><span style="font-family: times;">At least it used to be.</span></span></p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">Being an academic by nature and profession, I had been
studying an interesting subject the day prior to my sojourn to the depths of
retail Nirvana. Is there really such a
thing being as the Devil? On a philosophical level it has proven a stimulating
topic. I began the study in order to
reinforce my personal skepticism as to the existence of such a being.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">There is research to attest or refute the idea that a being
exists that has nothing but contempt and derision for mankind. All that is offered is the ranting’s of some
believers, and the references in the bible to “That which is called Legion.” My trip out that day was to purchase
groceries and perhaps a new book, but what I found was definitive proof. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">Coming out of my driveway I viewed an old woman who lives
down the street from me walking with an umbrella to ward off the rain. I stopped to see if I could give her a
ride. I had done this a number of times
before and I usually looked forward to the chance opportunity to commit a
random act of kindness. The old woman
always gave me a broken toothed smile, and always made sure that I was given
some form of payment for my services.
Most of the time she would hand me fifty cents, as if I was operating
some form of public transportation, and then go about her business. This day, she handed me a pamphlet on the
existence of Satan, and how to identify that being when encountered. She told me to go back home and read the brochure. I told her that I needed to visit the retail
giant and would look at it upon my arrival back at my home. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">Instantly waving her hands in the air she wailed at me that
the devil himself was at that store and that if I had to go there, I <u>must</u>
stay clear of the book section. She
reached over, clutched my hand, and began reciting the script of an
exorcism. It took several minutes to
extricate my hand from her grip and assure her that I would be careful.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">I took the experience with a grain of salt. This was not the
first time she had exhibited a radical expression of her views. I believed that she was just a crazy old lady
that I got to give a rides Little did I
know how much my life would change that day as a result of a momentary denial
of another person’s dogma. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">I got to Wal-Mart and found the items I required and was
going to leave before something told me to go look at the books. I remembered the woman’s admonishment but gave
it little power. Walking to the bookrack
I noticed, standing before the religious books, Satan. Well, at least someone dressed as the
Trickster. The red face and skin, pointy
tail sticking from under the red cape, the black hair and pencil thin moustache
and goatee, the red pitchfork, and the evil smile, just as in all the pictures
I have seen. Staring in disbelief, I
push it off as someone dressed for a costume party. Until, that is, he dropped a bible on the
floor and burned it with a set of flames coming out of his eyes. Afterward, he
turned to me and smiled. He told me that
he had been waiting on me, and that we should get to work.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">All my life I have tried to get published as a writer. Reading and writing had been an obsession and
compulsion for as long as I could remember.
I recalled watching someone accepting a prize for writing one time and
took it on as a dream. I would win that
prize one day. This guy told me that he
could give that to me…if I signed my soul over to him.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">Admittedly, this seemed to me too convenient, and I scoffed
at him. He, just as I have seen in a
million movies and read in as many books, pulled out a parchment with gothic
writing on it with my name at the top, and next to the signature line. I took
it and read it. It was a standard
agreement for services that already had a prominent “Lucifer” in script next to
the seller line.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">As I read the contract, I imagined my new life. Buying the huge house, the book signing
tours, and the trophy wife I met at a reading of one of my poems, as well as
all the rest of the perks of being an award winning author. I seriously considered reaching for the quill
pen when other thoughts came to mind.
There was the IRS audit where I got arrested for fraudulent filing, the
repossession of the house, the multi-raced child my wife had and sued me for
child support, the big guy in the next prison cell who informed me of his intentions
to change my sexual orientation, and the last glimpse of the truck that was
about to run me over. I dropped the book, left the groceries, and fled the
store as soon as I could…never to return.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: times;">The devil felt a tap on his shoulder and, turning around,
encountered the broken toothed smile of the old woman who had received a ride
from the fleeing man. He shook his head
in disgust and said, “Ma, you have to stop doing that. I am way behind on my monthly quota!</span>”</span><span style="font-size: large;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">
</p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: large;">l</span></p>T. Lloyd Reillyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11609002400518041058noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8724986191933973596.post-83330302817604636122020-10-29T18:46:00.000-07:002020-10-29T18:46:05.772-07:00An Fhís<p> <span style="font-size: x-large;">“But it is not you. It is them.” He sat at the end of my bed
and quietly sipped a cup of coffee and smoked a cigarette. There was nothing
remarkable about him. Just a dude with a couple of days growth on his face
wearing jeans, work boots, and a “Frank Zappa for President” t-shirt like the
one I was sleeping in. I sat up in bed and asked him what he was talking about.
It did not occur to me to ask him who he was and how he had to audacity to be
in my house and drinking my coffee when I had no earthly idea who the fuck he
was.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: x-large;">“It’s true, you know. You have been wondering for days why
people act the way they do when you show up anywhere. It seems as if you are an
interruption in their ordinary everyday ordinariness and it is an imposition
for you to even be breathing.” He blew some smoke rings and looked at me.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: x-large;">“What in the Holy Good Christ are you talking about?” I
asked even though I knew perfectly well what he was saying.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: x-large;">“Oh, don’t be coy now. I am just telling you that it is not
your fault. All those fuckers out there are just jealous of you and treat you
as if you are an <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">intrusion</i> for just
being there. Even that dumbshit smiling guy at the Stop N’ Shop gas station who
you never talk to because you use your card at the pump and never even walk the
hell inside thinks you’re weird. He waves at you and you wave back, but he is
secretly counting the minutes you are even out front of his store. He thinks
you are peculiar even though he is just a stupid son of a bitch who works there
because he dropped out of high school and cannot get a better job.” More smoke
rings drift to the ceiling.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: x-large;">“I don’t know what you’re talking about. That guy always
smiles at me and besides, that’s the cheapest gas in town.” I swing my legs
over and sit on the side of the bed. “Go away, I have to pray and then piss
before I get my coffee. Did you leave any in the pot?” I look at his cup which
seems really immense.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: x-large;">“I’ll make a fresh pot. See you in the living room. I know
how you take it.” He gets up and pads out the door. I noticed he had slipped
out of his work boots and was walking in bare feet. This deepened my
resentment. Who the shit not only invades a guy’s bedroom but has the impudence
to feel comfortable enough to walk around without shoes?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: x-large;">I read my books, and say my prayers before heading to the
toilet. I have my t-shirt and boxers on from sleeping and toss on my bathrobe,
leaving it open as I walk. I go to the can and then walk to the living room. I
stop and take a detour to get my slippers in order to make the right statement
to my barefooted home invader. I get back to my chair and find a piping hot cup
of Joe on the table next to it where I keep the remote and whatever book I am
currently reading. The bold burglar is nowhere to be found. Getting the first
sip down I catch him peering, headfirst, from the kitchen with a spatula in his
hand asking me how I like my eggs. He tells me to watch the news while I drank
my coffee and that breakfast will be finished in a jiffy.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: x-large;">The level of confusion over this bizarre incident begins to
grow and I start thinking it might be better to just listen and go along. I
finish the coffee, get up, and walk into the kitchen. I am greeted with a
properly set table with an azalea bloom in a long stemmed vase. There are plates,
silverware, and glasses of what had to be fresh squeezed orange juice (The
oranges I put in the bowl on the kitchen counter are gone) and milk. My
intruder motions for me to sit down and when I did he sets before me a plate of
bacon and eggs and another with three pancakes. He goes to the refrigerator bringing
the butter dish and the jelly. How does he know that I eat my pancakes with
jelly? The final touch is a plate of buttermilk pancakes and a bowl of sausage
gravy. He sits down and, bowing his head, asks me if I wanted to say grace.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: x-large;">After clearing the dishes for him and loading the
dishwasher, I ask him to explain himself. He waves for me to follow him out the
back door and sits down at the edge of the patio overlooking the back yard. It
is my favorite spot and he appears right at home in the empty chair that I have
placed next to mine with a table in between. This was, in my mind, God’s chair
and he has some nerve sitting there. He waves for me to sit and I do…grudgingly.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: x-large;">“You see, you got off on the wrong foot when you started
writing that damn book. Nobody wants to read a book that tells them that they
cannot or should not do something that they just love to do.” He lights another
cigarette and sits back crossing his legs. “I have a real problem with it, hell
I told everyone that they should not do it a long damn time ago. Hell, fucking
commanded them not to.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: x-large;">“You are not trying to convince me that you are God! That
would be totally absurd! I mean, how could everyone even be mad at me when I
have not done anything but write the damn thing and never even tried to publish
it? All it was supposed to be was something to make me feel better after those
folks died in New York!” I could feel my blood pressure starting to spike and
my chest get tight.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: x-large;">“I know, I know. People are weird. They think who the fuck
they are. That whole freedom of choice gig was a major faux pas dude. I’ve been
regretting it ever since I let it happen. Hell, look what it has brought us
to!” <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: x-large;">“Man, I am not having this conversation! You are going to tell
me who the shitting hell you are or I am going to call the police…RIGHT NOW!” I
grabbed his pack of cigarettes and lit one. The first puff reminded me why I
had given them up.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: x-large;">When I looked back at him, and he’s gone, vanished into the
clear air. All that remains is the pack of cigarettes and the empty coffee cup
he had been drinking from. I sit staring at the chair for a while before
finally surrendering and walk back in the house. I find my computer and,
opening the word processing program, begin to type. I realize that the book
about killing is not done. I’ve let it languish for several years while I went
out and found other things to do. I do feel odd when I walked out in public. I
am not paranoid. I do feel that many people treat me as if they have bitterness
toward me, but it does not bother me. I just did not care. Or is it, that I did
not think that there anything to be done about it? Could there really be a
world where killing was just something that people liked? Dreamed of and
pursued like it was the answer to all their problems?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: x-large;">No. It cannot be. Let him come and make me breakfast if he
must, I WILL finish that book!</span><o:p></o:p></p>T. Lloyd Reillyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11609002400518041058noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8724986191933973596.post-68465424643801413862020-09-04T16:18:00.000-07:002020-09-04T16:18:44.373-07:00Abstemious Abstinence<p> <span style="font-size: x-large;">A hundred words can change the world. What if someone just
told the truth? Perhaps it would be for the first time. It might be a veracious
act driven by an intolerable atrocity. Maybe they observed an act of courage or
unconditional love that cannot be explained. What if that act was performed by
someone who would normally be in complete opposition to the situation causing
the act? What if a hate filled person suddenly stopped another individual
filled with loathing from carrying out an atrocious affront. What if that acrimoniously
loathsome person suddenly just…stopped…hating?</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: x-large;">I am not talking about something that is improbable or even
impossible. I am talking on the sudden event of someone having an epiphany and
realizing that what they felt and believed in their hearts was just wrong. It
is like they suddenly discover what they believe is erroneous in both emotion
as well as execution while proving itself inadequate in every sense of the
word. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Like that time when I was a kid and had to meet a bully
after school in order settle some real or imagined slight through an act of
violence. This kid had bullied me most of the fourth grade. Towards the end
previous year I had a full plaster of Paris cast on my arm and would use it to
act the bully myself. Once free of the contraption, I was pretty much
defenseless while I regained my strength. This guy took advantage of that
nearly every day. I let him because I was afraid of re-breaking the arm. Over
the course of the summer, my cousin’s barbells helped me reclaim my strength
and I decided to avenge my honor by beating the tar out of this creep.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: x-large;">We met at the appointed time and spent a ridiculous amount
of time negotiating the rules before we started. Once the fight commenced, I
realized that all the advantage was mine and that in a short time I would have
this kid beat down to an acceptable level of capitulation where I could regain
my status as class bully and reign supreme. Then I looked into his eyes.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: x-large;">There was nothing but fear.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: x-large;">I just stopped. I remembered that it sucked to be afraid,
and it sucked worse when you see it in another’s eyes. I stopped and told him
that I give up. He, startled at the circumstance, regained his composure, and
began prancing around like the champion we both knew he was not. I lived with
some more bullying from him but it stopped. I would just look him in the eye
and he would recall the truth and walk away.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: x-large;">I think about this and wonder where that guy went that just
could not stand the look of fear in another’s eyes. I wonder where it came from
in me and wonder if there are not many folks out there who wish for some kind
of insight or lightning bolt to hit them to stop the stupidity and disgust they
are so used to displaying. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: x-large;">What if…</span><o:p></o:p></p>T. Lloyd Reillyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11609002400518041058noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8724986191933973596.post-35609730237228905932020-09-04T16:05:00.000-07:002020-09-04T16:05:03.910-07:00Easy Pickings<p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="background: white; font-size: xx-large;">There had been an invasion. Some
foreign country had placed sleeper agents in the White House who had slowly
weakened our defense systems. Strategically placed clusters of </span><span lang="EN" style="font-size: xx-large;">Electromagnetic pulse bombs had disrupted
the entire infrastructure wiping out all of our defensive capability. Telecommunication
problems had forced our military to hunker down in place until word from other
commands would coordinate a defense. Trains came to a stop. Airplanes sat on runways
unable to take off. Navy ships lay adrift in the oceans unable to get under
way. The ground attack devastated the country and foreign troops were
systematically taking control of towns and cities with remarkable speed. Not,
however, in more rural areas that existed mostly on their own efforts.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="background: white;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">For the first month our town,
Wolf Crossing, remained untouched. The EM Pulses had occurred many miles away
which left the community unscathed and functioning. Everything remained the
same as before. There were school buses roaming the streets every morning and
afternoon. The movie theater changed its line-up on Tuesdays and the basketball
teams from the schools all played games on the weekends. The Daily Special at
Mabel’s Café still had meat loaf on Monday, Chicken and Dumplings on Wednesday
and All-you-can-eat Catfish every Friday. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="background: white;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">The Mayor was walking around
shaking hands and kissing babies and his opponent in the upcoming election was
busily knocking on every door in the town to campaign for his “Need for Change”
platform. There were some high school kids walking around with sandwich signs
for the candidate they supported while passing out red or blue balloons with
the appropriate name on them. The Whole Earth Party was set up in the little
park on the Town Square and was attempting to get people to commit to vote for
them and plant a tree. They had a pick-up on the lawn next to them with a for
sale sign on the side. They raised a ruckus when the police chief came and told
them to move on because the park was city property and ordinance did not allow
campaigning without a permit. They argued and tried to stage a sit-in until the
lead candidate sat down and was not, being eighty years old and three hundred
pounds, able to get back up. The local ambulance had to come put her on a
stretcher and haul her to the hospital because her heart began to palpitate and
it would not look too good for her to die while trying to get elected mayor.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="background: white;">In reality, due to the
distance from the rest of the country, very few folks in town even had the
least clue that there had been anything of real importance happening in the
world outside the city limits of their small </span>hamlet. They had no idea
that there had been a major invasion from another country. Come the first of
the month that all changed.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: x-large;">The first of the military vehicles rolled in about 8:00 AM
with a detachment of infantry soldiers. They had strange uniforms and had a
look about them that seemed to suggest that they were not from around there.
They all spoke a sort of broken English and began spreading out around town in
strategic spots. The commander of the group walked around asking for the leader
of the town and the mayor came and held his hand out to shakes hands, as he had
been doing all day and the entire month before. The commander took his hand
and, holding it firmly, took out a pistol, and shot the mayor between the eyes.
He ordered his men to drag the body to the park and leave it there. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: x-large;">The force of men then began to round up people and usher
them into the movie theater. They went from street to street and stopped when
the theater got full. They moved to the school and rounded up all the kids and
made them sit in the assembly theater and the gym at the high school. This was
not a difficult task overall. The town only had around six hundred residents
including the kids. There were some difficulties. The police chief and his three
patrol officers were all shot and deposited in the park. Then there was the
elderly Post Commander of the local VFW who got shot when he came after the
invaders with a German Lugar and a pineapple grenade. The grenade turned out to
be a cigarette light and the German Luger fired caps. A few farmers with
shotgun racks in their pickups were added to the growing pile of bodies in the
park. The raiders sustained several casualties along the way before the town
was properly incarcerated and the violence curtailed.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: x-large;">The commander had a bullhorn he used to address the adults
in the theater and his second in command went to the school and gave the same
speech to the kids. There would be safe and secure treatment for those who
cooperated and helped the occupiers set up a defensive perimeter around the
town. There would be rewards of food and privileges to those who voluntarily
cooperated. There would be harsh consequences for those who did not. Up to and
including being deposited, dead, at the park. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: x-large;">No one spoke a word. Neither did any of them volunteer nor
show the least bit of interest in cooperating. There were three more deaths
when the owner of the theater, the school principal, and the gym teacher acted
as leader in their respective location and informed the marauders that they
should go to hell. The pile of bodies in the park had reached a dozen by the
time the sun set. The commander told his men to lock everyone in where they
were and walked into the command tent that had been set up in the park with the
dead bodies. He had the dead men moved to the edge of the park furthest from
the tent and set about developing a night perimeter of men to guard things
until the morning. He figured when the townsfolks got thirsty, hungry, or
needed the restroom the level of collaboration would vastly increase.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: x-large;">He ordered his men to get Mabel’s Café open and to cook a
meal for the invaders. He thought about forcing Mabel to do it, but chose to
just use the café and have his men do the cooking. The food was there even if
the cooperation was not. He went to the back of the tent to lie down for a while
detailing for his aide to wake him when the food was ready. He lay down and
went to sleep.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: x-large;">It was sometime later when he woke. The tent was dark except
for a small kerosene lamp in the front. He stood up and found a washing station
that had been set up with water, soap, and a towel for him. He cleansed
himself, put on a fresh shirt, and inspected his pistol. He took it apart,
cleaned it, placed a fresh clip in it, worked the slide to cock it, and let the
hammer down with his thumb. He walked out of the tent with the intention of
getting something to eat…maybe a steak.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Once outside he noticed that the street lights were not glowing
but that it was still bright enough to see even though it was late enough for
stars to be shining. He looked up and saw the largest, brightest full moon he
had ever imagined. He turned to look for the bodies wondering if they had
started to smell. They were not there. He walked all the way around the park
and found nothing. He walked around the square finding nothing, not even his
own men. He went to the theater which was to his shock and surprise, empty. He
went back to the tent and tried the radio only to get nothing but static. He
walked outside and found the mayor and the police chief waiting for him. They
were alive and had no injuries showing where they had been shot. There was
blood on their clothes, but no marks of any sign that, several hours earlier,
each of these men had been shot in the face with a military issue 9mm pistol. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: x-large;">He reached for his sidearm and the police chief; moving
faster than he could see, grabbed him, and relieved him of his gun. They proceeded
to march/drag him to the high school where the rest of his men were sitting
back to back on the ground and tied up at the fifty yard line. The mayor
explained that he had either chose, or was ordered to invade the wrong town.
Behind him walked up the remaining group of people who, also had been shot
earlier that day. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: x-large;">The commander watched the mayor begin to shake and tremble.
He started to swirl his head around and wave his arms about. The police chief
and the rest of the recently dead all began to do the same thing. Their bodies
grew and their clothes ripped off their chests and arms. They grew huge fangs
and claws at their hands. Not werewolf like, but something much more
horrifying. Something grotesque and hideous When the transformation was
complete, the commander could see others flowing in from all the exits on the
football field. It seemed to be the townspeople with their children. All of
them looked the same as the dead men. All of them were grotesque and ghastly.
There was no snarling or roaring or howling. They were all dreadfully quiet.
The mayor looked back at the crowd of his neighbors, and then at the commander
before shouting:<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: x-large;">“Soup’s up!”<o:p></o:p></span></p><br /><p></p>T. Lloyd Reillyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11609002400518041058noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8724986191933973596.post-6420254208279467682020-09-01T17:00:00.002-07:002020-09-04T14:08:43.036-07:00The Sudden Stop<p><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">“How did I let myself get
talked into this crap?” Bobby stood at the edge of the rail and looked over to
the river below. “Jesus! It is soooo freaking far down there! Please don’t make
me do this! I am going to die right flipping here if you do not let me get back
in the car! FOR REAL FOR REAL!!!” He stood there trembling looking at his date.
He had just wanted to do something adventurous and fun. Like maybe taking a
white water rafting trip, or hiking and camping in the woods or something. Not
this…not this…NOT THIS!</span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="background: white;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">“Oh don’t be such a baby.” The
current love of his life, Pattie with an “ie” scolded him. She was, at least on
the outside, just the type of woman who he would want. She answered his post on
the freaking dating site and they went on a couple of dates before attempting
this insanity. “You are not going to die. I mean I have done this a hundred
times and it is just the most radical adrenaline rush. Only punks and babies do
not find this fun.” She got up on the rail and jumped. The bungee cord made a
loud cracking sound as it tightened and she let out a loud bellow that seemed
unlikely for such a small girl.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="background: white;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Bobby let loose with his own
scream because the cracking made him think that the bungee had come loose and
she was plummeting to her death. This was definitely not fun and he wanted to
go home. The only reason he came was because she told him that if he just came
out and looked at it then he would probably hit a home run when they got back
to the apartment. Maybe even a Grand Slam if he actually did it with her. Her
sports metaphors for sex should have been the first sign that she was not the
type for him. He always thought that badminton was altogether too much of a
contact sport to play let alone intentionally plunging to your death at the end
of a large rubber band. What if they measured him wrong and made the damn thing
too long and he cracked his head on the rocks in the river below. Oh! Whoa is
my stupid horny a-s-s!<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="background: white;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">The loud grunt that she gave
out when she reached the end of the first jolting bounce came first followed
immediately with what seemed like an earsplitting war cry. He ventured a peek
over the edge and watched as she bounced and laughed and bellowed her delight.
He stood back relieved and sat with his back to the stanchion holding the
bridge up. He caught his breath and stood as they hauled her back over the side
of the rail with safe, solid ground. She let them release her from the
contraption holding her feet and did a victory dance like a football player in
the end zone at the Super Bowl. She whooped and hollered and pumped her fists
in the air. She shook he hair and laughed like an insane person. Bobby had
never seen anything quite so sexy!<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="background: white;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Finishing her revel, she
grabbed Bobby by the arm and before he realized it had him secured in the boot
contraption attached to the big rubber band. She told him that the guy would
adjust the band to his size and his weight. He would be fine and got the guy
running the contraption to confirm it. They boosted him up on the rail and he
froze.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="background: white;">She coaxed him with promises
of a night of erotic amazement. She told him that it would cure him of his </span>Acrophobia.
She told him that once the boots were on, they did not come off until after the
jump. All of which meant nothing to him as he pleaded to be let down. Finally
she told him to close his eyes, which already closed, and listen to her. She
told him that she had been afraid of high places also and that made her feel
sort of…less than. What she did was join the Army and volunteer for Airborne
Jump School. She made it through and that was the last of her fear. Now she
goes skydiving, bungee jumping, base jumping, and even dove off a cliff in
Hawaii last year when she was on vacation. He asked her if Jump School taught her to
relax and what the classes were about. She told him that she did fine until it
came for her first jump from and airplane. He asked what happened. She told him
that she froze in the door and would not jump. He asked her what happened then
and she simply said “the Sargent put his hand on my shoulder and did this…”
With that she reached up and pushed him off the bridge.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Only to discover that the guy rigging things had disassembled
the rigging to make the adjustments and had not yet attached the other end of
the bungee cord. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: x-large;">It ain't the fall... <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span style="font-size: x-large;"> </span></o:p></p>T. Lloyd Reillyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11609002400518041058noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8724986191933973596.post-44068103852696297392020-09-01T15:02:00.004-07:002020-09-01T15:02:58.993-07:00 The Geezer Compendia<p><span style="font-size: x-large;">A “Geezer,” according to the dictionary, is an “an odd or eccentric man.”
It is my contention that a true “Geezer” is the sort of man that is a necessary
component to modern society. When we say eccentric would it not also be
acceptable to call it staunch in belief. When we say odd can it not be just as
easily said that the individual looks at the world with wide open eyes. The
combination gives us character, verve, resilience, fortitude, and a devil may
care attitude which is easily recognizable by its defining axiom. “Leave me the
fuck alone with your adolescent, dimwitted bullshit. I will do, think, or say
whatever the shit I please.”</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: x-large;">In that spirit I write, as a self-proclaimed “Geezer” and
will do as long as I inhale oxygen. The stories I write have foundations in the
world I see about me. They might come from a dream the night before, or
something heard on the latest Star Trek film or television episode. It might
come from the word of the day I receive daily that catches my eye due to the
unusual spelling or outrageous pronunciations. It might be alliterative in
nature as that is my favorite transcribing tool. It may come from a guy I meet
in the frozen foods section of the grocery store. It may come off the internet,
although most of that is inept and ridiculous to say the least. Or it may be a
story about a guy meeting the devil in a Walmart book section who tries to give
him the universe in exchange for his soul.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: x-large;">I am at a temporary impasse as to the delivering of these
stories. It would be nice to earn some scarolas in the process. I’ll post this
on my blog and see if I get any suggestions. It is not a major project to
undertake. I have a books worth of stories already looking for a home and
probably another 30 or 40 in need of a concluding word, phrase, sentence, or
even writing beyond a title. Can a Geezer get an “Amen?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Let
me know what you think</span></span>T. Lloyd Reillyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11609002400518041058noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8724986191933973596.post-5071518649753728072020-08-07T16:33:00.000-07:002020-08-07T16:33:54.802-07:00Silencing the Solstice Sadness<p> <span style="font-size: x-large;">The scent drifted past my nose and made me look up from my
grocery list to see where it originated. I first glimpsed a flowing skirt and
working my way up its length with my eyes to a white laced tank top/bustier and
finally what had to be the head and face of an angel. Without realizing it the
electric cart I was riding through the grocery store turned and followed the
vision before me. Even now I have no conscious memory of directing the mechanical
conveyance to take any path under my command. It just seemed to be directing itself
as to the path of travel.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: x-large;">The divine vision before me was wearing the flowing skirt
that had a V shaped slit in the front revealing a pair of long deliciously well-shaped
muscular legs. Her arms swung freely as she walked. The upper left arm held a
heart shaped tattoo with an arrow through it and initials on either side of the
shaft. Her hands were delicate with manicured and artistically sculpted nails. She
turned her head and her face was exquisitely elegant with amazingly bright
hazel/blue eyes. For some reason she smiled, revealing the most perfect set of brilliant
white teeth. Long golden blond straight hair to the waist completed what had to
be a hallucination. Never in my entire senior citizen aged life, either live or in
picture, had I ever beheld anything more beautiful. My old heart began beating
faster and I forced the cart to cease following her. I had no wish to keep
following the wingless angel thinking it might test the effectiveness of my
heart medication if she happened to look or smile at me.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: x-large;">I continued on my appointed shopping duties only to find
that every aisle I turned down held the object of what was a growing obsession.
Each time I got close I turned my head and pulled something off the shelf to
demonstrate that I was, indeed, shopping. The pasta aisle turned into the
canned food aisle which forced me to buy tomato sauce for the pasta. Coffee and
creamer came next, followed by sweetener and various spices because it was on the
same aisle. Cold cuts and cheese slices inspired a trip for mustard, mayonnaise,
ranch dressing, and ketchup. (I got home later and discover that the last
four bottles were but duplicates of items I already possessed) It is impossible
to make a sandwich without bread which also meant bagels, English muffins, and
a couple of boxes of Ding Dongs. Then came the dairy aisle for cream cheese,
and Greek yogurt because, well why not? Dairy also meant French onion dip which
meant the chip aisle was next. Looking down at the pasta made me go shop for
gravy which sent me to the meat section for meatballs, Italian Sausage, chicken
legs and pork chops.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Each stop coinciding with yet another chance encounter with
the Gift from God in a peach print skirt and low cut top.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: x-large;">I found myself reading the ingredients on the back of a
package of Thai noodle mix and looking at a basket full of food I had never
intended to buy. I looked at the list I brought with me which read; freeze
pops, Kool Aid, blueberry muffins, and denture adhesive. None of those items
were in the basket. I consciously forced myself to get the first three items on
my list and make a strategic retreat to get the denture adhesive. The adhesive
was on the other side of the Walmart Superstore I was in. It was a good bet
that the angel would not be shopping there and I could be set free from my </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">farcical
fixation</span></span><span style="font-size: x-large;">. I rode the ¼ mile to the other side of the store and was making
my choice when I was once more hit in the nostrils with the ambrosia scent that
began the whole shopping </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">predicament</span></span><span style="font-size: x-large;">. I looked up and discovered the largest muscle bound man in a wife beater t-shirt, a piercing in his nose, and a short
cropped spiked haircut. He smiled at me revealing a gold tooth with a star in
the middle. There was a matching star tattooed under his right eye. He stepped
out of way revealing the vision </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">standing
squarely </span></span><span style="font-size: x-large;"> in front of me and
said; “Get a good look you old baboon faced bastard!” <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She raised the front of her skirt high enough to
reveal that there were no undergarments beneath the skirt. She stalked off and
the large muscle that was with her smiled and gave me the universal one fingered salute.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Worst part of the day? I had to hire a kid to come unload
the 80 pounds of groceries I was too embarrassed to put back.</span><o:p></o:p></p>T. Lloyd Reillyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11609002400518041058noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8724986191933973596.post-52961575268930051982020-08-05T17:06:00.001-07:002020-08-05T17:07:49.933-07:00The Fragile Folly of Funlightenment<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: x-large;">“So I did the math…U.S. citizens comprise 4.25% of the world
populations, yet we have almost 26% of all COVID-19 cases... and a little over
25% of the deaths.”</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><font size="5">I read this little gem the other day and it hit a nerve with
me. Statistics are funny things. Sometimes they are accurate and useful.
Sometimes they are not accurate and universally accepted as Gospel. Sometimes
they serve a purpose and actually help in a situation. Other times they are
bald faced lies directed at the majority of people who blindly believe them and
create the most egregious of depravities and immoralities. (Reference the
current Republican leadership of this country…if the word leadership is used
loosely) Yet the worst thing that can be said in conjunction with any statistic
is “What’s your source.”<o:p></o:p></font></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><font size="5">Once asked the narrative mutates into a mish mash
nonsensical diatribe of who is reputable and who is the “Man behind the
curtain” and need not to be paid any attention. This, naturally, is an age old
defense against the veracity of any opinion, idea, thought, or desire which is
contrary to whatever kind of tripe one might be peddling.<o:p></o:p></font></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><font size="5">Being a well read and educated man; I find statistics to be
an aggravation at best. Thanks to the acumen of a number of college professors
I have the near ability to discern truth from tripe where it comes to numbers
and what they mean. The opening numbers of this piece are dreadfully accurate.
Whether anyone believes them or not is of no concern to me. I believe them and
all else in opposition may embrace the south end of this north bound overly
verbose writer. I will simply leave the earnestness of my belief in this set of
numerals where they sit while reminding the reader of both my personality and
the reality of the dubious area of statistical endeavors. <o:p></o:p></font></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><font size="5"><span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;">The first three
hundred words of this piece were what, in my brain, had to be written in order
to get to the crux of the opinion I am about to share. It is apparent that we
live in fraught and immensely perilous times. I woke up one day and while
surfing the social media one day to find out that a good buddy of mine had died
from COVID -19. He could not get in to see a doctor to even get diagnosed. That
was months ago. Another bit of wisdom is some doctor stating that America might
see as many as 100,000 new cases a month going into winter with no cure of
vaccine in sight. A friend of mine spent two months in a rehab hospital unable
to see his family for fear of this virus. Then I read that with my breathing
problems that it may be dangerous to wear a mask. Is that the truth? Is any of
it true or is all of it true? </span>Caveat Emptor!<o:p></o:p></font></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><font size="5">Meanwhile, politicians are calling for the country to
reopen. Amusement parks are planning to get some piece of a summer trade. Bar
owners are suing the Texas governor for closing down all bars. People are
demanding their constitutional right to not wear masks. Politicians are either
holding or planning on holding election rallies placing hundreds or thousands
of people in small areas where social distancing would be impossible. Having
fun is apparently more important than not dying.<o:p></o:p></font></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><font size="5">My own Congressman is amongst those railing against the restraints.
He is also suffering from Covid 19, much to the distress of his family who is
staunchly in agreement with the precautions detailed in fighting this disease. When
your own family is willing to give interviews in opposition to your beliefs,
perhaps you need a refresher course or two on the finer points of the science
classes most Americans were required to take while attending school. Most of
which seem have been ignored or forgotten in the face of political posturing. But,
then again, we live in a country where millions believe that the earth is only 8-10000
years old. This is the same country that has an estimated 6,400,000 folks who
believe that the earth is flat. Again with the statistics…repeat – Caveat Emptor.
<o:p></o:p></font></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><font size="5">The damnable numbers keep coming and keep being ignored. To date
there are 4.9 million cases in America with 160,000 confirmed deaths. April 1,
2020 it was 184,770 cases with 3,746 deaths. This figures to be 26 times as
many cases and 42 times the deaths IN FOUR MONTHS IN THE UNITED STATES!!!! The greatest
country in the world and we are COMMITING GENOCIDE ON OUR OWN CITIZENS!!!!!!<o:p></o:p></font></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><font size="5">Yet still we seek respite in such things as concerts, sports
games, religious activities, and a system of government that has habitually
lied to and committed crimes against the population without regard to anyone or
anything out of fear of not getting the baboon faced bastard at the head of the
table reelected. IT IS EVERY ONE IN America’s fault because we have allowed it
to happen and get worse. SHAME ON EVERY ONE OF US!!!! <o:p></o:p></font></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><font size="5">There is an old belief amongst the environmental and
scientific community that the earth, Mother Nature if you will, has the ability
to correct the problems of this beautiful planet. Science has shown that there
have been five distinct Extinction Level Events on earth. The meteor the
dinosaurs experienced was not the first. The Great Flood that has been
mythologized and discovered to be scientifically true. Religious texts speak of
war and pestilence destroying the population. Global warming which everyone
believes except the adherents of the Good Grand Temple of the Orange Baboon
might be the precursor to the next major catastrophe. AND WE ARE LETTING IT
HAPPEN!<o:p></o:p></font></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><font size="5"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The frustrating part
of this dilemma is that we have the ability to do something about this problem.
The rest of the world has adjusted/evolved and is, as such, not is as much
danger as America. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Babooninator
claims it will just go away like the bubonic plague went away. The bubonic
plague still exists and reoccurs from time to time. It is not as devastating as
earlier time’s because it is treated with a tried and true method. Quarantine. <o:p></o:p></font></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><font size="5">Every plague has one thing in common. Containment is tied,
universally, to the separation of people who are sick from those who are not. This
has been working for hundreds of years and there is no reason to change other
than the fact that movie theaters, baseball games, casino’s, and presidential elections
have proponents out there hawking their wares with fervor and apathy as to the
effect of ignoring tried and true methods of containment. Making money and
having a good time seems to be more important. To that, all I have to say is:<o:p></o:p></font></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;"><font size="5">Fiat Justitia Ruat
Caelum<o:p></o:p></font></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><font size="5"> </font></o:p></p><br />T. Lloyd Reillyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11609002400518041058noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8724986191933973596.post-60221569600438850792020-07-14T17:07:00.000-07:002020-07-14T17:07:03.415-07:00Dystopian Detritus<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: x-large;">I was watching a show on television last night and one of
the characters made an observation that made perfect sense to me. The discussion
was about differing ways of life. The first being the way things used to be on
earth. Pristine land abundant with all the earthly requirements needed for
humanity to survive and thrive. The other being the way we have made it in our
rush towards annihilation. In the first scenario you did not have to go
anywhere and purchase anything you needed; food shelter, clothes, etc., you just
went out and found it. The second involved racing at breakneck speed towards a world
of concrete, steel, violence, hate, bigotry, and death. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The analogy made was that the Good Mother
Earth would, sooner or later, shrug and shake and decimate the second way of
life leaving the simple existence that was probably the Creators intention. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: x-large;">This ideal of survival has been on the forefront of my
thoughts for many years. Yes, I do enjoy the comforts the concrete and steel
provide me. Driving cars or trucks is pretty cool. Being able to get in a
tubular pile of metal and soar above the earth is infinitely delicious. Computers
and the internet is the bomb! Riding a train has its allure also. Until, of
course, any of these conveyances breakdown. Then you risk homelessness attempting
to pay the repair costs. Walking to the places you wish/need to go is
infinitely better. Sitting on a log and watching an eagle soar, or a mother
dear and her fawn sneak up to you are amazing. What is amazing is that unless
you are hungry and in need of sustenance for you, your family, or your
community, you can leave them alone to surprise the next individual sitting on
your log. Trophies have no place in either world if it means the death of an
animal or person.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: x-large;">The flotsam and jetsam of this world are just differing
degrees of the debris and scraps of unnecessary “things.</span><span style="font-size: x-large;">”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: x-large;">So how do I justify this abominable paradigm? I read and I
write. One of the cool things about living in this world that is galloping
towards obliteration is that the very thing I am railing against is the exact
avenue with which I get to attempt persuading humans away from the insanity of
this world of wonder and death, and towards a reasonable way to stop the eradication
of mankind. Hypocrite, you say? Perhaps, but I get to say it anyway. If you don’t
like it, you can call me a fool and stop reading. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="background: white;">“Whatever the cost of our
libraries, the price is cheap compared to that of an ignorant nation.”</span> <span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; orphans: 2; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">Walter Cronkite <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; orphans: 2; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: x-large;">Another fascinating aspect of being the hypocrite is that
while I complain about the world, I get to. If the worst thing my hypocrisy
creates is a momentary thought that might come of this pretense towards the
absurd…What if he is righ</span>t?<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />T. Lloyd Reillyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11609002400518041058noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8724986191933973596.post-64054614457786105242020-06-24T13:01:00.002-07:002020-06-24T13:04:06.754-07:00The Antepenultimate Assassin<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: x-large;">The phone in his back pocket loudly began to growl as a wild
animal does when feeling threatened. The ringtone had been assigned to those
entries in his contact list that were unwanted yet impossible to ignore. It
was, after all, his livelihood. He answered and began speaking without even
looking to see the identity of the caller.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: x-large;">“Ten million dollars.” He spoke into the phone and
immediately pulled the device an arm’s length away from his ear. He walked to
the refrigerator while the person on the other end complained, rather
demonstratively, in a stream of words interlaced with vulgarities and pleas for
mercy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: x-large;">“Now it is twelve million dollars.” He pulled out a Diet
Mountain Dew from the cold of the refrigerator and poured it over ice in an
insulated mug. “You know what happens if you complain. Continue and you may
engage in sex with yourself after I hang up.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>He walked over to the easy chair in the living room and turned on the
television. Switching to the all-news channel he muted the sound before putting
the phone back to his ear.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: x-large;">The caller had calmed down and explained that he was
desperate and would gladly pay the price if he could see about this piece of
business at his earliest convenience. He was reminded that he knew what was
needed and looked back at his phone. In a moment he received an alert from his
financial institution that the appropriate amount had been deposited by wire.
Once more putting the phone back to his ear he gave instructions as to where
and how to send the particulars. Thanking the caller for the business he told
the client to have a nice day before hanging up.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: x-large;">Laughing out loud as he spoke to the air in the room, “If
these clowns would call me first, it would only cost them million a pop,” he
finished his drink and reminded himself to eat before he left to go to work.
Making himself a frozen dinner, chicken and roast potatoes, he opened his
laptop and downloaded the information on the job. Aaahh! He complained to himself
when he read the particulars. The target was a twenty something girl who had
inherited quite a few billions of dollars and the other family members decided
it was time for her to meet her maker. Scumbags! He went and got another Diet
Mountain Dew. Once he left for a job all he would drink is tap water in
wherever the job happened to be. He carried field rations enough for the length
of the job with the proviso that if he ran out, he would just fast. The tap
water was danger enough given the odd places he often worked. He was not about
to ingest parasites and/or bugs not sufficiently cooked. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: x-large;">His name is Jeremiah Jabloncesceu and he is a contract
killer specializing in difficult targets. He is something of an odd fellow and
most clients did not like calling him because of the manner in which he
operated. He always left the bodies out in plain sight at locations where the
maximum amount of people could see the body before the police showed up. He
never leaves any clues or evidence from which the authorities might discover
his identity. He ALWAYS leaves the body with numerous horrible mutilations
denoting that the individual suffered long and hideously. His name in the print
and news media is, wait for it…The Mutilator.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: x-large;">He had not always been like this. When he first got in the
hit for hire business it was quite different. He would ask the client as to
their preference in how the body was found, and he never made any kind of
splash in the media. He was not well known and never made much in comparison to
his competition. He would do a murder for as little as low four or five
figures.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: x-large;">Until he took a contract from a scorned woman who wanted her
philandering husband castrated before being shot to death.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: x-large;">She paid him extra to leave the body in a public place so
that the entire world would know what a cheating bastard he was. As soon as he
got paid, he made plans to disappear and did so successfully. The woman was
promptly arrested and is serving a life sentence without parole. The police did
an extensive search for the killer and came up empty. She is currently working
for the prison chaplain and praising the Lord for helping her change. An
ambulance chasing law firm told her they would get her out if she let them
write a book about her having her womanizing son-of-a-bitch husband killed. She
agreed and is still shuffling bibles while the law firm has published the book
and move into much nicer offices.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: x-large;">Jeremiah enjoyed the entire business and began doing similar
stunts. This did not sit too well with those that broker professional hits and
he saw some lean times. There were a few jobs come through which he was able to
get, but not that many. He almost thought he would have to find a regular job
until happenstance saved him and he was given another chance when a job came in
right up his alley. He found the job interesting and, being a good businessman
increased his fees commensurate with the special needs of the job.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: x-large;">A music executive commissioned a hit on a well-known rock
star which was promptly botched…twice.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The first guy tried to give him a hotshot of drugs without taking into
account the tolerance level of a two decade rock star drug addict. The second
guy tried cutting the brake line on the limo taking him to a concert. Turned
out the dope was primo which ensured that he wasn’t going to show in the first
place because he thought it was Thursday instead of Friday. The limo was sent
out after another client whose family gave him a wonderful sendoff at the funeral
without asking any questions. The driver blew a .14 and went down for vehicular
manslaughter. Jeremiah simply knocked the rock star with a sleeper hold from
behind and slit his wrists in the bath tub making it look like a drug induced
suicide.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: x-large;">After that he got all the jobs where he was the third
choice. This gave him the latitude to charge exorbitant rates. It also gave him
houses or apartments in several major cities and an island in the south pacific
with a full time staff of female servants who worked topless and had amazingly
loose morals.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: x-large;">This job, being a young girl, made him think twice. Killing
had not been a problem. He went to war in the Middle East as an Marine sniper
when he was eighteen and never once had any lasting feelings about it. Not even
the children who occasionally pulled out a grenade to toss at the American
monsters invading his or her country. He did get a twinge the first time he had
to kill a pregnant woman. Fortunately it was not much of a twinge considering
he had watched her strap on a suicide vest. He shot her right in the chest and
blew her helpers to kingdom come along with her terrorist ass. He could justify
that. A young heiress did not fit the same description. He had to focus on the
twelve million and push it out of his head.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: x-large;">The trip to the job was uneventful. Jeremiah was not a big
man so he easily fit in the economy seats. This gave him the added benefit of
being, more or less anonymous in the crowd boarding and exiting the plane. He
accepted the water offered by the attendant and the bag of nuts. When it came
time for the meal, he feigned sleep and was left alone for the rest of the
flight. Upon landing he made his way from the luggage pickup to the shuttle bus
which deposited him at the closest subway station outside the airport. He found
a motel and settled in for the night. He opened the file on the girl and the
family to study. His work would begin the next morning. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: x-large;">The potential victim was an enigma by any definition of the
word. She worked as a barista at a coffee shop near the college she attended,
and lived in the dorm even though she was a senior as well as the richest
person in the state and all the states bordering. She bought clothes at thrift
shops and set up a table every Sunday at the Arts fair, after church, where she
sold jewelry and trinkets she made herself. Nothing about her was remotely
intimidating or selfish. She came to holidays with gifts from her collection of
arts and crafts for all who attended. The file reported that she was in
excellent health and never drank or did drugs. Well, she did dabble with some
marijuana but only because she lived in a state where it was legal. She never
bought off the street but in dispensaries. Her bank account showed that the
amount she bought was ridiculously small for a college girl.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: x-large;">As he read, Jeremiah thought there had to be some deep dark
secret lurking about to explain why anyone would want to have this girl killed.
Stepping out of character, and in violation of his own better judgement, he
decided to find out why. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: x-large;">It turned out that she had inherited the money from her
Great Grandfather. She had always been his favorite person in the family. She
woke up with a smile and stayed that way all day long. Being from a rich family
she declined the advantage of private school and attended the nearest public
school. She asked when she was four years old if she could go to church. They
sent her in a limousine but she paid the driver from her allowance to drop her
off at the subway and pick her up at a certain time so that no one knew she was
rich. She would give her expensive birthday and Christmas gifts to kids at her
school that didn’t get anything. When the Great Grandfather got sick with
cancer, she spent all her time outside of school taking care of him. She told
every person in her life that she loved them several times a day. She was the
only one that cried at the old man’s funeral.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: x-large;">The family embraced the other side of life by being terribly
evil people. They tried to stop the will from being read. They were enraged
when they discovered that the old man had locked down all the control of the
business and money to the girl who had just started college. She went to a
local state university that was paid for by an academic scholarship she earned
for herself. The job was so that she could eat and live without using any
family money. There was a class action suit filed by the family that was
dismissed five minutes into the first day of the trial. The old man had started
by slinging coal off the back of a truck when he was ten years old and from there
he worked his way into making his billions. He made sure that the will was iron
clad and irreversible. He left each member of the family, except the girl, one
dollar. Their only recourse was to have her killed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: x-large;">Jeremiah showed up at her coffee shop the next morning with
a book and sat slowly sipping Irish Breakfast tea while he watched her. She
refilled his cup ignoring the big sign on the wall stating that refills were a
dollar. The place was packed and everybody seemed to know her name. She had a
smile that lit up the room and went about her job as if it were a mission
instead of a crappy job at an overpriced coffee shop. A scruffy looking guy
came in dressed poorly and appeared as if he had seen better days and needed a
bath. The girl stopped what she was doing and came from behind the counter and
hugged him tightly and long. She shooed a couple of kids from their table and
held the chair for her friend. She went back behind the counter and came back
with two extra-large coffees and two breakfast sandwiches. She sat down and
placed all her attention on the man even to the point where she waved off her
boss when he told her it was getting busy. They finished eating and she cleaned
the table before embracing the man again, this time kissing him on the cheek
before going back to work.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: x-large;">At the end of her shift she collected her tip jar, which was
full to the brim and overflowing onto the counter. She grabbed a handful out of
her jar and put it in the other baristas jar without being seen. She stuffed
her tips in a paper bag and left out the front door without regard to who might
be watching her leave with what looked like almost one hundred and fifty
dollars. Jeremiah left behind her and followed her to a church where a small
priest was trimming the hedge out front. She handed the paper bag to him and
bowed her head while the priest placed a hand on her head and gave her a
blessing.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: x-large;">Jeremiah watched her walk away without following. He stood
and stared at her back until she disappeared in the crowd entering a subway station.
Without realizing he was speaking out loud he asked himself, “How in the world
am I going to kill and mutilate Mother-Freaking-Theresa?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: x-large;">He went back to his motel and ordered a pizza and a six pack
of beer. He spent the night and most of the next day struggling to convince
himself into completing the job. It wasn’t as if he had never killed a good
person before. Hell, most of the time he paid no attention to who they were or
acted. It had always been kill them, mutilate them, and disappear. This girl is
special. She is, well, good. She deserved, to be left alive. He changed
that…this girl HAD to stay alive. The worst part was that he had no idea why
she must remain alive. He did not like this confusion, and thought of just
giving back the money he’d been paid. That was a momentary lapse in judgement.
If someone was prepared to spend twelve million to kill this girl, they
probably merited being the one on the end of his skills. Besides, his lifestyle
outside of work was expensive.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: x-large;">He went to bed, sleeping fitfully. Tossing and turning the
entire night accompanied by dreams he thought he had long since left behind.
Shooting his first child, the pregnant woman with the suicide vest, and the van
full of aid workers he put a RPG round into killing them all. All left over
horrors from being in a war. His assassinations since were mostly bad people
and never bothered him. Hell, the dreams had always been there but, until that
night, had never really bothered him. Now it seems he had grown a conscience. A
paid-in-full conscience that was giving him fits. The only relief in the entire
night of arguing with himself came when he thought of killing the people who
had paid the twelve million.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: x-large;">He would have too murder the contractor also. The clients(s)
probably paid much more than twelve million when his commission was added. The
total undoubtedly was twenty or twenty-five. It would not be easy, but a dive
into the contractor’s financials would tell everything. Hmmm…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: x-large;">A week later the news, both print and digital news was
splashed with a report of fifteen members of the richest family in the state
being discovered dead. They were all found in a conference room on the top
floor of the family skyscraper. Scene investigation and autopsies were going to
be a nightmare for the police. Crime scene techs were pretty sure each had been
killed in a different manner. Some appeared to have had heart attacks, several
had no outside evidence as to their demise, two had suffered blunt force trauma
from an unknown source, one had its throat sliced open, and the last one was
found in the restroom with its wrists slit.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: x-large;">Jeremiah watched from the comfort of his island, lying in a
hammock with a goofy straw hat, sunglasses, and white sunscreen on his nose
while sipping a drink made in a hollowed out pineapple with a straw and an
umbrella poking out. It took three months to ascertain that it had been a mass
murder. The baffling part was that security cameras had no record of anyone but
the family members entering or exiting the room. It had card code entry on the
elevator and palm print entry on the door to the conference room. The police
had called the FBI in whom, it turned out, were equally unable to fathom what
had happened other than the fifteen dead bodies. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: x-large;">A few months later the assassin sat in the coffee shop
sipping a cup of tea while the girl sat with her scruffy friend eating
breakfast. Two rather large men stood at the door checking for cameras or other
evidence of paparazzi or reporters. She had got through all the funerals, and
the will reading naming her the sole heir only to surprise the entire world.
She sold all the holdings converting everything, including her own fortune, to
cash and set up a foundation to give it all away. She kept back some to pay for
security to keep the gaggle of people wanting to interview her away. She just
went back to her life as usual. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: x-large;">As he followed her to the church for her blessing and
subsequent subway stop his phone began growling. As always he answered simply
saying, “Ten million dollars.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />T. Lloyd Reillyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11609002400518041058noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8724986191933973596.post-37915242422684219242020-06-08T13:48:00.001-07:002020-06-08T13:55:30.384-07:00Idiomatically Imperceptive<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Peace demands the most heroic labor and the most
difficult sacrifice. It demands greater heroism than war. It demands greater
fidelity to the truth and a much more perfect purity of conscience.” Thomas
Merton</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">One of the things I been ruminating over with the
reality of the quarantine/isolation condition we find ourselves in is trying to
keep present in my head things that are important and things that are
unimportant. We live in a world with so much going on that it seems to me that
we have been neglecting active thought and action on matters in need of our
attention. To wit…we are at war and have been for almost two decades!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">There is much concern over the Covid situation, and
it is of major importance, but dealing with it is simple. Follow the directions
that are posted everywhere as to what to do to stay safe, wash your hands a lot.
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Don’t
try to kiss any strangers, and be safe.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">What I want to know is why in the fuck we are still
sending the cream of our society to foreign locales to kill or be killed, maim
or be maimed? Must we irreparably damage the mental state of the people who
live in those locales, or irreparably damage the mental state of the cream of
our society when they come home and are poorly suited to living a normal life
after all that kill or be killed/maim or be maimed bullshit?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Now, for those still reading, this is not some
unpatriotic rant from a bleeding heart liberal peacenik moron. I am a veteran
of the United States Army from which I was Honorably Discharged after
completing the term of service for which I VOLUNTEERED.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I was not much of a soldier but I did what I was
told and went where I was sent. I did not receive any medals for bravery and/or
valor. I was a Private First Class who drove a truck in an Artillery Battalion.
For some reason I had a Top Secret clearance which made me eligible for some
unusual duty in various places around the world. The most interesting of these
extra duties was a seven day posting to Checkpoint Charlie in Berlin when there
was still such a thing as East and West Berlin/Germany.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Volunteering was not a popular thing to do when I
did. Many were protesting the war that was being fought at the time with many
of my friends doing the opposing. There were people being drafted based on a
birth date lottery. My number was well out of the range of being chosen. I
volunteered anyway.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I did so because my father did in WWII. I did
because America is worthy of “…heroic labor and the most difficult sacrifice.”
I did so because it was a choice I had having recently graduated high school
and not entering college. I regret nothing about being a soldier, and never
will. If it was today…I would still enlist.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">What I would not do is recommend, counsel, entreat,
or otherwise persuade any young person to join the Armed Forces.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">We have grown obtuse, which the dictionary defines as,
“annoyingly insensitive, or slow to understand.” We fight wars that do not have
the meaning they are assigned. We fight wars that we lose. WWII had a reason.
We were attacked by an enemy whose stated objective was the decimation of the
American way of life and thus was in dire need of defense.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Korea, Vietnam, Iraq, and Afghanistan were
unnecessary wars that killed a huge number of people that did not deserve to
die. We went to Korea and never finished what we were supposed to do there with
the result that N. Korea is now a dangerous enemy. We spent 9305 days in
Vietnam and were forced to leave while communist forces took over the country.
We were attacked on 911 by citizens from Saudi Arabia and attacked Iraq. We
went to Afghanistan to find Osama Bin Laden and are still there…almost twenty
years later. Not one of these countries is significantly better because of our
presence within their borders. Korea is a hotbed of divisiveness and holds the
potential for the beginning of another war every day. Vietnam is a thriving
nation but not due to our American values. Iraqi citizens had a decent lifestyle
before we came in and blew up their cities and plunged then into poverty
because we did not like their leader.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Realistically, the inspiration for these wars, on a
rhetorical level was sound. Communism was a terrible system and hurt many
people. Not so much today. On principle it made sense to attack Korea and
Vietnam because of the atrocious lives led by people in China, Cuba, and the
Soviet Union. Yes, Saddam Hussein was a tyrant and needed to be removed. Yes,
Osama Bin Laden needed to be found. But let’s look at a few realities.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Korea has a history of incursions on their society
dating to its founding in 2233 BC. We did nothing to help that trend to stop.</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">Vietnam was possibly the most conquered country in
Asia for nearly the last four thousand years. It wasn’t until America came
around that they were able to throw an invader out and thrive.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Iraqi’s had a normal life with employment and wealth
available. They lived under Draconian rule but should have had the choice to
change that on their own. These were not uneducated poor peasants. They lived
better than most people on Earth. Until America decided to carpet bomb their
capital, a city 1250 years old which, at one time, was the largest metropolitan
area in the world. The only things the Americans really did in Iraq was send it
back to the 7th Century by rendering the electricity, water, and other
essential services useless.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The only thing we have accomplished in Afghanistan
was to perpetuate a warlike culture that has existed for as long as there has
been a country in some form in that area. We should have packed up and left the
minute we got Osama Bin Laden who we found in PAKISTAN!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Being a veteran I grieve for the fallen. We have
given out too many medals. Awards for bravery are necessary when we send our
people to war. They give the most of themselves and absolutely deserve to be
honored. How about honoring them when they get home? Why are 22 veterans
committing suicide every day? Why does the VA allow a sick or troubled
ex-warrior to wait months for doctor’s appointments? Why do they have to go to
the emergency room to get help (the most expensive type of care) and be turned
away?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Because politicians wave flags and vomit rhetoric
they do not fully understand in order to send out valiant Service people across
the globe to get killed, crippled, maimed, and damaged in the name of a country
that thinks it is noble. These selfsame politicians that do all that flag waving
and vomiting because they are being bribed to keep the war going. By who you ask? By those who worship money and want nothing but to make profit out of the atrocity that is war. Just like the moneylenders at the temple
they are. Would that we could do them as Jesus did in his time…there might just
be an end to the horror we accept in the name of our country.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />T. Lloyd Reillyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11609002400518041058noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8724986191933973596.post-61707665795086638212020-04-03T16:15:00.000-07:002020-04-03T16:15:00.481-07:00Pollution Solution<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">You could hear a pin drop. An aisle in a huge discount store
should be teeming with the sound of a place that supplies everything a
household might need. This aisle was dead silent. Halfway down the aisle there
was an older lady riding an electric scooter with a half full basket. Right in
front of her was a young man with a push cart and three huge packages he was in
the process of putting in an already overstuffed cart. He stood frozen staring
down the barrel of a pistol the old woman was pointing at him. It looked
disproportionally large for her hand, yet she held it steady while aiming at
what appeared to be the man’s groin area. Every few seconds she would adjust the
pistol. Cycling from his groin to his chest (upper right where his heart was)
and finally his face. It seemed she was, if she fired, ensuring she hit a vital
part of his body. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">She was wearing a skirt that revealed a pair of knee high
stockings and an ugly pair of orthopedic or diabetic shoes. Her hair was what
appeared to be freshly coiffed as from a beauty parlor. Her makeup was perfect,
also with a beauty parlor demeanor to it. Her overall appearances suggested she
might be in her ‘70’s or ‘80’s. She had a scowl on her face as she wielded the
firearm.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">Her target seemed to be in his ‘20’s with a Fu Manchu moustache
and a three day growth of beard. Scraggly would what a post office wanted
poster might describe it. He wore a baseball cap sideways on his head with the
letters FTW in gothic script, and a sleeveless t-shirt with the logo from what
had to be a Metal band emblazoned on the front. His jeans were full of holes
and rips but not in a store bought sense. They were more like an old pair of
pants that had been worn too long and thrown in the corner. He had ratty
looking steel toed boots with the leather on one of the toes worn off. The
jeans were stuffed inside cuffs tucked into them in a half blouse.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">“Young sir, I will need you to put most of what you have in
your basket back on the shelves. Now.” She spoke in a cultured accent, much the
same as someone’s grandmother might. She looked directly at the man with a
stern glance. He loosened up a bit and started to complain</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">“You have chosen to fill your basket with what must be much
more that you need. There are many people currently doing without due to this
practice you are participating in at the moment. I observed you glaring in a
threatening manner at that young couple and their child. You pushed your way
past them and took the last package of the item they were reaching for. I dislike
rude people. I also dislike ill-mannered younger people. You appear to fit both
those descriptions. Are you married with children at home?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">“No you old bitch! Get that fuc…”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">BLAM!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">The old woman shot the package in his right hand making it
burst in what seemed like a white snowfall. Everyone in the aisle dropped to
the floor. The man froze for a moment and then looked to see if he had been
shot. There was a spot on his forearm that was trickling blood.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">“Now this is a Smith & Wesson Governor. It is what is called
a .410 Bore Gun. Some call it a “shotgun pistol” but that is not entirely
accurate. One of the features of this particular firearm is that it can fire a
.410 shotgun round; I used a bird shot round on you to lessen the impact. It also
has the ability to fire a 45 caliber bullet. The next round in this pistol is a
<span style="background: white;">230 grain jacketed hollow point which is an awful
large amount of punch. Now if I am forced to use it I will reach into my purse
and drop a .25 automatic next to your body…after I put it in your hand to
ensure only your fingerprints will be found. I will tell the folks on the aisle
to leave and find the nice police officer that is in the front to come assist
me. They will all probably scatter to the winds, and you will be left here on
the floor…dead. My deceased husband was a criminal judge for fifty years. He saw
to it that myself and my five children, all attorneys, knew how to shoot and
are all permitted to carry the firearms on their persons.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white;"><span style="font-size: large;">Now it looks like you have a
knife on your belt. Why don’t you go to the bandage aisle and get something to
wrap that arm of yours. Then it would be prudent go to the men’s room, dig that
small birdshot pellet out, and bandage it. Use something to clean the wound
first. Then you can go find some other place to go and act like a barbarian.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white;"><span style="font-size: large;">She reached her thumb up and
pulled back the hammer</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white;"><span style="font-size: large;">.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white;"><span style="font-size: large;">“Y-y-yes Ma’am.” The wannabe barbarian
said and turned to leave<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white;"><span style="font-size: large;">“And dear, leave the shopping
cart here so these folks can find what they came for in the first place.” She pressed
the lever to make the cart move, stopping by the barbarian’s basket to retrieve
a four pack of Charmin.</span></span><o:p></o:p></div>
<br />T. Lloyd Reillyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11609002400518041058noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8724986191933973596.post-40049609727418671372020-04-01T14:58:00.000-07:002020-07-13T13:39:52.120-07:00Long Time Gone<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">I watched an extended interview with David Crosby of Crosby
Stills and Nash fame. He, as am I, is an old man and seriously infirmed with
multiple health problems. He has a much more storied past with many items of
interest to someone who first saw him perform at CSN’s second professional
performance. His story, by virtue of depth and reach was quite different yet
somewhat akin to my own. Suffice it to say that I have been around a number of
corners and down even more streets than the average person. Perhaps it adds to
the flavor of my biography. Realistically it probably attests to the large
amount of fucking stupid shit I have done or participated in, and miraculously
survived. This serves as proof to me that there is a being greater than I who
watches out for this boob with a keyboard and a propensity towards verbosity. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">As many who might be reading this I am enjoying the wonders
of Social Distancing and municipally mandated isolation. I am told that I am at
added risk for contraction of the latest “the sky is falling” syndrome\malady.
To me it would just be the soup du jour if I did get it, so I am not
worried…cautious, but not worried. Something is going to get me just the same
as everyone else. I believe that the reason I began typing today is that I need
a break from my telephone and television. Personally I have been stuck at home
for the last seven months recuperating from a mobility depriving situation. I’m
not crazy or suicidal and I am still not answering questions from the characters
of whatever program I am watching…yet. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">What I have got going right now is an extensive inventory of
my life and the decisions I have either gleefully or sorrowfully come to since
June 21, 1953. I would like to claim that triumph outweighed regret, but that
would require that I speak in untruths. My Dear Sainted Mother would tell me
“to thine own self be true,” and did so until I wanted to throttle her. As an
adult I found the wisdom in these words and keep that as a creed in my life. It
really does not hurt to lie to someone near as much as it might destroy a
person when they lie to themselves. Other than my Darling Máthair, it was my
participation in a 12 Step program that taught me about the truth. The truth I
need to be telling myself, that is. So let me tell you some truths I have
discovered. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<ol start="1" style="margin-top: 0in;" type="1">
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 12.0pt; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1;"><span style="font-size: large;">There is
a personal truth that I have spent much of my life as either a knucklehead
or a boob. <o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 12.0pt; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1;"><span style="font-size: large;">There is
the looking at the world truth and that is quite unadorned. The minute
someone figured out how to hunt, or gather more than what was necessary to
sustain him or herself; we, as a species, were screwed. It is just taking
a long time to happen.<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 12.0pt; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1;"><span style="font-size: large;">There is
a spiritual truth. Someone or something is responsible for mankind and the
firmament existing. Who that someone or something is none of our business.
However, whatsoever you wish to believe is your truth and it is not my
place to say a fucking thing about it.<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 12.0pt; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1;"><span style="font-size: large;">Finally
there is the undefinable truth. There are things in this world that happen
and we will never know why. No matter how much we try, life is an enigma
that we are too arrogant, stupid, and\or powerless to do ANYTHING about
it. PERIOD!<o:p></o:p></span></li>
</ol>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">As a thinking man I have discovered that as much as I would
like to change things or control things, it is an impossible to do so. The
answer to this conundrum is to accept that it might not truly be a conundrum at
all. Perhaps it is just the way things are supposed to be and that most of the
truly damaging things on earth are the result of people who refuse to accept
the undefinable truth that is smacking us in the face every day.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">If you don’t believe this, try going to the store and buy
some toilet paper.</span><o:p></o:p></div>
<br />T. Lloyd Reillyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11609002400518041058noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8724986191933973596.post-83252776464882469032018-02-07T13:17:00.001-08:002018-02-07T13:17:44.639-08:00The Geezer Chronicles<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i>A “Geezer,” according to the dictionary, is an “an odd or eccentric man.”
It is my contention that a true “Geezer” is the sort of man that is a necessary
component to modern society. When we say eccentric would it not also be
acceptable to call it staunch in belief. When we say odd can it not be just as
easily said that the individual looks at the world with wide open eyes. The
combination gives us character, verve, resilience, fortitude, and a devil may
care attitude which is easily recognizable by its defining axiom. “Leave me the
fuck alone with your adolescent, dimwitted bullshit. I will do, think, or say
whatever the shit I please.</i></span><i style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: x-large;">”</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: x-large;"><br /></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i>In that spirit I write, as a self-proclaimed “Geezer” and
will do as long as I inhale oxygen. The stories I write have foundations in the
world I see about me. They might come from a dream the night before, or
something heard on the latest Star Trek film or television episode. It might
come from the word of the day I receive daily that catches my eye due to the
unusual spelling or outrageous pronunciations. It might be alliterative in
nature as that is my favorite transcribing tool. It may come from a guy I meet
in the frozen foods section of the grocery store. It may come off the internet,
although most of that is inept and ridiculous to say the least. Or it may be a
story about a guy meeting the devil in a Walmart book section who tries to give
him the universe in exchange for his soul.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i>I am at a temporary impasse as to the delivering of these
stories. It would be nice to earn some scarolas in the process. I’ll post this
on my blog and see if I get any suggestions. It is not a major project to
undertake. I have a books worth of stories already looking for a home and
probably another 30 or 40 in need of a concluding word, phrase, sentence, or
even writing beyond a title. Can a Geezer get an “Amen?”<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i>Let me know what you think.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />T. Lloyd Reillyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11609002400518041058noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8724986191933973596.post-84330938999372805982018-01-10T17:02:00.000-08:002018-01-10T17:02:45.982-08:00The Sesquipedalian<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>“Verbosity is the decimation of prose by talentless uncouth
morons undeserving of consideration in the literary field.”<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>The intern, of the intern, of the intern to the secretary of
an editor of a major New York publisher.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>This single, rather verbose, sentence was all I received in
a rejection letter for a book I have been working on since the tragedy on
September 11, 2001 entitled “Thou Shalt Not Kill.” The author of this missive
offered the perfunctory Closing Line “Sincerely” as well as the appropriate
spacing to allow for a signature, and a title line. The autograph was a grand
affair emboldened with large loops and scrawl between these loops. The title
line simply stated that the letter had been written by the “Editorial”
department.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>This was the rejection that brought me into double digits. Eleven
times I have had this book rejected and which might just be rejected eleven
more times before success. Rejection is not the point but simply the avenue to
publication with a mainstream publishing house. The point was being called an “talentless
uncouth moron.” I admit to being an author of what a close friend has called “almost
absurdist literature.” No real issue there. Those who know me can attest to the
fact that I have a few screws loose, but I am in no way to be considered a
butter knife in a draw full of 300 years old Katanas. <o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>That being said, and my honor properly defended, I would
like to talk about what sat me down at the keyboard this dreary cold day. I have
been reading and relishing a book by a famous astrophysicist. It is written in
a manner that would permit the everyday Joe to understand some of the more
complex ideas and notions of the universe. “Astrophysics for People in a Hurry”
by Dr. Neil DeGrasse Tyson is the book and it is a thoroughly enjoyable and informative
read. I began this book by setting myself a little task; to see how far I could
go until I had to look up a words definition. I made it to page 135 out of a
possible 207 pages. I am somewhat proud of that especially given that is a most
loquacious of words…sesquipedalian coming from the Latin sesquipedalis meaning, literally, a foot
and a half long. Take that you intern, of the intern, of the intern to the
secretary of an editor of a major New York publisher!</i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>I openly admit to a love of words. The more obscure the
better. Being a fan of authors such as Richard Brautigan (my favorite poet),
Tom Robbins, Albert Camu, Spider Robinson (yes I have been drunk on Route 25A, Suffolk
County, Long Island, New York), Stephen King, Robert Heinlein, and Daniel Quinn
emboldens my obscurity and my Roman Catholic upbringing often sets the muse. In
1957 I was handed a comic book about a guy with superhero abilities who came from
another planet as a baby and I was hooked. I remember wondering while sitting
on the floor being told about the pictures and wondering what those squiggles
insides those thought balloons were. Even before I knew what a thought balloon
was. <o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>As I grew older and began reading and ultimately writing, I became
enamored with the placements of these things called words. I liked laughing,
and crying depending on what the story was telling. I remember when I was ten
years writing about a fat kid who did not like being fat, and I also liked
writing a collection of short stories at 48 years old about how it is not okay
to kill.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>Thinking back to the intern, of the intern, of the intern to
the secretary of an editor of a major New York publisher I decided to find out
who this quite couth raconteur might be. Having a computer and a decent college
education I tracked down my adversary. Turns out it was some guy working in a
cubicle who answered submissions with the direction to find as much fault as he
could. It is absolutely impossible for an editor at a major publishing company
to read everything submitted. Not even the future recipient of some big writing
award who got his start reading Superman comics. </i></span><o:p></o:p></div>
T. Lloyd Reillyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11609002400518041058noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8724986191933973596.post-2160479523304534412017-10-11T16:53:00.000-07:002017-10-11T16:53:15.759-07:00Munificent Mortality<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #333333; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“We are not now that strength which
in old days</span><span style="color: #333333; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #333333; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Moved earth and heaven, that which we
are, we are, --</span><span style="color: #333333; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #333333; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">One equal temper of heroic hearts,</span><span style="color: #333333; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #333333; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Made weak by time and fate, but
strong in will</span><span style="color: #333333; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: #333333; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-size: large;">To strive, to seek, to find, and not
to yield.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: #333333; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-size: large;">Alfred Lord Tennyson<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">It is a sad time indeed. A gentle and learned man named
Father Harry Cook died a couple of days ago. He spent many years preaching as
an Episcopalian priest, and a Christian journalist not timid in his beliefs. He
was a social justice Giant and a down to earth man who spread the words of God
while professing he no longer believed in a deity. He believed in people, and
passion. He wrote from his heart, and never lied to make any point. He espoused
the teaching in John 8:32 that the truth will definitely set us all free.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">A respectable part of my own view on what is just and
correct I learned from his readings. I was introduced to him from a friend,
another Episcopalian priest with a different demeanor from the norm, about ten
or eleven years ago. I am not or at least do not consider myself, a wise man. I
seek wisdom in order to make sense of the conflagration that the world is
enduring where it come to how we treat out fellow man. The world certainly
seems to be on fire and there are too few firemen. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">Father Cook was one of the best.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">I have not been reading his weekly essays for a while due to
a busy writing schedule of my own. I have saved them and will get to put them
into my daily prayer routine. Father Cook wondered about the efficacy of prayer
but my belief was that his words were as powerful as prayers and my belief in
them has yet to fail me. I believe Father Cook would not take umbrage with my
belief in prayer, as long as I continued to love my fellow man, and maintain a “give
your shirt and your coat” mentality in my heart and mind<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">I could go down the list of his readings and purport that I understand
all, but that would not be honest. I could speak of things I have learned but
it is probable that, given the reality of an age related poor memory, I would
confuse it all with other learned men I follow. As I said, I myself am not
wise. I am a guy that sometimes strings words together in a pleasing manner. Sometimes
the collections of words I use are not so pleasant. I write from a need to
communicate and to, perhaps someday, gain, and convey wisdom almost as well as
Father Cook. I reiterate…almost. I resist the idea that I could ever fit into
this giant’s shoes. The best I can do is extend you the last words he left us;<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #333333; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-size: large;">+ Love the English
language and use it with respect and care. None of us is Shakespeare <i>redivivus</i>.
Winston Churchill, H.L. Mencken and Graham Greene still stand alone with their
Firsts in English composition. They should be our standard. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #333333; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #333333; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-size: large;">+ A question -- and,
indeed, its formulation -- is likely to be more rewarding than straining to
produce a quick answer. Inquiry, research and hypotheses tend to invite more
thorough thoughtfulness -- a supreme value in human relationships at any level.
If you have never read the work of the late philosopher Richard Rorty and his
take on what he termed "contingency," now would be as good a time as
any to do so. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #333333; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #333333; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-size: large;">+ Beware the
politician who runs for office with an index finger pointed at those of an
identifiable nationality or ethnic group whilst blaming the woes of the nation
on them. Jews were long victims of such an evil, African Americans and Native
Americans, as well. Mexicans and Muslims in recent times became targets of such
calumny. Who needs a reprise of Nazism? <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #333333; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #333333; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-size: large;">+ Resist the claims of
absolute truth made by those who march under various religious banners. No one
can possibly know what any possible deity wants or wills. Likewise, no one can
encompass the whole truth about anything. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #333333; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #333333; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-size: large;">+ Conserve Earth, her
atmosphere, her waterways and seas, her land, her creatures as good stewards
would estates entrusted to their care and protection. One can lick away on an
ice cream cone only so long before it disappears. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #333333; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #333333; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-size: large;">+ Help society
understand that punitive incarceration in and of itself is cruel and unusual
punishment. Justice is not served by putting people behind bars in violent
environments. In the same spirit, help society understand that capital
punishment is legalized murder, collective vengeance under the guise of doing
justice. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #333333; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #333333; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-size: large;">Give all you can to
encourage compassion for women who struggle to retain control of their own
bodies where unwanted or dangerous pregnancies are concerned. Tell the
anti-abortion zealots that, if they oppose the practice, they should take care
not to submit to it. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #333333; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #333333; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-size: large;">At least once a
year, listen to all six of J.S. Bach's <i>Brandenburg Concerti</i> (BWV
1046-1051) and overture to Mozart's <i>The Marriage of Figaro</i> (K.
492) as well as his <i>Symphony No. 41</i>, (K. 551), the <i>Jupiter</i>.
Each one of them is guaranteed to bestow upon the listener both joy and
profundity, mercifully tuning out the mindless cacophony that presses in on
every side.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #333333; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #333333; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-size: large;">+ Above all, follow
the wisdom offered by Hillel the Great more than two millennia ago: "What
you hate, do not do to another." The great sage must have known that such
behavior as a habit runs contrary to nature. Also he must have believed that
humankind could outdo nature. William Faulkner in his speech accepting the 1949
Nobel Prize in literature appeared to have shared Hillel's optimism: I believe that man will not merely endure:
he will prevail. He is immortal, not because he alone among creatures has an
inexhaustible voice, but because he has a soul, a spirit capable of compassion
and sacrifice and endurance. As a dear bishop friend was wont to
say, "May it be so."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #333333; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">Harry T. Cook – Rest in Peace</span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #333333; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #333333; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-size: large;"><o:p></o:p></span></span><span style="font-size: large;">Here is a link to his obituary: <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://www.freep.com/story/news/obituary/2017/10/09/harry-cook-dies-78-former-detroit-free-press-columnist/747606001/"><span style="font-size: large;">http://www.freep.com/story/news/obituary/2017/10/09/harry-cook-dies-78-former-detroit-free-press-columnist/747606001/</span></a><o:p></o:p></div>
T. Lloyd Reillyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11609002400518041058noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8724986191933973596.post-24544408887676847302017-09-19T16:14:00.000-07:002017-09-19T16:14:10.004-07:00Singular Sanctimony<br /><div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: #f6f7f9;"> </span><span style="background-color: #f6f7f9;">“Tim, I miss your philosophy, blogs, and
intelligent words of wisdom. Please…remotivate/rejuvenate. Love you brother!”</span></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: #F6F7F9;"><i><span style="font-size: large;">Craig Smith, the REAL Mr.
Science<o:p></o:p></span></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: #F6F7F9;"><i><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: #F6F7F9;"><i><span style="font-size: large;">The quote above was sent to
me as a comment on something I posted on a well-known Social Media site. The author
of the quote is a friend of mine, and proof of the ideal of shared experience
is a definitive avenue toward friendship. We are “friends” on this site and
became so as a result of working as school teachers at the same school. I was a
neophyte in the wonderful calling that is school teaching, and he was a
longtime veteran of the war that has mutated into what has been called the
American Educational System. We are polar opposites in much of our lives,
politically, socially (outside social media), pastimes, and life experience. <o:p></o:p></span></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: #F6F7F9;"><i><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="background: #F6F7F9;">What we have in common,
however, is the drive, love, and unerring dedication to what most teachers call
“Our Kids.” We also share the sadness of not being allowed to teach. At least
not so we could; “</span>impart knowledge to or instruct (someone) as to how to
do something” as the Oxford Dictionary states. Instead we were exiled into the
nether region that is t<span style="background: #F6F7F9;">eaching to the test. This
is a paradigm, also according to the Oxford dictionary, where we “teach
students using methods intended primarily to improve their performance on an
examination rather than to enhance their understanding of a subject.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: #F6F7F9;"><i><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: #F6F7F9;"><i><span style="font-size: large;">This, as my friend knows
well, is the current accepted system with which to assess students. What this
accomplishes is a society that believes competition is more important than
knowledge. Where sports heroes, and hip hop artists are heroes and astronauts
are not. Where working the cash register at a convenience store or a fast food
restaurant requires the computerized register to tell them how to give change
for a dollar. How asking a simple question of any sort elicits a universal “I
don’t know” response. Even for queries as to what they wish to eat for dinner,
or where the rest room is. <o:p></o:p></span></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: #F6F7F9;"><i><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="background: #F6F7F9;">I jump on this soap box as
a result of an experience I recently </span>endured. I met a young man at a
coffee shop who was sitting with what one could assume was his girlfriend. They
had books and laptops open and appeared to be studying. The girl suddenly, in a
frustrated tone, asks how he could not know whatever they were studying. (Reference
the “I don’t know” reply) The young lady stares intently at her companion and,
shaking her head, demands her payment as their time was at an end. She was
counting the money she received while admonishing the kid to refrain from
calling until he “gave a shit.”<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="font-size: large;">I chuckled at the situation and went back to my large
pumpkin spiced latte. My coffee companion also smirked and, with a devilish
look in his eyes, told the kid that I was a retired teacher and could probably
help.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="font-size: large;">My current area of endeavor is, as you might guess, as a
writer and my thoughts and feelings, personally and professionally, lean
towards the creative. I frowned at the kid and decided to be generous with my
talents (or lack thereof) and asked the young man what his problem was. He informed
me that he had to take this remedial math course before he could take the real
class that would give him the credit he needed to continue on at the junior
college he was attending. I had been a Special Education teacher so this did
not appear challenging. At least I hope it did not. I was as and am somewhat of
a liberal arts aficionado.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="font-size: large;">He showed me his equation which appeared simple; X+3=5x4,
solve for X. simple even on the simian level I dwell. I asked him what the
problem might be. He replied that the x or the y always screwed him up. Letters
weren’t numbers and don’t they really belong in words? <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="font-size: large;">I launched into a short diatribe of the use of letters,
called variables, in equations to make it easier to make and solve more complex
equations. I was on shaky ground past that (I got c’s in most college math
courses) but pressed on. I showed him several problems and how to solve them
and why the answer came to be. I stopped short of quadratic equations which are
and will always be perplexing and confounding. My coffee companion smirked and
frowned at me letting me know that what I shared with the kid made a lot of
sense. The kid sat there with a pair of eyes one might see in a morgue. Frustrated
I turned sardonic by asking my soon not to be student what 1+1=.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="font-size: large;">He asked me if he could use his calculator and what were the
multiple choices available to him.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="font-size: large;">I had no feeling in my extremities. I stared at him only to
realize that he had been earnest in his request. He held what looked to be
quite an expensive scientific calculator which, I was sure, he might not know
where the on/off button might be. My companion told me that we needed to leave.
I stammered for the kid to study the work we had done and good luck. As we were
leaving my coffee buddy held up a napkin on which I had been doodling that
showed the words “DON’T BE SARDONIC!” and asked me what sardonic meant.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="font-size: large;">This experience has stayed with me for about a month. I think
the comment from my friend and mentor Mr. Science inspired and drove this discourse
and for that I thank him. I remember he would, take his kids outside when the
weather permitted and do science experiments. Every kid looked and acted
engaged. I followed his lead and would take my kids outside and read them short
stories of adventure, action, honor, and equality. Other folks at the school
would ask me what I was doing and I would just smile and look over at my friend
shooting potato guns and blowing things up with laundry detergent and glass
beakers. I don’t know how much sitting outside helped my students, but if it
was good enough for a 20+ year Teacher of the Year it might just be good enough
for me.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></i></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="font-size: large;">Thank you Mr. Smith!</span></i><o:p></o:p></div>
T. Lloyd Reillyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11609002400518041058noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8724986191933973596.post-51854915422178278242017-06-06T14:21:00.001-07:002017-06-06T14:21:38.630-07:00Meddlesome Malaise<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 12.0pt;">
<i><b><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">I have discovered that amongst all
my other ailments I suffer from yet another newly realized, and most wearisome
malady. Styx Syndrome, AKA “Too Much Time on My Hands.” Being a gentleman of
enforced leisure (medical retirement) who is ofttimes confined to my Sanctum
Sanctorum due to my infirmities, my mind works in excess of necessity. There
are so many things that occur to me, especially as a writer, which might fill
the void I find it irksome not being able to ascertain what to next do. Having
finished a story that took its own sweet time coming to me and my fingers I
plunged into a period of reflective entropy. The query “what’s next” enveloped
my being, as it always does between writing adventures, and I searched for the
answer to that most bothersome query. </span><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"> </span></b></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 12.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i><b>Then the light bulb over my head
popped on in all its 1000 watt brilliance…READ!<o:p></o:p></b></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 12.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i><b>Being what I believe to be the
preeminent state in which to exist in, a thinking man, I indulged my first love
and delved into tomes with the loftiest paradigms. What is the meaning of life?
In my six plus decades of verve this has always proven to be the most difficult
of pursuits. The question has been taken up and discarded an equal amount of
times along the way to this writing. There were times when I failed to answer
it. There were times when the solution was crystal clear. Neither way held much
solace for me. Interruptions in this quest have interfered from time to time.
Wearisome items such as earning a living, paying the electricity bill, finding
a new job, reading rejection letters of my self-acclaimed works of everlasting
wisdom, the discovery of a new love, the grief of associated with the loss of a
cherished loved one, and all the other mundane realities that probably answer
way more eloquently than I what exactly is the meaning of life.<o:p></o:p></b></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 12.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i><b>I began by reading a trio of books
explaining our culture which described the ideal that the first time a human
woke up and wished for more than was needed was the beginning of the
extermination of all mankind. Certainly this offered a rather dismal generalization
of our species and accurate but for the one thing that might help us to
survive, which was also reported in these important works. We have the ability
to change our circumstances.<o:p></o:p></b></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 12.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i><b>Next, for no fathomable reason, I viewed
a film entitled <span style="background: white;">“The Man Who Knew Infinity”
about a mathematician who was born during the “British Raj” period prior to
Indian independence. </span>Srinivasa Ramanujan was born into a poor Brahman
family, and was a mostly self-taught prodigy who eventually became a Fellow of
the Royal Society, as well as a Fellow of Trinity College at Cambridge
University. His works are on display in the library there as well as the “Philosophiæ
Naturalis Principia Mathematica” by Sir Isaac Newton, the inventor of calculus
and many of the foundations of modern physics. All this while suffering
discrimination, poverty, and poor health.<o:p></o:p></b></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 12.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i><b>I am currently delving into “A
Brief History of Time” by Stephen Hawking. Another choice with no recognizable
foundation towards the question I probably do not truly wish the answer to.
Admittedly, my personal research has been prejudiced by events in my life of
both a positive and negative nature. The academic part of my persona is
certainly piqued with the lofty writings of famous mathematicians and
physicists. The cognitive side of me has recently taken up the task of
maintaining my intellect due to an ever growing difficulty with memory
retention. Then there is the ever troubling portion of me that looks into the
night sky finding itself time and again mystified.<o:p></o:p></b></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 12.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i><b>The Spiritual<o:p></o:p></b></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 12.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i><b>Not wishing to drift off into yet
another perplexing area, that being in the ideal of whether or not there is a
God; I will make things, for today simple. I believe in God, and I believe in
Science and mathematics. The rest of the claptrap about God’s existence is best
left for another day, or a Nighttime Talk Show.<o:p></o:p></b></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 12.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i><b>As I read and contemplated the
significance of asking for the meaning of something that obviously already
exists, I came up with the ideal of discovering what is of true import. That is
the crux of searching for the meaning of life. Knowing it or not knowing it is
not imperative in the face of having life and making it relevant. Great
thinkers miss this, I believe. The real question is: What would you want life
to be. Is it a meaning or an action? (Reference our ability to change our circumstances)<o:p></o:p></b></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 12.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i><b>Somewhere along the way, the
meaning of life got itself associated with the conundrum of an unanswerable question
being whether science is the answer, or is God the answer? How did we get here?
What came first, the chicken or the egg? What was there before the big bang?
How did all this happen?<o:p></o:p></b></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 12.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i><b>Science has theories to guide it. This
means that some really smart people sit around (much like me) and think about
things in order to answer the chicken thing, or the meaning of the Big Bang
Theory.<o:p></o:p></b></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 12.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i><b>Science has determined that the egg
came first in a most baffling manner imaginable. The explanation requires an
understanding of several disciplines; biology, zoology, genetics, and Marvel
Comic books and movies. Neil deGrasse Tyson made it much simpler: "Which
came first: the chicken or the egg? The egg – laid by a bird that was not a
chicken." And we thus discover the issue with asking too many questions.<o:p></o:p></b></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 12.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i><b><span style="background: white; color: #222222; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">The<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>Big Bang<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span></span><span style="background: white; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">theory<span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="color: #222222;"> </span></span><span style="color: #222222;">is the prevailing<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span></span>cosmological<span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="color: #222222;"> </span></span>model<span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="color: #222222;"> </span></span><span style="color: #222222;">for the<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span></span>universe</span>.
In a user friendly definition thanks to Wikipedia, “The universe began very
hot, small, and dense, with no stars, atoms, form, or structure (called a
"singularity"). Then about 13.8 billion years ago, space expanded
very quickly (thus the name "Big Bang"). This started the formation
of atoms, which eventually led to the formation of stars and galaxies.”
Scientists have thought and thought, and wrote and rewrote about this effect
exhaustively, they have modeled and remodeled ad infinitum. The results of all
this thinking, writing, and modeling/remodeling has culminated in the #1
comedic Sitcom in the world. All of the actors except one (Mayim Bialik, PhD in
Neuroscience) have no expertise in science and admit to just reading lines from
a script. <o:p></o:p></b></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 12.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i><b>The seeming antithesis of all this
thinking, writing, modeling/remodeling would be God. Given that this is an
undefinable issue from a fact based physically provable it might be time better
spent in discussing the differences between science and God. Here are some
facts/paradigms/space fillers to consider:<o:p></o:p></b></i></span></div>
<ol start="1" style="margin-top: 0in;" type="1">
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 12.0pt; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i><b>Many
learned people have rejected the existence of a God. Where did God come
from? For an answer to that I will fall on my own spiritual beliefs which
is Christian based;<o:p></o:p></b></i></span></li>
</ol>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 12.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i><b>“He is before all
things, and in him all things hold together”<span style="background: white; color: #191960;"> (</span><span style="background: white;">Colossians 1:17<span style="color: #191960;">).<o:p></o:p></span></span></b></i></span></div>
<ol start="2" style="margin-top: 0in;" type="1">
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 12.0pt; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1;"><span style="background: white;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i><b>6,120,000,000,000 people in the world believe in
some form of deity. Would that not be enough of a mathematical prevalence
to prove the existence of God?<o:p></o:p></b></i></span></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 12.0pt; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i><b><span style="background: white;">Actually, a great mathematician and logician Kurt
Gödel derived a series of equations that prove the existence of God. These
equations have been discovered valid by modern computer scientists.</span><o:p></o:p></b></i></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 12.0pt; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i><b><span style="background: white;">Some believe the Big Bang implies a creator, and
some see its mention in their holy books, while others argue that Big Bang
cosmology makes the notion of a creator superfluous. Herr Gödel
illuminated further. '"An equation for me has no meaning," he
once said, "unless it expresses a thought of</span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="background: white; color: #222222; line-height: 115%;"> </span></span><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hindu_gods" title="Hindu gods"><span style="color: windowtext; text-decoration-line: none;">God</span></a>."<o:p></o:p></b></i></span></li>
</ol>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 12.0pt;">
<o:p><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i><b> </b></i></span></o:p><i style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: x-large;"><b> The writing of this fellow
intrigued me and I went off on a tangent for about a half a day into the proofs
of the existence of God. I discovered many and read them all and came away from
the exercise had begun to make me doubt my own belief in a God. I wondered how
this course of inquiry could make me turn God, a present personality in my
life, into “a God” as if it were something that could be disproved. Certainly
cause for befuddlement for a believer since birth.</b></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 12.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i><b>I then took a break and came back
and reread all the proofs I researched and realized something. They were all
confusing and meaningless to anyone wishing to live a simple life. Just check
out Herr Gödel’s treatise:<o:p></o:p></b></i></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 18.0pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 12.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i><b>Definition 1: x is
God-like if and only if x has as essential properties those and only those
properties which are positive<o:p></o:p></b></i></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 18.0pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 12.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i><b>Definition 2: A is an
essence of x if and only if for every property B, x has B necessarily if and
only if A entails B<o:p></o:p></b></i></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 18.0pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 12.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i><b>Definition 3: x
necessarily exists if and only if every essence of x is necessarily exemplified<o:p></o:p></b></i></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 18.0pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 12.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i><b>Axiom 1: If a
property is positive, then its negation is not positive<o:p></o:p></b></i></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 18.0pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 12.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i><b>Axiom 2: Any
property entailed by—i.e., strictly implied by—a positive property is positive<o:p></o:p></b></i></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 18.0pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 12.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i><b>Axiom 3: The
property of being God-like is positive<o:p></o:p></b></i></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 18.0pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 12.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i><b>Axiom 4: If a
property is positive, then it is necessarily positive<o:p></o:p></b></i></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 18.0pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 12.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i><b>Axiom 5: Necessary
existence is positive<o:p></o:p></b></i></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 18.0pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 12.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i><b>Axiom 6: For any
property P, if P is positive, then being necessarily P is positive<o:p></o:p></b></i></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 18.0pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 12.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i><b>Theorem 1: If a
property is positive, then it is consistent, i.e., possibly exemplified<o:p></o:p></b></i></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 18.0pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 12.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i><b>Corollary 1: The
property of being God-like is consistent<o:p></o:p></b></i></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 18.0pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 12.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i><b>Theorem 2: If
something is God-like, then the property of being God-like is an essence of
that thing<o:p></o:p></b></i></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 18.0pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 12.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i><b>Theorem 3: Necessarily,
the property of being God-like is exemplified<o:p></o:p></b></i></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 18.0pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 12.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i><b> </b></i></span><i style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: x-large;"><b>What I came to is that there really no way to answer the
God/Science question. Science has tried both ways to look at it and cannot seem
to report on it that does not prove anything in simple terms. Even a well
thought mathematical proof by a respected mathematician cannot explain in
layman’s terms to this writer who got a “D” in statistics and had to repeat the
course in order to graduate college. Is science the answer? Ask a scientist to
give you one sentence answer if you ask them what was there before the universe
was created by the Big Bang. Similarly, for the God folks, ask your pastor (in
one short sentence) where did God come from?</b></i></div>
<div style="line-height: 18.0pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 12.0pt;">
<span style="background: white; color: #222222;"><o:p><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i><b> </b></i></span></o:p></span><i style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: x-large;"><b><span style="background: white; color: #222222;">It might be easier if we all just went in search of the </span><span style="background: #FDFEFF;">Philosophers Stone. You know that element the alchemist
used to say was the substance that could turn a cheap base metal into gold. A
great idea and possible panacea for those financially disabled. Of course all that
meandering about in quest for pecuniary prosperity that might just complicate
things even more given that Alchemists were proven charlatans and sometimes
hunted as witches. The witch hunting reality in olden times could bring a tremendously
disagreeable demise. Most of them changed into chemists that today are deemed
legitimate. Although, they still can’t make gold out of lead. Just like we
cannot truly know the answers to great questions like the “What is the meaning
of life”</span></b></i></div>
<div style="line-height: 18.0pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 12.0pt;">
<span style="background: #FDFEFF;"><o:p><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i><b> </b></i></span></o:p></span><b style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: x-large;"><i><span style="background: #FDFEFF;">I
did find an answer to that bigger question, though. Well, perhaps not an answer
as much as an end to the confusion. I had researched until my head hurt and my
eyelids grew weary. (Especially after the half read “</span>A Brief History of
Time”)</i><span style="background: #FDFEFF;"><i> I turned on the Great Knower. The much
maligned by Springsteen instrument of enlightenment sitting in all its High Definition
glory in my living room. I found it on television. Even there it was hidden
until I dove in to the depths that are called “Streaming. What I found was the
great and wise philosopher, teacher, and possible Holy Man who did not so much
answer the question than taught me what life is <u>truly</u> about. Not what to
question but how to act. Not thinking someone else is wrong but accepting that
the bastard might just be right. Not wondering what has happened but doing what
was right. Not doubting but believing. Not reading or asking but doing what I
am told:</i></span></b></div>
<div style="line-height: 18.0pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 12.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i><b><span style="background: white;">“You do</span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="background: white; color: #444444; line-height: 115%;"> </span></span><nobr style="background-color: white; color: #444444;">good things<span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;">, and good things
happen to you. <o:p></o:p></span></nobr></b></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i><b><span style="background: white;">You do bad things, and bad things happen to you.”</span><span style="background: #FDFEFF;"> <o:p></o:p></span></b></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 12.0pt;">
<nobr style="background-color: white; color: #444444;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i><b>
</b></i></span></nobr></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 12.0pt;">
<span style="background: #FDFEFF;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i><b>Earl
Hickey</b></i></span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
T. Lloyd Reillyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11609002400518041058noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8724986191933973596.post-66348438670173451262016-12-24T16:52:00.002-08:002016-12-24T16:52:45.966-08:00The Campanologist<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: x-large;">Da-ding…Da-ding…Da-ding…</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i>It had been snowing for most of his shift. He stood at the
door of the large warehouse store next to the tripod with the red bucket
hanging by a chain. In the past this position paid an hourly rate but it was now
a volunteer position with no remuneration. It did put him in a good light at
the homeless shelter that he had been staying at since his release from the
state prison. <o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i>Da-ding…Da-ding…Da-ding…</i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i>He had no family and nowhere to go when he was emancipated
from government internment. That is how he labelled his time on the state’s
Jefferson. He was sent there for the possession and distribution of materials
that are now rapidly becoming legal. Hell, major tobacco companies were gearing
up divisions within their corporate structure to oversee the exact same
activity he had been incarcerated for a two decades earlier.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i>Da-ding…Da-ding…Da-ding…<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i>He shook with the cold and tried to pull his clothes closer
to his body. The lined vinyl jacket they had issued him was too small to button
and his regular clothes underneath were better served in the faraway temperate
climate where he had been living prior to his emancipation. He had served the
full Monty on his sentence due to the fact that he had no place to go if
paroled. He was the sole surviving member of his family. He never had any close
friends choosing to ply his herbal trade and avoid most contact with the public
outside of his commercial duties.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i>Da-ding…Da-ding…Da-ding…<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i>He chose to return to the place where he was born in an
attempt to change things in his life. He remembered living outside the medium
sized town in the northeast of the country to seek a simple life. Much as his
childhood had been. His father had worked at a lumber company in the shop that
made cabinets which had allowed for a decent lifestyle for his family. They had
owned their own home, always took vacations, always new clothes for the
changing of the season, good food on the table, a dog and a cat, and two cars
in the garage when the sun went down every day. <o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i>Da-ding…Da-ding…Da-ding…<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i>When he got off the bus after a three day journey from the
southern environ, the town looked nothing like he remembered. The city was no
longer medium sized having grown on what seemed like an exponential rate. At
least it looked that way for the number of new buildings (among which were a
disturbing number of skyscrapers), the traffic, hordes of people walking the
streets, and most disappointing of all, no lumberyard with a cabinet shop.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i>Da-ding…Da-ding…Da-ding…<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i>He walked for quite a while and discovered the bus line that
could take him to his childhood home which he was supposed to own after the
last of his family members had passed away. When he got there he found the
house which looked as if it was leaning on the garage. Most of the windows had
been broken and the front door stood ajar. He stood for a long time watching in
total doubt and disbelief. A woman pulled up in a minivan with a real estate
company sign on the door. She asked him if there was a problem. He told her
that he was the owner of the house due to being the sole surviving member of
the family. She said that it was in the process of being auctioned for back
taxes. She was inspecting it before putting in a bid.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i>Da-ding…Da-ding…Da-ding…<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i>She also told him that it was not a done deal and that he
might be able to do something about it. She offered him a ride somewhere and he
just looked at her blankly. She noticed the backpack and suitcase and offered
him a ride to a homeless shelter. The homeless shelter initially rejected him because
he had money. After the purchase of the bus ticket and the few clothes he
bought there was only $89 left from the $200 they gave him when he went through
the release process at the prison. The $89 disqualified him for free access. If
he wanted a bed he would have to give his $89 to them. It had worked similarly
in prison. He worked in the wood shop while there for a ridiculous hourly wage
if about $0.11 an hour which barely had allowed him to pay for the necessities
(hygiene, cigarettes, etc.) he had needed during his captivity. Now, being on
the street with no money, He had no clue as to what to do. Hell, he did not
even feel comfortable going to the restroom without asking permission first.
How was he supposed to make it?<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i>Da-ding…Da-ding…Da-ding…<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i>The woman left and came back a few days later to check on
him. She had told her husband about him and he had promised to look into his
situation. He was a lawyer and thought he might be able to help him in some
way. At the very least he could see if the land deal had actually been proper.
She also asked him if he might like a job. The shelter allowed residents to
stay for an extended time and work if they agreed to pay a percentage of their
wages in rent. The rate was sort of high but it did allow him to move forward
in some manner that might help him. It was a manual labor position for the
facilities division of her company. It was mostly cleaning up, maintaining
properties, building wood signs, and some light repairs. Most of it was outside
work and would probably shut down once the winter hit.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i>Da-ding…Da-ding…Da-ding…<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i>Winter hit and he was once more unemployed. He had saved
some money hoping he could somehow rescue the house. The lawyer told him that
he still could pay the tax bill and keep the house. It was quite bit of money
but they would take a down payment and they would work with him on the rest in
a payment plan. He had most of the down payment saved when the winter hit and
he got laid off. He tried to give them what he had but the arrangement was a
hard and fast must. They gave him an extension to the first of the year and
wished him luck.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i>Da-ding…Da-ding…Da-ding…<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i>He agreed to work the donation bucket until he found another
job. The shelter told him that he could stay to the first of the year before
having to resume rent payments. This was in a city where freezing snowy weather
would probably last until March or April. It looked like a dim future but he just
kept on going. The real cold weather hit around the middle of December and he
had not found a job. Actually, he rang the bell all day which gave him no time
to look for a position that paid.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i>Da-ding…Da-ding…Da-ding…<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i>His location was only about three blocks from the shelter so
they made him walk both ways. He was given a bank bag to put the donations in
which he must turn in to whatever supervisor was on shift. The only reprieve he
got was about noon when the van transporting folks to other locations pulled up
and gave him a sandwich and a cup of lukewarm hot chocolate.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i>Da-ding…Da-ding…Da-ding…<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i>He worked his post without complaining. Complaining in
prison had severe consequences and he did not desire to find out if the shelter
was similar in its practices. At the end of each day he emptied the bucket and
walked back to the shelter. About the end of the first week he noticed a small
girl, extremely pregnant, standing at the entrance to the parking lot holding
up a sign asking for help. She looked to be a teenager, and always smiled at
him. He asked her why she was out there and discovered that her parents had
told her to leave because she had gotten pregnant and was not sure who the
father was. <o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i>Da-ding…Da-ding…Da-ding…<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i>She shared that she had a small savings account she had hid
from her parents for emergencies. She told them at a family picnic in front of
the whole family and relatives thinking that they would not flip out and toss
her out. This proved to be a mistaken perception on her part. They told her to
pack what clothes she could fit into her backpack and leave. The entire room
sat silent while she left the house in tears. She rented a room at a boarding
house but her money had run out and she was on the streets.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i>Da-ding…Da-ding…Da-ding…<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i>He looked at the sky spewing snow and the frost breath they
both exhaled and told her he would try to get her in the shelter if she wanted.
Surely they would not turn away a homeless pregnant teenager in winter. Back at
the lodge there was a line formed outside and it was quite long. He walked in
and tried to speak with the supervisor and was told that she had to get in line
and wait. He escorted her outside to the back of the line and gave her the
jacket he was wearing. He went in and got a steaming hot cup of hot chocolate
and brought it to her. The supervisor complained to him and told him he was
walking a thin line trying to help some teenager he had knocked up. He
attempted to explain that he was not the father but the supervisor raised his
arm in a talk-to-the-hand gesture and walked away.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i>Da-ding…Da-ding…Da-ding…<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i>He went in to get warm for a while and think. He sat on his
bed and drifted off sleep for a while. The supervisor came and kicked his bed
and told him to get up and do something with his little lovebird, she probably
was not going to get a bed. Jogging to the front he found her in line waiting
much closer to the door. Just as she reached the door it was locked and a sign
put in the window stating that the shelter was full to capacity.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i>Da-ding…Da-ding…Da-ding…<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i>He walked around the back to the kitchen door and found the
supervisor and implored him to have a heart. He met resistance and he finally
offered to let her have his bed. This, for some reason angered the guy and he
told him to pack his stuff and get out. They would not take his crap anymore.
He begged him to let the girl stay and was threatened with the police if he
didn’t take himself and his little mistake the hell out of there.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i>Da-ding…Da-ding…Da-ding…<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i>He packed his stuff and the guy in the next bunk gave him a
plastic trash bag holding a coat that fit him and a pair of blankets. He tried
to say thank you and got another hand in the air. This time instead of a scowl
he left was sent packing with a wink and a smile.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i>Da-ding…Da-ding…Da-ding…<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i>He found the girl and told her that they needed to find
another place to stay. He had the money he saved to pay there down payment on
his house and decided to use it to get out of the weather. They tried the
rooming house but they were turned away because the manager thought they were a
couple. The man had looked and him and her recognizing the age difference and
told them to leave. They tried a couple of motels but got refused for the same
reason as the boarding house. They ran into a guy in the parking lot and got
offered a room if the girl was willing to service men in exchange for rent.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i>Da-ding…Da-ding…Da-ding…<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i>Finally, he got them both on a bus and rode out to his old
neighborhood. Arriving at his soon-to-be sold house he jumped the chained gate
and went into the garage. He came back with a hammer and crowbar and made a
hole in the fence big enough for her to get through. He guided her to the
garage and settled he down. He explored the house and found some chairs and a
foldout couch. After much struggle he moved it into the garage. He found some
old Coleman lanterns and fuel and got them going. There was an electric heater
which was useless until he found several extension cords and made a covert
journey to the house next door. Finding an outside plug he sneaked some power
and got the heater going. He would go over in the morning and offer some snow
shoveling or other labor service to pay for it. Making another sojourn into the
night he came back with some food things and water from some store. It seemed
as if they had won the day. <o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i>Da-ding…Da-ding…Da-ding…<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i>Come morning he went next door and talked to the elderly
gentleman who came to the door. He explained what he was there for and the old
guy asked him his name. Surprised, he gave it and luckily it turned out the man
had been his neighbor when he was a kid. He pulled him into the house and sat
him down to tell his story. He relayed the life he had led and the time in
prison and explained his motivation for coming home. He resisted bringing up
the subject of his houseguest and finally told him about the girl. The old man
frowned and thought for a long time. He finally admitted that he and his wife
were staunchly conservative religious folks. His beliefs told him that he
should not help based on the reality of a grown man and a pregnant teenager
living in sin next door. His wife, who was not there, would have insisted on
calling the authorities. He fell silent for another long period of time. He
shared that he was a retired police commander. An up through the ranks street
cop who had seen much in his time that conflicted with what he heard in church
on Sunday. He said that they could use all the electricity they needed. He
offered them the use of some coolers to keep food in and packed them from his
household pantry and freezer. He told him he did not want any conflict in the
house at the holidays. He loved his wife and wanted to keep things that way. He
admonished him to keep quiet and things probably would not be the worse for
wear.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i>Da-ding…Da-ding…Da-ding…<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i>They settled in to their temporary abode. He went out every
day and looked for work and another place to live. The answer was either that there
were no open positions until after the first of the year, or an outright no. His
funds were dwindling and there was not enough to pay for a place out of the
weather. His appearance had grown scruffy and he spent the better part of an
afternoon in the police precinct for vagrancy. The old man next door had shown
up at the precinct with a can of Christmas cookies his wife had baked and found
him being escorted to a holding cell. He intervened and they left and went back
to the house. He figured, and the old man agreed, that it would be best not to
tempt fate by going out. The next few days he stayed in coming out only to
rummage around the house for things to use. A trip to the convenience store for
milk wound up with him walking back into the garage finding the girl laying
down and groaning in a wet bed. It was not because she peed.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i>Da-ding…Da-ding…Da-ding…<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i>Her contractions grew in intensity closer right away. It was
evident that the baby was coming at any time. She had a book on being pregnant
in her backpack which he used to help her deliver a little boy.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i>Da-ding…Da-ding…Da-ding…<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i>The old man knocked on the door wondering why there was
screaming and hollering in the garage. He saw the baby and immediately wanted
to call someone (police, ambulance, etc.) and would have if his wife had not
walked in. she immediately took charge and got things cleaned up and arranged. She
sent her husband to get pillows, blankets, and, cloth diapers from storage in
their attic. Once settled in the old couple kneeled and prayed for them. They started
to talk about getting her someplace to care for her and her baby and suggested
a facility where she could find a suitable couple to adopt the baby. It was the
morally right thing to do.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i>Da-ding…Da-ding…Da-ding…<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i>The girl looked at her rescuer and refused to move. This might
not be the best place but it felt safe. She was not going to give up her baby,
and that was that. The old couple, feeling the spirit of the season, did not
insist. They were going to their son’s house for the holiday and would come
talk to them when they got back. They left and came back a little while later
with more supplies for them and the baby.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i>Da-ding…Da-ding…Da-ding…<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i>He was digging in the bags of supplies and found a bag of
cat food. He looked around to find about a half dozen stray cats sitting or lying
around the garage. They must have snuck in with all the opening and closing of
the door.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i>Da-ding…Da-ding…Da-ding…<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i>Night came and it grew quite peaceful in the small car
refuge. The scene, if filmed, would have been prefect in any film about this
time of year. They heated up some food on a hotplate and toaster oven scavenged
from the dilapidated house. For dessert it was hot cocoa all around. He went
outside whenever she had to breastfeed, and a couple of the cats would
accompany him. It was right at midnight when, standing outside he recognized
that there seemed to be a lot of activity on the street. Several police cars
rode by shining the small spotlights on the door as if they were looking for
someone. He ducked back in the garage and decided that he best stay in for a
while.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i>Da-ding…Da-ding…Da-ding…<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i>All of a sudden there was a huge bright light over the
garage. Through the window, air vents and numerous holes normally not
noticeable it seemed to be right over the building. It lit up the space
brighter than even a fluorescent lite would. All of a sudden, the door flew
open and three men came rushing in. one slammed the door and locked it. The
three then started to stack things in front of the door, and garage door to
stop anyone from getting in. they finished and turned to the current occupants.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i>Da-ding…Da-ding…Da-ding…<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i>They were gangbangers. Each of them had tattoos on their
hands and necks. One of them took off his coat and it looked as if his whole
body might have been covered with what the bell ringer knew was “prison ink.” They
stared at each other for a long time. The smallest of them introduced him and
his friends as “Paco, Flaco, and Juan Diego.” They explained that they were
having some “judicial” issues with the po-po’s and needed to chill for a while.
The girl asked them if they wanted hot cocoa.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i>Da-ding…Da-ding…Da-ding…<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i>The baby had been covered up during the introduction
suddenly began to cry. She uncovered him and he stopped crying, giving his
mother a big smile. The three hardened street criminals seem to melt all at the
same time. They gathered around the bed and oohed and aahed the child. They made
faces to make the infant smile. The smallest thug, Paco, asked if he could hold
him and the girl relinquished him after being reassured that tattooed hooligan
had seven younger brothers and sisters who he had cared for when they were
born. Flaco and Juan Diego summarily wished to embrace the child. Each was
quite careful and loving. They talked baby talk, albeit Spanish baby talk,
until the baby fussed at all the attention. They asked what his name was and were
shocked that he had none. Juan Diego declared that given the date, there was
only one name possible.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i>Da-ding…Da-ding…Da-ding…<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i>The trio spent several hours visiting and peeking out the
window before they decided their “judicial” problem was no longer as urgent as
earlier. They each said goodbye to the newborn and wished the girl luck. They shook
hands around and proceeded to leave. Flaco stopped them and they had a
whispered conference before Paco pulled a piece of paper out of the pocket on
the large backpack they had brought with them. After writing on it for a while
they put it in the main part of the backpack and slipped out of the garage.
Never to be seen again by either of them.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i>Da-ding…Da-ding…Da-ding…<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i>The next day the old couple came back and came over to the
garage. They had not been able to get the three of them out of their heads. They
were supposed to stay through the first of the year but came back early. The old
woman explained that they were pretty set in their ways and had been given a real
wakeup about the way they lived and thought. Things they accepted coming from a
pulpit in a large wealthy church were not in harmony with what life might
actually be. She apologized for herself and her husband’s behavior and invited
them to come share their home until things were better for them. No questions
asked or required behavior other than civility. The two evictees from a
homeless shelter looked at each other and accepted the offer.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i>Da-ding…Da-ding…Da-ding…<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i>The two moved in and asked for separate bedrooms. Once settled
the girl asked if he would watch the baby while she took a long hot bath. He sat
in his room holding the baby until the older gent called and asked him to help
him move a crib into the girl’s room. Securing the baby on the bed with a wall
on one side and pillows too large for it to scale they moved the crib into the
room. The wife came in and made it up from the baby things she had in the
attic. Once bedded down, the child drifted off to sleep.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i>Da-ding…Da-ding…Da-ding…<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i>Sitting and watching the child his eyes fell on the backpack
left by Paco, Flaco, and Juan Diego. He pulled it to him and opened it. He
found the note and a bag full of rolls of hundred dollar bills. The note explained
that the money was proceeds from the sale of items responsible for their “judicial”
issues. It had been laundered and was completely legal. The three were using it
to get out of town, but felt the baby could use it better them. Nobody was
looking for it. Not even the po-po’s.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i>Da-ding…Da-ding…Da-ding…<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i>The old man came into the room and found his new housemate
confused. He looked at his benefactor and held the note up for him to read. Reading
the note slowly and looking into the bag, the old man stood there for quite a
while. Finally, looking as if he had made a decision, he handed the note back
and looked at the baby. The girl came back from her bath and was presented with
the information. Wondering what to do they looked to their benefactor. Not having
looked away from the baby, he said, “Well Emmanuel…it looks like it has turned
out to be a really good Christmas.”<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i>Da-ding…Da-ding…Da-ding…</i></span><o:p></o:p></div>
T. Lloyd Reillyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11609002400518041058noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8724986191933973596.post-55937576981084449082016-09-03T14:25:00.001-07:002016-09-03T14:31:50.158-07:00<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">Once upon a love lost time…</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">There was a girl who lived in Lindenhurst, NY who, for a
summer, had my heart in her grasp and I never intended that it be released. It
took place in the mid to late 1970’s in that faraway place that I remember
thinking was simultaneously glory, joy, utter bliss, and extreme ecstasy. It is
a location that must be where the Rapture takes you. All that is good and kind
is everywhere, and your soul, no; your very <i>being</i>
is complete. A place like no other that might only be found in a specific set
of eyes.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">I am not able to access her name from the rapidly <span class="desctext">deteriorat</span>ing
hard drive between my ears. I can, fortuitously, rescue a memory of opulence in
the orbs with which she observed me in my foolishness. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">We met while we were gainfully employed as taxi drivers at a
small cab stand at the Long Island Railroad station in Babylon, NY. The money
was terrible and the hour’s even worse, but it sufficed to pay a weekly rent
and allowed for enough to enable the noble search all young men required in
their quest for female companionship and whatever mind altering, mood changing
substance essential to the discovery of true love.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">The particular advantage to my spirit that this unique lady offered is that there was no need to wander the pubs and beaches in the
execution of the marvelous mission that is coital coupling. We got off at about
11:00 pm and the world was, literally, our oyster. Pub crawling was not
necessary, and quite cumbersome to us as we crossed the threshold into the
adventure of discerning if either of us might just be, THE ONE AND ONLY.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">We would ride across the bridge spanning the Great South Bay
parking out by the nearest beach. We would lie on the hood of her car while
watching the sky and the surf. We would drink beer or wine and talk about grand
ideals while listening to the FM station playing love songs. We would look deep
into each other’s eyes before we embraced. We would skinny dip, but not get too
close. We had promised to wait for the gift of intimacy until there was no doubt
that we had, in fact, uncovered THE ONE AND ONLY.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">This pausing in the exercise of release that most young
people yearned for served as both a blessing, and a decided disadvantage. This
was not something my Neanderthal mentality was properly adept at. I have
visions of cavemen and the lack of romance required back in those glorious days
prior to language or etiquette. I realize this is a racial memory, but in my
misspent youth I was not the judicious and perceptive intellect you have all
come to love and submit your time to. Today I can listen to “Here comes the
Sun” by the Fab Four and reminisce of the women in my life I have loved. Back
in the day, it was much more “Paradise by the Dashboard Lights” by Meatloaf. So
why agree to this absurd abstinence?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">It was her eyes.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">I would look in them and feel safe. I would wonder why the
only thing I really wanted to do was see the shine in those sky blue near
translucent orbs lit by the moonlight bouncing off the water, and hear her soft
voice telling me things I had never heard before. I never found an answer to my
speculation.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">It seemed as if God had sent an angel to me. She would smile
and tell me goodnight when she dropped me off closing the night with deep
embraces. My heart would ache for the sight of her until I got to work the next
day. Then, right at about 11:05, Shangri La would open and all else would
evaporate in the face of the magnificent creature that God had allowed me to
hang with.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">The memory is still breathtaking, and it comes to me from
time to time to, I believe, remind me that I am alive. There is much in life
currently that is ugly, unpleasant, and foul. One thing that is not revolting
is the memory of a love lost in time.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">The reality of the time proved not as splendid as the
memory. Summer turned into fall, and then winter. It became too cold to sit out
by the beach unless we were extremely inebriated. An old boyfriend of hers
moved back to town and wanted to rekindle old times. I picked up a decidedly
exotic girl in my cab one night and discovered that adorable eyes existed in
other woman. We drifted apart and marched on our individual ways. We never did
discover the wonders of the flesh, but that was fine. Like I said…it was her
eyes.</span></div>
T. Lloyd Reillyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11609002400518041058noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8724986191933973596.post-62299284418340029402016-06-24T13:24:00.000-07:002016-06-24T13:24:11.202-07:00Dysphoric Displeasure<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">Writing at the speed of a snail has been the reality of late
and the ideas have not been popping as usual I find myself in need of respite. I
have things to do and I have things to say yet all I seem to be able to
accomplish is manipulation of the remote control and the aimless ventures in
the land of Social Media. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">What I really have is to tell the truth and admit that what
is wrong with me is that I have things to write.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">I do not have so many things to do that it should negate my
personal method of communication. I do not have, considering that I am retired
and live alone, all that much to say. I have ennui, lethargy, and languor
invading my existence and all I have to say about that is;<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">ENOUGH!!!!!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">I watched a well-known writer on a talk show talk about the
thing he would suggest to aspiring writers. He thought that they should be
bored. Not have anything going on, or anything to do, or anything to feel. I thought
this absurd and was almost ready to dismiss it as folly. Until I remembered
what it was that made me become a writer. I cannot leave anything alone. I cannot
see or read or hear anything that does not trigger some riposte. I cannot keep
my big mouth (or fingers) shut!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">Now what is it that I have to say? What is it that is going
to come bubbling up from inside me that will satisfy that need, that yearning,
that obsession?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">IT IS EVERYTHING!!!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">It is the Sit-in by the Democrats in Congress that was most
certainly a publicity stunt. God Bless them for doing it! It is all the Anti
Trump memes on my Social Media accounts because they are terrible drudgery due
to the sheer numbers while being totally necessary. We need protection from
lunatics and the election process in America is not providing it. It is a
report on a Sports show about an award winning gymnast and athlete, born with
no legs, that watched another athlete
and was inspired to become as accomplished as her heroine. Then finding out
that the heroine was her biological sister.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">It is halfway through writing a book about free standing self-driving
cars and seeing one of your ideas in a commercial. One that you did not know
existed when you got the idea for the story. It is having two blogs and posting
on another just because you can. It is about having that story…that story that
is inside you and writing it just because it is inside you and needs to be on
paper.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">I was in a store a couple of months ago and somehow got
engaged in a conversation with a gentleman in the frozen food section. He got
asked what I do. I told him that I am a writer. Now the first thing most people
might ask a writer is whether they might have read some of their work. This guy
asks me when I got my last royalty check. I published a story in an anthology
about four years ago that sends me a 1/27<sup>th</sup> royalty portion (their
words not mine) once a year. The checks average about $3.27. At the time of the
conversation while shopping for sugar free ice pops I had just received one of
these checks. So I told the guy that it had been a couple of days to which he
proclaimed that I was, indeed, a writer. It was an amazing revelation that at
the age of sixty two years I was officially dubbed a writer even though I wrote
my first short story in 1963. It is now a mark of distinction in my life that a
few million words later I can now confidently proclaim to the cosmos’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">I AM A WRITER!!!!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">Having that as a banner to carry it is particularly displeasing
to discover that the boredom that NY Times bestselling author champions is not a
place where I find any particular gratification. I want to be typing faster
than normal because the story has bubbled to the surface and the magma within
the meditation of inspiration has erupted and is spewing out everywhere. Boredom
is boring!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">So my answer to all this discontent is to focus that
suggested monotony and give it away. Give it to whoever is reading this and
move on to what is not boring. That would be a work in progress that is a mess
because of my absence. Back to that guy building and testing a car that can fly
who is about to get drunk and get in his flying car and wake up on the moon.</span><o:p></o:p></div>
T. Lloyd Reillyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11609002400518041058noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8724986191933973596.post-59836467883194108742016-05-01T15:31:00.000-07:002016-05-01T15:31:22.512-07:00Dozing Dispossession<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>Five o’clock AM and I once more find myself without the
ability to get the requisite forty winks one needs or desires on a daily basis.
It has been the norm since I have taken up residence in this apartment
building. New to town I found myself in need of an abode that would not drain
my less than generous bank account. I had turned in my papers after twenty
years as a cop in a major city before relocating to another major city far away
from the city I had developed a genuine dislike for. The pension was only half
my salary and it barely paid the bills. I drove a cab a few days a week in
order to afford booze and food. The flat was really a rented room and the
apartment building was really a sleazebag hotel. There was a blinking sign outside
the window reminiscent of an old time Dashiell Hammett story, and the denizens
of said hostel would fit well in any Sam Spade, or Mike Hammer yarn. It was
depressing and I knew it. The blinking light had a buzz to it that drilled into
my ears and nearly drove me mad.</i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>Most nights I would simply drink myself to sleep but, for
some reason, the whiskey wasn’t working. I tried watching television and spent
an hour trying to decipher the story from a Telenovela on the Spanish station.
Pushups proved useless, and reading a book might have worked if I had one. I
called the Goth chic down the hall who supplemented her income from managing the
Adult book/video store around the corner by performing carnal acts of,
depending on one’s proclivities, either mercy or atrocity for the older
gentlemen of the building such as me. After an hour and a half of vigorous
gyro-acrobatic shenanigans, she left my room out of breath and properly
remunerated. I lay there unable to move…and still wide awake.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>Surrendering to my situation I got dressed and went out for
some breakfast. There was an all-night diner across the street where the local
cops would stop for coffee and food. It made me feel comfortable to be around
some guys on the job and I would eat at least one or two meals a week there. I
had no desire to engage any of them or “talk shop.” I just found the atmosphere
familiar. There were a few there when I walked in and took my regular seat in
the corner where I could see everything. I was content to just drink coffee (it
wasn’t like it was going to prevent me from sleeping) and read the newspaper I
had bought from the machine outside on the curb.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>A couple of the guys who drove for the same cab company came
in and told me that the dispatcher said that he was short a couple of drivers
that day and for them to put the word out. I finished my coffee and went to the
garage and picked up a unit. I figured I might as well make a few extra shekels
during my unwanted bout of insomnia. The fares started coming in on the radio
and it turned into quite a busy shift. About six that evening I called in to take
myself out of service. Fourteen hours was enough and I was beginning to feel
tired enough to sleep. The dispatcher told me to get one more fare from a hotel
and call it a night. As it worked out, I probably should have turned it down
and gone to bed. <o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>She walked out of the hotel as if she were exiting a royal
palace where she was the lead noble lady. Her attire was a throwback to the
same 1930’s noir detective genre that my rented room had going for it. She was
tall with perfect makeup and a form fitting dress reaching to just below the
knees. She wore gloves and a hat. The bonnet was a plush contraption with
feathers lining her upper face and a fish net screen covering her face. The gloves
were silk and full length. Bright red lipstick offset a pair of piercing dark
eyes. She kept a small pout on her face most of the time but when she smiled
there were the most alluringly sexy dimples on each side of her mouth. She
looked out at the world with hooded eyes accentuating eyeliner and shadow that
made my mouth water.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>She had a deep voice for a woman and it wasn’t until much
later that I noticed the Adam’s apple underneath her chin. Her figure was pure
woman and hourglass in demeanor. She wore heels that were at least four inches
and silk stockings with seams up the back of what must have been exquisitely gorgeous
legs. Overall she must have been at least 6’5”. If I had to choose one word to
describe her it had to be…glorious!<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>She handed me a card with an address on it. I, being new to
town, simply thought it was a high end cocktail club. It did not occur to me to
question the hook under the name of the club. That all-purpose catchy phrase
all high end joints used which would entice customers and keep them curious
enough to frequent the establishment. “For those of discriminating taste” was
what this one stated. Sort of a sublime hint that the place had something only
the most discerning of clientele could possibly appreciate. Only the extremely
erudite might need apply.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>Imagine my surprise when I dropped her off and discovered that
it was just a bar for drag queens and their unsuspecting dates.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>I never, at first, pegged her for a lady (?) of the evening.
She had manners, you see, and I always thought of her as a lady. Perhaps a
little old fashioned based on her “accoutrement” as she called it. She told me
her name was Étiennette<b><span style="background: rgb(255, 255, 241); font-family: 'Segoe UI', sans-serif;"> </span></b>Émile. It was her father’s name in
French she proclaimed proudly. Her surname was also French. She always would
use little phrases in that language and then translate them for me. I found it
adorable.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>Even after I discovered that it was a drag queen bar I never
put one and one together to figure out that Étiennette was really just French
for Stephen and that he dressed up to pick up “Johns” at that bar to pay
his/her bills. I later discovered that Émile was also a translation. This time
for his/her mother, Emily and that his/her last name was Fleming. Possibly
French but Stephen was never sure. In his/her defense I got told a story of a
confused kid who always preferred men for romance and felt out of place all the
time.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>It seemed as if I should have known. After all I spent
twenty years as a cop, seventeen of them as a detective. There was something
about her. I never really thought of the fact that “he” was a man, or should
have been from a biological point of view. Whenever we were together it was
always Étiennette. It was always a given that I held the door open for “her.” It
was always a given that I held the chair for “her” at a restaurant. And it was
always a given that I was in the company of astonishingly beautiful woman.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>I am for sure not and have never been gay. I like woman both
carnally and personally. I have no discriminatory preferences in female
companionship. I like them all, again, carnally and personally. But there was something
about Étiennette that just cried for me to be around her. It was like a moth to
a flame. Like, as a child, when you were being told not to stick your hand in a
light socket. You just had to do it. I just wanted to be in her presence.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>It all began with rides in the taxi. She lived in an old
Brownstone house on an upscale street. I would take her on shopping jaunts here
and there and noticed liking the conversation in between stops. She shopped every
day for new outfits and I was on the receiving end of the marvelous visions she
would create for her evening time. I started working seven days a week just so
that I might be around to pick her up. She never called when she was with a
“gentleman friend” as she called it. She always had her companions call a different
cab company. She called one day and requested that I be her personal driver.
After a while we agreed that it would be better if we were not confined by the
rules of the cab company. She asked me to come to work for her as a driver. She
would and could give me a decent wage and I could have my pick of cars to
choose from. I told her that it should be something stylish and grand. She gave
me a number of pages downloaded from the internet and told me to choose. <o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>They were all from the thirties and forties and all
retrofitted to be legal and trustworthy. We picked a 1937 Cadillac Fleetwood
Town Sedan with a stunning black paint job and chrome accessories. I never knew
how much it went for, but Étiennette never blinked an eye at price. My days
became much more relaxed and enjoyable. I bought a black suit with a chauffeurs
cap. We travelled all over town and dined in fancy restaurants. It made the
retired cop in me curious to wonder how much she made with her “gentlemen
friends” and what she had to do for it. I never considered sex with her, given
the anatomical realities, and she never mentioned it. I took to kissing her
hand when I dropped her off at night. She would greet me at the door in the
morning with an air kiss to my cheek. We were as happy as if either of us had
good sense.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>I began to meet with the Goth chick down the hall (her name,
it turned out to be, was Midnight) more often. Our shenanigans became much less
energetic, meaning that I was able to move afterward, and after a while she
stopped taking the money I left on the bedside table for her. She told me that bumping
uglies with me was good exercise. It finally began to feel as if retirement was
not going to be all that bad.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>And then Étiennette got sick.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>Well, that was what Étiennette called it. She called and
told me to take a few days off until her doctor released her from bedrest. I
offered to come and take care of her but she refused. She explained that her
miniature collie was all the company she could handle and that the day nurse
would provide everything else. I had violets (her favorite) delivered to her
house every day. She stayed in for almost a week and when I did get to pick her
up she came out walking with a cane. It was a standard hospital issued cane. I
immediately drove to a nearby antique shop and bought her something much more
elegant. When she climbed into the car I noticed that she wore much more makeup
than usual. The type of makeup I used to see battered women wear to hide the
results of an argument with the abuser in their life. I ask her why she was
moving so slow and she just said that she had not completely gotten her breath
back. She just wanted to get a civilized meal and come back home. I knew what
was going on but figured that if she wanted me to know she would tell me.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>We had never discussed that fact that I was a retired cop.
She thought I had been a civil servant in some city office somewhere like
Building Inspection or the Water Department. I never really discussed being a
cop with anyone but Midnight and only her because she figured it out on her
own. I wasn’t ashamed of it in any way, but it had left me with memories and a
decent case of insomnia. Putting it in the past was my goal. One I would never
achieve.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>It took about another week for the makeup to go back to
normal and the cane to disappear. Another week after that for the shopping
trips to resume. Another two weeks and I was dropping her off at the club. I
imagined that she was resuming the commerce that was paying my salary.
Commerce, as I called it, did not begin again but came to a screeching halt.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>I was watching a game show I had recorded with Midnight when
I received a call from Étiennette about 2:00 in the morning. She was crying and
asked me to pick her up at the Emergency Room of a nearby hospital. I brought
Midnight with me for moral support. A wise choice, I discovered, once I got
there.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>Étiennette came out of the patient section into the waiting
room being helped by a nurse. Her makeup had been wash away. She had a large
bandage across her nose. Her eyes were nearly swollen shut, she wore a neck
brace, and her jaw was wired shut. A doctor trailed her and the nurse imploring
her to let them give her a room. She shook her head, as much as possible while
groaning and reaching for me when she was close enough to recognize me. She had
a strap on cast on the hand she reached for me and her other was in a similarly
wrapped and restrained by a sling. Her left foot was in a walking cast. Her
every movement elicited a groan of pain. When I got close to her she threw her
movable arm around me and began to cry again. I held her and eased her into a
chair in the waiting room. We sat there for a long time and when we pulled away
from each other I told her that she was staying…no argument.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>Midnight had spoken with the doctor and came and gave me a
report on all of Étiennette’s injuries. She walked away and came back with a
wheelchair. She crouched down and, with a handful of tissues, wiped the tears
away from Étiennette’s damaged eyes and shushed and loved on her. I sat there
with her head on my shoulder and felt the first warmth of a seething grow.
Someone did this to my Étiennette and they were going to pay.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>Later that morning, after seeing to it that she had a
private room and was well taken care of, I left on the pretense of getting some
things for her to wear while she was in the hospital I went down to the nearest
police station and got the paperwork started for a Private Investigators
license and a concealed carry license. My record prior to my retirement
elicited two responses. First, the precinct captain tried to talk me into
joining their force, and second he expedited both requests for immediate
acceptance. I had what some would consider large amount of decorations and
medals over the years and was consequently considered a hero cop. My thoughts
were simple; I shot some guys and they pinned medals on my chest for it. The
medals never prevented the nightmares. Étiennette did that…almost from the day
we met.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>A stop at a gun shop, a full figure lingerie shop, and a
florist for a bouquet of violets were all on the agenda before returning to the
hospital. She was asleep, as was Midnight in the recliner next to her bed. I
shook Midnight awake and told her I would take over. She shrugged and told me
to find another chair. She was not going anywhere. I followed my “exercise”
partner’s direction and we both waited while Étiennette slept off the medicine
she had been given.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>She woke up and began to cry again. I held her as best I
could taking into account the rails of the hospital bed and the IV’s and tubes
running in and out of her. She stayed distraught for the next couple of days
and Midnight and I started to take shifts. The healing came slow but was
steady. Physical therapy came in everyday and after a week she began moving
around a little better. I refreshed the violets often and her spirits began to
lift. I thought long and hard before I said anything, but it was time.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>I began by telling her about why I had become a cop. My
mother had been mugged and in the course of it she suffered a stroke and we had
to take care of her for the rest of her life. She never recovered and died many
years younger than she should have. I told her about finding the guy that did
it and sending him to prison…with a permanent limp and no vision in his left
eye.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>I told her that I had been a real tough cop and had been
awarded many medals. I told her about how I felt about the medals and I told
her about the nightmares and insomnia. Then I told her that meeting and loving
her had made the dreams and sleeplessness fade away. I told her that I was
going to find the guy who did this to her and he was going to go to prison for
what he did.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>Her eyes teared up and she just sat there saying nothing. We
sat for a long time before she told me that I would not have to go find the guy
who did it to her. Well, actually, I would not have look too hard. It was her
brother. It was her twin brother. <o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>He lived right next door to her. Her parents had bought them
matching houses just like they did with clothes when they were kids. They grew
up different, though. They had not been identical; they were fraternal twins
and did not look very much alike. At least not as close as twins should look.
She had grown tall and stout. He had been at least a foot shorter than her and wasn’t
as healthy. She grew up and liked men. He grew up and liked girls. The problem
came when it came time for them to notice others from a romantic point of view,
she became Étiennette, and he just became a nerd who could not get a date while
holding a calendar. He was shy while Étiennette was outgoing. Even as a boy Étiennette
was beautiful. He, on the other hand, was slight of nature with an acne scarred
face that only a mother would love. Women and men alike all were drawn to Étiennette
while anyone he even looked at all rejected him. She tried to set him up but
nothing ever worked. She had a dozen dates for the Prom (boys and girls both)
and he stayed at home watching the television with their parents.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>He finally met someone who did not think he was repulsive
and they began dating. She was a lovely girl and pretty as a picture. They fell
deeply in love, or so he thought. They got married and Étiennette thought it
was “Happily Ever After” time. After their parents passed away and they moved
into the Brownstones her brother’s wife began coming over and talking to Étiennette
about all kind of “Girly” things. Not really a problem at first. Until, that
is, one unfortunate day that her sister-in-law tried to kiss her.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>Étiennette had never even hinted at any attraction. She was
decidedly preferential of men and all her family and friends knew that. She
pushed her away and told her to never do that again. She was not mad, but she
was family and that was unacceptable. The sister-in-law threw her hands in her
face and ran out crying. When she got home she ran to her bedroom and locked
herself in. When she came out she told her husband that Étiennette had tried to
have sex with her. That was the first time she got “Sick.”<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>Her brother came over and beat her with a wooden spoon from
the kitchen. This was before she had started calling him for cab rides. When
they had progressed to the Cadillac her sister-in-law had taken another woman
as a lover and was hiding it from her brother. When he discovered the lesbian
girlfriend he blamed Étiennette and came over and beat her with a miniature
baseball bat he had been given as a cruel joke one birthday. That was the next
“sick.”<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>There had been no more trouble until the brother came home
and found his wife hanging from one of the balconies in the Brownstone. She had
broken up with yet another woman and could not take it anymore. The suicide
note she left stated that it had always been Étiennette she had wanted and that
the other girls were just substitutes. If she could not be with her true love
she did not want to live. Her brother watched Étiennette her leave the house
and followed her to the drag bar. He had hired a guy to pick her up and make
like they were going to a hotel. He, in disguise, had even held the door to the
cab that was supposed to take them. When she got in she found that the driver
was actually her brother. He came at her with a lead pipe and pushed her out at
the hospital.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>I listened to her tell me about her brother. She had no
animosity towards him he was the only family she had and she loved him. Even
though he hurt her terribly she was quick to forgive. I was not of the same
inclination. I know how I used to take care of these situations. Mostly it
meant that the perpetrator received at least as good as they gave, male or
female alike. Then, they all went to prison for a long time. I never cared what
I had to do or say to ensure they went to prison. None of them resisted taking
the time. I made sure they knew what was in store for them if I found them
walking the street too soon. <o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>I never really deserved the medals and commendations. I was
a monster cop…until I met Étiennette.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>She knew what I had in mind and she did everything in her
power to stop it. She made me sit and listen to all her stories about her
brother and how he got to be the way he was. She told of bullies and the cruel
things they did. She talked about how the girls all shunned him and how the
teachers in school would make him sit in the back of the class because he was
ugly. He could not see well and had too much pride to tell their parents he
needed glasses. He thought that eyeglasses would make it worse; perhaps
creating another insult that might be hurled at him. Étiennette always loved
him and would protect him as much as she could. It did not help. Imagine the
shame he felt to have his gay, crossdressing, brother defending you. Étiennette
had never accepted bullying for being gay and was of sufficient statue to
physically stop any kind of discrimination. Most everyone thought it was a
novelty to have a huge drag queen around who could kick your ass. Her brother
just thought it was just one more thing people could hold against him. <o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>He walked around ashamed of himself until he met his wife.
When she hung herself he stopped being ashamed and began blaming Étiennette for
everything wrong in his life.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>I listened to her explain that it really was not his fault.
I decided that it might just be that this time I would not include the beating
before seeing that he go to prison. I told Étiennette that I would not hurt him
but that he would have to go to jail. She wept for a while but I convinced her
that he was not going to stop until he killed her for revenge. She shook her
head and told me to be gentle. She asked Midnight to go with me to make sure I
did not lose my temper.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>I decided to do it “by the book” as they say. I went to the
see the captain who had expedited my PI license and carry permit. I told him
the story and what I wanted done. He got a search warrant and a crew of cops to
go and arrest the brother. He let me and Midnight tag along. Nobody answered
the door when we got their and he ordered the breach team to gain entry to the
Brownstone. What came next was for sure not the result I ever intended.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>Hanging from the same landing as his dead wife was the
brother with a suicide note attached to the lapel of his suit coat.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>The note was an apology. Apology for what he did to Étiennette.
There was a lengthy apology for the death of his wife where he really held no
liability, culpability, or responsibility. He wrote an even more extensive
apology to his parents for not living up to what he should have as their son.
He took credit for every bad thing that ever happened to him. He concluded by asking
for forgiveness for not hanging himself sooner.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>I sat there on the stairs reading the letter and found myself
stunned. Until that moment I had never bothered to look at a perp as human.
Never considered any of them might possibly be just a human being worthy
of…well…compassion…or…mercy. <o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>I left the scene and went to the hospital. I told Étiennette
what happened and held her while she grieved for he brother. I stayed until she
fell asleep. I sat in the hospital and wondered when I lost the monster cop
gig. I no longer seemed to have the anger, apathy, aggressive thought, or
animosity that had made me what everyone thought of as a great cop. I felt
something foreign and I could not figure what it was. I could not figure when
it happened either. I sat there and thought for a long time, finally falling
asleep in the chair. When I woke up Étiennette was staring at me and smiling.
She was beginning to lose the bruises and the adorable lines on either side of
her smile had reappeared. Those dimples that made me want to look at her
beautiful face forever. It was at that moment that I realized when the change
had taken place. It happened the first time I kissed her hand and looked up at
that wondrous smile.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>I remember thinking that maybe I had it right in my head
finally. How justice worked, that is. I pulled out my cell phone and called the
captain and asked if he thought he could find a place for me. <o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>But just in the evenings. My days would be full taking Étiennette
shopping.</i></span><o:p></o:p></div>
T. Lloyd Reillyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11609002400518041058noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8724986191933973596.post-73930724534610970042016-04-03T14:40:00.000-07:002016-04-03T14:40:27.046-07:00Méadú tagtha<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><b>The kid was just taking a walk in the woods when he found
it. Hidden behind a group of trees was this great big rock that had what looked
like a round door in it. It did not seem to be anything that one might expect
to find in the middle of the forest or even anywhere for that matter. It was a
bright tan and it did not look like any other rock in the area. Most of the
terrain around it was forest and this seemed as if it belonged at the foot of a
mountain or somewhere in the desert. It was surrounded by trees and bushes and
could hardly be seen at all. Almost as if someone had intentionally hid it
there. <o:p></o:p></b></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><b>Pushing his way through the growth around it was hard and he
did not realize until he broke through to a small opening in the trees that he
could see that nothing touched it at all. It appeared as if the trees had grown
around it but stopped short of getting anywhere near it. It seemed as almost as
if it had grown there without ever touching anything but the ground it sat on.
There was a canopy above it where the branches of the surrounding trees gave
the impression, at first glance, to be protecting it. Upon closer examination
it was easy to see that the branches had simply grown around it. Like as if it
was something not to be touched. <o:p></o:p></b></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><b>The door to the thing was of a different, darker, color and
had a lip on it that you could grab. The kid did not try to open it or even
touch it. He just walked around it to see what was on the other side. He walked
a few feet and discovered that the door seemed to follow him. He stepped back
and looked around to see if it was some kind of trick being played on him. He
got on his knees to see if maybe it was on some kind of spindle or something
that would make it rotate but found that it was sitting firmly in place. He
tried to walk and not look at the rock and went six or seven feet and turned
back only to see the door again. He turned around and discovered that he was
standing right where he had pushed his way through the brush. He turned back to
the rock and found the door, or whatever it was, right where it had been every
time he had looked at the rock. Almost as if the only thing he was supposed to
see.<o:p></o:p></b></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><b>He approached the rock, still not touching it, and turned
his ear to listen to the rock. This made no sense to him but he could not stop
himself. None of this made sense yet here he was looking at this strange rock
in front of him with the even stranger door. He brought his ear as close as he
could to it without touching it. He heard some sort of soft sound, almost like
a murmur, coming from it. He moved a little closer nearly putting his ear up to
the rock face of the door and heard a slight, barely perceptible, voice come
through;<o:p></o:p></b></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><b>“Let me out.”<o:p></o:p></b></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><b>He jumped back and almost turned to flee. He stopped himself
and stared at the rock. He approached the rock again with his head turned to
listen;<o:p></o:p></b></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><b>“Open the door and let me out.”<o:p></o:p></b></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><b>This time the sound came out clear as day. It had a certain
unblemished inclination to it. Sort of like a plea while at the same time feeling
authoritarian. Like as if you had heard it coming from your father and mother.
As if it was something you just had to do. Something that you just knew was…the
right thing to do. <o:p></o:p></b></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><b>He turned his ear away from the rock and reached a hand to
it. He hesitated for a second out of trepidation and foreboding. He froze for a
second and seemed to hear the rock tell him that it would be okay. It appeared
to be saying that all was just a touch away from being, well, sufficient. <o:p></o:p></b></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><b>He placed both hands on the door because he felt as if it
would take a lot of effort to move it. This proved false. The door slid to the
left with ease and opened with barely any pressure. There came a wash of hot
air from it that made him step aside and fan the air in front of his face to
escape the warmth and musty smell. There also came a smell that seemed somewhat
familiar. He stood there trying to remember where he had smelled anything like that.
Something like the kitchen when his mother cut chicken or meat for dinner and
the trash can out in the yard, or perhaps when Grandpop made blood sausage for
smoking on the grill. <o:p></o:p></b></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><b>He stood back and just took in the sight of the open door
wondering what came next when a tall man stepped out into the sunlight. He wore
what might have been a nightshirt, or some kind of sleep thing. He had long
hair walked with a decided limp from both legs. It was hard to tell really what
he looked like. His face was covered in contusions and huge purple discolorations.
His eyes were both nearly swollen shut and what could be seen the whites of his
eyes were actually deep red. He walked with a hunch and his hands and feet were
wrapped in bandages. He smiled and his teeth were all broken and horrible. There
was a blood stain on one side of the robe.<o:p></o:p></b></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><b>He limped over to a fallen log on the edge of the forest and
sat down. He tried to say something but it came out garbled and nearly a
whisper. He shook his head at the kid and tried again. The kid stared at him
for a long moment trying to decide what to do. Something told him that this guy
needed help but there was also a feeling that he should just run as fast away
from this dude a he could. He decided to stay. He slowly walked over to the log
and sat down a few feet away. The beat up man said something else which sounded
almost like a growl. It took a few tries but the kid finally understood.<o:p></o:p></b></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><b>“Thank you.”<o:p></o:p></b></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><b>The kid quickly replied. “You’re welcome.”<o:p></o:p></b></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><b>The guy looked at him and smiled his demolished, broke tooth
grin again. He shook his head and wrapped his arms around his stomach launching
into a rasping, gut wrenching coughing fit. The kid waited for him to finish
and asked if there was anything he could do to help. Again the ugly smile. The dude
raised his arms a slight bit with his hands in the air and just shrugged.<o:p></o:p></b></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><b>“What happened to you?” the kid asked.<o:p></o:p></b></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><b>“Tell me what your name is my friend.” The beat up guy
replied<o:p></o:p></b></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><b>“Timothy.”<o:p></o:p></b></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><b>“Ah, the friend of my friend…it is nice to meet you young
rescuer.”<o:p></o:p></b></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><b>“Okay, but I don’t know what you are talking about with this
friend of friend thing. You just came out of a freaking rock dude.” The kid
looked confused.<o:p></o:p></b></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><b>“Not to worry. Your name reminds of things in my past. Forgive
me.” As he spoke his voice lost the raspy tone and began to sound…well…almost
soothing. <o:p></o:p></b></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><b>“What happened to you, man? Did you get in a wreck or something?”<o:p></o:p></b></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><b>“I angered some people who I probably should not have.” Another
coughing binge came on him.<o:p></o:p></b></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><b>“They must have been really pissed at you.” The kid untied
his bandanna from around his neck and handed it to the damaged man to wipe his
mouth. He reached into his backpack and offered him a juice box. When the man
accepted the kid went ahead and poked the straw in figuring that the dudes
hands were not what you would call, dexterous.<o:p></o:p></b></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><b>“I think it would be safer to say that they were probably
more afraid than angry. I have always had that effect on people. I am not wise
where it comes to expressing my opinions. They were not entirely wrong for what
they did to me. I am not angry or hold bitterness. I am still here and this,”
he motioned to his body, “will heal.”<o:p></o:p></b></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><b>“You’re a better man than me, Dude. I would be majorly
pissed if someone even as much as punched me for no good reason.”<o:p></o:p></b></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><b>“It would not have solved anything to attempt retribution,
or revenge. I would be denying the very thing for which I received this
thrashing.”<o:p></o:p></b></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><b>“What’s that?” the kid grew confused again.<o:p></o:p></b></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><b>“Love.”<o:p></o:p></b></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><b>“Dude! You got your ass stomped for love? That seems stupid!”<o:p></o:p></b></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><b>“Perhaps, but I did just tell you that I am not wise when I
open my mouth. I do believe that Love is the answer…for all things. I have not
been able to find a way to communicate this without others becoming angry.”<o:p></o:p></b></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><b>The kid, Timothy, sat for quite a long time thinking while
the damaged man stumbled his way through negotiating the juice box. He turned
to the man and could not think of anything to do but smile. He received a smile
back, ugly and bloodstained as it was, and they both just stared at each other.<o:p></o:p></b></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><b>“What if you had help?” Timothy asked. “You know, telling
folks about love.”<o:p></o:p></b></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><b>“It might be just the thing that would work. Do you have
anyone in mind?”<o:p></o:p></b></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><b>“I got some time on my hands. After school and on weekends,
but yea, I’d give it a try.”<o:p></o:p></b></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><b>“That would be love-ly.” They both smiled at the pun.<o:p></o:p></b></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><b>“Well, first let’s get you someplace and get you fixed up. Here,
use my shoulder. My Dad is a doctor and he’ll help. What’s your name Dude?”<o:p></o:p></b></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><b>“Manny.”<o:p></o:p></b></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><b>“I’m pleased to meet you Manny. We need to be careful going
through this brush, don’t want to hurt you any more than those other folks did.”<o:p></o:p></b></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><b>“Is it a long trip?”<o:p></o:p></b></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><b>Timothy looked at the man with all his injuries and
considered why he had them in the first place and simply replied, “It might be,
but we’ll get there.”</b></i></span><o:p></o:p></div>
T. Lloyd Reillyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11609002400518041058noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8724986191933973596.post-11073184571207571232016-03-16T13:57:00.000-07:002016-03-16T13:57:31.469-07:00The Pink Haired Whore<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">The first time I saw her she was crossing the street right
by the only motel left in town that serviced those of her kind. She was
standing in the middle of the road waiting for traffic to clear so that she
could get the rest of the way across. We looked at each other. Me, well I was
curious. She wore converse sneakers, a pair of blue jeans, and a nondescript
top and hoodie. She had her hair dyed mostly pink with some blond highlights.
Not categorically any discernable style except what might be explained as the
vagaries of the young and rebellious. We caught each other’s eyes for a second.
Mine surely was just a simple curious glance while hers was a mixture of
ambivalence, apathy, and arrogance. She had, at a deeper level, an air of contempt.
I thought little of it and went about my way. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">The next time we chanced upon each other I was sitting alone
in a parking space at one of those high-end-five-dollar-a-cup coffee shops. I
had gone through the drive thru, as is my habit for ease and expediency. I
usually ask for them to put a couple of sweeteners in the cup before they pour
but this time they gave it to me on the side. I had pulled in the parking space
in order to rectify their mistake. Dealing with this overpriced and wrongly
served cup of much too expensive coffee, I was oblivious to what the rest of
the world was engaged in. I hear slight tap on my passenger window and looked
up to find the girl with the pink hair and the derision in her demeanor.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">I rolled the window down and she met me with a smile and a
sly sideways look. She asked if it might be that I was in need of some company.
I stared at her for a moment before realizing that, even though it was the
middle of the afternoon she was, vocationally speaking, a lady of the night in
search of a customer. It had been a number of years since I had been
approached, or even tangibly interested, in the wares she was offering.
Additionally, having attained the age where life has eradicated all the needed
physical requirements for the implementation of such a quick transaction on my
part, it seemed an unlikely idea and imaginably improbable state to achieve in
the first place. I will say that it did occur to me to accept the invitation. I
am of an advanced age, but not yet deceased or demented. I was also not pharmaceutically
prepared. The thought was present but the flesh was out to lunch and
medicinally deficient. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">She shrugged her shoulders and asked for a ride back to her
usual place of commerce, the motel where I had first viewed her crossing the
street. On the way we talked about things. Not anything personal, just things
about, well, nothing of consequence in the whole scheme of things; who my
favorite baseball team was, and why, why pink for the hair instead of some
other color, would the Cowboys win the Super Bowl this year. All just nonsense,
or no sense, or just filler while ignoring the bigger questions about what was
going on in this nouveau relationship that neither of us realized was about to
occur.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">We got back to the motel and she got out of the truck.
Before she closed the door, she once more made offer of her services and I,
once more, declined. I went about the rest of my day and found my mind drifting
back to the young lady engaged in the world’s oldest profession. I thought of
what her age might be. I then went through the laundry list of life
circumstances that could explain her entry into that less-than-safe occupation.
The ideas came and went and the thought of searching her out and seeing to
perhaps offering some assistance that might negate the need for her to involve
in such a risky enterprise. I brought my thoughts home and lost the idea in the
day-to-day duties of life. Making time for the dog who always met me with a
wagging tongue and an excitement that told me I was the one it loved beyond
measure. Making my way to the home office to do some work that needed
completion to meet a deadline. Talking to my girlfriend who wanted to know who
the hell was in my truck when she passed me on the way to the coffee shack, and
why was I stopped at that “Dopetell 6.” After dismissing all of it I walked
into the living room and picked up the book I had been reading. The world
within the pages held much more of me than the banal intricacies of the life
outside my Sanctum Sanctorum.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">I found myself a few days later at a convenience store
getting gas for the days sojourn when I once more met my young courtesan. She
was kicking the trash bin outside the entrance to the store. As I walked to pay
for my purchase I greeted and asked her what seemed to be the problem. She
glared at me and, after a moment, recognized me from the other day. She
announced that they would not sell her any cigarettes because she did not have
any proof that she was old enough. I asked her if she was and she glared at me
some more and informed me that she was “twenty three damn years old.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">I asked her why she did not have ID and she told me that she
had lost it running away from an irate customer. She asked if I would buy her a
pack of smokes and I declined the opportunity. For some reason she did not get
angry at that and asked me if I was some sort of social worker or cop. I told
her I was a writer and that I had, in fact, once been a social worker among
other things. I also told her that my former profession had nothing to do with
it. I just would not buy her any cigarettes because they were nasty and I do
not like them. She accepted that and turned to walk away. I went about by
business in the store and upon returning to my truck found her leaning against
the hood. She asked me that if I had been a social worker, did I know how she
could get a replacement ID. I told her that I did and what she needed to do to
do so. Most of it was something she could accomplish but she had a problem with
the legal address thing. She had been living in the motel and that it did not
seem to be a good address to give anyone of a legal type.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">I agreed with her and gave her one of my cards. I told her
to figure it out and call me and that I would give her whatever ride she needed
to take care of it. I asked if she needed a ride anywhere and she accepted
another ride to the motel. Another offer of services came at the motel followed
by another dismissal from me. I went about my business which included another
trip to the coffee shack. I had brought my laptop and intended to sip an
altogether too expensive cup while using the environment as muse for something
to write. This was interrupted by my girlfriend who had, once more, seen me
discharging the pink haired lady at the motel. This turned into a detailed
conversation about our relationship. Well, not so much a conversation as a
series of accusations from my paramour accompanied by not many answers from me.
I had done nothing wrong and would not submit to unfounded allegations. This
elicited an announcement that we would not be going on our mid-week “date”
while she considered her options. I told her that was fine and that she should
let me get back to work. Something told me that the conversation was not
finished, but something also told me that I would not be engaging in further
discussion on the subject. Her natter was unfounded and I knew that I would not
be participating in it. Perhaps time to find a new sweetheart.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">Leaving the coffee shack I went home to escape into the
world of daring do that was the historical fiction novel on my reading stand. I
received a phone call later that evening that was an inquiry into the garage
apartment that I had behind my house. I usually had a renter and the last one
had moved on without paying the rent. I had not rented it or tried to rent it
again. The caller told me that she was reading an old ad in the paper and was
wondering if it was available. I told her to call me the next day while I
considered it. When the call the next day came I thought the voice sounded
familiar. I gave the caller the address and set an appointment to show the
pace. At the appointed scheduled time I answered the door and found the young
lady with the light roseate toned hair.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">She stood there with her mouth open for several moments in
surprise. I believe that I must have had a similar look on my mug. She asked me
if I was the one with the apartment and I asked her if she was the prospective
renter. We stumbled around finding a conversation for a bit and finally came to
rest in my living room. I offered her a drink which she declined and asked if
she could see the apartment. I took her outside and up the stairs to the rental
piece. She checked everything out and asked a few questions. Finally, she
inquired as to the rent and when she might move in.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">This presented me with a dilemma. I was used to a level of
quiet and did not wish it to be disturbed. I had initially bought the house
because it was on a cul-de-sac with only two other houses. Both belonged to
retirees and they kept to themselves except for an occasional conversation when
we found ourselves outside at the same time. It was tree lined which insulated
us from the noise of other streets in our neighborhood. I never saw anyone pull
onto my street except the mail man. The idea of this young lady possibly plying
her trade out of the apartment made me envision an unwanted amount of traffic
and noise.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">I shared my feeling with her and she fervidly apprised me
that she would only work out of the motel. She needed a good address as well as
a soft place to go and rest. My girlfriend came to mind and the possibility of
my neighbors having something to say about the situation also occurred to me.
To this day I do not know why I agreed to the arrangement, but I did. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">She showed up the next day in a taxi with her belongings
slung over her shoulder in a pair of backpacks. She had a large box of fried
chicken and a six pack of Gatorade and the deposit money I had asked for. The
apartment was furnished and I told her that she could use the washer and dryer
in the garage that I had installed and hooked up for any renter. She thanked me
and disappeared up the stairs. I did not see her until the next afternoon when
she came back with a used boom box and a thirteen inch television she said she
found at a pawn shop. She told me that she would not play music too loud, and asked
if she could splice into my cable. I told her that it was already hooked up and
that it was just basic service. If she wanted any movie channels she would have
to pay for those on her own. She said she might get a football package in the
fall but that the sports channel that came with cable would work in the
meantime. She thanked me and I did not see her again for a few days.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">She proved to be as quiet as a church mouse and when the
first of the month came around she knocked on the back door and paid rent. She
asked if she could use my barbecue grill sometimes and surprised me about a
week later with a plate of ribs that rivaled any I had ever tasted. I
reciprocated by bringing her a plate of smothered pork chops and mashed
potatoes. This turned into a once a week thing. She would bring me a plate of
something and I would reciprocate. Just like neighbors.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">The girlfriend was the only casualty of the entire
situation. She could not find it in her to believe that nothing was going on
“after hours” as they say. I wished her well and rebuffed even slightest attempt
to explain, deny, or justify a single thing as it applied to the young lady.
Nothing was going on that shouldn’t and if she did not believe that than it was
her problem. My young friend heard the final argument and brought me a plate of
brownies to “sweeten things” for me after the break up. Again, just like a
friendly neighbor.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">A few weeks later she knocked on the back door and reminded
me of the conversation about her picture ID. She thought it might be better if
she got a driver’s license and wondered what it would take to do so. I told her
that she needed to prove that she was old enough and that would require a birth
certificate and/or Social Security card. She had a Social Security card,
sharing that her mother had seen to it when she was young. It was the only
thing that she had that was from her mother. I remarked that we had the same
last name. We both kind of grunted at that and wrote it off as a coincidence. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">I gave her a ride to the county office that replaces Birth
Certificates and had to call in some favors from my Social Service days and was
able to obtain the requested document. With that it was just a stop at the
Driver’s License office for an application and a test for a learner’s permit
which she passed after leafing through the booklet. She made an appointment to
take a driver’s test and about a week later came home with a freshly printed license.
She had borrowed a “client’s” car to take it with and proudly displayed her
first official photo ID. We celebrated by grilling hamburgers and some beers
(now that I knew she was of legal age). <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">She came home one afternoon, catching me riding around the
yard on the riding lawnmower I had purchased so as to avoid any excess manual
labor, by pulling up in a small car. She parked on the street and waited for me
to finish mowing the yard before asking me about the parking arrangements
available. We looked at the driveway and the garage and decided that she could
take the side of the garage I was not using. I always parked outside and kept
the garage for my lawnmower and the old Triumph motorcycle I had for the
extremely occasional times when I felt it necessary to relive my ill-spent
youth. This normally entailed a short ride that served to do nothing but remind
me that I was never really a biker and that such an indulgence was simply the
yearnings of an old man desiring to relive a youth I had never been entirely
comfortable with. She walked around the bike and remarked that at least it wasn’t
a Harley that I was neglecting. The impish grin she shot me reminded me of
something. Nothing I could put my finger on, really. Perhaps it was just a
lonesome old memory that would not fully surface. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">We went about life after that and grew a friendship that was
a little more than neighbors but not all the way towards intimacy. I never
asked her about her work, and she never asked me why I had not replaced the
girlfriend. On the whole, it was as near a perfect relationship as I had ever
experienced. We had a decent level of familiarity that seemed to be satisfactory
while not placing any burdensome requirements that a more intimate relationship
might require. Closeness was not sought, and casualness seemed the order of the
day. I liked it and felt that she also enjoyed the time we spent together.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">The girlfriend who had left me called one evening and
admitted that she missed me more than she wanted to and that it might be a good
thing for us to reimagine our romance. I warned against any remarks about my
tenant and agreed to go to dinner with her. We kept that going and my renter
kept a wide berth when the girlfriend’s car was in the driveway. I made sure
that there was room for her to get into the garage and all seemed fine. The
only casualty came when the girlfriend began spending more time at my house.
Our weekly little dinners sort of went by the wayside. I missed that and
thought of doing something about it but could not figure out a way to do it
without creating some form of chaos. I went for about a month without seeing my
young friend and realized I missed our time together.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">I got a knock on the back door one afternoon and found my
renter standing there with an arm full of papers, booklets, a black eye, and a
fat lip. I brought her in and wondered what was going on. She told me that she
had finally come upon that one “client” that all girls who plied her trade hoped
to avoid. He had put her in the hospital for three days and the police had
arrested him for assault. They told her that they would prosecute but that she
had to give up selling herself. She was moving slow and grimaced a lot. She
admitted that she had a few broken ribs and that he had knocked out one of her
molars. She looked at me and dissolved into tears. She sobbed and held her arms
around herself trying to keep the pain in her ribs at bay. She looked at me and
asked for help.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">And there it was. All pretenses as to my ability to stay
aloof where it came to this girl evaporated. Suddenly there came this
tremendous need in me to do something positive for this girl. An obsession
began growing and it scared me because with that came compulsion. Impulse would
replace reason and logic would be left by the wayside. It scared me because I
had spent the last twenty something years compelling myself to be remote in my
emotions and reserved in my actions where it came to those of the female
gender. Ever since Angelika left. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">Angelika! I had not even thought her name in many years. She
had been my first love, or perhaps my only love. We met at a concert when we
were both twenty. We took a bunch of acid and when we came too looked at each
other and never even tried to look at another. We fit in every place of our
minds, hearts, bodies, and very souls. We stayed together for over twenty
years. We loved everything about each other. We never spent a single night
separate and we never even thought of anything but each other. Kids never
happened and that was fine because we had each other and that was sufficient.
Until the night I came home and found the letter.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">She had been to the doctor and was told that she had a brain
tumor and would die. She wrote that it would be bad and that she could not
stand to see the look in my eyes as our love faded. She went away and I never
saw her again. I got drunk for about a year and when I sobered up never even
tried to feel again. I had done a lot of things and had all kinds of emotions
in me which needed to get out. I became a writer and that was where I put all
my feelings, dreams, nightmares, and everything else that had always been given
to Angelika. It worked and I was able to make a good living at it and keep my
sanity at the same time. I had girlfriends but I realized that, looking at my
young friend struggle to move, that was simply for physical reasons. The
physical thing had never been much either. Just something that filled some time
and gave nothing but release from time to time. It never meant anything but a
good feeling every now and then. That was probably why the Girl with the Pink
Hair had always been safe from me. There were no desires in me for anything but
the next book or story and the occasional dalliance.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">Until, that is, now.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">She pushed the papers at me and told me she wanted to go
back to school. She did not know how to do anything but what she had been
doing. I told her that she would have to get a GED first and that it might be a
good thing in the long run. Many people made a good living and never had to
take their clothes off. She stared at me and stated that I wasn’t funny. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">I bought her a GED prep book and told her where to go to
take classes. She handed me three month’s rent from her savings and told me
that she would get a “real” job that did not entail taking off her clothes.
This did not turn out to be accurate. After she healed up from the beating and
the bruises and black-n-blue spots disappeared, she went to work as a stripper.
It was not the ideal situation, but she did promise me that she never tricked
with the guys in the club. She only worked three nights a week so that she had
plenty of time for her studies.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">Things went back to normal after that. We reinstituted the
weekly dinner gig and the only real help she asked for was in deciding what to
study at college. She came to the back door about three weeks after going back
to work to show me something she had received in the mail. It was her GED. It
had her proper name on it and when I read it the official look of it made me
realize something. We had always called each other “dude,” and “chick.” Looking
at the diploma I realized that her name was Seraphima Reilly. This translated
into something that felt like a knife in the heart. Seraphima was a weird way
of saying “angel” and Angelika was a weird way of saying the same thing. I
smiled at her and congratulated her profusely. She reached up and gave me a
hug. Just as we were about to clasp each other she stopped and told me to
switch sides. That way we would touch hearts when we hugged.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">That was exactly the way that Angelika insisted we hug.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">I held the embrace for what was a longer time than I thought
was appropriate and stepped back both confused and concerned. She looked at me
and asked what was wrong. I stammered out that I was suddenly feeling dizzy.
She offered to help me into the house and I told her that it would be fine. Old
men did that some time. She told me that she was going to cook some ribs and
that I should go relax or take a nap and that dinner would be ready in a few
hours. I smiled and congratulated her once more before retreating into my
house.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">The girlfriend called and I told her to stay home that night
because I did not feel good. I went to my computer and began searching online
records of births and deaths. It took me a while and I had to call a friend for
assistance before I got to see the original birth certificate. I had only seen
the Social Security card and never made any connection. I remember thinking
that “Seraphima” was an odd first name. Now I knew what its origin was.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">I stared at the birth certificate on my screen for a long
time. I was focused on the parent’s name. Angelika was there as mother and in
the space for father was my full name. I remembered that Angelika would call me
by my full name all the time. It was a joke going back to the idea that when
you were a kid you knew you were in trouble if your parents used you complete
name. She would call me that whenever she thought I was not listening to her.
It was the fondest of memories and seeing it there made my heart beat and ache.
Then my arm went stiff. I stared at the computer screen until it got blurry,
hazy, indistinct, and finally just went away when everything went black. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">There was this bright light shining in my eyes and I
remember thinking that all the bull about when you go is right. That whole bright
light at the end of the tunnel thing was turning out to be true. Except that,
as it turned out, it wasn’t a tunnel but just a fluorescent light above a
hospital bed. I looked around and discovered Seraphima sitting with a blanket
over her and her legs curled beneath her in one of those hospital recliners n
every patient’s room. I was hooked up to IV’s and all kinds of other things
that were monitoring everything about me. I lay there quiet for a while before
calling her name.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">She sat up and reached over to press the call button for the
nurse. After that it all became a blur with doctors and nurses coming and going
and telling me about the heart attack and that they did not think there was a stroke and that I was going to be
okay, and on and on and on. I did not listen to most of it while I looked at
Seraphima and she looked at me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">When they all left she stood and handed me her copy of the
birth certificate. She told me that it was on the computer screen when she
found me. She did not seem mad, but she was not smiling. I told her that I had
never known. I told her about Angelika’s letter and what my life was like after
that. I never knew. I began sniffling, and then a tear formed in my eye, and I
finally broke down and openly wept. The first time since the night I read
Angelika’s letter.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">She pulled up a chair, grasped my hand, and wept with me.
She told me that her mother had gotten sick when she was about six and died.
She had never really been well. She always had headaches and would have to lay
down a lot. She had a friend at the place she worked at who would come and help
out when things got real bad. She would let the old woman who lived in the
apartment building take care of her daughter when she was at work. When she
died, the state took her and put her in foster care. She never knew why they
never looked for a father and just imagined that she had no father.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">It was just like you imagine…bad places and good places.
Some kids were cool and some were not. When she was old enough, the boys
started messing with her and she learned how to use them to get things. She
finally ran away when she was fifteen and never looked back. A couple of
backpacks of clothes and her looks got her through just about anything. Until
her and I met.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">I told her I was sorry and she looked at me and told me I
had done nothing wrong. Then we sat and wept together…for a long, long time.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">Coming home from the hospital held many uncertain
circumstances. The last time either of us had been here, we were just a “chick”
and a “dude.” Now we were father and daughter with no clue on how to be either
a parent or the child of a dad, daddy, pop, or any other name we might imagine
I should be called. She had an equal difficulty with what I might call her.
Baby, Precious, or Princess seemed altogether too cliché. Platitudes definitely
would not work as the possibilities made both of us want to throw up a little
in our mouths. I expressed that to her and we both were instantly reduced into
tear producing laughter. Recovering from that laugh-fest brought all the
uncertainty to an end. We were still exactly who we were before she showed me
the GED. We were both the same people who liked ribs that she made and laughed
at the same silly jokes. We were both the same two people who had a slightly
cynical look on life. We were both the same two people who enjoyed each other’s
company…in small, occasional doses.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">What we were not was a pair of people prepared to make the
monumental changes the revelation of relation had inflicted on us. We had no
desire for change yet change was inevitable as it applied to each other. We
could not go back in time and un-become parent and offspring. We also could not
deny or refuse to accept the situation. What we could do is, well, grow the
hell up and deal with it. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">The first thing we positively could do is finish celebrating
her GED. I sent her out to get the fixings and cook the rib dinner that we had
talked about. While it cooked, we poured over the catalogue from the local
junior college for something she might like to study. We talked about college
and I was able to give her some real information. We talked about the fact that
she would probably end up going to class with guys from the strip club. She
frowned and told me to mind my own business. I harrumphed and reminded her she
was the child and I was the parent and we both laughed until our ribs hurt.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">The girlfriend came by and informed us that she was not
signing on to the “family” thing and wished us well. We looked at each other
and realized that I had missed the chance at harrumphing at her while declaring
myself a father with responsibilities. Once more we laughed until our sides
were about to split. We both turned our phones off and enjoyed the celebration.
Especially…the rib dinner that the cardiologist would have scoffed at.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">We talked into the night, “Of sealing wax and sailing
ships…” as the saying goes. We did not know what would happen, but promised to
try as best we could. I took the first initiative. I asked if she would allow
me to pay for college. She replied by asking if I would walk her down the aisle
if she were ever dumb enough to get married. We both smiled and agreed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">Come time to go to bed she walked to the back door to go to
her apartment. She reached for a hug and I made her switch sides…so that our
hearts would touch.</span><o:p></o:p></div>
T. Lloyd Reillyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11609002400518041058noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8724986191933973596.post-67107846214581802172016-01-23T10:33:00.000-08:002016-01-23T10:33:48.928-08:00Long Live…Love<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">“You belong
to God’s universe because <em>everything belongs</em>. Every part of you
belongs, and no part need be rejected or denied, but only educated, healed,
forgiven, and set free in new form. . .”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Fr. Richard
Rohr<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">Awake on a Saturday morning at a time that is normally for
me the middle of the night, I find my fingers lonesome. My head is full of
things better left SAID! There is not much to my life. I am I the middle of
winter and this, every year, is a difficult time for me. Health issues magnify
when the temperatures dip toward the freezing point, and my ability to leave my
house diminishes. What I am left with is more television than I can watch, and
my keyboard with which to amuse me, or enlighten me, or validate me, or any of
a thousand things that take me away from the pain and into that place where my
humanity exists.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">To my credit, or detriment, I surf the web and drop in on
social media to see what others are saying or thinking. Today I encountered a
post from a dear sweet lady who posted out of frustration, or possibly anger,
some things that made me wonder what exactly I had, and what I lack. It also
made me think about what I did not have, and what I did not want to lose.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">I am fortunate in that I am acquainted with many people,
most of them who I call friends. I am not a particularly social person,
preferring my little Sanctum to the big wide world outside the door that leads
to my fifteen year old pickup truck. I receive very few telephone calls and I
like it that way. Somewhere in my inner deep cultural memory is the feeling
that Alexander Graham Bell should have left Mr. Watson to his own devices and
worked on inventing a better mousetrap or some such thing more useful than the
growling contraption I have that interrupts my solitude and safety.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">This dear sweet lady, who I love quite fervently, was
setting a condition on the people she knows to perform some feat of daring do
in order to remain her friend. Given the parameters she set, it is probably
going to be difficult for me to remain her friend. I have not spoken to her on
the phone but once or twice in the entire time we have known each other. We
text, occasionally, but that is mostly to exchanged emoji’s pronouncing our
affection for each other. Based on her requirements, I do not qualify to be her
friend. What a sad, heartbreaking day and situation for me indeed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">All I know is what I have learned from the life that I have
led the last twenty years in recovery. It is not another’s decision to make on
how I see or feel their presence in my life. How somebody acts or does not act
is not for me to make a value judgement on. That is left to the God I believe
in, and the lessons I have learned from that God. Fear, hurt, and anger do
nothing to enrich my life, they detract and lessen me. I am an often angry
person and it has always diminished me. When I am following the teachings of my
God and loving others I am emboldened and complimented. When I am living in a
world of recrimination and resentment I am stealing from myself. When I am acting
in affection and adoration I am enriching myself. When I am acting in dissent
and disgust I am stealing from the entire world. When I am acting in acceptance
and assistance I am cultivating the principle of my God when he commanded me to
act in that manner.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">I am fortunate to have the ability to read and comprehend
the things I peruse and study. Where I get into trouble is when I reach to
those things I believe hold value and search to find that which agrees with my
mood at the time. When I let the lesser parts of me control the whole of me, I
find false justification for the negative feelings I wish to act out on. I find
authentication of my wrongness, and depletion of my spirit. I find myself alone
in a world of 7,200,000,000 people who are not going anywhere and who I am
required to coexist with. Obliged to cohabit with because, as John Donne says
“No man is an island…”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">I have a few friends who I have known for what is rapidly
approaching fifty years. They are the people, outside of my sponsor, who I trust
the most in the world. I have not seen any of them since the late 1970’s and
have spent many years without the benefit of communication with them. They
never lost their affection for me. They never considered erasing me from their lives;
they never rebuked me for not being the type of friend they deserve. They just
love me and have no stated desire for that to change. I have friends in my life
today that do the same to me as I have done to my longtime friends. They do not
call, or sometimes even talk to me when I see them in a meeting, or Walmart.
That hurts sometimes, but the affection between us is not contingent on their
action, it is mine to own and offer. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">I am not possessed of a deeper ability to understand people
or know what they are thinking. I am not in receipts of any alien technology
that makes me cosmically conscious of all I perceive. I have a particular
talent which regrettably compels me to, for lack of a better way of saying it,
fuck up all the time. I say and do things that hurt others, and often refuse to
recognize that which I hath wrought. It is the gift of recovery that allows me
to see my mistakes and not do the things that are injurious to others…too
often.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">It allows me to read not for a directed purpose but for a
divine message. It gives me the gift of afterthought and not the agony of first
thought. It offers me redemption when I am more deserving of recrimination. It
allows me to believe. Believe what the rest of John Donne’s 392 year old poem states:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="background: white;">“No man is an island,</span><br />
<span style="background: white;">Entire of itself,</span><br />
<span style="background: white;">Every man is a piece of the continent,</span><br />
<span style="background: white;">A part of the main.</span><br />
<span style="background: white;">If a clod be washed away by the sea,</span><br />
<span style="background: white;">Europe is the less.</span><br />
<span style="background: white;">As well as if a promontory were.</span><br />
<span style="background: white;">As well as if a manor of thy friend's</span><br />
<span style="background: white;">Or of thine own were:</span><br />
<span style="background: white;">Any man's death diminishes me,</span><br />
<span style="background: white;">Because I am involved in mankind,</span><br />
<span style="background: white;">And therefore never send to know for whom the
bell tolls;</span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="background: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 115%;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="background: white;">It tolls for thee.</span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="background: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 115%;">”</span></span><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";"> <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="background: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">Perhaps I overstep my bounds. Perhaps I stick my nose in
where it is unwelcome from time to time. Perhaps I am just a grouchy old man.
Perhaps if that dear sweet lady decides I am not someone she wants as a friend
she will know that I will love her whether she wishes me to or not.</span><o:p></o:p></div>
T. Lloyd Reillyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11609002400518041058noreply@blogger.com0