Betwixt Mine Ears

Stayin' Alive Stayin' Alive

2012-07-10T05:09:00.000+02:00

So three years and two kids later, I'm still alive and periodically daydreaming about reviving this thing. But this is about as far as I've made it. ;) I'm also terribly disappointed that my awesome design is gone. Sadness. I worked hard on that and really thought it looked good. But what do I expect?

What's Shakin'

2009-01-31T16:16:00.000+01:00

I’ve been away for quite a while now – Andy and I have returned to the States and are back in Chicago after a dreamlike month back home. Returning to Chicago at the beginning of a cold and snowy January from a warm and sunny Texas is a bit like slamming your forehead into a brick wall. At least it gives more than granite…

Now for the really exciting news: I’ve decided to change things up a wee bit. I’m going to add book reviews (not book reports – if you want a summary, read the cover). The first few will be Robert Jordan’s first two books in the “Wheel of Time” series, CS Lewis’ lesser known work “Til We All Have Faces” and Dostoyevsky’s “The Idiot”. I’m only doing books I like. =) For now. Some day I’ll finish “Don Quixote” and I will rant and rage about it. I like to think in advance. Years in advance.

I hope you enjoy the additions!

Missin' One Guy's

2008-10-29T15:28:00.003+01:00

Tommy sat atop his horse in the middle of a clearing with two paths before him, scratched his head and mumbled to Sally.

“Sally, I ain’t too sure ‘bout this. Ya’ know, I thought we was supposed ta take this trail, but I don’t remember nobody tellin’ me nothin’ ‘bout no fork in the road.”

Sally, in an uncharacteristically assertive manner, tugged at the reins and took a few tentative steps, but Tommy pulled her back in.

“Well, now Sally, where ‘bouts do ya’ think yer goin’? We’ve got ta put our heads together on thissun. Now, where’s that map that Ma’ give me?”

Tommy rummaged through his saddle bags without dismounting, and Sally took those few moments to walk toward her preferred path.

“Sally! Why, what in samhill has gotten inta you? Yer turnin’ inta a regular ol’ Joe. That dadburn horse never did mind nobody. Wadn’t no wonder when Pa’ sold him off fer glue, ‘n you’d better just start actin’ right er you’ll be in the same fix as Joe!”

Sally snorted.

Flapping the map open in front of him, Tommy ran his finger back and forth, up and down, and around in circles over the map until he finally decided he should have paid more attention when Mrs. Cole swatted him during geography lessons.

Sally started toward her chosen path for the third time.

“Tarnation Sally! If yer so blamed excited ‘bout what’s down there, we’d better go see what’s down there! Let’s go ya’ ol’ mule.”

With that Tommy gave her the reins and a tiny tap with his heel to encourage her down the right branch. When the pair stepped into a second clearing, Tommy nearly cried. They’d made it to their destination, but far too late for Tommy’s purposes. There was One Guy* standing in front of an empty table rolling up a sign that read, “Free calzones while supplies last!”

Undeterred, Sally tugged at the reins once more redirecting herself while redirecting Tommy’s gaze. When he saw a barn overflowing with hay, and a sign that read, “Free hay while supplies last!” he did cry.

*One Guy from Italy is the only place in Lubbock you ever have to go. If you don't like their calzones, there's something wrong with you. Be sure to get a Big Red while you're at it. ;)

The Way of Despair

2008-10-27T15:43:00.001+01:00

Heaviness stopped her fingers, darkness clogged her mind, the pressure of despair pulled her deep into the earth and she did not fight it. It claimed her, made her its own, wrapped its arms around her, sank its claws into her brain and slowly poured its poison through their hollow tips.

A whisper drifted across the darkness, but she never turned her head. A voice pleaded with her, but she turned to further embrace the night. A warm hand, soft but firm took hold of her own, but she pulled away. And she sank, deeper into the blinding night, drinking in the damp and sorrowful air in great droughts as despair made itself one with her mind and her heart.

With slow, familiar tugs, the earth around her feet took her into itself. As it pulled, she never struggled, opening her arms and entwining herself in an old friend.

Doing [continued]

2008-10-23T15:44:00.004+02:00

...continued

One who pays heed to the wind will not sow, and one who watches the clouds will never reap. --Ecclesiastes 11:3-4

After the wedding and the move to Kansas, Tommy was still looking for a job, but nothing really seemed suitable. He'd had several offers, but after the interviews and learning more about the positions, the time commitments, the pay and everything else that went with them, he still couldn't decide which direction he wanted his career to go. He knew he wanted to put himself in a position where he would be able to take care of Jamie, but he wanted to make sure that position would still leave him time to be with her and to raise a family with her. As for Jamie, she was settling in well at the university, and encouraged him to look until he found a good match.

A few months down the road, though, and Tommy was still looking. Finally, exasperated with everything, he took a low end job with no career path at a local non-profit. He hated his position, but he just couldn't decide on anything, and he didn't want to commit his family to anything that wasn't going to pan out.

Tommy bounced from mind-numbing position to brain-freezing position for several years while Jamie successfully completed her degrees and was beginning her own job search. By this time, Tommy was not just worried that a career might be unsuccessful, he was worried he'd be burned out after a few months the same as he had been with every job he'd ever had. He wanted to go back to school. He'd wanted to go back to school since they moved to Kansas, but the same paralysis came over him every time he thought about it. Would he be able to get a better job that way? Would he do well? Would he be good enough to even get a job? Would he even like going to school or in the end would he like the new jobs he could have?

Finally, Jamie found a tenure track position in Boston, and since Tommy's career wasn't quite working out, they moved to the freezing north, with hopes of having children once they were settled. Maybe it was something in the weather, or maybe it was the change of scenery, but a few months after Angela was born, Tommy informed Jamie that he was tired of trying to figure out what was going to happen tomorrow while today was wasting away - he wanted to go back to school and he was going to look for a real job.

While Jamie tried not to let her relief show, she silently vowed to light a few extra candles after Mass.

A few months later, Tommy was enrolled in night and weekend courses while working for a local corporation that specialized in non-profits. He hadn't been this happy since the day he was married, though if you reminded him, he would tell you he hadn't been this happy since the day his baby girl was born.

Doing

2008-10-23T15:15:00.003+02:00

One who pays heed to the wind will not sow, and one who watches the clouds will never reap. --Ecclesiastes 11:3-4

Jamie looked out the window for the hundredth time that morning. She simply did not know what to do with her life. Graduation would be coming along in three months, and though she'd filled out applications and interviewed for jobs, she still couldn't make up her mind. With applications to countries across the nation, interviews with corporations around the world, many of them successful, others less so, she still could make no decisions.

As the clouds scudded across a pale blue sky, she sighed, also for the hundredth time, and plopped her head into her hands. She told her boyfriend Tommy that she was so desperate to know which path to take, she was on the verge of going to a palm reader. All he did was laugh and kiss her cheek, then propose she burn everything and run away with him to the Bahamas where they would live for the rest of their lives on coconuts.

She rolled her eyes and reprimanded him, "Tommy you know you can't live on coconuts! We would have to have jobs and a home to live in. Besides, we'd never know which hurricane was going to wipe us and everything we had off the face of the earth!"

"Well, yeah, but you don't know which of these corporations is going to lay you off three months after hiring you or which school is going to make you miserable for the next six years."

"I know! That's the problem! I've got to figure out which one is the least likely to ruin my life!"

Tommy smiled, kissed her forehead and let himself out the door, leaving Jamie staring out the window wishing the clouds could tell her the end of each possible path. Shaking her head in frustration, she followed Tommy out the door, hoping she'd be able to catch him before he made it to his car.

He was just turning the key when she tapped on the passenger side window asking if he wanted to go for a ride. As they drove through town, heading to the dirt roads just on the outskirts, Jamie began, "You know, Tommy, with all this uncertainty about what I should do next with my life, there's one thing that's clear. It's the only certainty I've got right now, and I'm afraid that I might lose it once we've graduated and you go your way and I go mine. I mean, when I'm in who knows where and you're in. Well, you haven't told me where you're going yet." She looked at him quizzically. "Where are you going?"

Laughing, Tom squeezed her hand. "I'm going wherever you're going! Even if it is the Bahamas!"

Jamie's quiet, "Oh," was almost inaudible as she realized what he'd just said.

A few minutes later, she looked at him again, this time as though she could see into his brain, or at least as though that was what she hoped would happen. "Well, then, I guess it doesn't matter where I go. How's about Berkeley?"

"You remember that fall starts in May in Berkeley, right?"

"Oh, good point, well in that case, we should definitely go to the Bahamas," she winked at him. "But, really, what do you think about Kansas?"

"Kansas, good Lord, whatever would I do in Kansas?"

She winked again, "Be with me!"

...to be continued

Sweet Beginnings

2008-10-22T14:59:00.000+02:00

Becky Brunsberg was one of the prettiest girls in town. Jeffrey Wincrest couldn’t stop thinking about her all Sunday long, even when the preacher, in a surprisingly agitated state, actually began hopping up and down during his sermon. Jeff had no idea what could possibly have been amiss as he hadn’t been able to focus long enough to discern Reverend Willicot’s meaning. What Jeff was discerning at just that moment was the pretty little hat sitting on top of Becky’s head just two rows in front of him.

The night before she’d gone with him to the high school prom, and while they hadn’t been going steady when he’d asked her out, or even by the time they’d actually made it to the dance, that didn’t stop Jeff from thinking maybe she was hoping he’d finally get around to asking her on a proper date and then to going steady. Jeff’s mind was filled with dancing and laughing and one sweet little peck from Becky Brunsberg while he stood on her front porch after walking her home.

After church was over, Jeff made sure to follow Becky out, trying not to be too conspicuous to his family – he didn’t want to hear the catcalls and hoots from his younger brothers until after he’d gotten Becky to say yes. As he was just about to place a hand gently on Becky’s shoulder, Jeff’s insides fell to his feet. Becky Brunsberg, one of the prettiest girls in town, had just made a bee-line for Joe Schumacher, one of the handsomest guys in town. Unsure if he’d been noticed, Jeff dodged the pair and continued walking, hoping there were someone on the other side who could save him.

Granny George, who seemed to be everybody’s granny, smiled sweetly up at Jeff from her crooked hunch and patted him on the back, asking for his help in walking to her car. The smile she received was perhaps the most angelic she’d been given since her own children were babes, and Jeff made every possible effort to make sure her journey was safe. And slow.

After kissing Granny George goodbye – no she wasn’t his granny, but that didn’t make her any less his granny – Jeff turned to walk back to his own family, but was caught halfway there by Becky Brunsberg, one of the prettiest girls in town.

“Hey, Becky, how’d you like Rev. Willicot’s sermon today?”

“Oh, I don’t know Jeff, I wasn’t really paying much attention. Not even when he started hopping up and down like there was ants in his pants.”

“Yeah? Me either, but now that I think about him hopping around, it sure was funny.”

“I guess it was. You know, I had a good time last night, thanks for taking me to the prom.”

“You’re welcome, Becky, there’s nobody else I’d rather have taken.”

“That’s what Joe was just telling me.” For the first time she looked up from the ground and from looking at the trees to direct her pretty brown eyes at his own, and Jeff’s heart nearly jumped through his teeth.

“You two were talkin’ about me?”

“I suppose we were. Joe’s been such a good friend. Did you know that he and my sister Mary Ellen are gettin’ married in a month?”

For the second time that day, Jeff gave the most angelic smile he’d given since he was a babe, and said, no he had not heard that. “Would you happen to need a date for your sister’s wedding, Becky?”

The angelic smile he then received was all he needed for an answer, but just in case, Becky said yes.

Following

2008-10-18T13:46:00.001+02:00

For the sake of learning who my one and only reader is (I hope there's one of you anyways), I've added the Followers Gadget to my sidebar. Once you've added my blog to your list, Blogger will update my list and stick your profile photo in my sidebar. It's pretty nifty and gives people an opportunity to learn about your blog while perusing mine. It's also a nice colorful addition when there are many faces there, so it's aesthetically pleasing to boot!

The only drawback as far as I'm concerned is if you're using Google Reader already (which I am), then it adds another folder for the Blogger blogs that you follow. Those blogs are, of course, already in Google Reader (which is grrrrrrrrrrrreat!), so I now have them twice, in folders that I want them in. Not a big deal, just a little annoying. Maybe they'll eventually make that an option. Even with the annoyance, I clicked to follow blogs to let folks know I think their blogs rock enough to let them put my face on it.* =)

All that being said, if you'd like to follow this blog, just go to Regular Readers** on my sidebar and follow the instructions!

*Followers just makes me feel like I've got some sort of crazy messiah complex...

**You don't have to think my blog rocks, I just want you to stick your face on my blog. 0=)

Lost at Sea*

2008-10-16T15:03:00.005+02:00

william-turner.org

Cast your bread upon the waters; after a long time you may find it again. --Ecclesiastes 11:1

The old man struggled with the oars, pulling with all his might and fighting only to make small headway in his overladen barque. He cursed the weather, cursed the wind, cursed the waves and cursed the lightning that lit the snarling sea. Up the crests and down the valleys his little boat dipped and plunged, threatening submersion as it scudded into each oncoming wave. Somehow he managed to keep the boat afloat, somehow he managed to convince the unruly beast to right itself and ride up the wave rather than through. For hours he rowed, for hours he fought until his arms could row no longer and he thought surely daylight must come. It came not. The clouds, thick with danger, had gathered to block out the sun, to turn each hopeful ray back upon its source and give the fool no glimpse of hope.

Long after daylight should have come and all energy was spent, as the thunder rumbled its taunting laughter at his folly, he knew that he would make no progress in this manner. Turning his cursing to petition he pleaded with the One who had made the winds and rains, the One who had brought him to this place, the One who alone could carry him safely home.

But the clouds did not part, nor did ray of sun carry through the angry storm, the rain did not cease, the waves did not calm and still he rowed. For hours more his hopeless skiff looked to capsize, leaving him and all he owned adrift in a raging storm that seemed likely never to end. Once more he turned to pleading, begging, importuning the One to whom all things belong. Finishing his supplications, he knew the deed that must be done. Not knowing in which crate his life would lay, he cut all loose and threw his dreams into the sea.

His skiff now unfettered, no longer lingered, but sailed as though with wings, up and over each mighty crest and on toward the shore. With energy that he could not, should not have, the old man poured himself once more into rowing, and at long last, many hours later, he found himself coming safely ashore with nothing of his possessions but his little boat and himself in sight. Dragging the war-worn dinghy ashore, he laid it over himself and fell asleep as the storm roared around him.

When at last he woke and threw the row-boat off, he looked to sea in hopes that some small particle might have followed him to shore, but he looked to find nothing but his shoes. Pulling them onto his feet and praying to God that these should be sufficient, he clambered up the dune and into town.

Many years later, bringing offerings of thanksgiving, the old man returned to the place of his safe landing. As he shuffled down the dune up which he'd walked so long before, his eyes alighted upon a lonely crate sitting on the sand. Running to unclose it, he gasped and laughed and leapt like a child when his wife, once lost to the angry sea, burst into his arms and covered him in love forever more.

*I hate naming stories almost as much as I hate writing their endings.

Guardian Angels*

2008-10-03T11:11:00.006+02:00

Jeremiah walked out the door like he always did, briefcase in hand, suit and tie in starched perfection. His mind wandered through the course of the day, meetings he expected to have, papers he needed to read through, reports he needed to file. He did the same thing he did every day when he stepped into his car, started the engine, flipped the radio from FM to CD and drove down the street.

When he arrived at Jerry's house, however, things were not as they always were. He awaited his friend and co-worker patiently for 5 minutes, then spent the next 5 minutes considering if he should honk or walk up to the front door. Finally, he decided to wait another 5 minutes and then ring the door bell.

The woman that him when the front door opened surprised him - he and his wife had dined at the Rousseau's on numerous occasions, and Jerry's wife was always immaculate. Today she was not. Maud apologized profusely for her own appearance and for Jerry's lateness, but there was simply nothing that could be done. She informed him hurriedly that their trusty alarm clock that kept perfect time and never went out even when the power went out (it had a battery backup) had gone out! All of the other clocks in the house still had the correct time, but it had stopped working, and so they had slept over an hour late, and Jerry was just now in the shower. When she asked if he wanted to take a seat in the living room while he waited, Jeremiah declined, saying he didn't want to keep her from getting ready for the day either.

Ten minutes later, Jerry ran out the door, his own briefcase in hand and his own suit in mild disarray. After apologizing profusely, he explained everything as Maud had and proceeded to improve his appearance. Jeremiah nodded politely, said it could have happened to anyone, and not to worry, he'd already phoned the office, the meeting had been postponed anyways. Apparently a logging truck had lost it's load just ten minutes before on one of the major interchanges before downtown. The logs, not being satisfied with blocking traffic on the overpass alone, had managed to tumble onto the overpass below and then finally to crash and splinter on the lowest level. The office wasn't sure which interchange or which highways were blocked, and the radio news hadn't been very helpful in suggesting alternative routes.

The pair arrived at the interchange as the road crews pulled the smashed hulk of a tractor trailer onto a flat bed. Looking at the other remains Jerry spotted the tractor that had been pulling the trailer and exclaimed that the driver was really lucky the cab hadn't been crushed. Fortunately, most of the remaining lumber had been pulled off to the side of the road, and the traffic began moving shortly after the trailer began moving.

The next day Jeremiah and Jerry left their houses and headed for work like they always did, but today, both men caught the other checking the time when they drove through the interchange. Jerry cleared his throat, and laughing said maybe he'd better call his wife to pull that alarm clock back out of the trash.

*Thanks for the inspiration from Fr. Longenecker at Standing on My Head (a great blog, btw) and Julie D. at Happy Catholic (another great blog).

Writer's Block

2008-09-25T11:12:00.004+02:00

It seems lately that every time I sit down to write something for this blog, that after a few paragraphs I just can't figure out what happens next. This is fine for a few items that didn't really warrant more than a couple paragraphs, but just a setting and a character don't really make for a story. And that's about all I've come up with lately - characters and places without stories. So today, I'm going to share with you a couple of my false starts, simply because I can't give you anything better. I hope you enjoy. ;)

The room filled with light as Jason drew the curtains. Jack, his lone companion for the journey blinked at the new brightness, then resumed scratching behind his puppy ear. Jason sighed, opening his carryall to withdraw his pen and ink. As the train shook itself around the next mountain, he prepared himself for his arrival in Dodge and the speech he expected would be demanded. The writers in Washington had written him a pleasant enough speech that would, naturally, bring cheers from the crowd without abandoning too many of the old timers whose families had been in Dodge since before Texas had joined the Union. That was over 300 years ago, and the new families that had settled the area following the planet's bizarre and unexpected flash freeze, were expecting Washington to bring peace to the area.

But Jason wasn't simply interested in peace. His family had been among the first founders of Dodge, and he knew and understood the feelings of the older community. He fought down the resentments that came from harboring the refugees for so long. It had been 30 years now, and many of the newcomers refused to accept the old ways, the old customs, the old attitudes and most of all, the old values. Jason had been shrugging off those old thoughts for years, sometimes little pricks of conscience would still come through to haunt him...

...

The sun crested the hills that morning bright and clear, chasing little whisps of fog from the harbour, and leaving the cool crispness of an autumn day in its wake. The leaves had begun turning a few weeks earlier and now clothed the city in impressionist splotches of rust reds and auburn yellows. The leaves that had already fallen crunched and crumpled as I passed, alternately kicking and stomping, just to hear the sounds of fall. A friend shuffled through the leaves ahead, and I bobbed my head this way and that, pretending not to know them when they smiled and waved. When our paths met, we shared a brief hello, and apologies for having no time to stop and chat - our educations beckoned.

And so, it was that on a beautiful, autumn day, the kind that always makes me long for the open road, an open window and loud country music, that I walked into another world.

That morning I copied all of my class information onto a tiny scrap of paper, not wanting to waste the paper or the ink for a printout, and soon wished I had not. As I pulled the door to my first class open, a heavy waft of apples greeted me, but I passed it off as some new, unusual perfume, not unusually applied to excess. Once I realized my mistake, I turned to leave, but the diminutive gnome that now clutched my elbow prevented my immediate departure while babbling loudly. Shrugging him off, I reached again for the door, but another gnome now gripped my other elbow and the two spun me to face the room, all the while wildly gesticulating and still babbling loudly first toward me and then toward each other and then back at me.

Hope

2008-09-12T15:59:00.003+02:00

She still didn't know how she'd wound up in this place. She couldn't even see well enough to tell what place it was. The world around looked the same, but something was different, a haze had fallen, distorting everything, turning crisp lines blurry. The sounds were different, somehow muffled. Every sense twisted, tainted, hid reality from her mind, pushed her farther from the truth, and yet, in her mind, she knew her blindness, her deafness, her muteness, and even that nothing she touched was as she felt it. Her cries for help went unheard, she couldn't even voice her needs, how could she make sense of what she could not understand? How could she grasp the truth knowing that no perception could be trusted?

Then she knew that she was falling, flailing, fighting against the dark maw at the bottom of the great abyss that was sucking her down. She gasped for breath, breathing only the deathly water that was drowning her, and then she felt the little tingle, a tiny whisper from her heart, and in her mind she inhaled the sweet perfume of a thousand roses, held her breath through a thousand sunsets, and gasped at the enormity of a thousand night skies. In so doing, she filled her lungs, her fingers and her toes, her entire being with new life, with the sweet breath of love and hope and faith, and she was no longer drowning. She was soaring.

King of Cheese

2008-09-09T15:42:00.003+02:00

Sir Gouda woke to find himself sweating and bound in chains. After ensuring that his mask still hid his identity, he began scanning his surroundings, trying to find a clue as to what had happened and where he was now captive. Unable to move without becoming nauseated, he finally discovered the reason - each motion caused his entire body to sway, looking up from where he lay prone, he realized he must be dangling from the ceiling by the massive chains that covered him from shoulders to toes. He also became aware of the waves of heat coming from somewhere below.

Struggling to turn his head toward the sound, Sir Gouda was dismayed to see his archnemesis The Swissinator!

"That foulest of fiends must have something to do, or perhaps everything to do, with my present situation," thought Sir Gouda to himself. "Perhaps he hasn't noticed that I'm awake yet, but how am I going to extricate myself from these chains? If only I could reach my Cheese Belt, then I could create a distraction while wriggle free."

The Swissinator began laughing softly to himself, then louder until his cackles echoed through the room.

"Ahh, Sir Gouda. You are so profoundly funny in your little Cheese Cape and Cheese Boots. Oh? Are you looking for your Cheese Belt? Why, don't you recognize your little toy here on my waist? Yes, I see you do. How nice. Well, since you have always been such an observant little cheese head, perhaps I need not explain your predicament to you." He turned to leave, but abruptly turned back, "But where would the fun be in that? You see, Sir Gouda, we are alike, you and I. Like two cheeses from the same continent, but one of us went bad, and one went good. You attempted to rule an entire country, and this simply could not be. I have decided I will be the king of cheese in the Netherlands, and you will simply be a new croquette. The Americans call it fried cheese, but the Dutch will simply call you a croquette and none will know when they look at you if you are chicken or shrimp or cheese or something far fouler."

"Swissinator! You evil doer! You have no right to be the king of cheese in the Netherlands! You're not even Dutch! You're Swiss! You're a pacifist! You can't take over another country!"

"Ahh, but Sir Gouda, I am not taking over another country militarily, I am taking over it's cheese preferences. One must admit that I am far silkier and smoother than you shall ever be. Why, I am even more decorative than you, who has ever heard of a Gouda Lace? Noone, but Swiss Lace, that is world class! So be silent and await your transformation from culinary necessity to lunch time afterthought!"

As the Swissinator walked out the door, the chains released Sir Gouda, plunging him into the vat of hot oil, frying him into a perfect croquette of Gouda cheese. After being removed from the grease by a giant spatula, Sir Gouda realized The Swissinator had made a terrible mistake - as the fried cheese of choice, Sir Gouda would become the king of lunch! No Dutchman would be able to take his lunch without the soon to be famous Fried Gouda!

Squatters

2008-08-26T11:23:00.003+02:00

The coffee wasn't very good that day - mostly burned and tasting a bit like someone hadn't cleaned the pot in a while, but he didn't say anything. He just drank it in silence while staring out the window.

She asked him how the coffee was, explaining that it took longer to make than usual, even though she'd cleaned it the same as she always did.

He told her it was fine and took another sip as if to prove his point. Then he went back to staring out the window.

She turned in her seat to see what was of such interest, but couldn't see anything besides a few birds and a cat or two who seemed more interested in the flowers than the birds. She turned back around and looked at him.

"You're goin' home today, aren't you?" she asked.

"Yeah, you know that."

"I was just making conversation. Are you looking forward to it?"

"I would except for what I have to do."

"Yeah."

"I just wish that old guy hadn't decided to take up residence on my grandfather's place. We've been farming that land for years, it's not like it even looks abandoned."

"You think he's looking for squatters' rights?"

"I don't know what he's looking for, I just wish he'd stopped in someone else's house."

He finished the last bit of coffee and stood to leave.

"I better be goin'. It's a long drive, and I'd like to get there before dark so I can get started in the mornin'."

"Alright." She hugged him. "I'll see ya' when you get back. Don't forget to call me a couple times."

He gave her a quick peck and walked out the door.

"I will."

Into the Highlands*

2008-08-15T18:31:00.004+02:00

The shouting was finally beginning to fade behind him as Ethan plunged through the forest, struggling past the vines and shredding his skin and clothing against the thorns. He wanted to slow down, but he knew they would follow him and anyone else who had escaped the final onslaught of dragons and warriors. Dragons had not been seen in those parts for more than two centuries, and few in the city still believed, or rather, few had believed the great monsters had ever existed until today when on rushing wings and spouting firy streams they screamed into the village as the warriors on their backs showered arrows into the fleeing masses. The castle's defenses had weakened during the seven day siege, but they could have held out, could have won through with a little more time. And no dragons.

Ethan stifled a yell as he tumbled down the unseen cliff that broke the hill he'd been climbing. After shaking himself off, he found that he could not ascend the cliff, nor could he walk the shoreline, for the small patch of sand upon which he'd landed seemed to be the only break in the cliffs allowing a footrest. Knowing he had little time before the dragon warriors began seeking him, he started for the water when he suddenly landed face first in the dirt before him. Jumping to his feet, Ethan whirled to face his adversary, reaching for his sword and crouching in the only fighting stance he knew.

A smile on the face of Wilomena, Princess of the Gnomian Highlands, greeted him.

"Ah, Squire Ethan, you wouldn't use that sword on your protectress, would you?"

Ethan stood silently, poised for the expected attack.

"Squire Ethan, I see that you have grown untrusting and that a slight trick leads you to think the impossible. How is it that one who once danced in my father's halls now draws his sword as though to slay me?"

"Ah, Princess Wilomena? Forgive me, I did not know it was you. Your father's balls have been out of my memory for a very long time, and for a week now, I have been at the ready day and night for nothing but a fight. We have no time, I'm afraid, for greetings, but only for running. I do not think those who follow me will be any more affable toward you, however charming and beautiful you may be."

"That, my friend, is precisely why I sent you sprawling on your face just now. You cannot enter the river as you are, but you cannot stay here either. I will not follow you, for I have other business to attend to. No," she waved her hand at him, "I will be fine, gnomes do not have the same troubles with dragons that humans have, and that is why I may help you and you may not help me."

The doubtful expression on Ethan's face gave way to surprise as a great doorway appeared in the side of the cliff. At Wilomena's touch the gates swung open and a young Gnomian called Ethan forward. Still stunned, Ethan looked from Wilomena to the boy with uncertainty. His mind was made when a dragon flew past them as it searched for him in the river. As Ethan darted through the gates, he heard Wilomena calling, "Squire Ethan, remember my father, remember the balls, let yourself not forget them again!"

The gates closed as Ethan stood dumbfounded, and he did not move until the little Gnomian boy took his hand and led him through the hill.

*Quite possibly the worst thing I've written so far...

MouseHunt*

2008-08-07T14:13:00.004+02:00

We walked through the night, sure the hunting grounds would be bountiful, fully expecting the sun to rise over miles of billowing grasses reaching to our thighs. We knew beneath the surface we'd find what we were looking for - mice!

We'd had no luck when we started out in town, mostly losing cheese to the bigger mice like the Pirate Mice that occasionally follow unwary hunters returning for more cheese or better equipment. Everyone in town had been helpful, suggesting that we try our hand in the meadow, using a low grade cheddar that would likely only lure the weakest mice while we learned the techniques that would make us truly great mouse hunters.

And so, we walked through the night, hoping to set and bait our traps in the morning, so that we could leave the area surrounding them still and settled before the mice came out at night. We had heard that they were clever, recognizing the presence of humans and waiting a time before cautiously approaching, and we hoped that our plans would prove more clever than they.

As we watched, we scanned the undergrowth, looking for mouse sign, hoping to spy a few that would promise us good hunting the next day, but we saw none. We walked into the field as the sun began peering over the mountains, bathing the meadow in its rosy glow, and then we saw it: what must have been the biggest zombie mouse ever seen munching on the remains of someone's rat terrier. His owner must have run away, terrified by the mouse's enormity.

The four of us hunkered down, hoping we hadn't been spotted. Zombie mice were solitary animals, few hunters ever caught them back to back, and they were known for their ferocity when cornered. Hunters had lost fingers to zombies that weren't fully incapacitated by the trap. We'd even met one smelly old man who claimed the empty socket on his left side had been left by a zombie. They were tough cookies, and we didn't want to find out how tough.

As we watched the zombie mouse ripping the flesh from the terrier's dead bones, I became aware of a warm, stench filled breeze blowing across the meadow. I turned to glare at Mike who had eaten pickled herring and onions for dinner so that he would back away from my position, only to see the mother of all zombie mice glaring back at me.

The others were gone, I hadn't heard a struggle, and I'll never know what happened. Just as the zombie opened his cavernous jaws to rend flesh from bone, I heard the winding of the king's horn! The hunt was on, and the zombies were fleeing. As I stood from my position, crouched on the edge of the meadow, I watched in stunned horror as hundreds of zombie mice fled.

I knew in that moment that I would need a bigger trap and a lot more friends.

*MouseHunt has many various instantiations, one of which is a Facebook application that I play a bit too much (I checked my trap four times during this writing).

Success!

2008-08-04T22:29:00.003+02:00

Sort of. I learned how to knit with the aid of several websites, but didn't quite knit what I had intended to knit. Instead, I wound up making this soap sack. If you'd like to read the details, they're over at Lost in Holland.

Knitting...

2008-08-02T15:01:00.001+02:00

I'll be back when Texas is done.

D*** Cool Layout

2008-07-29T21:51:00.004+02:00

Now, usually I wouldn't use such language, but I'm so happy with this layout, that it just seems necessary. Ok, so I'm a closet user of d*** and h***, but that's beside the point. Ask my husband, he'll tell you I use those words too often... But that's it. Really. ;)

At any rate, if you want to check out what work went into making this layout happen, check it out over at Design-Err.

New Background

2008-07-28T14:36:00.002+02:00

While looking for suitable background images for my other blogs I found this image from fishmonk's gallery (in a weird coincidence, also where I found the raindrops photo for the Lost in Holland background).

If you're interested in how I did it, you can check it out over at Design-Err.

The March of the Weeds

2008-07-28T09:18:00.003+02:00

They went unnoticed all winter long, slumbering with sinister patience as they awaited the coming of the spring. As the skies turned blue and the sun made its way ever higher in the sky, they drew in their strength, sapping the life from those around them, pushing their ugly faces from the ground, stretching toward the sky until the lawn was clothed in weeds.

Not yet satisfied, they turned their wicked sights upon the house that squatted fearfully, hidden beneath the ivy, and they marched through the cracks and the crevices of the sidewalk, punching through the chinks in the mortar until they made the house their headquarters.

From there they plotted the ruin of the neighborhood. Their evil schemes and dark desires would spill forth upon unsuspecting lawns, taking root within their homes and eventually overcoming the university sleeping peacefully and prettily across the avenue.

Or so it seemed - for the university did not slumber, it's maintenance crews were not unready. They had seen and were warned by the dandelions in the lawns - magic puffs of doom spreading seeds of hideous leaves and deviously cute flowers throughout the region. The facilities department stood their ground, spritzing weed after weed until at last they had been pushed back, back across the avenue, back from house to house and lawn to lawn until at last they were come to that dread source of darkness and ruin - C House.

There the last stands would be made - the university would send its best men for the job, but the weeds had long held this fortress of overgrowth and would have the greater strength of arms. Many there were that fell that day. Good men and good gardeners, choked to death by puffs of doom, lost in weeds 7 feet tall, grabbed and slaughtered by foul beasts hiding between the stalks, their numbers quickly dwindled. President Z paced within his office, desperate for some relief and yet none came.

The battle wore on, day after day, week after week, month after month until the sun rose in the south and the winds blew cold air, the leaves changed from green to yellow and red and finally to brown. The weeds knew their doom was near, their hopes of victory dispelled - defeat had come at the hands of fall. One by one their colors faded, one by one they shriveled into oblivion, and then one day all that could be seen in that accursed place were the bodies of those whose lives had purchased time.

Great biers were erected, bagpipes moaned, heads were bowed and tears were shed as the university and those around honoured the fallen. The university burned the dead shells of weeds and planted a great garden in their place to memorialize the proud deeds of their comrades in arms and stand as a reminder of the glorious defenders who would stand against any weed who would rise again. And so peace returned to the little neighborhood and the weeds did as weeds usually do - rose in those places least desired, but never again did they dare to rise in force to challenge the might of the university's maintenance crews.

Silence

2008-07-17T16:26:00.001+02:00

Standing in the shadows, she was pale and thin, and her dress shown in the places where the moonlight touched it. Within his dark face, only the whites of his eyes could be seen peering from behind her, just above her head. He whispered low in her ear, and her eyes grew wide with fear. In the distance she could hear them coming, their footsteps like rain and their weapons like the wind.

"Are we safe here, Mark?"

"We are as safe here as we would be anywhere, but we must be away from the windows, they will be here soon, and we must be far from their sight."

Mark stepped from the shadows, his size making Miriam but a doll beside him as he clasped her hand and led her to the basement door. He pulled the door to behind them as the sounds of rain reached the house and the wind began moaning through the windows. Miriam looked at him as though about to speak, but he placed a finger to her lips and carried her down unseen steps on silent feet.

The wind whistled at the basement door, as rain fell on the floor above them, leaving tiny rivulets to run beneath the door and bringing small gusts through the frame. Miriam slowed her breathing as Mark had taught her, both to guard against detection and to distract her from the fearful screams she wished to cry. A few minutes more, and the floors were dry, the wind was silent and the threat had past. Then Miriam looked to speak, but still Mark silenced her. A drip began to sound somewhere above them and a tiny whisper fluttered through the shadows, but the rains did not return and at last the drip was gone and the little wind had become silent.

Still Mark did not move and Miriam kept silent until the footsteps they heard above were those of mortal men and daylight peered around the basement door. And when those footsteps had also past through the house and the sun shone but dimly around the door, Mark lifted Miriam to her feet and they returned to the upper floors to scavenge what food remained and to watch the evening sky for the next day's movements.

Casey Karbowski

2008-07-16T22:37:00.000+02:00

A friend of mine just started a new blog to get his photography biz going. Check out Casey Karbowski Photographer (extraordinaire). I told him today (and I really do quote - it was over IM), "Some of these are so cool. They look like a real photographer took them and not just one of my friends." So, yeah, he actually does good stuff (if he didn't, I probably just wouldn't mention it).

The Hermit Woman

2008-07-10T20:47:00.000+02:00

Once, many, many years ago, long before you were born, an old hermit lady lived outside a little fishing village on the coast of the sea. She was nice, as everyone said, and polite and as well-kept as a hermit lady would be, and yet none traveled to see her as they traveled to see the other hermits, many of whom lived farther away than she.

And she did not understand this. She was not bitter, nor was she jealous, she was not even envious of the visitors who knocked upon the doors of the other hermits. Instead, she was curious. She thought to herself about why it should be that the other hermits had so many visitors. Those who did come, left, saying that she was indeed wise, and those she met when selling her baskets in the market by the sea, said she was kind. She did not ask for these praises, they were simply given her, and yet, so few there were who knocked, that she puzzled over this on many occasions.

You can be certain she did not spend much time on it, for she had many other thoughts with which to spend her time - thoughts concerning the glory of God and the folly of man. She included her own folly in those thoughts and dwelt upon them, praying for grace and hoping for a sudden transformation, though she knew that such transformations must take time. Many years went by, and still, the villagers came but once or twice a month at most, seeking her guidance and asking for wisdom.

One day as she walked to the market with her baskets, she passed by an old beggar woman in need of bread. "I have none to give," she said to the old woman. It was true, she was going to sell her baskets so that she could buy the bread upon which she lived, and she thought to herself, "Oh, I wish I had had some bread just then, I could have helped that old woman."

Another day as she returned to her hut, she saw a leper looking sad, and as he looked at her, she said to herself, "Poor, dear man, if only someone would look after him. Where are the Saints to help us with these tasks when they are needed?" And with that, she continued home.

Still, she prayed for grace to be holy, to be generous and self-giving, to do away with all the things that bound her and separated her from God. So one morning, as she walked her usual path for prayer, a little boy walked out of the field, kicking rocks as he wept. "What an angry little boy," thought the hermit lady to herself, "I certainly would not wish to be his mother." As she finished her thought, the little boy turned his dirty face towards her, and she saw he had an ugly little face, marked with pocks and horrible to look at. At first she turned away, but then a bit of pity took her and she looked back with marvel, "Come here, little boy. Is there something which you need, something which you want?"

"Miss Hermit Lady, I wished to get a drink from the well, but the other boys won't let me near. I am very thirsty, and that is all I want in the world."

"Well, then, come with me, and a drink of water you shall have."

Many months went by as the months do fly while the hermit lady wove her baskets and told her beads, hoping for a miracle, looking for peace. One day while walking to the market, she met the same old lady who had begged of her before, and seeing her, still in need, she said, "Come with me, I am going to sell my baskets to buy bread, come with me and we will feast."

Another day, she saw the leper looking sad once more, and seeing him, her heart was moved, and she begged him stay in her hut, but he refused, asking instead for her to walk with him. And so they walked many miles until at last they came to a little village, too tiny to be called a village, and yet too big for anything else. Here she saw that he was not alone, for many lepers there were and her eyes were filled with tears, looking upon the sadness of their faces. Thinking she knew not what she could do, she began to turn away, but then she asked, "What, what can I do for you?"

And so the old hermit lady lived no longer as a hermit, but instead she lived amongst the lepers, caring for them as no other cared for them, accepting them in their sad state until at last she became a leper too, and then they cared for her as no other had and visited her as none had visited her before.

Leavin'

2008-07-02T16:57:00.000+02:00

It was getting late and the thunderstorm still hadn't passed. She swallowed what was left of her Pepsi and headed out the door. He would be sore in the morning, but there was nothing she could do. There was nothing she wanted to do.

As she climbed into her pickup truck with the faded seats and the rust spots on the rear fenders, she felt Cody brush past as he climbed in too. She was glad for the company.

"Well, Cody. It looks like we're leavin' Dodge and the sheriff hadn't even run us off. Not long on courage are we, boy?"

Cody just wagged his tail as he stared out the window.

"Time to move on, ain't it? Let's go."

As the old truck roared to life, Katy smiled at the clanking diesel engine. It was good to be back in the saddle again.

The rain beat down, drumming a senseless racket on the truck's roof, as Katy drove into the night, shifting gears with the engine's whine and cruising to the sound of an old 8-track. Someday she'd have a truck with a newer sound system, but that would have to wait for somewhere farther down the road. For now Loretta would have to wish her old cad "a happy birthday, merry Christmas and happy New Year" on tinny speakers and a crummy bit of tape. Katy wondered if Tom would see the birthday cake when he got home that night. Or if he'd even get the reference.

The first rays of daylight were just beginning to pierce the dark of night, giving a warm glow to the horizon as Katy and Cody pulled into the dock. She waved as her old friend walked over.

"Yer sure yer wantin' to go through with this now, are ya'?"

"Jon, I've never been more sure in all my life. It's now or never, tonight's the night, or today's the day, and if I don't make it, I'm gonna die tryin', and all that rubbish. Me and Cody gotta boat to catch to the rest of our lives."

"Yeah, yeah, I figured you was, I just hadta ask 'cuz that's what friends do and all. Just pull that old wreck over there and we'll go get some breakfast."

As Katy jumped to the ground, she noticed the grease marks on Jon's face and clothes. "You been workin' all night tonight?"

"Well, you just called me two days ago, and you know this old clunker don't run half the time you want it to, so I figured I had my work cut out makin' sure this'd be the better half. Wouldn't do you know good otherwise."

"That's true. That's true. So you got her runnin' good, now?"

"Yeah, yeah. Let's go get some breakfast."

Cody whined when Katy left him at the door of the diner, but he was waiting for her when she came back.

"Cody, you and that old truck are the only things've stuck by me all these years. I don't know what I'm gonna do when you finally go."

"Now, Katy, that ain't quite fair to me nor your mama nor half your friends. We've all been there just as much as we could."

"I know Jon, but you didn't live with it. Cody did." She paused to watch his face. "How long's the ride?"

"'Bout three hours by plane. Fifteen in Doris."

"Doris? You named your boat after your show cow? Jon, sometimes I just don't know what to think of you."

"Yeah, and what about Jake? You named your pickup after your mama's tabby cat."

They laughed as they walked toward the dock. Katy paused when they reached her truck. "Is it time Jon? Can we load up and set sale? Blow this popcicle stand, split like a banana, make like a tree and leaf and all that jazz? I know he wouldn't know where I was goin' or what I was doin', but I've just got the itch, and I've got to go."

"Sure, Katy, you just pull up over there and we'll get her loaded up."

Katy paused as she climbed in, looking at her old friend as he walked toward the boat barn. "Jon."

"Yeah, Kate."

"Thanks, Jon."

"After all these years you don't have to say that to me." He took a breath, "But you're welcome, Kate."

The sun finished his grand entrance just as the truck rumbled across the loading planks. "Jon," Katy called, "Jon, stop a minute and look at that sunrise. It's a good day, ain't it? A good day for a boat ride, and a good day to feel the wind in yer face and taste the salt in the air."

"Sure Katy, it's a good day for a boat ride, and a good day to taste the salt in the air. But Katy, Doris don't do wind in yer face." He winked and said, "You'll just hafta take it easy and settle for somethin' a mite bit slower."