Brandy's Writers Cramp

Family Feud

2018-03-22T10:20:00.000-04:00

FAMILY FEUD(s)!!!

B.D. Adams

How can families just go along? Not faultless … not perfect … just family.

My immediate family is my son and his family. He and I have been through the trials and tribulations many mothers and sons have gone through (and other combinations). Not perfect, but love was always there.

Once he realized that I was not just a crazy-old-woman, the lightbulb went on for him! Then, once his children came along, he actually calls me for MY advice about childcare. Amazing how that works.

And the survey says?

Because my husband and his son have the same first name, Dan will be for mine and Daniel for the younger. He is married (Dan and I attended the wedding in CA) and has children, but only one more than my son.

The very nice thing for Dan is his son can talk “car.” Daniel will call his dad to pick his brain about cars, engines and other things. One thing Dan would really like more from his son is to spend more time together – on the phone or in person.

And the survey says?

One situation that really makes this a Family Feud, which has grown thorns in the family -- has to do with Dan’s daughter. Yep, I’m bringing this up. The feud with her began about a decade ago.

In the Spring of 2007, after Dan and I moved to Alton Bay, his daughter came to see our house by herself. Her husband didn’t come with her and neither did either child (two at that time). She had visited at the cottage a couple of times from where we had moved.

Dan gave her the tour of the property and the house and garage. At this point, everything was regular.

There was something personal Dan and I wanted to tell her. We had discussed this and decided we should let her know. I had tested positive for HPV. Neither of us knew anything about this virus, so we were concerned. I was scheduled for a biopsy to better determine a diagnosis.

With what Dan and I decided, I told her this. Our intention was for her to support her father, if I did, indeed, have cancer. He loved his daughter and hoped for her moral support, if needed.

Well, I no sooner got the words out of my mouth, she yelled in anger at me!

Dan and I had had no idea that she’d react this way! She accused me of only wanting sympathy!!

"That’s all you want!!!" she yelled.

Dan was beside himself!! He couldn’t understand why his daughter was so rude and hateful to me, which could only include him. Those were his thoughts. There are a few other items, but what I have typed now are the main issues for Dan. What she doesn’t know is I had tried to get him to talk to her.

She gave a milked down version of what I’ve just typed to her brother and her sister-in-law. She said I was the one who yelled. I had no reason to yell at her, except to get her to quit yelling at me AND her father.

Am I faultless? No, I am not. His daughter really pissed me off when she accused me of only wanting sympathy. She also bad-mouthed HER mother. I wasn't close to her mother, but she needed to be more considering of her mother!

And the survey says!!!

Son Daniel and his family do not live in California any longer. They are in Tennessee – much closer to us. Dan’s daughter doesn’t live in Vermont any longer. They live in New Hampshire, but south from us. Wouldn’t it be nice to have all the families around? Perhaps even with my son?

The survey says?

A modern extended Family!!

I could give a rat’s ass what she thinks about me, but her father would be more than pleased if she’d make nice to me. She had told me in an email that she never wanted to hear from me ever again. I have honored her wish. Haven't contacted her for 11 years.

If anyone reads this and speaks to her, let her know that I DID TRY to get her dad to talk to her. With her attitude towards me, though, her father was in no way anxious to ever be around her again.

Dan and Brandy's Home

Maple Leaf

2017-09-27T09:58:00.000-04:00

Autumn Leaf

By B.D. Adams

s usual, I sit at my dining table to visit FB and do some writing. The table is by the double glass doors, so I can look out at all the trees in my world. A lot of green with the new sprinklings of color – autumn colors.

This morning, I merely perused at my view. Nothing special, but the season is changing.

Then, I saw across the yard as a red maple leaf let go where it had hung. I became intrigued with it while it fell from branch to branch.

It didn’t dive bomb to the ground! Was lazy … casual … as it made its fall. The light breeze allowed it to dance a bit … resist its final fall.

I felt somewhat sad for the leaf. It was completing its destiny, as it goes for leaves. No sadness – no sadness. An important cycle to create fertilizer for the ground under the tree.

A breeze carried the maple leaf a few feet from the tree. Many leaves had begun to change color in the tree.

Alas, the leaf floated to the ground. By standards, a short journey. Nothing special, but a meaningful journey.

Autumn is with us.

Hurricane Carla

2017-08-28T16:31:00.002-04:00

Hurricane Carla 1961

B.D. Adams

y Texas memories can be one after the other of happiness and childhood delight. Some of them, though, could be scary and alarming. Like my memory of Hurricane Carla.

We moved to Victoria, TX, in 1960. I was on the upside of being ten-years-old. We moved to a suburb where many other kids lived. A modern way to live.

We moved to Victoria because he became the head Physical Therapist in a bigger hospital.in Victoria. Victoria was between Houston and Corpse Christi.

When we got to Victoria, we were closer to the Gulf Coast. Since my father was a boatman and a fisherman, we would go to the coast very often. We would tow our boat to there every time.

Our main place to go was Port O’Connor – about 50 miles south of Victoria. With the storms I could remember back then, were some Gales or rain storms. The idea of anything worse was not considered.

Then, in September 1961, I was 11 -- it became considered that the brewing storm in the Gulf of Mexico could hit Texas. Schools were closed until further notice. This was the first time I can remember that I actually watched the news and weather. I had no idea why it fascinated me, but it did.

Then the news became definite that Hurricane Carla, as the storm was named, headed to Port O’Connor. The sustained winds were now expected to increase to 100mph. My mother and father had done the preparation to try to hunker down the house – a single story structure (no basement or crawlspace). The windows, front and back, had been taped with masking tape to keep the glass from splintering. My father had bought a large roll of plastic, in case a window did break.

To a kid, this was exciting! Little did she know that the begeebies would be scared out of her!!

September 12, 1961, the winds began very strong along with the rain – the sideway rain! It was daylight like around early afternoon. The sound was so horrible!

As the storm intensified, if I was educated with The Tempest, this was what I would envision for Shakespeare’s sea storm!

I watched out the front windows. There was so much debris that flew around. We would hear as the solid pieces would hit the house! There was little detail to see, but all the house could be seen. Many neighbors stayed, but just as many evacuated.

Then, we heard and saw, an even more horrible sound, as a neighbor across the street lost their carport!! Thank goodness, they weren’t at home. (After the storm, we learned that the wall on that side caved.)

My mother, being an average mother, made like a sleep-over in the living room; blankets, pillows, even a few sleeping bags. She made sandwiches for our supper. There was no electric, but we had candles and a couple of camp kerosene lanterns.

It was night now – the storm still wailed. My mother kept trying to get me to sleep, but there was no way I could sleep. My younger brother had no problem. After supper he fell asleep.

Then, quite surprising … the winds stopped. My father made note that we got a corner of “The Eye.” We went out the back door and stood on the concrete slab that was a porch, sort of. The water was deep here.

I looked to the sky and saw the stars and a bit of the moon. I could see all the junk that lay all over the backyard and against the fences. It was a little spooky. Also, frogs were heard. Weird!

“Is it over?” I asked my father.

“No – now we need to fortify the backdoor. This is round two,” he calmly informed.

And, he taped around the backdoor to try to keep the rain/water out. No sooner than we talked, the storm came back even fiercer!!

It was like something from Disney’s “The Sorcerer’s Apprentice.” All these junky pieces on the backyard flew up and banged loudly against the house!

Then, there was a nasty loud crashing bang at my brother’s bedroom. His window at the back was broken by a shingle that sliced through the screen and broke the glass. The wind was so violent, my father couldn’t get the tape to tape the plastic!

He took a bed blanket and stuffed it into the window, and then opened the closet door to better reinforce that window.

Now, the only sound heard from that window was a wheezing – a constant wheezing. My father closed the room’s door which helped.

I did finally fall asleep. Had no idea of the time. It was just dark – dark, windy and upsetting.

When I woke, there was still some wind and rain, but much calmer now. The sky was becoming brighter.

My father had the Coleman Stove going so he and mother could have coffee. The bathtub had been filled with water because it was known that city water wouldn’t be good for many days. He used the antique coffee pot. The aroma of the coffee was like assurance that the storm had passed.

Hurricane Carla was a Category 5 storm.

Abstract Art

2017-06-15T11:42:00.001-04:00

Hans Degner

An Abstract Artist

Hans Degler 2016

person becomes an adult. With all the intended work ethics, he works hard and makes a success of his life. Became a builder, a construction business. Satisfying, however, something lacked. Spent twenty years at his vocation – a provider for his family – made his parents proud!

Then a decision was made! A change was made … a choice that was good, but not of the norm!

This is how it has gone for Hans Christian Degner of Copenhagen, Denmark. He was born in Denmark. He is now an artist – an Abstract Artist. He has studied fine art on his own and at Aarthus Art Akademi in Aarhus, Denmark. On the Mainland – on the peninsula. This is an accredited school known throughout the world.

He closed his construction business in 2006 when he chose to put paint to canvas, or any other format. His paintings began to sell in 2009. A tedious time for this serious artist, but he prevailed!

As an accomplished artist, Hans’ work has been deemed awe-inspiring, as well as profound. His eye for color and design has taken him to the realms of Pollock, Picasso, and Renoir.

Hans has displayed his paintings all over Scandinavia, as well as all over Europe. The style he has embraced is of his artistic personal way. He has had paintings shown in Orleans and Paris, France -- Geneva, Switzerland – Stockholm, Sweden – London, England – to name a few. With the popular attention his work has generated in these areas, his paintings have been described as “moving … beautiful … powerful.”

Hans Degner is the new generation for abstract art. With his success in Europe and the U.K., he wants to become better known all over the world, especially in the United States. He wants to add the art lovers of the United States to his list of fans.

His work is on Facebook and he can be contacted via:

hc.degner@live.dk

Hans Degler

Rich Or Poor

2017-05-06T09:06:00.000-04:00

What is a Rich Man?

By B.D. Adams

ow can you meet a rich man? I don’t know.

One woman, I met a long time ago said, “You have to think rich.”

“Think rich? Like, think about gold and diamonds?” I wanted to verify.

“No, silly. It’s just a metaphor,” she said.

I was impressed at her word usage.

“Like going to polo matches or to art museums?” I asked.

She gave me a quizzical expression. I understood.

In my mind, how you live your life would determine if you were rich or not. Money and wealth can be some of it, but the way a life is carried out might be the biggest definition!

Don’t get me wrong. Financial wealth is not to be sneezed at. That is freedom. That is the difference between hamburgers and lobsters (or any other analogy).

I understand the idea of “Think Rich.” A woman should dress to impress with that idea. To look rich is as important as the thinking part. Wear silk or cashmere, Chanel or Ralph Lauren! Personally, I love the feel of silk.

And wear only real jewels – real diamonds, sapphires, and emeralds. The choice of perfume is important, as well.

Stay away from K-Mart or Walmart. Hey, I shop at those stores, but then I’m not trying to snag a rich man.

Of course, honesty and communication would be a plus, no matter if the man is rich or not. Those qualities should be paramount!

What kind of man do I have? I have a man who is honest, communicates very well, and truly loves me. In other words, I have a rich man!!

Another Book Excerpt

2017-03-29T07:41:00.001-04:00

This is an excerpt of my next, not finished, novel. Frank Roselli was on his way to the beach cottage he and Katherine, his ex-wife, owned and shared. Myra, his live-in girlfriend had just dumped him for Jack, his long time best friend. They were on their way to Los Angeles where his friend had just landed a better position with an advertising agency out there.

Frank went to the beach cottage to clear his mind. Ease his wounded ego.

To Cross That Bridge

B.D. Adams

Chapter IV

Not speeding this Thursday afternoon, but Frank maneuvered his red, Fiat Spider. His 1978 Spidereuropa, with the black top down, zoomed around vehicles on Ocean Parkway. He even wore goggles when he drove the car – to protect his eyes, of course. The wind in his hair tantalized!

Frank mused: ‘Frank Roselli has pulled in front of Mario Andretti. They had been see-sawing for the lead in the last five laps. Can Roselli beat Andretti? Not yet – Andretti has the lead again. Wait a minute – Roselli has moved to the outside – he has a nose lead! They’re now side-by-side. They’re coming to the checkered flag. And … and … Roselli wins! Roselli wins! Frank Roselli wins The Monaco Grand Prix!!’

Frank put his head back and made the crowd noise, the cheering crowd! He had to do this more often, he smiled with a happy sigh.

He loved driving his Fiat like a race car in Monaco, France. Unfortunately, he had never been to Monaco. He and Myra had been making plans to go to Europe. He wanted to visit Italy again, now he was a grown man.

Not in his madras shorts, he wore his khaki cargo shorts, a light blue T-shirt, and his leather Dockside shoes.

He had gone the distance down Ocean Parkway on Jones Island to the obscured dirt access road to Oak Beach Road to go to the cottage. Just another 300 yards east of the Community Center.

He kept mulling over the recent crap with her, Myra. He was more than glad that he decided to keep his private bank account to him only. She cleaned out the shared account, though. He could file a domestic complaint, but it was a shared account. What she did irritated him, but was it worth to file a lawsuit? Why did she leave him?

Stop that, he scolded. No more Myra. No more Jack. Only Francis Roselli from now on.

Francis pulled into the long driveway to the back door of the cottage. The front neighbor’s cottage was between the beach and their cottage. They allowed him, Kathy and their friends, to go down their path to the beach when desired. It didn’t look like the neighbors were there. That was good. They always liked to banter with him – be nosy.

This cottage, his and Kathy’s, had been built several yards to the left behind the front property. However, the ocean was very seeable. He would do a lot of writing while there.

Anxiously, impatiently he opened the screened door and unlocked the wooden door. Inside, the window over the sink was opened – there was a puff of a breeze, a little less stuffy. With a minor survey of the inside, everything seemed to be as it should. He carried his duffle to the inside of the cozy, comfortable cottage. The ceiling was faux-vaulted in the main area. A nice touch.

Beginning with the window between the apartment sized stove and refrigerator and the small bedroom, he opened it wide. Then he moved to the living room area windows – one on the west wall near the bathroom and the two windows beside the front door.

Just an average cottage of the 1920s. One airy bedroom, which was fairly large, with a queen-size bed and a good sized closet. The other bedroom was just a bit smaller than the front room, like a den or library. No bed – two armchairs and a small table with a lamp. The sofa in the main area made into a full bed, if needed. The matching overstuffed armchair added to the coziness of the area. In the cedar chest, in the front bedroom, there was a queen-size blow-up mattress. Came in handy many years ago for a beach weekend with friends. That was a fun weekend!

This cottage was built in 1922 – the time of Gatsby. It was furnished, decorated in that era. However, definitely not meant for year round living.

It was sturdy enough, though. As it was, there were oak hardwood floors, well-constructed walls of modern sheet-rock, not plasterboard, tall windows of 1920s vintage. There was very creative, outside bric-a-brac. Inside, the original cast-iron claw-foot tub with copper fixtures was spectacular!

An article was written about the cottage by the local tabloid. He and Kathy bought it, had painted, repaired and put in a small shed that housed the beach chairs and other items. Not many of the older cottages were still in existence. That was sad.

In the bedroom, it was clear that Kathy had left the room spic and span after the tryst with her new boyfriend. Clean sheets on the bed, comforter neatly folded, as usual.

He tossed the duffle bag onto the queen-sized bed. Raised those windows. Ah … refreshing!

His curiosity got the better of him, though, as he went to the bathroom. Even here, there wasn’t any telltale evidence that a man had been there. Frank shook his head. Did he really want to see remnants of another man?

He and Kathy still had a kind of – affection -- for each other, which irked Myra at times. But could Frank and Kathy evolve back to something more? Especially now, with Myra gone.

He must forget those thoughts!

The little writing desk was still by the front window way to the left where he could look out at the beach and the breaking waves. He could gaze out when he needed a break. The laptop was placed there.

In the kitchen, as in the bathroom, neat and clean. Frank opened a cupboard to see what might be there for food. Canned tuna, canned pork and beans and -- what’s this? A can of B&M Brown Bread.

Bread in a can? Who was this guy she was dating? Was he someone from upstate … The Adirondacks? Frank shook his head with a tsk-tsk. Should he worry about his ex-wife? No … not now. He would open that can later to see if it was, indeed, bread.

The fridge was empty, plugged in, but empty. He’d go to the little convenience store to see what he could buy there. Only going to be there for a few days.

Looked into the cupboard by the sink where a few bottles of alcohol would be kept. Ah, yes. Half-gallon bottles mostly full of whiskey, vodka, rum and scotch, his favorite. That new guy must not drink much. That was good for Frank.

The cottage felt more welcoming now with the windows opened, so he unlocked the front door and opened it wide. Then went through the screen door to step out onto the narrow porch where two white painted, wooden rocking chairs were. He just stood on the porch, leaned against one of the porch posts, to enjoy the ocean breeze. This was what he needed after last night.

The sun was more to the west, over the city. A few seagulls flew near to the porch and screamed to him, so he imagined. They hoped he would throw food to them.

“Go away you moochers,” Frank said, “I might have food for you later.” He laughed, but not heartily. Since he read that damned “Dear John” note, what did he have to laugh about? He smiled anyway. A smile came more easily made than a laugh.

He would survive even this.

Days Gone By - Memory

2017-02-02T15:14:00.000-05:00

Memories of Days Gone By

B&W TV Commercial

For those who remember photo albums filled with B&W (black and white) square photos with beveled edges, then you’re around my generation. It is amazing what we remember.

When I was fairly young, we had a B&W Zenith television that sat on a rolling cabinet. Actually, it stayed in the living room – never rolled anywhere except to have the floor vacuumed underneath.

Color TVs were way too expensive -- so said my parents. I didn’t mind, just having a TV to watch all the cartoons and kid programs was a treat. Like Mighty Mouse, Popeye and Bugs Bunny along with Hopalong Cassidy, Lassie, and Sky King, to name a few.

With these memories of B&W televisions, this wonder came to my mind’s eye. How do I remember my past? Is it in color or in B&W?

The first time I ever saw “The Wizard of Oz” in color, I was mesmerized!! So wondrous!!

One thing I remember the most, along this line, was a TV commercial that advertised color TVs. By Zenith, by chance, and the commercial was in B&W:

The announcer begins – “Zenith Televisions are ahead of the time … blah … blah … blah.”

As the announcer continues his spiel, the camera pans back to show a football field, empty with no players, just the field with the uprights at the far end zone.

Then the announcer hits the viewers with a definite guilt trip that no parent wants, as he asks,

“Do you want your children to grow up thinking football is played on gray grass?”

As a child, and then as an adult, that commercial rather stuck with me. When my son was born and when I got older, I began using color film in my dinky Kodak camera. Of course, as I became a pro photographer, color film was primarily used.

I asked my son once how he remembered his world as a little boy – I had taken photos of him in B&W, as well as color. With evolution, he remembers his life in color.

Nice how those memories grow.

Son, Jacob, and Mom, Brandy 1985

Article -- Protests

2017-01-24T10:01:00.001-05:00

To Protest or Not to Protest –

That Is Not the Question!

There are many reasons to protest in the world. For more understanding, more righteousness, more justice. Some reasons are extremely hard to comprehend --- ISIS or ISIL, for example.

When there are even two people who do not see eye to eye, an eye for an eye confrontation can occur. Even with the non-violent protests, violence seems to rear its ugly head.

And, with these thoughts, differences of opinion are more common – and as ridiculous.

** Several Readers might deem me as anti-veteran. That was and is the farthest from the minds of MOST people I know and knew. We wanted the war and discriminations to end – peacefully. However, the angry activists got more attention. **

When I was 20, I decided I wanted to go back to Texas, which made my mother deliriously happy. I had been attending Ohio State University in Columbus OH. I had experienced the protests/ riots against the university and the establishment and the Vietnam War. Those were our reasons in 1970.

For my (ahem) personal reasons, I went back to Ft. Worth, Texas. My mother and younger brother, Eddie, lived there.

I hadn’t gotten that far in college, so I got a waitress job at a Big Boy Restaurant. I wanted to decide what my major should be in Texas.

My brother, age 17, and I had rapport back then. He worked in a grocery store so his days off and mine did not coincide. He wanted me to meet his supervisor.

Finally, we had days off at the same day. His coworkers were considerate. To me, though, it seemed some of them weren’t sure of what to say to me. I passed it off that they didn’t speak “northern.”

Then Mr. Murphy, the supervisor, came to meet me and speak with my brother. The man seemed nice. A little older than me and my brother, but that was all right.

Since my brother was an assistant manager, someone got his attention.

. Then, Mr. Murphy and I were left to each other.

“I guess you’re not new to Texas,” Mr. Murphy said.

“No, sir. Was born in Ft. Worth,” I said nicely.

Perhaps, he thought he needed to show me what he knew about “the north,” so he commented, “You got tired of all the craziness up north to bring you home again.”

“Excuse me?” I asked rather surprised.

“I’ve seen the news about all the college riots up north. You were in New York – right?”

“There were riots in New York. Columbia University. But I wasn’t in New York. I was in Ohio, the University of Ohio,” I proudly informed. “And, yes … we had student riots.”

“Oh … right. Where those hippie protesters were shot for attacking the National Guard Soldiers.”

I just looked at this man who really had no idea of what he thought he knew.

“Excuse me, Mr. Murphy. The students were not hippie instigators. The killings happened at Kent State University. In Kent, Ohio. Many miles from Ohio State. Four students were killed by gunfire from the soldiers.”

I didn’t berate him for his lack of knowledge or his self-righteous attitude. It was usually next to impossible to correct someone who is so entrenched in their beliefs. I felt it best to tread lightly.

Thankfully, Eddie returned to rescue me from this man. I gave a small smile and shook Mr. Murphy’s hand. I had always been as polite as possible.

As my brother and I began to turn away from Mr. Murphy, the older man flashed hand gestures to us. And he laughed heartily, belly laughed.

Not all that aware of what the gesture meant, I asked Eddie, “What was that about?”

“Nothing,” Eddie said quickly.

“Well, Mr. Murphy seemed to think it was pretty funny. Tell me,” I urged with a smile.

“You won’t like it,” he stated.

“Hey, brother … I’m a big girl.”

We were now in the parking lot of the store by his car. Eddie held up four fingers with one hand and with the other hand, he made a zero.

“It means ‘Kent State zero, the National Guard four.’” Eddie was obviously embarrassed.

“Next time I say I’m a big girl, tell me to shut-up.” I was calm and stunned.

That man knew exactly what he was saying when he asked me about the universities and riots. He baited me – the girl-from-Ohio. I fell for his behavior, his country lawyer treatment. No, he was not a lawyer. But that is a good analogy for his behavior. He got what he wanted – his fun.

I never let anyone bait me again.

Christmas Is Always Nigh!

2016-12-10T08:46:00.000-05:00

Christmas Is Always Nigh!

Ah, ‘tis the season. Love and joy abound. People you don’t know smile and say Merry Christmas, Joyeux Noël, Feliz Navidad, or Fröehlich Weihnachten.

Most every family, I would think, has a story or two about Christmas. I wrote a story (The Best Christmas, circa 11/2014) about my son when it seemed he still believed in Santa Claus. He knew about Santa but didn’t want me to be disappointed that he knew the truth. Of course, more than anything, he probably didn’t want to get fewer presents. And, of course, he found out he would continue to get presents even though he knew about Santa.

This story, however, is a story from my childhood. About how I learned something from my vintage grandmother. Isn’t that how we learn? From older family members?

It was 1960 or 1961 – I was 10 or 11 -- and I knew about Santa Claus.

This was summertime. I was visiting with my paternal grandmother. I called her DeeDee. She lived in Rosenberg TX – not far from Houston. My family and I lived in Victoria, almost 90 miles from Rosenberg. My parents allowed me the time with her

because I was a well behaved little girl and I dearly loved DeeDee.

We had just returned from a beach outing on Galveston Island. This was my all-time favorite place to go. DeeDee would go in the surf with me. A fabulous memory!

We showered (separately) to wash off all the salt water and sand.

As I showered, DeeDee made an early supper of fresh caught fried Gulf shrimp and her homemade Cole Slaw. Always so delicious! We sat at the small kitchen table because it was only she and me.

We would talk while we ate. Our subjects would go all around from her friends and routines, about my friends, school, my brother … and so on. She always encouraged me to be politely verbal especially about my brother.

One of my subjects went to Christmas, how I wished it would get here sooner. To spend Christmas with her, go to church with her, to sing the songs about Baby Jesus. And open the presents!

DeeDee softly laughed.

“Why are you laughing? You like Christmas, don’t you?” I frowned slightly.

She grinned widely and said, “Of course, I do. However, sometimes I wish it would take longer to get here.” She winked at

me as she finished her Cole Slaw.

“Longer? DeeDee, it takes forever now! I mean it's five months away,” I argued.

“Sweetie, for me it’s five months closer,” she said with her heartfelt smile.

With my confused expression, DeeDee tried to explain as best as she could.

“I used to feel as you when I was your age. However, as I got older, it seemed that Christmas was always just around the corner. You’ll see – after you have children of your own, you’ll understand.”

She motioned for me to come to sit on her lap, which I did. Then she gave me a wonderful hug and kissed my forehead. “One day, you’ll understand.”

And, as time passed, I understood my grandmother’s meaning. At one time, I even passed her lesson on to Jacob, who will do the same for his children.

Merry Christmas!

Letter to the Editor

2016-11-11T11:14:00.000-05:00

2016 Election -- Letter to the Editor

B.D. Adams

The news that Donald Trump was elected President caused me profound disappointment as a disabled person.

In 1998, I suffered a stroke which seriously affected my right hemisphere. When I watched Mr. Trump on a news show as he mocked and mimicked a disabled reporter, I was appalled!

His actions were rude and unfeeling. That conduct was totally inappropriate for someone running for the highest position in the United States. Although I have other issues with Mr. Trump, to see him flailing his arms to mock a disabled person was hurtful to me in an especially personal way.

I can only hope that Mr. Trump’s promise to “make America Great again” would include his disabled citizens, such as myself and the many others.

** I was very aware that Mr. Trump, supposedly, was NOT referring to a disabled, Pulitzer Prize-winning reporter with the New York Times who had interviewed the candidate. If that was indeed the case, why did he behavior in that extremely rude manner anyway? Most educated people know that people with physical disabilities are not retarded.
Most everyone who knows my Blog, and me, know that I and others like me are just people with physical limitations. Granted, some disabilities are more extreme than others. However, the candidate running for the highest position in the United States should know better than to ridicule or mock any person because of their disabilities.
Because of Mr. Trump's callous treatment of an "unknown" disabled person, I sure hope he never mocks or is rude to Stephen Hawking, one of the most intelligent people in the world!
If nothing else, next time you might see someone -- friend or someone you know -- behave in the same way as Mr. Trump or make an off-the-cuff comment, please consider this Blog Post. **

Young Love -- Finale

2016-10-28T11:16:00.003-04:00

A Time For Young Love

Finale

What’s Love Gotta Do With It?

Lucy’s graduating high school class had over 600 students and she was in the top 100. She graduated with very excellent grades, however, she didn’t graduate Summa Cum Laude. Her scores on the SAT were impressive, though.

She was glad, but it really didn’t matter to her. She didn’t have her Roger.

With Roger out of the way (of course, Lucy didn’t know about that), her mother had everything mapped out for Lucy. She planned to have her enrolled in TCU and spoke with the Tri-delta Sorority. This was her dream for her daughter.

However, Lucy had other plans (her mother had no idea). Plans that did not include TCU, a sorority or Ft. Worth.

For Spring Break in 1968 -- she wanted to go to Galveston, Texas. To visit Dobby, her paternal grandmother. Her grandmother had had that nickname since she was in college and Lucy called her that. A spry older woman in her 60s with snow white hair. She could pass for younger.

Lucy was allowed to go to Galveston in her mother’s ’65 Ford Galaxy Coupe. Of course, Lucy had to swear she would be careful. Her mother couldn’t afford to buy another car. Plus, she had to swear she wasn’t really going to sneak a visit with Roger. (That puzzled Lucy.)

Lucy swore to both.

It had been a while since she’d visited south. She and Roger had planned to go there in his car, in order to introduce him to Dobby. Of course, that didn’t happen.

Lucy loved this grandmother and going to the Gulf of Mexico beaches on Galveston Island. Great beaches and waves!

Dobby and Papa lived, since their marriage in 1915, in a wooden clapboard, two-story Victorian house. Unfortunately, Papa’s untimely death in 1955 was more than sad. Lucy knew her grandfather, but only for a short while. Lucy knew he was in charge of their home.

The house was in a cream color with accent, trim colors that subtly highlighted the house. The house always looked freshly painted. That always amazed Lucy.

There were many properties like Dobby’s. Some of those houses in Galveston would rival the houses in New Orleans. The old Galveston streets were tree-lined with Oak Trees, Magnolia Trees, and Palms. And, like many of these houses, the inside was cozy – not sprawling large.

With all the two story houses, there were porches downstairs and upstairs. Her grandmother’s downstairs porch went three-quarters around the house. The porch-less side had tall evergreen bushes.

Lucy loved to sit on the back porch to eat Dobby’s waffles and drink freshly squeezed orange juice in the mornings. Her back garden was so soothing, so lovely. In the spring and summer, the fragrance of flowers, like honeysuckle, jasmine, and roses, filled the air.

Lucy was elated to make this visit! Dobby. She always listened to her granddaughter, never berated her.

Soon, Lucy pulled into Dobby’s narrow driveway. It was March, but warm for this early season.

After several hugs and kisses, Lucy and Dobby sat with their filled ice tea glasses on the back porch to relax. For Lucy, to relax after the long trip.

Lucy managed to confide to Dobby about her mother. She thought her mother was the reason Roger was so heartless to break-up with her -- the way he did.

In her wisdom, Dobby played down the anger Lucy had for her mother. However, she understood this part of her former daughter-in-law’s personality.

Lucy explained what her mother wanted for her and, on the flip side, what she wanted for herself. She told Dobby that she wanted to go to the University of Houston. Would she help out?

Of course, she’d help her granddaughter. Then they could visit more often. Big smiles all around.

They both did their parts to get the forms via long distance. Dobby signed the papers and paid for the first year’s tuition. That’s what Lucy had hoped for from her grandmother. Not expected, but hoped.

When informed of her daughter’s alterations, Lucy’s mother and maternal grandmother were infuriated, to say the least. A lot of tears and yelling and screaming for two days. After the verbal mayhem, though, things calmed.

Quite innocently, just before she trekked southward, Darcy was told by the girl who had introduced them that Roger had gone to North Texas, as he wanted.

She was glad for him, however, she still felt sad. However, with the idea of change for her, she was more hopeful for her future.

It was September 1968. Lucy took the train to Galveston, so Dobby to pick her up at the station. Then get her into her dorm room. Dobby’s car was a ’47 Chevrolet Sedan. Her jalopy she

teased, more to herself.

Lucy was finally happy, not overly happy, but not as miserable as in the past months. She had always enjoyed time with Dobby!

And she was away from her mother.

====

Roger had stayed away from Lucy as promised. Oh, but he wanted to see her, accidently run into her. However, he knew that would be a disaster if Mrs. Coleridge or Mr. Edson learned about that.

He might get another visit from him. He was a distinguished man but had the look of Al Capone when not happy – like when he and Mrs. Coleridge paid him that visit.

Never again!

From the girl who had introduced them, he learned that Lucy went to the University of Houston. Actually, that made him happy. A good school and not what her mother wanted.

Good for you, Lucy, Roger silently praised at one time.

Now, it was February in 1969 and Roger was knee deep in college himself at the University of North Texas. He enjoyed the curriculum, the campus, and his solitude. No one knew him – he was incognito. Just a handful of students from high school, but not any he really knew.

He wasn’t employed in a hamburger place here but in a campus bookstore. Able to read any book he wanted.

One afternoon, Roger got a chicken sandwich at the Dining Hall and went to sit on a bench outside near the Business School to eat in the nice winter afternoon. His canvas book satchel was rather heavy, so he rested it on the ground by the bench.

It was cool, but the sun was warm. No heavy coat, however, he wore blue jeans, sneakers and a warm wool, bulky, pullover sweater with a scarf around his neck.

It would be warmer in a month or so. Trees had no leaf buds yet, but the sky was cloudless. The sun felt inviting.

There were people scurrying around and others who just sat on the other sporadically placed benches or lay on the grass. Sunning on the dead winter grass, but who cared. There were a few couples who talked, smiled and kissed.

How he wished Lucy was there. He took a bite of the sandwich, chewed and closed his eyes to the bright sunlight. Took another bite.

After a moment, a shadow came across Roger’s face – opened his eyes. He was quite astonished to see the face that looked down to his.

“Hello, Roger.” A man in a corduroy zip-up jacket, blue jeans, and work boots stood in front of him.

He swallowed his bite of sandwich and then steadily said, “Mr. Edson. What are you doing here?” Actually, he wanted to go screaming away from this hateful apparition. However, he remained seated and stared at the man.

“Roger, do you know about Lucy?” the older man asked.

“Is she all right? Has she been hurt?” Roger asked quite concerned. He sat more forward on the bench.

“Do you know where she’s going to school?” Mr. Edson blandly asked.

“Last I’ve heard was the University of Houston. Did she change?” Then he realized his question was ignored, “Is she hurt?”

The man gave a cynical smile and said, “She’s fine.”

Roger gave an audible sigh of relief.

“How did you know that’s where she went to school? Are you in contact with her?” Mr. Edson’s face had that look of cold suspicion.

“Mr. Edson, we have many mutual friends. One told me. That’s all.” Roger was now irritated that he was being interrogated by this man. He had done what he and Mrs. Coleridge wanted. Painfully, he had done the deed!

Roger stood, gathered his book satchel, then stuffed his unfinished sandwich in the bag and said, “If there is nothing more – good-bye.” He had begun to turn away.

“Roger, this is for you,” Mr. Edson said. “I’m confident you have truthfully stayed away from Lucy. So, this is for you.” No smile, but no frown either. He handed Roger an oversized letter envelope.

Roger mindlessly, robotically took the envelope and asked, “What’s this?”

“Oh, nothing important. This is from me. Mrs. Coleridge doesn’t know about this. Enjoy your schooling here. It’s a good school.” He gave Roger a confirming pat on his shoulder, then turned and walked determinedly away, quickly went around a building.

Roger sat on the bench again. He felt rather numb – wasn’t sure if he should look into the envelope or just throw it away.

Nonetheless, he opened the envelope.

Money! A lot of money inside! Fifties and hundreds!

Roger put his hand to his mouth – amazed, startled, wide-eyed! Why? Why would this man do this? Mr. Edson didn’t even like him, for crying out loud!

Then it hit him like a sack of bricks. He and Lucy had made jokes that Mr. Edson could be a gangster. After all, he was in construction – built houses and commercial buildings. They had teased that Mr. Edson had shifty eyes -- like a gangster.

What Roger held in his hand was his “pay off,” for breaking up with his love. Now … Roger was infuriated!

====

It was now February of 1969. Lucy had a dorm room on campus, and thankfully, she had no roommate. She stayed there only to study. Otherwise, she was with Dobby.

Lucy’s birthday had passed in December, now 18-years-old – a woman. She had become a good collegiate student. All the subjects now were basic; English, history, math, etc. Her major was journalistic photography, but no major classes yet. Just a few humanities classes in photography.

Of course, her mother had wanted something totally different for her. Just something to make her appealing to an important man --until she married an important man her mother approved of and then became pregnant.

Lucy just continued to follow her heart.

With the money she had saved – back when she was planning a wedding – she was able to buy a used Volkswagen Beetle for $500. Rather old but in decent condition and ran great. She would go to Dobby’s place as often as she wanted.

She was able to get a job at the Houston Post – the same kind of work she had had in Ft. Worth in the teletype room. Just three days a week.

At one time, she wanted to drive her car to Denton – to perhaps see Roger. Dobby suggested that would not be a good idea. Especially if her mother found out.

That idea quickly dissolved.

There was a boy she began to see at school. His name was Daniel and was a couple of years older than she and nice looking; black hair, blue eyes, and a slender physique. His major was commercial art/graphic design.

She hadn’t introduced him to her grandmother in Galveston yet. Lucy wasn’t sure if he would help her forget Roger. Silly thought.

This particular day was Sunday. Lucy and Dobby had been out walking and talking in the city. It was a brisk, winter day, but not biting. Beautifully sunny, hinted of an early spring. They had just arrived back at Dobby’s home and the phone was heard ringing, as they entered.

“Hello?” Dobby happily answered. “Just a moment.” She handed the old black phone to Lucy. Her tone was now not happy.

Nothing needed to be said. Lucy knew it was her mother.

“Hello Mother,” Lucy answered the way she always did to her mother.

“Are you ever in your room?” her mother asked snippily.

“Of course, I am. We spoke last week.” Dobby made a hand gesture that Lucy should go easier. Lucy understood and then asked, “What’s going on? You sound … aggravated.”

Dobby gave a roll of her eyes like that was the wrong thing to say. Lucy nodded with a small frown that she knew that.

“Well, not that it matters to you, but … but Mr. Edson is dead,” she said. There was a hint of tears in her voice.

“Dead? Mom … I liked Mr. Edson. What happened? Did he have a heart attack?” Obviously stunned, Lucy sat on the chair by the phone.

“Not a heart attack – everyone is perplexed,” she said. Then she took a deep breath and continued, “He was drinking and smoking. He must have fallen asleep – the sofa where he was lying caught

fire. He burned to death!”

“Oh, Mother! Burned? That’s horrible!” Lucy was truly affected. But she had to ask, “When did this happen? Did the police say it was an accident?” What she really wanted to say was to correct the wordage from ‘fallen asleep’ to being ‘passed out.’

Calmly, sadly her mother said, “Three days ago. I didn’t find out until yesterday – I thought he was out of town. They want to talk to that boy you used to date – the one who wanted to marry you.”

“Roger? Why on earth would they want to talk to him?” Lucy asked shocked. “Do the police think Mr. Edson was murdered? Roger would have no reason to murder Mr. Edson!” Lucy offered on Roger’s behalf. She couldn’t understand why she was sticking up for Roger – the guy who had sex with a hooker!

“I don’t know why. I told them the same thing that Roger would have no reason to harm Mr. Edson.” Her tone sounded unconvinced – like she might know something. She sniffled and blew her nose, then queried, “Have you seen Roger?”

“Mother, I haven’t seen him since we broke up over a year ago.”

“Talked to him?”

“No, Mother. I haven’t seen him or talked to him!” Now, Lucy felt grilled and had no idea of why. “Look … I am so sorry to hear about Mr. Edson, but I don’t … don’t need your attitude.”

“I’m sorry, Lucy. I’m just so upset and confused about my friend’s death. You can understand that, can’t you?”

“Yes … I can.” Lucy was softer to her mother.

“Can you come home, Lucy? Please?” her mother pleaded.

“I can’t. Prelims are coming up. The mid-term exams are soon. This is the only day I haven’t study -- needed a break.” She felt bad for her mother, but there was nothing she could do. And, she was being honest. She suggested, “Call some of your girlfriends. That will help you.”

“Yes, that will. I’ll do that. Thanks, sweetheart.”

That ended this call.

Lucy remained on the chair by the phone and just looked dumbly at that apparatus. For some reason, she felt at a loss, bummed-out.

Dobby had been in the kitchen to brew up some hot chocolate to drink once the phone call was ended. She had a thermos filled with the hot liquid and it was on a tray with the mugs and a plate of graham crackers. The tray was put on the coffee table in front of the sofa.

“Want some soul food?” Dobby smiled softly.

“Got anything stiffer than hot chocolate?” Lucy asked. She looked to her grandmother now. She didn’t want to get drunk, but, after this trauma, she wanted to mellow somewhat more.

Dobby pointed to the tray and there was her decanter of bourbon. That was exactly what Lucy wanted. She calmly changed from the stiff chair to the more comfy sofa.

Her grandmother put not quite a jigger of the bourbon in a mug and poured in the chocolate. Her intention was to ease her granddaughter. She handed the mug to Lucy, who took it.

Dobby poured a full jigger into her mug. Her former daughter-in-law had the way to irritate even vicariously.

Lucy blew onto the hot mixture, then took a large gulp of her drink. She just sat back and took another gulp.

“Mother’s boyfriend died recently. Unexpectedly. He had passed out while smoking. Burnt to death. He’s a drinker and smoker like my mother.”

“My word,” Dobby said. “I wasn’t sure if I heard correctly.” She was definitely surprised about this. She took a large gulp of her mug.

“For some reason, Mother wanted to know if I’d had contact with Roger since we broke up. She said the police wanted to talk to him.” Lucy got quiet, sipped her drink now. Then she said, “It is a mystery why they think Roger would know anything about Mr. Edson’s death. He’s going to school in Denton.”

Again, Lucy seemed to become more in thought.

“Lucy. What are you thinking?” Dobby asked.

Lucy set her mug on the coffee table, turned to look to Dobby and wondered, “How much do we really know about someone? I mean, I never thought my parents would divorce. We never thought Papa would die. I still can’t believe Roger went to bed with a hooker.” Now Lucy screwed up her face and analogized, “Life is never what we think. But I really doubt … doubt that Roger would know anything about Mr. Edson’s death.” She shook her head and added, “I’m never going to tell my mother anything about Daniel, or any other boy.”

Lucy and Dobby just continued silently with their toddies.

****

Three days ago, a story came on the teletype in the Houston Post about a man’s burning death in Ft. Worth:

AP – UPI: Ft. Worth Star-Telegram -- On Thursday, February 20, 1969, Mr. Alfonso Edson was found burnt to death in his home in an affluent neighborhood in Ft. Worth. He was 61-years-old, had attended Arlington Heights High School, then attended Texas Christian University. He was a family man with two older children, however, divorced for 5 years.

His construction business has been involved in the building of many downtown projects and suburban developments in the Ft. Worth and Dallas areas.

The Ft. Worth Police are treating the death as suspicious. There was an oversized envelope with a large sum of partially burnt paper money near the body. They are still questioning neighbors, especially about a Chevrolet Corvair parked in the area with a University of North Texas parking sticker on the windshield.

Anyone with information should call the Ft. Worth Police Department.

*** With any mystery, a lot of the speculations can be what’s in the mind. My all-time favorite scary movie is “Rebecca,” a black and white movie by Alfred Hitchcock. No scary hobgoblins, no vampires, werewolves or zombies. To me, the mind can conjure things scarier than what can be shown in a movie. ***

Happy Halloween

Young Love #2

2016-10-17T11:07:00.001-04:00

A Time For Young Love

Part Two

That next day, after Lucy was out of school and not at work, Roger drove them in his Corvair to a parking spot by Bend Brook Lake, a large man-made lake. When they wanted more privacy, this was where they’d go.

Lucy was not happy, almost devastated. She had to tell Roger that her mother was explicit about returning his engagement ring. She took off the ring and sadly handed it to him.

“Why?” Roger cried out loudly. He took the ring, not knowing what else to do.

Lucy had begun to weep, as well, as she said, “She thinks … thinks we should wait. We’re too young.”

“We just want to be engaged. Nothing else right now.” Roger was very dismayed and angered. “When? When would we’d be old enough?” Roger covered his face with his hands and breathed heavily.

Lucy saw his resentment and realized that this was the first time he’d shown this emotion. It was the first time they had been placed in that situation. All because of her mother!

“I don’t know, Roger,” she shook her head. Now, she had the same anger – for her mother. “She believes we’re active – sexually. She doesn’t want me to be pregnant.” Now, she didn’t look at him.

He removed his hands, but still didn’t look at her and said, “Did you tell her again? Tell her no sex until after we were married?” Now, Roger had a damning tone to his voice toward Lucy.

“Of course, I did!” Lucy cried. “She doesn’t believe me. I don’t know why!” Lucy was more than hurt by Roger’s accusation. “Don’t you believe me?”

He was upset and angry. He still didn’t look at Lucy. His face was tinged with anguished red!

Lucy didn’t know what to do. All she did was sob into her hands and leaned against the passenger door window.

Sadness … sorrow … nothing but misery.

“I’m sorry, Roger! I never wanted this to happen!” Lucy did not know what to do, so she pleaded, “Please … please take me home.” Not that she wanted to go to her mother’s home, but where else could she go?

Then, gently, Roger pulled her to him, He hugged her to him – firmly and tenderly!

Lucy felt better in his arms and snuggled against his chest.

“I’m sorry … I’m sorry,” Lucy whimpered.

“Shhhh … I know, babe. I know. Not your fault,” Roger said sincerely. He always called her “babe” when he wanted to be gentle, like now. Then, he had her look him in his eyes and said, “Let’s do what she wants. Show her we are serious about our love. Once she really sees this, she’ll believe.” He gave her a soft, sweet smile and kissed her lips.

Now they were together -- still.

====

The weather had become cooler now for the season. Cooler in Ft. Worth, Texas. It had been a few weeks since Lucy gave back the engagement ring.

Roger and Lucy had spoken to Lucy’s mother again, but not about marriage. About college. Again, her mother was not cooperative, not agreeable. They didn’t know what to do. However, they continued to date, see each other. Her mother continued to make dates for her. Dates Lucy didn’t want to go on with boys for which she had no desire. This was Lucy’s continued problem with her mother.

Roger continued his studies and to work at the hamburger place but as an assistant manager. Those plans of his still remained.

Next year, Roger wanted to go to the University of North Texas, an affordable state university. It was in Denton just north of Ft. Worth. Lucy could go there also, to study her journalism major. This was how they would continue with some of their plans.

Where Roger had lived since birth was in an old neighborhood – houses in the 1930s or 1940s – tree lined streets. Like where Lucy lived, as well. The driveways were narrow for only one car. Other cars would park on the street.

This was Wednesday and Roger had the day off from work and there were no classes at the college. He was at his parent’s home with papers strewn all over the dining table. This paperwork was so he could transfer to North Texas.

The paperwork was somewhat tedious, but he felt he could complete the necessary forms in a timely manner. At the dining table, he sat and worked diligently on the forms.

Then the doorbell sounded with its traditional ding-dong. It only took a moment for him to remember that he was alone, so he went to answer the door.

“Mrs. Coleridge … Mr. Edson,” Roger said surprised, as he opened the heavy door. He couldn’t believe that those people were at the door. He rarely said Lucy’s mother’s last name. Mostly he’d say ‘ma’am’ – yes, ma’am, no ma’am, thank you, ma’am. He allowed them inside and politely confessed, “My mother and father aren’t home. They won’t be home until later.”

Mrs. Coleridge was nicely dressed in a skirt and jacket suit in mauve color, black pumps and a black mid-calf, material coat. It was cool today. Mr. Edson was in a business suit of dark gray wool and brown wingtip shoes. No overcoat, though.

Mr. Edson spoke first with, “We’re here to see you, Roger.”

“Me?” Roger inquired calmly, albeit baffled.

“Yes,” Mr. Edson said.

“May we come in?” Lucy’s mother asked. Her voice tone was not overly pleasant.

Roger opened the door more to allow them inside. With a hand gesture, he bade them sit on the sofa and then offered, “Would you like something to drink? Coffee? Water? My parents don’t keep alcohol in the house or I’d offer it.”

“No thank you,” Mr. Edson said. “No problem.”

Then to Mrs. Coleridge, Roger asked politely, “May I take your coat?”

“No Roger. We won’t be her long,” she said.

Now Roger felt a wave of anxiety or fear that rested in his chest.

“Have a seat,” she insisted to the young man.

“What’s wrong?” he dismally asked. He could only wonder what was wrong – what was going to happen! He sat on the chair across from them.

“Roger … you are what’s wrong,” Mrs. Coleridge began. “You are confusing my daughter. Her future is being messed up by you. She doesn’t want to go to North Texas, she wants to go to Texas Christian U. A better university!” The woman’s voice began to become more irritated toward this boy, but she rather digressed. Her voice mellowed, a bit, as she continued, “Her grandparents – my parents – are paying for her to go to TCU.”

“Mrs. Coleridge!” Roger tried to speak, had become confused and overwhelmed by all of this.

“Not the University of North Texas. And, she really doesn’t want to marry you. Don’t you want her to be happy?”

“Of course I do, but ….”

“But, she is just retaliating against her father for marrying that woman. I will not allow ….”

“How old are you now?” Mr. Edson jumped in now with a man’s argument.

Roger hesitated a bit, then said, “Nineteen. Why?” He was dazed. He had never been berated by any adult like this ever!

“How old is Lucy?” Mr. Edson asked him.

“Seventeen. You know her birthday is in three months.”

“Seventeen.” Mr. Edson looked defiantly at Roger and declared, “With your age, she’s a minor. You’re an adult.”

“We haven’t had sex!” Roger loudly demanded. He knew what was coming next.

“Maybe not, but she is still a minor. Her mother wants you to stop seeing her daughter – a minor.”

Roger spouted, “What are you getting at, Mr. Edson?”

Mr. Edson looked Roger in the eyes and said specifically, “Have you ever heard of ‘statutory rape?’”

Roger knew the word. He couldn’t understand why that would apply to him. Everything they did was consensual. That term was more familiar to him. They hugged, kissed touched – nothing more!

“Lucy is too young to give her consent for what you want,” Mrs. Coleridge demanded.

Roger was stunned, dumbfounded. He knew these people didn’t like him, but he had never been rude or spoken disrespectfully to either of them!

“All I’ve wanted is to love Lucy, make her happy and have a future with her. We both want the same things.” He looked them in their eyes and saw irritation with Mrs. Coleridge and a smirk from Mr. Edson.

“If you don’t stop seeing my daughter, I will tell your parents what I think you’re doing. I’ll have you arrested for statutory rape. I have a very good lawyer,” Mrs. Coleridge insisted.

Now, Roger was decimated. This was the most distressing

thing in his life. He wanted to cry – wanted to strike out – to run and hide under his bed! But he couldn’t do a damn thing. He just sat glued in his chair unable to move.

“Break-up with Lucy,” Mr. Edson said. “You’re smart, you’ll come up with something.” Mr. Edson was deadpan, no emotion.

The two monsters that passed themselves off as well-meaning adults stood, went to the door and let themselves out. Of course, they closed the door behind them.

He remained in the chair. Just sat and stared … stared at nothing. Decided he wanted a drink of water. His mouth was dry, very dry. Stood from the chair – but fell to his knees! His knees were weak. His fall made his hands go in front of him to catch him from falling more. Then he fell to his side, then to his back, then he cried like a baby! Loud howls!

At this point, he didn’t care who heard. Didn’t care … didn’t care.

He hadn’t cried like this since he was in grade school. He still cried, but no howls, no sobs. The tears continued, but now he was able to stand on the floor. Went to the kitchen sink to pour a glass of water. The tears had subsided.

He took a few gulps of water. Looked out of the window over the sink. His mother still hung laundry on the outside clothesline. There was a slight breeze that made the dry clothes flutter on the line.

At that moment, he hated his mother for invading his conscious thoughts. He hated all mothers now! A mother wanted him to break-up with the love of his life. His Lucy!

Why did Mrs. Coleridge and Mr. Edson hate him so much? Why?

Roger’s thoughts:

“She’s not my mother. He’s not my father. They aren’t my family. Does that woman want to have me arrested? Arrested for statutory rape! How can they do that? So, they have a lawyer – so what? I don’t know anything about the law. I should call Lucy and tell her what her mother has done. What her mother wants to be done.” Other thoughts came to mind. “Could Lucy become like her mother – a witch? Years later, could Lucy be witchy? Witchy Lucy. Maybe this was good to see. See what love meant to that family.”

He was so depressed! He had plans for his life. His plans were supposed to include Lucy. However, getting arrested would be the worst.

Roger developed tears again.

====

Lucy was off her job for this Friday. She really liked her job but wanted to meet Roger for their date. They hadn’t spoken for several days, he had been working more hours at the hamburger place, so he told her, and doing the paperwork to transfer to North Texas. He needed to meet with people at the community college to get signatures and other items. She knew he was excited about the transfer and so was she.

Unfortunately, Lucy wasn’t able to get him on the phone. His mother or father would answer, say he wasn’t home, how busy he was and take a message. She was a little sad that she couldn’t talk to him or see him, but she understood.

Actually, her mother had been different over the last few days. When Lucy brought up about how busy Roger was with work, she seemed pleased for him. Wasn’t snide toward him. Lucy felt that her mother had a new attitude toward Roger. Maybe she had come to her senses.

Finally, he called her and set the date. No matter, Lucy was ecstatic about this date!

She was driven home from her work by a girlfriend. She just wanted to change from her school/work attire to a dress that she liked for this movie date. She always liked to look special for Roger. Even for movies. Also, she wanted to spritz on the perfume Roger really liked.

Her mother was picked up by Mr. Edson because they had a date, an early date. Her mother’s car was in the driveway waiting for Lucy.

When he called to make the date, Roger explained that he couldn’t drive to get her because his car was in the shop. Nothing major, just regular maintenance. So she drove to his house.

When she rounded the corner to Roger’s house, she noticed his cousin’s car was parked out front on the street. Dale, his cousin, was a year older than Roger. He was a nice guy who worked in a hardware store.

Many times, Lucy and Roger would double-date with Dale and his girlfriend, Kathy. Dale and Kathy were engaged, planned to marry in six months. Nothing had been mentioned about a double-date tonight, but that was all right. This would be fun.

There were no other cars at the house – Roger’s parents must not be home, Lucy decided. So she went to the door and rang the bell.

Roger opened the door and had a wide grin, but didn’t say anything – didn’t kiss her either. Roger and Dale stood in the living room.

“Is Kathy here?” Lucy asked Dale. She smiled nicely. Then she noticed Roger’s expression. “What’s up?” she asked.

Then Roger began to laugh raucously! Dale laughed but not as loudly.

Lucy giggled and inquired, “What’s so funny?”

“I can’t tell you,” Roger said. He laughed louder. And Dale merely snickered.

Lucy became as giddy as the guys and repeated, “What’s so funny?”

Then Roger calmed a bit and said, “I had the best afternoon I’ve ever had. Best for a man!” He went whew a few times like he was still out of breath.

“The best,” Dale played along, but not as silly.

“What does that mean?” Lucy queried. “Best of what?”

“Lucy, what do men want?” Roger looked at her like she was dense.

“I’m gonna get it every day in six months.” Dale picked up on his cousin’s meaning.

Now Lucy was speechless, dumbfounded. She wasn’t dense, but if Roger really meant what she thought … she would be hurt beyond any words she had.

“You had sex? Did you really have sex?”

“The best … the best,” Roger smiled wide again.

“Why couldn’t you wait? Couldn’t you wait?” Lucy was wide-eyed and numb.

“Lucy, did you really want me to wait as long as your mother would want?” Roger laughed again and informed, “Babe, I doubt if you’d ever give me sex the way that woman did.” He rolled his eyes and grinned again.

“A woman. A prostitute?”

“Oh, babe …” Roger sat on the sofa with his legs apart and rubbed his hand rhythmically over his crotch.

Lucy could not take it any longer! She ran out of that house!

After she left, Roger continued to sit on the sofa, but with his legs closed now. No laughing, no teasing, no rubbing. His head was back against the sofa – he looked to the ceiling.

“It took you long enough to dump that goody-two-shoes,” Dale congratulated.

“Is that what you think? That I wanted to do that?” Roger lifted his head to look at his cousin. “Do you think I had sex with a prostitute? You have no idea what this was about.”

Now Roger sat with his elbows on his thighs and his face in his hands and cried the tears of despair.

====

Lucy drove the car back home. She had tears that made it hard to see, but she drove.

Lucy’s thoughts:

“What did I do? Why did he do this? Did he really mean to hurt me like this? He’s barely a man. Did he go with a hooker to break-up with me? How revolting! He knew how this would affect me! Well, he did the right thing!”

She was in the driveway at her mother’s house and just sat there. Numbed, dazed.

Lucy’s life was changed in a heartbeat.

=== To Be Continued ===

Young Love

2016-10-05T12:09:00.001-04:00

*** Daniel and I are happily married for three months now. Of course, we’ve lived together for 13 years. Because of our happiness, I was reminded of a time when the idea of marriage was taboo. Like for a teenage girl in 1967. This story is about me, but more about a girl I had known with her dilemma. What a difference 50 years can make! ***

A Time for Young Love

Part One

It was 1967. Music by The Beatles, The Rolling Stones, The Doors, Simon and Garfunkel, Bob Dylan and much more that influenced this era. Lucy had been dating Roger since the mid-summer. They were very much in love.

Lucy was 17, two years younger than Roger. He was attending Community College. She was still in High School.

Roger had lived in Ft. Worth, Texas all his life. Lucy had recently moved to Ft. Worth with her mother, who was now divorced from her father. Her maternal grandparents lived here, also.

Before moving more inward to Ft. Worth, Lucy had lived in an average coastal city on the Texas Gulf Coast where she had lived with her mother and father.

Because of the divorce, it was not a pleasant time until Lucy met Roger.

They had met through mutual friends. It was after school one day, before the end of her junior year. Lucy and two other girls went to a hamburger joint, where they had been a few times. Actually, they stopped for milkshakes, a great place for hamburgers and shakes.

The girls were giggling and talking, as teenage girls did. The one girl Lucy had become very friendly with pointed to one of the fellows behind the counter and said, “See that guy?”

“Yeah,” Lucy acknowledged. “Why?”

“He’s been our friend in band. He’s already in college. Would you go out with him? He really thinks you’re cute,” her friend encouraged. “I think you’ll like him. He’s smart, like you.”

Lucy tried to look at this boy without staring at him.

Like the other counter workers, the boys, he wore black trousers, a white shirt, a yellow apron and a white hat that looked like the summer hats for the cadets at Texas A&M. The boy wasn’t tall – maybe only an inch or two taller than her 5’2”. Rather slender in build, but a nice face. A sincere face. What hair she could see was blondish and his eyes were a darkish blue. Darker than hers.

She said to her friend, “Okay. Yeah. I’ll go out with him. What’s his name? What instrument did he play?”

“Roger. He played the flute. I’ll give him your phone number.”

The girls left with their milkshakes.

===

Lucy was afraid to talk to this boy. He was in college, he might not think that she would be up to him.

The next day, though, Lucy got the phone call from Roger. She had the phone in her room via the long cord from the living room. A little privacy. An affable call, but a short call. He asked if he could take her to lunch soon.

“What food do you like?” Roger asked.

“It would be better to tell you the foods I don’t like. A shorter list,” Lucy snickered.

“Okay, what are they?”

“Liver, in any way, and collard greens. Yuk! I really hope those aren’t your favorites,” Lucy said.

There was a brief silence, so Lucy asked, “Roger – are you there?”

“No liver? Really?” Roger teased. After a moment, he let out with a big laugh, which really broke the ice for them.

They decided on seafood. She loved seafood, of which Roger wasn’t all that familiar with. He would give it a try, though.

After that luncheon, Roger and Lucy became a steady couple. Roger acquired a taste for seafood, as well. They went to movies, to other restaurants and to plays and classic music concerts. Lucy really enjoyed the plays. And, they sat many times on her mother’s porch to drink Dr. Pepper and to talk. Just talk.

Their relationship flourished! As said earlier, they fell in love!

===

Then, the summer vacation had ended. It was the beginning of Lucy’s senior year. This was the down slide of 1967, on its way to 1968. To approached graduation. Time for life decisions.

Lucy’s mother kept trying to get her to go out with other boys – whose families had money. She managed to manipulate those “dates.” But these guys were nothing like Roger!

One of these boys was a drinker. From a wealthy familiar, but Lucy couldn’t stand the rich boy! Her mother got so angry at her when she refused to go out with the boy.

There were a few brew-ha-has between mother and daughter, but they managed to move on, not stay angry.

====

According to the school she had transferred to in Ft. Worth, she learned that she could graduate six months early, like in December. This really intrigued Lucy. She really liked going to school, but was more than ready to become an adult, to progress.

Then the “M” word came up for Roger and Lucy. Marriage. Were they ready to marry? Yes, they were. With their hopes and desires, Roger gave her a very lovely engagement ring. Not an ostentation diamond, but lovely. They felt they were doing the right thing. Especially to talk to her mother and Roger’s parent’s, in turn.

Roger was already in college and she could go to the same community college. Part-time college for both of them.

Lucy had a part-time job at the Ft. Worth Star-Telegram newspaper, the rival to the Dallas Morning News, in Dallas. Her mother got the job for her from a one-time school chum of hers. An editor at the Star-Telegram.

She wanted Lucy to go to TCU – Texas Christian University – where she had gone, but hadn’t graduated. She had married instead – helped her husband to get his degree. Her mother was emphatic that Lucy would NOT follow in her mother’s footsteps. Wanted her daughter to do better.

For his contribution, Roger was already in the works for management with the hamburger place. More money for him – and Lucy. As yet, Roger hadn’t chosen a college major or career.

If Lucy decided to stay with the newspaper, he would be very glad to support her in that job and career. She could be a reporter, a copywriter. He was proud of her newspaper position, even though it was only as a copygirl -- tore stories as they came in on the teletype machines to distribute the stories to the various editors.

Unfortunately, Lucy’s main concern was about her mother’s social problem. She was a functional alcoholic – the kind that could hold a job … sort of. Lucy had read about this kind of alcoholism in an article in Reader’s Digest. She knew that was the main reason her father had divorced his wife – plus, he had a woman he was interested in. He and the woman married not long after the divorce.

When Lucy’s mother would drink too much, and get on the subject of how horrible “that man” had treated her, Mom felt that Lucy didn’t understand or wouldn’t understand. Mom would get angry with her, which could be often. Lucy would go for a long walk in the hopes that Mr. Edson, her mother’s boyfriend, would come to calm her down. Mother would always call him.

A nice man and rich. Lucy couldn’t understand why her mother wouldn’t marry him and leave her alone with Roger.

Her mother could be lucid, easy to be with. However of late, she would berate her about Roger – about getting too serious, too quickly. That Lucy could do better than a boy who worked at a hamburger joint and went to a community college.

Well, no matter, the young couple decided to talk to her mother. They chose a day right after she got home from work.

Once, her mother made her vodka highball, sat in her overstuffed living room chair with her feet in her slippers on the ottoman, and lighted a cigarette she would be ready to listen to anything. Almost anything.

And, Roger was right on cue. Lucy opened the door to him. The young couple sat on the near sofa to face her.

“Mom … Roger and I want to talk to you about our plans,” Lucy began.

But Mom looked at her hand and asked, “What’s that on your finger?”

“An engagement ring, Mom,” she calmly answered. She held her hand out so Mom could see how pretty it was.

Mom leaned closer to really look at the bauble. After looking at the ring, she relaxed back in her chair, took a drag off her cigarette and commented, in her way, “Kind of a small diamond.”

Lucy knew what her mother was doing, so she decided to ignore her mom’s tripe.

Roger and Lucy began their orchestrated arguments for why they wanted to marry. Of course, Mom asked if Lucy was pregnant, which Lucy was not. College and education for both of them were their key subjects … and to work. They would not expect money from her or Roger’s parents. They saved the argument that they loved each other to the last, which they did.

Mom had finished the highball, snuffed her burned up cigarette in the ashtray, stood from her chair to go to the kitchen to make another drink. No yelling or harsh berating, as she returned to her chair with her refreshed glass and lighted another cigarette.

“You both believe you’ve figured everything out,” Mom said. “What about insurance? Especially health insurance.”

Roger spoke up, “I have insurance through the college. When we’re married, I can include Lucy or she can get insurance after she’s enrolled.”

“Where will you live?” she questioned.

“I found a small apartment,” Lucy answered, “above a garage two blocks from here. The woman was very nice and understood we are young, but responsible.”

Mom nodded her head – frowned a bit, but didn’t go into a tirade. “Let me think about all of this,” was all she said.

Roger and Lucy calmly left her mother to mull everything over. They got in his 1964 Chevrolet Corvair to just drive around. No conversation, just together. They stopped on West 7^th Avenue, on a little hill, where they could park to look to Ft. Worth’s downtown. A nice and somewhat romantic view, especially as the sun began to set behind them. The downtown lights began to twinkle. A popular place just to sit to see the view, talk or kiss. The Cops usually left the teenagers alone.

“What do you think?” Roger finally asked. He looked through the windshield, not at her.

“I don’t know. She was hard to read,” Lucy quietly replied. She didn’t look at him either.

He took her hand to admire the ring he had given her. “Do you think she liked the ring?” He lovingly pressed her opened hand to his cheek.

Now, she looked at him. Love swelled in her chest. She scooted to sit closer to him, rested her head on his shoulder. Their arms were around each other.

“I don’t know, Roger.” Lucy gave a heavy sigh.

====

Their talk on this evening had been more of their future. They hoped that Lucy’s mother was on their side, so they could next go to Roger’s parents.

When Roger took Lucy home, after a few parting kisses and hugs, Roger went to his parent’s home.

Once inside her home, she knew her mother was not at home. Probably with Mr. Edson.

Lucy slept all right, but somewhat edgy. Some minor demons poked into her dreams. She awoke and felt good, in spite of the dreams. The morning was bright and comfortably warm. Still good weather before the cooler Fall weather in northern Texas.

She sat on the side of her bed in her flowered cotton nightgown. Her awaken mind went over what she would wear for school today.

Then, there was a tap at her door as her mother gently opened it.

“Good morning,” Lucy nicely said to her. Her full-sized bed was near to the door. Not a large room.

Her mother’s face was neither happy nor angry. A mother’s face. She stood in the doorway in her slippers and long, pale blue robe. Slightly leaned against the doorjamb with her arms folded defensibly.

She spoke, “Honey, I thought about all you and Roger said. You seem determined.” She paused, then continued, “I have to ask again … are you pregnant? Are you and Roger sexually active?”

Lucy was irritated by this again assumption.

“No, Mother. To both questions. When we have sex, it will be after we’re married. Only then!” She really hoped her mother would believe her honesty.

Mom remained by the door, but then she casually turned to sit beside her daughter on the bedside. She took her hand with the ring and said, “Honey, that ring says – to me – that you are committed to Roger. No one else has a chance. Is that the message you want to send?”

Lucy took her hand from her mother, then said, “We are committed to each other. That’s the only message.”

“Look … why don’t you take more time, give the ring back for now. You could change your mind about Roger.” Her mother gave a tight smile.

“No, Mom. I won’t,” Lucy said defiantly.

“You are so obstinate!” Now her mom stood again and turned to look at her. “You are both too young. I don’t want you to make the same mistakes I did.” She wasn’t yelling, but she was firm.

Lucy was adamant in her attitude, as she fought back with, “You mean because you married Dad so young.”

Her mother seethed to her and put her right hand out to slap her daughter’s face.

Lucy was astonished at her mother’s slap! She moved immediately to the other side of the bed, to distant any other aggression.

Her mother just stood with the eyes of peevishness at her daughter and said, “Get dressed for school. Give that … that ring back to Roger. We’ll talk later.”

Lucy was hurt, but not from the slap. She could not understand why her mother could be so hateful.

=== To be continued ===

Vintage Love

2016-08-12T13:10:00.002-04:00

Vintage Love

The Wedding Day

B.D. Adams

For those who have read the Posts and Stories on this Blog, I have written about Daniel, my long-time boyfriend. The fellow who has a 1937 Plymouth Sedan with a 331 HEMI engine. The Sedan and I are the joys of his life. That was proved on July 23, 2016.

Daniel and I got hitched, tied the knot, jumped the broomstick. In other words, we married!!!! Happily married with many friends, neighbors and family to witness the event.

The photos will show the nervous moments, the exchange of rings, the relief of the completion and the reception.

Wedding Arch with seats

Brandy the Bride

Daniel the Groom

Arty (Best Man) & Linda (Matron of Honor)

Guests arrive and sign the book.

Wedding Party getting ready to go to the ceremony arch.

The musicians played before and after the ceremony.

Seating in Gazebo for ceremony.

Amy Cann, the Justice of the Peace, awaits the Wedding Party.

We are at the Arch, listening to Amy's word for our wedding.

May we have the rings, please.

The Kiss of Devotion!

The guests applaud, especially Daniel's son.

Daniel and I leave the marriage stage to be congratulated by friends and family!

Kissing at the reception!

Guests partake of the very tasty buffet!!

Arty, the Best Man, gives his toast to the Bride and Groom and the guests!

Linda, the Matron of Honor, gave her toast to the Bride and Groom and the guests!

Many hugs and kisses and well-wishing.

Daniel and his son, Daniel.

Wonderful friends at the Bridal Table!

All the following photos are of the guests enjoying the reception.

Several tables, many friends!!

Wedding Cake

Cutting the cake.

Feeding each other some cake.

Jenn & Daniel, the Groom's Son & Daughter-in-law.

Jenn helps with the additional cakes.

Isaiah, my grandson, without his tie.

Isaiah sampling the icing on the white cake.

Liza, Isaiah's mom, tells him no. Not a popular suggestion.

Liza is my son's wife and my grandson's mother. My son, Jacob, is a Forest Fire Fighter in California. Mostly in Los Angeles County. Unfortunately, Jacob's supervisor could not give him the time to come east because of he horrendous number of fires. I was so happy Liza was able to bring her family and Isaiah to our wedding.

My extended family.

Zayda (one of Liza's sisters), Liza, Blanca (Liza's mother), Esly (Liza's daughter from a previous relationship. Least, but in no way last, Isaiah -- the 3 1/2 year-old whirlwind.

Our family group, which included Sasha, our furry kid. Daniel, the son, was off playing horseshoes, had no idea of this photo-op. We don't even know if he won.

This wedding was the kind I had always envisioned -- a garden wedding with family and friends, and live acoustic music!! And, really good food. The other wonderful part about the wedding was that Daniel, the father, wanted the same kind of wedding. Designed by us for the life we had already begun to travel. We look forward for many more miles on roads yet to travel.

Keep Smiling and Cruising!!!

Photos by Dave Candage

Vintage Love

2016-08-12T13:10:00.000-04:00

Vintage Love

The Wedding Day

B.D. Adams

Daniel and I got hitched, tied the knot, jumped the broomstick. In other words, we married!!!! Happily married with many friends, neighbors and family to witness the event.

The photos will show the nervous moments, the exchange of rings, the relief of the completion and the reception.

Wedding Arch with seats

Brandy the Bride

Daniel the Groom

Arty (Best Man) & Linda (Matron of Honor)

Guests arrive and sign the book.

Wedding Party getting ready to go to the ceremony arch.

The musicians played before and after the ceremony.

Seating in Gazebo for ceremony.

Amy Cann, the Justice of the Peace, awaits the Wedding Party.

We are at the Arch, listening to Amy's word for our wedding.

May we have the rings, please.

The Kiss of Devotion!

The guests applaud, especially Daniel's son.

Daniel and I leave the marriage stage to be congratulated by friends and family!

Kissing at the reception!

Guests partake of the very tasty buffet!!

Arty, the Best Man, gives his toast to the Bride and Groom and the guests!

Linda, the Matron of Honor, gave her toast to the Bride and Groom and the guests!

Many hugs and kisses and well-wishing.

Daniel and his son, Daniel.

Wonderful friends at the Bridal Table!

All the following photos are of the guests enjoying the reception.

Several tables, many friends!!

Wedding Cake

Cutting the cake.

Feeding each other some cake.

Jenn & Daniel, the Groom's Son & Daughter-in-law.

Jenn helps with the additional cakes.

Isaiah, my grandson, without his tie.

Isaiah sampling the icing on the white cake.

Liza, Isaiah's mom, tells him no. Not a popular suggestion.

My extended family.

Zayda (one of Liza's sisters), Liza, Blanca (Liza's mother), Esly (Liza's daughter from a previous relationship. Least, but in no way last, Isaiah -- the 3 1/2 year-old whirlwind.

Our family group, which included Sasha, our furry kid. Daniel, the son, was off playing horseshoes, had no idea of this photo-op. We don't even know if he won.

Keep Smiling and Cruising!!!

Wedding Poem

2016-07-24T05:38:00.000-04:00

After several years of co-inhabiting, my boyfriend and I decided to bite the bullet and marry, legally. We had a Garden Wedding in our backyard. In another Post, I'll show photos taken that day. The day was ideal until my old friend, Mother Nature, decided to remind me that she was still the boss of weather. She did allow for the ceremony and most of the reception to be rain-free. In any event, the event was sweet with many of our guests who braved the shower and enjoyed the food and drink.

The poem below is the toast I wrote to my husband. Cheers!!!!!

Vintage Love

by B.D. Adams

There once was a woman from Ohio,

who decided to go on the road.

Needed a change of scenery,

for any change she was so ready.

She needed a change in her being,

A new island for her waning energy.

So, the woman from Ohio soared freely

to New Hampshire, quite happy.

Trees of beauty, trees that would sway

with blue skies, mountains and lakes.

Of artists and writers – on a very realistic stage.

Ahhh … the place for patient old age!

Then with no intention, she met at a life’s

corner, a fellow who was as blithe.

Her time became entwined with his;

both sought their idea of bliss,

They laughed, dined and learned that time

can go forward to joyful days, as in rhyme.

On this warm, balmy day, the couple had eyes

of passion, with some joyful tears to arise.

Today they went to their islands of change,

with hearts of truth, in the neared era of age.

To follow their oath, with the song of a dove,

To live happily in vintage love!

First, there were none,

Then there were two,

Now there is one ---

Both me and you.

Bridge -- Excerpt

2016-06-22T06:52:00.000-04:00

To Cross That Bridge

An Excerpt – Chapter VIII

B.D. Adams

This is an excerpt of my new novel.

Frank and Darcy had not really met. They had literally bumped into each other one night a few weeks before when Frank was horribly drunk. His live-in girlfriend had left him with no notice with his best friend to Los Angeles.

Frank had calmed from getting dumped by that girlfriend and figured he’d never see the woman he had bumped into again. Or would he?

Sam is his literary agent

Katherine is his ex-wife

The reception, given by the New York Publicity Club, was for new publicists/agents and authors and journalists to be introduced to the world. Everyone would “eyeball” everyone. To scope who could help the individual the best or from whom to steer clear. A special social event. Kind of like a Debutante Ball, if they were all young women. Frank sort of chuckled to himself.

He had declined to attend the last reception, his first invitation, because he was feverishly working on the completion of The Breath of Amour. Thought that was more important than sucking-up.

The reason for him to be at this soirée, at Sam’s insistence, was to show the powers-that-be that he was not a rude or crude writer. A nice guy, a congenial guy.

He considered asking Katherine to come along, but no. He had to do this without a woman at his side.

Sanchez turned right at 50^th Street, headed east to merge to the curb by the Rockefeller Plaza, so he could let his passenger out easily. Before leaving the car, he put the cap on again, and then held the door for Frank.

Frank donned his black movie-star sunglasses, as he exited the car. He had taken a ten-spot out of his wallet to tip the driver, but Sanchez declined and said, “No, sir. Sam has taken care of that. Really.” The driver gave a genuine smile, then added, “I’ll be back to pick you up.” He took a beeper device out of his coat pocket. “Just push that button. It’ll let me know you’re ready. Only be a moment to get you.”

Frank nodded, and then Sanchez hurriedly got back into the Cadillac and took off, so not to get a ticket. There were two Cops that stood and watched the cars and drivers, as well as the public.

The Plaza was roped off, for the Gold Carpet arrivals. Nothing like the Red Carpet events, but there were fans that stood by the roped off area. A few actually called his name.

A girl screamed, “Frank! I love you!”

Another girl kind of asked her friends, “Who’s that?”

“Frank Roselli! He wrote The Breath of Amour!” Now there were more giddy screeches from all the girls who clicked away with their camera-phones!

“Oh, my God – that’s him? He’s handsome!” Then the girl called, “We love your books, Frank -- you sexy man!”

Frank waved with a big grin. He even stopped to pose, sort of, to let the fans take their photos. That really helped his ego!

Inside, two elevators were assigned to take guests to the 67^th floor. Some other guests waited with him.

One of the elevator doors opened. A speed elevator lifted to the 67^th floor in a matter of moments. The doors opened.

Live jazz music (a quartet, complete with a baby-grand) greeted. Waiters and waitresses had trays with glasses of good champagne and tasty hors d’oeuvres that awaited the newcomers! A lot of talk and laughter could be heard, as well. There were two bars set up with anything anyone could want. And, free!! The Publicity Club must be doing really good to afford this spread in this room, Frank decided.

Sam saw Frank almost immediately.

“Ta-da … he has arrived,” Sam said exuberantly. They hugged briefly. “Really, Frank? Sandals?” he quietly commented. He gave a twitch of his mouth, then said, “Come with me. There are oodles to meet.” Sam was in his realm at these events. He always turned on his “feminine side,” not totally, but enough to make Frank worry, somewhat.

Some of the better known writers and journalists were there, like James Patterson, now a resident in Florida, John Grisham, a resident in Virginia, and Diane Sawyer and Brian Williams (recently reinstated with NBC) – and many others!

Sam had taken Frank to this publisher or that critic to shake hands. Also, he watched Frank’s alcohol intake, to make sure he wouldn’t take off his clothes here.

Frank talked with several other guests. Sam was right … this helped Frank out of his doldrums. More smiles and laughter.

Sam scurried to another group and left him with a couple he just met. Then, a familiar face a few feet away, looked to Frank and gave a smile. Katherine was here. He nonchalantly approached.

“What are you doing here?” he asked with his glad, easy face.

“Well, my boyfriend is a writer, believe it or not. Non-fiction. Oh, and I got a phone call about my bail refund. Thanks for show-ing up.” She gave her pleased face.

“Non-fiction, eh? Coming up in the world, are we,” Frank chuckled. “Where is the prodigy?”

“David, his name is David. He’s Jewish, so please be nice,” Katherine urged.

“Sweetheart, I’m always nice,” Frank stated, as he gave her a warm hug. He saw a guy toting a couple of scotch and sodas headed in their direction, who was probably David. About as tall as Frank, slender, short-cropped black hair, but no Yarmulke – the Jewish beanie. Might not be orthodox.

Frank wondered how his tolerance level would be toward her ex-husband.

David touched Katherine’s arm. She turned, smiled and took her drink from him, as she introduced, “David, this is my ex, Frank Roselli. Frank this is David Stenman.” Katherine took a sip of her drink then informed, “His first book just came out. He writes non-fiction.” She said the last bit as if that would impress Frank, a fiction writer.

“Dave … very nice to meet you. Did you enjoy the cottage? A shame the coffeemaker decided to quit.” Frank mustered the best smile he could and gave his hand to the other man.

David smiled the best smile he could give to this man, and informed, “David. As Katherine doesn’t like being called Kathy, I don’t go by Dave.”

The men shook hands. Almost like a stand-off. The parameters had been set.

“Hi, Katherine. Nice to see you,” Sam greeted with a smile and a kiss on her cheek. Frank was so glad that Sam came to his rescue.

“Sam, this is David Stenman, a non-fiction writer,” she informed.

“Nice to meet you, David. Uh, see that woman over there with the god-awful blood-red scarf? She is an agent for your genre. A very good one. You should talk to her, if you haven’t already.” Sam was always sincere about his information. Then, he excused him and Frank, as he steered them from the couple.

“Do you see that reporter over there?” Sam asked Frank.

As he sipped on a fresh tulip-flute of champagne, Frank looked in the direction Sam motioned. Then nodded and asked, “Who’s he?” He looked to all the other people near to the reporter, as well.

“He’s with The Times and rumors have it he might be taking the old man’s position, the paper’s literary critic. I’m trying to get ----,”

In all of a cryptic moment, Frank saw the woman photographer with the reporter. When she turned so he could see her face, without the camera in her face, Frank nearly fainted! She was that woman – blue eyes and all! The woman he had bumped into on the sidewalk at 10^th and Bleecker! He almost dropped his champagne.

“Frank – Frank? You all right?” Sam asked concerned. “What’s wrong? You look … a little peaked.”

“Sorry, Sam. Thought I saw someone I knew. Someone I did not want to see.” He gave a one-sided smile, then excused himself, “The johns are down that way … right?”

Sam nodded yes.

Frank nearly jogged to the restrooms. He gave an attendant the champagne glass, and then ducked into a stall and pulled down his pants. What else could he do?

Man, oh man, Frank silently sighed. He didn’t think she saw him. If she saw him, would she recognize him? He looked very different from that evening. If she recognized him, would she make a scene?

That drunken evening, she didn’t yell or scream for the police. She was angry with him, but didn’t act like a drama-queen.

It was her, he knew it was her. He could not remember everything about that night, but he definitely remembered that face with those beautiful blue eyes. In the room’s light, he saw her shoulder-length hair was dark auburn and styled softly around her face.

She was dressed for this vogueish affair in a fitted linen pantsuit with dark brown flats and nude hose. The sleeves of her jacket were rolled up like his were, and he could tell the jacket was over a cream colored, silk halter top. Not plunging, but a decent V to hint what was underneath. She was taller than what’s-her-name, maybe as tall as Katherine.

Maybe, he should just go out and man-up, take whatever consequence there might be. Okay? Okay!

He pulled up his trousers, flushed the empty toilet. Then, went back to Sam.

“No more booze for you, Frankie,” Sam said.

“Sam, this is a soirée. I’ll just stay with the champagne,” he said with a wide smile. He took a glass from a passing waiter with a full tray. “Now, where’s that reporter?”

No clue of what was going on with his writer, Sam proceeded to the reporter.

Frank was all smiles as Sam made the introductions.

“Stan Makruski, this is Frank Roselli, a hot property,” Sam proudly stated. He noticed that Frank purposely did not look directly at the woman photographer.

“It is a pleasure to finally meet you,” Stan said with a sincere face. “Uh, Frank or Mr. Roselli?”

“Frank is good. I am always appreciative and available to the members of the Fourth Estate. What can I do for you this evening,” Frank offered.

Fourth Estate? Sam knew that term – antiquated, but appropriate for a newspaper reporter. So, he just stood back to watch this new part of Frank’s persona. He wondered if Frank was drunker than he thought. Then, after a little more attention, Sam noticed how Frank shot glances at the woman photographer. Was she the one he “did not want to see?” He figured that Frank had seen that she was a nice looking woman, a nice looking woman with a real occupation. Not a measly secretary. Sam was pleased.

“This is my photographer, Darcy Darden,” Stan informed. “Do you mind, Frank?”

“Not at all,” Frank assured. “Darcy. Very good to meet you.” He held out his hand to shake hers.

Darcy readjusted the camera to take his hand. She had shaken several hands this evening. Finally, she really looked to this man, Frank Roselli.

“Very nice to …..” Darcy became astonished! She could not believe she was looking at the face of that asshole who bumped into her a few weeks ago. What should she do? She wanted to slap him, but she hadn’t slapped him when he grabbed her arm. She decided to just be cool -- don’t make a scene.

“Mr. Roselli,” was all she could say. Professional, but not flowery. She gave her hand, but not enthusiastically.

Stan kind of noticed Darcy’s reaction to this man, so he had to ask, “Do you two know each other?”

Almost simultaneously, they said, “No!”

With his reporter’s instinct, he knew they lied. Now, he wanted even more to get Darcy’s story. He decided he’d ask her later. Now, he began his questions for this author.

Article -- Hatred

2016-06-13T10:53:00.000-04:00

Deliver Us

By B.D. Adams

Hate – Hate – Hate!! Along with Stupidity!!

Of course, I hate. I hate being interrupted, I hate mosquitoes, I hate waiting in lines, I hated when my mom made me eat liver. We all have something we say we hate!!

One thing I truly hate more than anything is stupidity!!!!

A stupid thing, an oxymoron, I’d hear as a kid in Texas, was the phrase “to shoot fish in a barrel.” It meant that something was easy.

That could be translated to what Omar Mateen did.

He walked into a nightclub that welcomed people – human beings -- who weren’t much different from him in looks or desires. Everyone there still danced, hugged and talked with their old friends and new ones.

Horribly, Mateen began to shoot his fish. The nightclub was his barrel.

I haven’t heard, as yet, how he acted while he squeezed the AR15 trigger to murder 50 people and wound 53 others. Was he smiling or laughing or shouting profanities?

Oh, yes … I haven’t mentioned that Mateen HATED homosexuals. He chose the Pulse Nightclub, in Orlando FL, because the clientele was mostly gay/homosexual. He hated them so much he decided to rid, murder as many as he could at that nightclub. Perhaps he thought he was being nice to do his mayhem so near a hospital for the wounded.

Was this his source of fun? Some people have distorted views of fun. Like shooting fish in a barrel.

Am I gay? No, I’m not. However – like many heteros (not good grammar, I know) – I have had friends who were LGBT. And, as with friendships, people come and go – straight or gay.

Many years ago, I would go to a gay bar/nightclub with my boyfriend, at the time, and other friends. To dance, drink and eat whatever the bar offered. I never contracted HIV because I had those friendships.

See, you don’t get AIDS by being a friend. There’s that stupidity thing again.

There are still a frightening number of people who are so self-righteous in their beliefs. Whites who hate blacks – Blacks who hate whites – Catholics who hate Protestants. Men who hate women and still get married … and vice versus. And, not to be left out, straights who hate gays!!

Our country is becoming the melting pot of many negative issues. It’s like, “Go to America. Get a gun and go shoot whoever you want!”

Now we need to be afraid of going to movie theaters, concerts, schools/colleges or any other gathering for the fear who might be there to kill!

Fear of the unknown is bad enough.

I believe in the Constitution. The ideas were appropriate for the time it was ratified. Now, however, the 2^nd Amendment, and a few others, need major overhauls.

That young man had only bought his weapons a day or so before. Plus, he had been “watched” by the FBI. Hmmm (taps chin) … what does that tell us? He was watched while he bought an AR15 assault rifle?

The prayer goes, “Deliver us from Evil.” Would God be offended if we amended it to, “Deliver us from hate and stupidity.”

I feel the word evil has little meaning these days.

“What? What did you say?” Someone is whispering in my ear. “No, I’m not being stupid. Really!!!”

Med Article

2016-04-22T07:23:00.000-04:00

A Drug By Any Other Name

Not being someone who scrutinizes all items in her life, this tidbit managed to get my attention. This last week, I glimpsed something on a TV commercial that perked up my eyes!

As most people who know me know, I had a hemorrhagic stroke many years ago that has made me somewhat disabled on my right side.

No sympathy here, readers. This is part of this real story and just a fact.

One morning several years ago, when I was watching the Today Show, Katie Couric was interviewing a doctor about Over the Counter (OTC) drugs that would cause very high blood pressure and could cause heart attacks and … yes … could cause strokes. Cerebral Vascular Accident (CVA) -- hemorrhagic strokes, bleeding in the brain!

There were many OTC items shown on the table in front of Katie and the doctor. On the table, I saw there were a couple of things on the table that really made me take note of this interview. There were OTC diet pills. Supposedly, “safe” OTC diet pills, however they could cause very high blood pressure. The one brand I had taken was shown. It was made by the pharmaceutical house Novartis. I just wanted to lose a few pounds, so I bought and took this brand because I felt it would be all right. On the box and the sheet inside the box, nothing was listed about any horrible side effects like heart attack, stroke or death. If I would have seen that warning for this pill, I would not have taken it.

As it goes … buyer beware! When something is sold in a grocery store, wouldn’t it be deemed as safe for the public? Those pills were proven to cause extremely high blood pressure!

There was a trial, but the jury decided that the pill made by Novartis did not cause my stroke. There was testimony, by several medical witnesses, that showed the people at Novartis knew their pill was NOT safe. However, the jury believed the drug company.

A few years after the trial, it became known to me that Novartis had bought the rights to Excedrin, an OTC pain med I had taken for many years. A tablet was even used by the defendant lawyer at the trial to show, possibly, that I was “confused,” couldn’t tell one pill from another. Well, I shot that hypothesis full of holes.

The diet pill I had taken was very small and white, not cream colored. (It was proved a white pill had been made and distributed to the grocery store where I bought it.) The Excedrin tablet was much larger and had a green tint to it, like the green on the box. Since I had been a pro photographer before the stroke, I could see the subtle tints. I didn’t say what the defendant lawyer wanted me to say. She was flustered.

I decided that I would never take a medication manufactured by Novartis ever again. Small endeavor, but this was my way to boycott that company. The only way I would take any of their medications would be if IT was the ONLY medication that would save my life. But even then, I would balk – want other opinions.

Because of my boycott, I was forced to take generic brands of Excedrin. Plus, I made sure the generic tablets were NOT manufactured by Novartis, as well. I was amazed at how many medications -- brand or generic -- were made by such a dishonest, disreputable company.

Now, I read better all the items that might concern my health on WebMD or Google. Even with doctor prescribed medications. Like Estrogen, which I learned could cause stroke from blood clots. So, I declined the doctor.

I had even refused a prescribed med because the manufacturer was -- you guessed it -- Novartis. Then the pharmacies made note – nothing made by that company for this customer.

As I mentioned above, I noticed a television commercial about Excedrin recently. I had seen the new commercial only a couple times, but paid it no mind. Then, for whatever reason, I noticed a manufacturer’s logo in the upper right of the TV screen. It showed “GSK.” That meant GlaxoSmithKline pharmaceuticals, an English company. Novartis is European, but I have had no gripe with GSK.

Well, I did my research to see if Excedrin was indeed now being made by GSK and not Novartis. My research showed that GSK and Novartis had merged, but it appeared to me that Novartis was being phased out, possibly from the OTC meds and others.

If this is correct, I am elated! I can again take the Excedrin brand. I hope GSK is more honest and forthcoming than Novartis.

This article is not to bury anyone or over praise anyone. It is to act as a warning to the unsuspecting person who wants to take a medicine or is taking a medicine. I didn’t get stroked by the first pill. I took three pills, then I was blind-sided one afternoon. No warning, my right side stopped working. I spent two months in the hospital’s rehab center, however, I have progressed over the 18 years. I have had no other major malady such as heart attack, cancer or another stroke.

My advice to anyone is to research any medicine your doctor might prescribe or what is now being taken. Especially, if the side-effects have been more than “uncomfortable.”

There are many sayings like “Buyer beware” and “Different strokes for different folks.” Yep – in the pharmaceutical world these are true.

Book Excerpt

2016-03-25T06:02:00.000-04:00

This is an excerpt from my new book in progress. The title is "To Cross That Bridge" -- a romance/mystery. The main characters are Frank Roselli and Darcy Darden. They both live in New York City. Frank is an accomplished novelist, while Darcy is a rookie photographer with the New York Times. (FYI -- this is not the sequel after "Spider.") This story takes place after Frank and Darcy have met -- sort of. The woman in this excerpt is Katherine, Frank's ex-wife. She is a secondary character, but important to the story.

To Cross That Bridge
by
B.D. Adams - 2016

Chapter V
Excerpt

It was wicked late. Too, too late – or too early – depending.

“Ohhh,” he moaned. Frank’s head throbbed. He wanted some aspirins. Why couldn’t he get an aspirin? A lousy aspirin. And who were these bums and why couldn’t they shut-up, Frank asked to himself? Why was he dressed in an orange jumpsuit with orange flip-flops? There was sand on the flip-flops. Sand?

Now, he remembered. As he ran down the beach, he thought he was Ian Charleson as Eric Liddell in Chariots of Fire. However, with no clothes. What a vision that had to be, he mused with a small smile. Would this make the tabloids?

Then, Frank realized he must be in jail. Possibly a holding cell for drunks. Probably in the Suffolk County Police Department in West Babylon, NY. That was the jurisdiction for Oak Beach. He sat on a bench with a few bums with his back against the chain-linked fence wall. Had he been sleeping or just catatonic? There were many drunks in the cell. Was it a full moon, he wondered?

How could he get a damn aspirin? He knew he couldn’t yell – that would only anger the powers-that-be.

Now, he listened to the man near to him who thought he was a Shakespearean actor. If he began to spout Macbeth, Frank might become violent.

“Roselli!” a police guard loudly called out. All the other men tried to say they were the called Roselli. The guard held them off, as Frank rose from the bench to leave the others.

“Good night, sweet prince. Parting is such sweet sorrow,” Shakespeare babbled to Frank.

Frank wondered if the guy thought he was Juliette. That was really Juliette’s line. The guy was evidently drunker than Frank or was he an out of work actor or … who gave a rat’s ass.

He walked with the guard. No cuffs were put on his wrists or

ankles. They went into a small, brightly lit room with a table and two chairs and a long horizontal mirror on the wall near the door that reflected the entire room.

“Have a seat,” the guard instructed.

“Can I, please, get an aspirin?” Frank calmly pleaded.

The guard just gave a one-sided smile and left the room.

Frank sat in the chair that faced the mirror and looked around the room. No windows, the floor was dirty -- someone had puked in the corner to his left -- the air-conditioning was low, almost hot. He wondered what was going to happen to him.

Never had felt it before, but was he claustrophobic? He began to feel anxious in this undersized, windowless room.

“Come on guys, why won’t you give me an aspirin?” he asked out loud. He’d watched enough “cop shows” to know they have microphones in these places “Please.” Now, he was feeling worse. Wanted to cry, but manned up. Just took deep breaths.

Finally, he heard a noise with the door’s handle. It took a moment for someone to open the door.

“Here he is, ma’am,” the guard said as he held the door for someone.

There were feelings of relief and dread as Kathy was allowed in.

“Thank you, Officer,” she said. Her face did not look thankful.

As if his night could be any worse, she had to walk in. All Frank could do was bow his throbbing head. He was now mortified!

“I was called -- by Sam and the cops. I’ve been at the night court to pay your bail and fine!” She said as calmly as she could while she paced back and forth – that’s what she’d do when she was irritated.

“Kathy … I’m sorry ….”

“Sorry?” she blurted, “Sorry? Is that all you can say?”

What else could he say? She was there for him for which he was grateful.

She looked casually sweet in a calf-length skirt in pale, muted colors of mauve and purple, with cloth from India -- a sleeveless top of the same cloth as the skirt and dainty leather sandals. Her long brown hair was swept-up off her neck for the hot weather. She might have been on a date with the “canned bread” guy. Her make-up indicated this possibility. He wished she would have worn an outfit in black – like a Nun. That would have suited this situation.

“You are so going to owe me, Francis! I’ve had about all I can take of your childishness!” When she was really angry with him, she would call him Francis. “Where’s that bimbo of yours? Huh? She should be her. Is she in jail, too?” She stopped the pacing with her arms folded akimbo to stare and await his answer.

“Kathy –“

“Don’t call me ----!”

“Katherine!” he corrected as quickly as he could. “Katherine … she left me … for Jack! That’s where she is.”

She looked at Frank, blinked her eyes a few times to digest what he just said, then asked, “She’s with Jack? In Los Angeles? Now?”

“As far as I know,” Frank calmly said. He glanced to her face and saw that her expression had changed. Not that she was happy with him, but he saw more compassion than anger.

“Well, good riddance,” was all she said. “To both of them.” She didn’t like Jack.

Frank nodded his head.

She got quiet in thought – making her decisions. Then, suggested, “I know you were at the cottage. We’ll stay there – go back to the city by noon. I already arranged for someone to drive the Fiat back. You’ll just have to slum-it in my Mini-Cooper,” she said with no smile.

Frank nodded, and then asked, “Do you have any aspirin?”

====

Katherine gave him three aspirins when they got back to the cottage. Then Frank just fell into the bed – orange jumpsuit and all. He glimpsed that he should let her have the bed, but she went to lie on the sofa, as it remained a sofa, not a bed.

The bedside clock said it was 3:17a.m. They both just slept.

====

Frank woke before her. Nearly eleven o’clock. He showered and dressed in his cargo shorts and a white T-shirt. The jumpsuit and flip-flops were put into the garbage. Then, he took over the kitchen to begin breakfast; eggs, bacon and toast. Boiled water for the coffee bags. OJ was already poured in small glasses and on the table.

He noticed the Fiat was already gone from the driveway.

“You becoming domestic?” Katherine asked.

He had a small jump because she surprised him, but said, “The least I can do for you, Katherine.”

She stood by the short wall that divided the kitchen from the bathroom. The only attire difference from last night was her feet were without the sandals. Her long brown hair was not in the up-do, was over her shoulders.

He was still so wickedly attracted to her. Divorcing her was a mistake. He sighed quietly.

All they did was give calm expressions to each other. He continued with the breakfast while she went briefly into the bathroom.

Once the food was ready to partake, they sat across from each other at the small table, what they had done many times when they were married.

“I don’t know why she left me,” Frank began. Katherine gave him a curious look. “I figured I should say that before you asked.”

“Frank ….”

“No, Katherine. Let me finish.” He took a good sip of the orange juice. “You’re right. I’ve been childish. Not intentionally, but that’s the best description.” He scooped egg onto his fork, and then chewed.

“Frank, have I said, ‘I told you so?’” She continued to enjoy this breakfast.

He ate the last of the scrambled eggs on his plate, then shook his head and said, “No … not yet.” He gave a quirky smile.

She turned her head so he wouldn’t see her smile.

“Last night and the last few days, haven’t been “me.” I honestly had no idea why this made me a drunk, an asshole.”

“An asshole?” Katherine mused.

Frank nodded and added, “Someone called me that.”

“Who?”

“No one I knew. Just a woman walking on Bleecker Street.”

Now Katherine really frowned.

“She bumped into me at 10^th and Bleecker. I knew it was an accident, but … but it made me angry. And, yes … I had been drinking. I dropped the bottle of scotch I had bought. The bottle broke.” He sighed rather loudly and continued, “I think I yelled at her. Don’t know what I said, but she called me an asshole.”

“Did you touch her -- grab her?” Katherine asked, a bit surprised.

“No. Not really. Well … a little … an accident.”

“Had you ever seen her before?”

He shook his head, no.

“Well, you’ll probably never see her again.”

He nodded his head in agreement. For whatever reason, he neglected to mention that he followed the woman to her apartment on Bleecker. He decided that Katherine was right -- he'd never see her again. New York was a large city! Many, many people! What were the odds.

Their conversation ended. Katherine got up, gathered the used dishes to wash and dry, while Frank began to pack his duffle bag and laptop. Then he made the bed and went around to close and lock the windows and doors.

She wrapped a long Kelly-green scarf around her head to keep her hair from blowing everywhere, as she drove her dark green Mini-Cooper with the top down. They were quiet.

After just a moment, though, he did ask what happened to the coffeemaker.

Published Books

2016-03-05T08:41:00.000-05:00

B.D. Adams the Author

B.D. Adams

To my Blog Readers:

“The Spider Sat Beside Her” – suspense/thriller

“The Moon Cries Blue Tears --

Four Short Stories & A Novella” – thriller/eerie

Many may already know this, but for those who don’t know, I am now a published author with two books in print!

Both books are fiction, however, the first one is somewhat autobiographic. I am a stroke survivor of 18 years. The heroine is the same as me … a stroke survivor. The second book is a small collection of my short stories and a novella of strange and eerie material.

The following are the descriptions for my two books.

B.D. Adams – “The Spider Sat Beside Her” – A Novel

-- Description --

Liz Jacoby is a petite, single, 48 year old woman, who was a photographer and longtime resident of Columbus, OH. It is July. She is in the hospital’s rehab center to overcome a hemorrhagic stroke. She has to use a wheelchair, but her recovery has been rather routine, as well as tedious. Nothing an active, talented photographer would want any time.

Pete Young, a short, wiry, 45 year old man is the patient across the hall with an “accidental” gunshot wound and a mild concussion. In reality, he had been hired to kill a political city candidate and was shot by that target. This was his first messed up hit. A known thief, not a known hit man.

Liz overhears the argument Pete and Luke, his boss, have about why he was shot. Liz is convinced Pete is a hitman. Pete is certain that she heard their argument, so he begins to weave his web-of-doubt to play-up her stroke’s mental deficiency to the hospital’s staff.

The last thing on Liz’s mind is to deal with a hit man in the hospital. Her biggest question was who could she tell about Pete; who would believe her?

However, along with her medical concerns, her current life gives her a new boyfriend, Scott Warner, a Physical Therapy Intern. He began late to begin his Physical Therapy career; a little younger than Liz, but not that much.

Liz confides in Scott and knows he believes her because he tells his police detective friend of her dilemma with Pete. Liz is disabled, but she becomes a tenacious, gritty patient to deal with Pete’s mental torments. No matter, Liz is a survivor!

With emotional twists, a murder and a bit of romance, The Spider Sat Beside Her is riveting!

B.D. Adams – “The Moon Cries Blue Tears –

Four Short Stories and A Novella”

-- Description --

Short Stories and Novellas entice readers to go from one story to the next. To enjoy. To savor. That is every author’s hope. The hope for the conventional fiction writer.

However, for the unconventional, the author entreats the reader to read each story wide eyed with a fast beating heart – to be scared to death. Almost.

The Short Stories

“The Bum’s Rush” is a different handling of a werewolf story – not a man, but a savvy woman. “The Devil’s Axe” is about a young man who makes his unintentional bargain with the devil. “Checkmate” is how a young man meets a woman of indescribable beauty who only wants him for her breakfast. “The White Haired Man” appears to a construction supervisor in a forested area that causes the supervisor to question his sanity.

The Novella

“The Moon Cries Blue Tears”

This story involves Spencer Jamison, a vampire who has been a vampire since 1655, from England. The story is

present day, but with historic treatments of Spencer’s life.

To begin the story, Spencer is in North Carolina. It is almost the dark hour. His desire this evening is to meet a mortal woman who could become his companion, his lover. And with his luck, Spencer meets Cynthia. They are at an open-air amphitheater to enjoy a string quartet of classic music.

All seems to be in Spencer’s favor, until during the concert, he gets a cell phone buzz from someone he hadn’t heard from since his making!

Angus, his creator in 1655, contacts Spencer to warn him. He warns of a rogue vampire that wants to kill Spencer for ancient vampire reasons.

This book is about a werewolf, the devil, a ghost and vampires – Oh my. Enjoy, unless you’re too scared.

If so intrigued by these descriptions, please buy my Paperback Books or Kindle Books at Amazon –

“The Spider Sat Beside Her” --- and

“The Moon Cries Blue Tears”

Both by B.D. Adams. Enjoy reading!!!!

----- FYI ----

There is another author who has the Pen Name of B.D. Adams on Amazon. That title is “Three Days.” Definitely not one of my books or my genre.

A Partridge

2016-02-20T11:06:00.001-05:00

And a Partridge!

B.D. Adams

As Danny walked home from school in Rhode Island, this cold, January afternoon, he was moderately anticipating his birthday in a few weeks. He would become sixteen. Girls were “sweet sixteen.” What were boys? Sour Sixteen? He chuckled a little to himself.

He didn’t care what they called it as long as he got his mom’s birthday pie! Danny always asked for pie instead of cake. Her cakes were good, but he preferred pie – lemon meringue pie!

As he walked along with these thoughts, he drooled somewhat. He wiped his mouth with the back of his coat sleeve and softly smiled.

He always walked alone. His younger sisters would walk/ride with friends and his brothers were older and had jobs. Two worked with their father in the plastics business. The others had positions in different businesses. And, when not working, they were in the garage working on their Hot-Rods.

That was what Danny wanted – to be allowed to work on the Hot-Rods! He had a natural desire for that.

When Danny was about 50 yards from his porch, he noticed there was “something” on the porch. Something not usual. It was definitely not the stack of newspapers for his route.

When he was on the porch, he saw it was a bird, a bird larger than a dove, but much smaller than a hawk. It was dead.

Directly, he went inside to unload his books, took his coat off and warmed up a bit. As soon as he would enter the house, he could smell the tantalization aromas of what supper would be that evening. He smelled beef stew and fresh baked bread. His mom was in the kitchen, so he went to her.

“Hi, Mom,” Danny greeted warmer than his hands were, “Did you know there was a dead bird on the porch?”

“No. What kind is it?” she asked after she wiped her hands on a dish towel. “I thought I heard something on the porch, but I paid it no mind. Thought it was ice coming off the roof.” She hugged him and kissed his cheek. His mom still treated him as if he was a

preschooler.

He was glad she showed her love to him, but he was about to turn sixteen – he would be hanging more with his older brothers in the garage working on cars. They would now “allow” him more responsibility. That’s what he had prayed for every Sunday.

However, now he wanted to include his mom to check out this bird mystery!

“I don’t know. I came in to put up my books,” he admitted.

His mom grabbed her sweater as she followed him to the front door. Danny went out without a coat or sweater. He wanted to be tougher than his mother.

Once outside, by the bird, Danny knelt beside and cautiously turned it over. Mother and son investigated the very still and frozen bird. The bird was definitely dead.

“What do you think, Danny?” she queried.

He pulled open a wing and then said, “I think it’s a partridge, the quail family.” He had self-studied some about bird species or breeds of mammals. He was a hunter, but not an avid hunter.

“I’ll put it in a box and set it on the back porch. Ask Dad about it later.”

It didn’t take long, the bird was boxed and on the enclosed back porch. His mom went back to the kitchen.

Now, Danny had to hustle with his Paper-Route. He needed to get done before it got too dark!

===

After supper, Danny told his dad what was on the back porch.

His brother Bob, more curious than the other siblings, heard what Danny said to their dad. Dad followed his sons to see what was in the box on the back porch. They all knelt to the floor to better see inside the box.

Again with care, Danny showed the deceased bird.

All Bob said was, “Wow. Dead on the porch?”

“You want Mom to cook it?” his dad asked.

“Not big enough to eat. Do you think it’s a partridge? That’s what I think it is,” Danny offered.

His father nodded his head and confirmed, “That’s what it is.”

Danny was so pleased that he was correct. He felt even more adult. They went back inside.

Bob had seen the mystery and went somewhere else. Dad and Danny were back in the kitchen, so Dad inquired, “Well, Danny … what do you want to do with your partridge?”

His partridge? He really didn’t think of it as ‘his.’ “I dunno. What should I do? Bury it?”

His father now chuckled slightly and suggested, “You could have it stuffed. We could put it on a wall. Probably in your room. Mom wouldn’t allow it in the living room or the parlor.” He chuckled a little more at this thought.

Danny visualized the stuffed partridge on the wall in his room. It made him a little queasy – he remembered the movie, “Psycho.” Norman stuffed birds, which were seen in the little parlor of the motel’s office. Those thoughts didn’t last very long. Actually, he felt the poor bird deserved a nice, warm resting place.

“Thanks, Dad. I’d like that idea,” Danny commented with his smile.

===

Within a day or so, Danny’s dad found a taxidermist not far from them. So, on Saturday morning, Danny and his father went to this business.

This was the first time Danny had to talk serious with a businessman. He wasn’t comfortable with what he should say or do. Thank goodness his dad was with him.

“Yes, sir. I’m Raymond Tourigny and this is my son Daniel.” His father understood that this was new for his son. He treated his son with respect. After all, he called him Daniel, not Danny. “Go on … tell him what you want.”

Nervously, Danny related, “I found this partridge dead on our porch. I didn’t shoot it – no bullet hole,” Danny explained. “Can you make it look alive, natural?” He frowned slightly not sure of the correct wording.

The taxidermist gave an understanding smile and nodded as he listen to Danny. The fellow went to a bin of wood pieces and took one out and said, “Would this look all right to mount the partridge on?” He handed the piece so the younger Tourigny could agree or disagree.

Danny took it – felt the angular cut – looked at it in every angle. And then, approved.

Then, his father leaned to Danny and suggested, “Ask what the fee would be.”

Danny knew about wood, but had no idea about money except how to collect the money from his Paper-Route customers. So, he asked.

“Well, Daniel, you like the mounting wood piece. Hmmm.” The fellow rubbed his chin, and then asked, “Is anything important coming up for you?”

Danny hesitated, but answered, “My birthday’s in a week.”

“Well, how about $10. Is that too much?” The fellow smiled very widely to Danny.

Danny looked to his father, who gave his approval. His first business transaction was a success!!

When Daniel traveled overseas with the Air Force, the partridge was left in his father’s capable hands. Once back in The States, it has been in his homes.

Including where it resides now with us.

To Vote

2016-02-10T14:41:00.001-05:00

The Right to Vote

The day before the scheduled Presidential Primary here in New Hampshire, we were hit by a snow storm. Not much -- maybe 4”. No matter, that Tuesday morning was sunny with a new layer of snow. The roads had been plowed, so Daniel and I drove to vote in the Primary at our polling location for Alton/Alton Bay.

Voting is always a crap shoot. That means you never know who will be the winner until the votes are in. This candidate or that candidate did so well in the early campaigns. What happened? Well, it had to be because the candidates that got the voter’s nods did everything right. Or something like that.

There are so many reasons to say this was right or that was wrong, to point a finger or to cheer for a winner.

The Democrats had a narrower field than the Republicans did, without a doubt. The Republicans need to weed a few more candidates from their field … in my humble opinion.

The Right to Vote!! Awww, yes. Voting is a right and should never be taken lightly. To those who believe that it doesn’t matter, voting doesn’t matter, think again. Just remember your history classes – your 20^th Century world history classes!

If you’ve forgotten what you learned about WWII, here comes a brief reminder of Nazi Germany. From 1933 to 1945, Germany was under a fascist totalitarian state controlled by one man and one party – Adolph Hitler and the Nazi Party! The German citizens had given up their right to vote, gave it to Hitler. They thought he would lead them staunchly.

What a shame!

Once Hitler gained his autonomy to rule Germany and many other European countries, he was almost unstoppable! He used his heinous desire to rule unopposed. No political combatants – hence dictatorship. Anyone who opposed was shot on the streets or shipped to the concentration camps. Jews (mostly), Protestants, Catholics and even just regular Germans, those who opposed.

The German citizens gave up their right to vote, therefore, they had NO say in their lives or government. They should have studied the Roman Empire to get a clue.

Americans got bits and pieces of news of what the Nazis were doing from letters and some German newspapers smuggled to the U.S. However, those sources were quickly silenced. Then there was no news out of Germany. Only propaganda.

The citizens truly believed, in the beginning, that Hitler would be the leader they wanted. Little did they know – he would destroy their country!

Think, really think, how you’d feel about no voice, no recourse. If you can feel the destitution of this situation, then you can understand why The Vote is so precious in our lives! It is our right! One person, one vote!

Never be too busy to vote -- or worse, never think it doesn’t matter. If you don’t use it, you could lose it. Think about that.

We are The United States of America. Proud and unwavering in our politics and way of life. Use your vote proudly and with the meaning it was intended.

Look forward to November, dear readers!

We the People ……

Remembering David Bowie

2016-01-11T10:58:00.001-05:00

The Man with Two Different Eyes

I read the news today – January 11, 2016 -- that another creative artist has gone away. Gone away. I cannot bring myself to use the word … died. A very unusual person with one blue eye and one brown/hazel eye.

David Bowie – David Robert Jones – has left from beside us. The creator of Ziggy Stardust, of Space Oddity, of Changes, of Fame, or Ashes to Ashes of many, many musical compositions has left us. As with many people of the 1970s and 1980s, music was a big part of the world. If asked, you can probably say what music you remembered for any event.

My husband, son and me went to see Bowie’s Serious Moonlight Tour 1983, when we lived in Germany. Of course, I had bought the Let’s Dance album, so my son, only 7 years old, recognized the songs from the album and was enthralled with Bowie and the concert! It was his first Rock Concert, but in no way his only. I educated him well.

I realize that Bowie was not everyone’s “cup of tea,” but he was a musician of memorable songs. His announced bisexual behavior upset many people. However, he also said that that was more part of his made-up persona, not that important in his life.

When I was an impressionable teenager, The Beatles was one music group I listened to, as well as to the Rolling Stones when they jumped in. However, David Bowie was all by himself! Those of us now in our 60s and 70s will never forget his voice, forget his musical arrangements.

When I first heard Space Oddity, it was not just a hard hitting rock and roll piece with repeated lines. It had a hint of folk music (acoustic guitar), storytelling and current events. It grabbed me. And yes, a lot of his music was hard hitting, heart ponding rock and roll in his style, but most of his works were lyrical.

David Bowie was not a religious icon, but for the music world, he was an innovative music icon. Others have copied or emulated or imitated, but never surpassed.

If you have any Bowie music – vinyl, 8-track, cassette, CD or MP3 – put a record on the changer, insert an 8-track or cassette or CD into the player or dial up David Bowie’s music to pay homage to this music maker. Like Buddy Holly, Janis Joplin, Jim Morrison, John Lennon, Michael Jackson and so many others … the music never goes away.

CD Cover Graphic

Christmas 2015

2015-12-26T10:14:00.001-05:00

Christmas, by Any Other Memory …

Seriously – let me think. Christmas. This has been my 66^th Christmas. 66^th!! Wow – have I really managed to live this long? Amazing.

This 2015 Christmas has reminded me of the Christmas’ in southern Texas. Victoria, TX. A warm Christmas. Actually, rather cool by southern Texas standards. I believe yesterday – Christmas Day – the temp here in Alton, NH, was 54° on the thermometer on the north side of our house. My, my … mid-fifties in Alton, NH. On Christmas Day!!! And no snow, at all covering our roof and yards.

I remember when I got my first bicycle on Christmas. Such a thrill that was! Of course, it was warm. Rode my new bicycle all day with the other kids in the neighborhood. Ah, memories.

Do I remember EVERY Christmas? Heck no! My memory is still pretty good for my age and condition, but it is not a computer with storage chips.

As already mentioned, I remember when I got my first bicycle. I remember my first puppy, a Dachshund, a few years later. Another one was my first Christmas in Ohio. Mt. Sterling, OH.

Talk about an environmental shock!! My first husband and I went to Ohio (where he was from) just before Thanksgiving in 1969. It was cold, but I thought boastfully that I could handle that -- tough Texas girl I was. Then, just before Christmas, it snowed!!! Well, this Texas girl wasn’t prepared for two feet … 2 bleeping FEET … of snow! I honestly thought I would die!! I wasn’t an Eskimo, nor a Viking. Well, I survived that Christmas and many other after that one in Ohio.

After experiencing several winters in the north, I began to appreciate the change of the seasons. That was what kept me in the northern, colder climate zones.

Also, my Christmas memories encompass much of the times when I was rather financially poor, especially around Christmas. One year, I couldn’t afford a tree or many gifts. So, inventive me, I had straightened some metal coat-hangers to create a “fake” tree of an antique coat rack. I had a string of colorful lights and I hung the string from the top of the coat-rack which thrilled Jacob, my then very young son. Actually, I surprised myself with how nice this tree was.

I was able to get a few gifts for Jacob, which would be from me and Santa, but nothing for my mother, grandmothers or aunts and uncles. Well, Jacob and I got creative again. I would shop at the second-hand-stores in Columbus. In one of these stores, I found some rather nice, small wicker baskets. We decided to bake cookies and put them in the baskets and mail to the families in Texas. Jacob learned that “giving” can be fun and tasty. Was I surprised when our small Christmas gifts were so praised by the family recipients. I was afraid, though, that my mother would begin to send “care packages” again. But, she was cool.

Then there was the Christmas that almost was not! Not as poor, actually was fairly flush! Busy, very busy with doing advertising photography that one year.

Tom Etter, my boss and long-time friend, me and all of the other people in the studio were swamped with work for Lazarus Department Store. We had tons of decorations that cluttered the studio, but were necessary to keep stored -- all the trappings for Christmas. The store began their Christmas advertising – doing the photography for that season – in august. Close to the holiday, we would work until very late each day and on every weekend. We were shooting (cameras, not guns) up until the week of Christmas.

One evening, three days before Christmas, I was hit with the realization that I hadn’t done MY Christmas shopping! I think that was the very first panic attack I ever had!

Frantically, I called Tom. I wanted to borrow his car – I had no car. I needed to go to a mall. As I remember, he was hesitant about letting me borrow his car because he and Joan (his wife to be) needed to go somewhere. I promised I would book two more weddings to photograph this upcoming spring wedding season. Well, I got the car, speedily did my shopping, called my Texas families that their gifts would be a little late this year and was able to wrap Jacob’s gifts to go under the real tree … that year.

After that year, Tom and I decided we would be better about taking care of our important personal needs. Like Christmas. Even after I wasn’t working with Tom, I have maintained the idea to be more pragmatic about schedules – all schedules.

There are other Christmas’ I remember, mostly happy, grateful and surprised by some gifts, but the ones shared here were the ones that I immediately think of if asked.

However, this year I will remember because of how unseasonably warm it was and that Daniel and I gave Patriots shirts to all the grandkids.

I truly hope everyone remembers this Christmas or any

other one that specially comes to mind. Christmas can be demanding and stressful. It can be pleasing and very happy. Mostly, it is the time to remember that family is important.

And to just smile because it is that time of year.

Footnote -- December 26, 2015, the Sun Bowl came on the TV after the the Loiisville v. Kentucky basketball game. That in itself is not important, however, the Sun Bowl is in El Paso, Texas, and it was snowing. I guess Global Warming is not happening there today.