Monday, December 28, 2009

Merry Christmas

Back in mid-November, I applied to company A. As with most resumes and applications I have filled in and sent out over the last nine months, I didn’t really expect a response. Partly because few companies acknowledge you, partly because it was different from what I had been doing for the last twenty-seven years. Different, but similar enough that it sounded interesting and possibly fun.
I was surprised to get a phone call a week later and I had a very nice phone interview with a pleasant woman. She invited me in for an in-person interview at the end of the week! I had only had one in-person interview during my long job search.
The interview went well and I liked the two people that interviewed me.
But alas, the following Monday, one of them called to say that despite how well the interview went, they found someone who was a better fit. (sigh)

The following day, a friend of mine called to say their company B was looking for an Analyst, was I interested?
Of course!
Long story short, the job matched most of what I can do and there would be new challenges. The phone and in-person interviews went well and I was quite excited. I tried to keep my enthusiasm in check, since I would have to wait two weeks for the owner to return from his buying trip. I was not worried, because of how well things went.
Then company A called up. The applicant they made an offer to withdrew their name and would I be willing to accept an offer for the job? (do bears shit in the woods?)
They asked if I could let them know in a few day. I told them I would let them know by the end of the day.
For the jobs were similar in pay and benefits. Company A was slightly better, but a little longer commute. Company A was not involved in manufacturing and had more chances for advancement.
AND, a bird in the hand is better than one in the bush. So I accepted their offer.

Hard to believe that after nine months of looking, I will soon be working and not be ‘a man of unfortunate leisure’.

Truly a nice Christmas present.

Thursday, December 10, 2009

Fat Pants

Back in October, after eight months of job searching, I actually had a phone interview. That went well and I was asked to come in for an in-person interview! I was excited until I got out my new slacks and found that they didn’t fit!
Back in March, when I was laid off, we went shopping for some new slacks. My old ones were just too tight. Since I have been slowly gaining weight over the years, I threw out all my old slacks.
Months went by, we worked on the bricks and stones in front, and other projects. I stopped eating cookies for lunch because one does have to cut back expenses. We started taking Molly for a second, longer walk.
Over time, I began having trouble keeping my jeans up, even my old, tight, raggedy ones. I thought about getting suspenders because a belt just wasn’t working.
So by the time I went on the first job interview, I had lost twenty pounds! No wonder my pants were not fitting.
We went shopping a week later and bought more slacks, but with a smaller waistband.
The job was not offered to me and I continued to look.
I have been on an interview to another company, though it did not result in a job; but at least I looked better.
Tomorrow I have a very promising interview and I am looking forward to it.

So I think things are looking up, since I am at least going on more face to face interviews. And I am ready for the future, for I have stored my fat-pants in with my summer clothes. For I know that part of the reason for losing the weight is that I no longer sit on my butt for eight hours a day.
If I get the job there will be no more extra Molly walks and I will be sitting for hours a day.
I guess I can live without cookies for lunch.

Friday, November 20, 2009

Women still want me

We broke up the concrete walkway this week and there is now a nice dirt path to the front door. Next week we will get things ready to pour a new concrete pad. Then it will be laying bricks and the bluestone pavers.
And it will start, the young moms and dads will comment on the progress, as they walk their kids to and from school. It’s nice to hear compliments on your work.
The last time we were working on a front yard project, a young mom from two doors down stopped by chat. She said she had to see what we were doing and how far we had progressed.
“Looks very nice.” She said. “When you are done, you can come over to my house and work on my backyard!”
I turned and looked at her cheerful smile and cute figure. I smiled back. “Oh, not for all the tea in China.” I said in my most cheerful voice. She laughed.
Two days later, a young, good-looking blonde stopped to look and then said. “Oh, when you are done here, you can come work on my front yard!”
I looked at her and her two little daughters. “Oh, I don’t think so.” I said with a nice smile on my face.
Yeah, the blonde was a cutie; but cute just doesn’t cut the mustard. I now know what it’s like working on your knees for hours. Not for lust or money!
Love and the satisfaction of doing a good job yourself, yes.

Friday, November 13, 2009

American. Air Cadets Official Construction Kits



American. Air Cadets Official Construction Kits
Featherweight flying model. Rubber band powered.
Made by the A.A.C. Supply Company, Iowa City, Iowa.

Since there is a dearth of information on this subject, I thought I would write up what I know.

In my late father’s collection of toys, I have seven primitive balsa kits from the 30’s. I have done a lot of searching and there is almost no information on them on the world wide web.

What is also interesting about them is how primitive they are, compared to airplane kits made in the forties and beyond. Each box has sheets, blocks and strips of balsa wood. If you were to attempt to build one, you are expected to take the quarter scale plans and redraw them to full size. You have to carve the propeller from a block of balsa. All in all, a rather complex construction project for an amateur.
The kit does come complete with glue and what might be a vial of banana oil. The banana oil, when thinned with acetone, is supposed to make a good dope. The other option is to use ‘dope’ the “Jap tissue paper” (what we now call silk-span) with a flour and water paste.

I know of eight different models that they made-
Eaglerock Bullet
Curtiss Robin
Red Bird
Fokker
Spirit of St. Louis
Travel Air
R.O.G. Racer
Endurance Tractor

I did find tiny bits of info on www.rcuniverse.com and www.rcgroups.com. (I edited them slightly)

“The American Air Cadets was an organization formed in the late 1930's to encourage young people to become involved in aeronautics.
All such organizations try to get prominent personalities associated with there operation. Strangely enough the Cadets got the noted conductor Leopold Stowkowski (Fantasia and other films involving classical music) to endorse them!!
The Cadets commissioned a series of models of increasing complexity to be built as one advanced through their program.
The Air Cadets made little or no impact on the direction of aero modeling.
All this is from memory and I am unaware of any printed sources.”
Richard Smith
--
“This was one of the groups to form (and fail) in the Mid-west of the USA. They often began with some simple rubber powered plan to which you ordered from some location, got a membership card, and a few other things, and were ordered to complete the model and take to... for some contest.
If enough juniors showed up, the club went on, if not they went to some other location tried there or went out of business.
The Jimmy Allen group was only one to survive for a while.

Wm.
--
The Rotarian - Nov 1930 – (Google Books Result)
64 pages - Magazine
Sponsor Air Cadets Peekskill, NY — Directors of the Peekskill Rotary Club have voted to sponsor the American Air Cadets, an organization fostering boys' interests in aviation.

----------
So, perhaps they are just one little footnote in model making history and I have seven small pieces.

GW



Tuesday, November 10, 2009

Wise Uncle Warty might give bogus advice

I have found myself in an odd position recently. Several of my female friends, (I don’t like ‘lady friends or ‘girl friends’ simply because there can be misunderstandings.) have had mangled breakups with their boyfriends and written about it online. So I, being nicely married for decades, have offered sage advice and support. Mostly I remind them that they are smart, personable young pretties, but also to let them know that the right guy is out there. I try to help them look forward to what might be and not to keep looking back at the heartless bastards that they pine for.
It amuses me somewhat and I have to check what I say. For my history is one of not even looking for the right woman and finding her. Sure, it took some time for Wonder-Girl to realize that I was an okay fellow; but I think that is one of the things that made everything work. With neither of us trying, we became friends first.

These young women are my friends and I would so like to see them find a good man and be happy. So I have to be careful when consoling them. Remind them to keep their eyes open and that there are good guys out there who will appreciate them for who they are.
After all, I like them, so others must also.

And there is a nagging feeling that I might have been able to help Pip.

Finding Pip

I hadn’t looked for Pip in a while.(I wrote about my online sleuthing several times) I kinda gave up looking for her since she obviously didn’t want to be found. But I kept thinking about her as another typhoon slammed into the Philippines. Most of my Pi friends are on the island of Cebu and I did not have to worry about them. But Pip lived near Manila and I was concerned. So I tried a few searches and found a note about her. She was still around Manila. So on a lark, I looked on Facebook. Right away her picture popped up! It sure made me smile to see her face again. I clicked the ‘friend’ button and waited. I got her response in a few hours and she sent me a hello message.
It’s so nice to find a lost friend again.
She explained that someone she trusted betrayed her, so she went hermit and wiped out her online persona (mostly). She was sorry and promised never to vanish again, at least not without saying bye.
And now I will patiently wait to catch her on IM and chat again. We have always had fun conversations. She is a smart young lady and always fun to chat with, either online or in person.

And I find it amusing how I have these good friends in faraway places. Newport RI, Darwin, Cebu City, Manila. We are always happy to get letters from each other, keeping in touch. The hard part is knowing that I will probably never see them again. The odds of me getting back to the Philippine, much less Australia, are pretty slim.
Still, it’s nice to have these friendships.

A Gentleman, mostly.

One of my friends(a sweet young thing) made a comment online about what other people might do when taking a bath. Being a gentleman, I only made a silly comment. Then some guy we know made a comment about her lathering herself up and singing ‘Loving you’, as her hands traveled down under. I was shocked he said that, for I never would.
And I really didn’t need that image, nor go down that slippery soap.
But there it is in my mind, her tawny, nubile body; and her slim fingers tracing circles through the white soapsuds…

A thoroughly delightful image. But of course, one that I would never share with her. Why ruin her image of me as a gentleman? She does not need to know about the ‘mostly’.

Friday, October 30, 2009

Righting -again

More terrible puns of mine

“I won’t go into that optometrist shop.” She said. “They don’t carry this style anymore.”
“So, you won’t go there because you won’t get respect?”

They stood there, surveying their damaged house. The earthquake had totally destroyed it. She turned towards the makeshift shelter he had erected. It was just an army surplus canvas tent that he bought on sale two years ago.
The first storm of the season began to rain on them as his wife ducked into the shelter.
“This will never do!” She exclaimed. “There are holes everywhere and the wind blows right through.
He sighed and looked up at the clouds and said wearily. “Now is the winter of our discount tent.”

When the defendant came up for trial, the judge said. “We shall know the truth, and the shall set your fee.”

Then there was the guy who kept annoying this prostitute that hung out near his apartment. They arrested him of course, for disturbing the piece.

If a scientist copies another scientist genetically engineered disease and then releases it to infect people, would he be accused of plague-arism?

A gorgeous woman lies in a hospital, in the final stages of TB. As she hacks and coughs, one has to wonder if she can now be considered a Phlegm fatale?

In France, the race car drivers are all upset about health insurance. It seems that most companies are denying them coverage. They claim that the drivers have a Prix-existing condition.

In a small town out west, the train pulls into the station and one man gets off. As he walks down the main street, the townspeople stop and stare, some pull children inside.
In front of one building stands an older man, black bag in his hands. Above him, a sign reads, ‘Dr. Rawlings, Specialist in Rheumatoid arthritis’
The young man stops and Dr Rawlings looks him over. “So, you’re the new doctor? And an arthritis specialist? You might as well get back on the train young man. As I told you in my telegram, there isn’t Rheum enough in this town for the two of us.”


If a ghost leaves a smelly residue, would it be a poulter-gas?

“Pumas are very shy creatures with low self-esteem and you don’t see them often.” The guide explained.
“Why is that?” The hunter asked.
“Well, as near as we can tell, as they are growing up, their mothers always tell them that they catamount to much.”

So, there is this group of lesbians sitting at an English pub. One of them is talking about her last relationship that went sour.
“You know, sometimes I don’t think there is a woman out there for me. Maybe I should try a man?”
Here friends are shocked, of course; but one of them supports her and says.
“What the heck, go for Bloke.”

Of course, if a gay man were to date women, he would be broadening his horizons!

As Grandpa used to say, “I’ve become a believer in old wives tails.”

“You know honey, I think that I was always meant to be your wife.”
“Well, I guess I’ve grown accustomed to your fate.”

Well, it seems that the triplet convention is not going to have their convention at Yosemite National Forest again. Everyone complained that they couldn’t see the forest for the three’s.

“Do you like deer?”
“I’m fawned of them.”

“I don’t like palm trees.” She declared, “Their leaves are so messy.”
“Your not frond of them?”

Limericks

Here are a few of my attempts at Limericks.
Elly was the only one who didn’t like hers.

A comely young lass named Trace
Kept her suitors at bay with mace.
But a man named Phil
Had a strong will,
and the marriage is soon to take place.


The was a young woman named Lois
Who pretended never to know us
For if she gave us strong drink
We’d throw up in her sink
And straight to the door she would show us


The was a young man named Matt
Who claimed to know where it was at
But when she darkened the room
He got lost in the gloom
And somehow molested the cat.


There once was a gal named Elly,
Who claimed that her feet weren’t smelly.
But it seemed her nose,
Lacked a gene to smell toes.
For their reek could turn a strong belly.


Miss Silver, whom we called Steph.
Had the boys all out of breath.
For try as they might,
from morning till night.,
they couldn’t find a word that rhymed with Silver.

Sunday, October 18, 2009

Cousin, Cuisine

A few months back, we had a little gathering at Auntie’s. There were several generations present and at one point someone tried to figure out the family tree of the cousins. I pointed out that the different generations were counted as ‘removals’. And that contrary to popular belief, ‘removal’ did not refer to how many times a person had been kicked out of the family.
“Then what’s a ‘kissing cousin’?” Someone asked.
“That’s a cousin you wouldn’t mind kissing.” I answered.
“Then what’s a second cousin?” Someone else asked.
“That’s a cousin that you wouldn’t mind having seconds of!”
A couple of guys laughed at that; WG just hit me on the arm.

The conversation was quickly changed to the weather and I almost brought up ‘relative humidity’; but I knew they would not want to hear about the time the cousin got moist.

Tuesday, October 13, 2009

Even silver linings have a cloud

It’s the first rain of the season. Instead of the usual little storm with light rain, we are being pounded! High winds are making the rain blow sideways and half of our covered deck is wet.
We are safe inside, where it is warm; but silly Molly is on the back deck. It’s not that cold, but she is curled up on the wicker love seat, shivering. She won’t come in because WG was mean to her. WG baked cookies today; snicker-doodles.
Late last year, we bought a new oven. It has a fancy electronic control panel that beeps when you turn on the oven. The first time we used it was to bake a roast. Some fat splattered out, burned and set off the smoke alarm.
Molly did not like the scream of the smoke alarm and she made for the back door and stood there trembling. We let her out and she would not come in for hours!
So now, every time we turn on the oven, the beep warns Molly and she goes to the back door, waiting to be let out. She will not come in until the oven has been off for a while.
Silly dog.
And I have homemade cookies!

Monday, October 05, 2009

I’m ready

Here are two interesting items from my dad’s collection, a 1943 copy of the Aeronautics Aircraft Spotters Handbook and a U.S. Navy Anti-aircraft Range Indicator. (made by the A.C. Gilbert Co. The same company that made Erector Sets! You wonder what toy makers did during WWII? They made toys for the military.)

Study the book. Recognize the approaching plane. Hold the Range Indicator two feet from your eye. Turn the dial until the two center wires match the wingtips. Call out the range to the gunners and watch them try to blow the bastard out of the sky.



So if those pesky Krauts ever decide to launch their He-111’s or Ju-88’s across the channel again, I’ll be ready.

I think they should be kept as a set.

The Duration

One of the fun things about listening to old radio shows is that you get a feel for the times. Besides the information in the story you listen to, there are the commercials. Where the story is fiction, the commercials reflect reality.
And you find that the problems and solutions from sixty years ago are not very different from today.

This is very apparent when listening to the Signal Oil program, ‘The Whistler’. I have just finished listening to the episodes from the early forties and the main topic for the commercials is how to get through ‘The Duration’. The Duration was how long WWII was to last. Because everything was needed for the war effort, there were many things that were rationed and some things you could not buy.
I don’t think new cars were being built. Tires and gasoline were rationed.

So your car had to last for ‘The Duration’ and you had to take care of your car. Change the oil every 1,000 miles, have your tires checked for nicks and cuts. (so you can get them recapped)
The amusing thing I have found was the advice on saving gas. Last summer, people complained about the high price of gasoline. During WWII, because gas was rationed, if you ran out of ration stamps, you could not buy any more. (okay, there was the black market.)
Sixty years ago, the advice to save gas was the same as it is today.
Slow starts.
Keep your tires properly inflated.
Keep the car tuned up.
Car pool.

And buy Signal Gasoline. The ‘go farther’ gasoline.

Tuesday, September 29, 2009

The Beagle at Night

Two days a week, I walk Molly the beagle by myself. So on those mornings I put on my headphones and listen to an old radio show. It works well for the show is just a half hour, as is the walk.
It’s the same opening whistle and introduction every time and I have memorized it.
I realize that almost no one knows of the show today. It is so before anyone’s time that I can steal from it. Gosh, I can cheat and be semi-clever.

So as I watch Molly as she sniffs her way along the sidewalk, investigating things unseen, I bend the old intro to fit the little dog.

I am the Beagle and I know many things, for I stalk by night.
I know many strange tails, many secrets hidden in the shadows of the shrubs and bushes in my backyard.
Yes, I know the nameless creatures that you dare not seek!

With a Throaty Laugh

For even a man who’s plain of face
and sleeps alone at night.
Can have a comely lass
climb through his bedroom window,
when the moon is full and bright.


Now I can’t say for sure if she was a werewolf; but by the way she attacked my neck, I knew she was a liken-throat.


(Sorry Lawrence Talbot)

Sunday, September 06, 2009

Running low


Looks like I only have a pint or so left of my agricultural Chlordane. It keeps the termites away from the foundation and the cockroaches from coming over from the school next door. Mix up 1.5 ounces, spray around the house once a year. However, with a beagle that eats everything, I am limited to where I can spray the stuff.

Maybe eight years of protection left. I wonder if the stuff is still potent?

Albany street sign


I don't know, I always thought a Speed Hump was just another name for a Quickie.

Monday, August 31, 2009

Dog Walk Observations

Dog Walk One
Molly the female,
Leaves awful long p-mail.

Dog Walk Two
As we walk down the street,
it seems every few feet,
he has to Twitter and Tweet.
Tommy-dog, don’t wet your feet!

Dog Walk Three
And we won’t speak of dog,
when they blog.

Tuesday, August 25, 2009

Immoral quandary

Just for fun, I used to read the personals. Sometimes it was interesting and I have gotten a few story ideas from them. The most interesting are the ‘missed connections’. Times when someone sees a person who is interesting but lacks the ‘something’ to approach the person, so they post an ad in the local paper. Almost like putting a message in a bottle and throwing it into the ocean.
And now we have CL, where people can post ‘missed connections’ quickly and for free.
It is interesting the number of people who post that they wished they would be someones ‘missed connection’. Sure, I understand that. A little anonymous ‘I think you’re cute.’, might life a person’s spirits, especially if they can imagine the person is not a creep.

So I was rather surprised to read one and realize that I knew whom the MC posting was about.
(I’ll remove the telltales) I quote-
“I see you at least once a week. You have the coolest store in town and you are such a sweetheart. You always seem to have a song in your heart and a dance in your step. Your eyes are intoxicating and I just wonder, could you be happy with someone half your age? I am available, are you?

I know the shopkeeper and do business with him on occasion; hence the quandary. My first thought was to email him about the posting. I mean, who would not like the idea of some young thing thinking they’re attractive. But what if he shares his email with his wife?
Then I thought of telling him the next time I visit the shop, but although I don’t think that he would snap at the bait of a young lass half his age; I see no reason to give him the slightest encouragement to misbehave.
So I’ll just be quiet.

Saturday, August 22, 2009

Hidden Treasures

Just as we were finishing up the garage sale at Step mothers, I happened to go to the back of the garage, move a box and shine a flashlight under the house.
I saw more boxes of stuff tucked into the inky shadows of the dimly lit crawl space.

We had just finished two days of selling off stuff and junque and now I found more! With a sigh, I climbed onto the foundation wall and started crawling under the house.
The dirt was damp, as usual in the hills of the Bay Area. The first thing I found was a box of magazines that has fallen off the foundation and onto the damp earth. I do not know how long it had sat on the dirt, but it was a moldy disintegrating mess.
I did find one intact magazine, a 1954 copy of Planet Stories! (see pic) The cover depicts 'The strangely beautiful Xintel of the blue-brown skin.'

Notice the classic, cliché cover. A young, nubile woman (missing her top!) being menaced by (male) aliens. I have carefully dried the magazine and will carefully read it. The pulps of the fifties were printed on cheap paper.

Two other boxes held real junk and that was quickly disposed of. But the last two boxes held some strange lab equipment. (see pic)



These ‘flasks’ were wrapped in newspaper from 1959! They don’t say ‘Pyrex’ on them, so you can’t heat them.
With a round bottom, they can’t stand up. I think they were mounted on a stand and they were used to pipe gases through a liquid.
But since I am not a chemist, it’s only a guess.
I have no idea what to do with them. They are lousy vases, since the bottom is rounded. My friend said I do a ‘ship in a bottle’, but that does not interest me.
I’ll think of something.

Tuesday, August 11, 2009

The Camel Tow Takes a Walk

It is a strange time, that twenty minutes or so, after I first wake up. Not truly awake or alert and my mind is not crowded with thinking. This is the time when errant thoughts bounce around my head like random bouncing balls in a pinball machine.
And sometimes, just by chance, some odd words collide and form a pun. Then the wild pun bounces around, looking for the setup. Sometimes the setup forms right away and at other times I have to mull it over.
It’s like the classic story, ‘A Camel Takes A Walk’. I have to trace out the tiger, the monkey, the squirrel and the bird. Get each piece lined up, ready for the camel to come down the path to the watering hole.
Sometimes the camel never starts down the path and at other times, she turns back half way and occasionally, I have to tow the camel down the path.
And the pun just sits there in my brain, waiting for the camel.

About two years ago, our good friend DT, fell ill with a staph infection. (Not a staff infection, which is another pun. But I digress.)
He ended up hospitalized after the infection got into his bloodstream. It was touch and go for a little while, but the massive infusion of antibiotics eventually got the infection under control and he began to recover. We went to visit him in the hospital and he was feeling better and was wondering when he could go home. He was still battling the infection, but the worst was over and the fever was dropping. He pulled back the sheets to show us his black toes.
What can happen with a staph infection is the flora clumps, breaks loose and travels through the bloodstream. Since the capillaries in the toes (and hands) are very small, the clumps of bacteria get stuck in the small capillaries and restrict the blood flow. This can cause the toes or fingers to die. (And the tiger lines up, the monkey is set, the camel is coming down the path, with no help from me.)
DT said that for a while they thought they might have to amputate two of his toes, but that he was recovering well and they were sure they could save them.
I turned to his wife and said. “That’s good news, because everyone knows, you’re lack toes intolerant!”

Yes, she whacked me on the arm.

I have waited five years for that setup and the pun to be used. And the best part was, I didn’t have to guide the camel down the path.

I have others and my wife lives in fear.

Wednesday, August 05, 2009

A Strange Tail, part 2

A Strange Tail, pt 2
By GW Hogg
(For the Night Creatures)
©4-20-09

Prologue: When we last saw young Willow and her Amber Band, they had just left G’Wog’s village. Their quest was to find a certain object in the nearby ruins of an old castle. Willow and her band are aligned with the Horde, against the Alliance, in a seemingly endless civil war. The Horde is also considered to be aligned with evil, but as we know, who is what in a civil war is usually determined by the victor.

Chapter Two
Red slammed the iron-bound door behind them, picked up an old sword off the floor and used it to brace the door. “That will hold for a moment or two.”
The rest of the Amber Band, now numbering only six, spread into the dark altar room. Willow held her torch up high and carefully looked the room over. In the dim light from their flickering torches she could see the reddish-brown stains splashed on the walls and furnishings. Low, half-rotted cabinets lined the left wall and empty shelves lined the right one. A tattered tapestry hung from the wall behind the altar. Without counting, she knew that there was over a dozen skulls scattered on the floor, some oddly misshapen. Bones, weapons, armor and bits of decayed cloth littered the floor. The altar in front of her was thick with old dried blood and the stench of decay hung in the air, despite the apparent age of the bones on the floor.
“Be careful with what booty you find. Magic is thick here and I won’t be able to check what you find.” She warned her friends.
As she walked up to the altar, she knew the object they were searching for was here, for she could feel it. She circled the stone altar, examining it carefully. It was simple, one large block of stone, set on top of two blocks, set on three blocks. There were carved figures on the front and back; these she studied carefully, along with any runes she could see.
She could decipher nothing from the runes, nor the carved figures. She walked around the altar again, studying it.
“We don’t have much time.” J’De said to her.
She nodded in answer while she studied the altar. The object they came for must be in the altar, for she could sense it, but she could see no way to open the altar. She pulled out her slim dagger and lightly rapped on the stones with the hilt. There was a hollow sound in the middle, but no opening.
She hunkered down at the back of the altar and held her torch close to it. It was then that she noticed what looked like a small crack. She scraped at the encrusted blood revealing a small slit in the stone. Her dagger was too thick and she was puzzled as what to use, then she remembered the small dagger she got from the dead Goblin. She opened the pouch tied to her waist and removed the small dagger. What was an ordinary looking dagger in the daylight now glowed red. She unsheathed it and slid it easily into the slit until she heard a soft ‘click’. Willow quickly stood and pushed on the top stone; it pivoted to one side, revealing a small round hole. She peered inside and could see a small figurine a dozen centimeters down in the hole. Excited, she almost thrust her hand into opening, but paused. This was too easy. She turned to J’De. “Bring me that arm of the lycanthrope you killed. Mind the blood!”
When they first entered the room, there was a lycanthrope waiting for them. They can be hard to kill, but J’De cut off its head with one sure stroke of his broadsword. The next few strokes took off an arm and a leg. The body flopped around on the floor for a few moments, but now headless, it died quickly.
J’De bent down and skewered the arm of the lycanthrope with his dagger and gingerly brought it over to his woman.
“Lower the hand into that hole, please.”
As he did so, there was movement in the hole and pieces of the monsters fingers were neatly sliced off.
“Damn!” Willow exclaimed. “This will be harder than I thought.”
J’De tossed the arm away and sheathed his dagger. “Let me try the Goblin’s dagger.” Willow nodded and stepped to one side. J’De pulled the dagger out of the altar and slowly inserted it into the hole. When he pulled it out, the tip was also neatly sliced off. He backed away, shaking his head. He handed the now pointless dagger to Willow. She sheathed it and put it back into her pouch.
Willow pondered her next move. “Okay. I will need quiet while I concentrate.”
The rest of the band stopped their plundering and waited. Willow stood over the altar, positioned her hands over the hole and began her spell. With careful finger movements and precise words, she wove her spell until two thin tendrils of blue light emerged from her fingertips. She brought them together until they formed a loop and then lowered the loop into the hole. As she lowered her hands, she watched carefully to keep the joined tendrils away from the sides.
Sweat beaded on her brow as she lowered the loop over the head of the figurine. Her hands began to shake as she pulled the loop tight and slowly raised her arms. She had only used this spell twice before and then only to lift a silver coin. This object was much heavier and she felt it slipping through the tendrils.
Slowly the object emerged and she could see it was the figure of a small rabbit sitting on its hind legs. Rabbits are considered cute, but this one had a nasty scowl on its face.
When it was completely out of the hole, J’De grabbed it. She released the spell and would have fallen over, if not for her man grabbing her arm and steadying her.
He handed her the idol and she immediately felt power and strength flowing into her. It felt wonderful! Like cold water to a man dying of thirst. She could feel the power of the room and as she extended her senses outwards, she could feel things stirring in the castle, evil things that had been dormant for decades!
Suddenly aware of the danger, she pushed the idol into her bag and turned to the band. “We have to go. Now!”
The band could sense her urgency and they didn’t argue. Red kicked away the sword bracing the door and slowly opened it. There were no surprises waiting for them. He thrust his torch out before him and cautiously poked his head out. After scanning both directions he turned back to the room. “Looks clear.”
They filed out of the room. J’De took the lead, Willow in the center and G’cia taking up the rear. Everyone was alert, for even though they had little magic ability, they all could feel a change in the castle.
Red peered over the railing on their right, but it was too dim to see to the foyer floor far below. They had two flights of stairs to descend and it would help if they knew what waited for them.
“There is something behind us!” Shouted G’cia.
Willow looked back, but could only see vague shadows. Everyone began to run for the stairs and Willow quickly wove a spell for a small fireball, more for light than anything else. As they reached the head of the stairs, Willow turned and released the fireball. It flew into the shadows and exploded against something that was once a man.
“Zombies!” Willow exclaimed, for she could see four or five more behind the one she hit. The front one’s clothes were afire, but it didn’t stop. “I hate zombies!” She muttered as she turned and went down the dark stairs. ‘At least they are slow.’ She thought to herself.
They hurried down the stairs. J’De stumbled over something, but one of the men caught his arm and steadied him. At the first landing, someone threw his torch down into the dark foyer. They all paused for a moment when the torch hit the stone floor with a shower of sparks. Every one scanned the area below, but nothing was down there waiting for them.
Just as they turned to go, there was a horrible screech and a huge harpy swooped out of the darkness above them. As it flew over G’Cia, it sunk its claws into his shoulders. With a tremendous effort, it pulled him up into the air and out over the foyer.
Despite the stench left by the harpy, three daggers flew through the air. One missed, but the other two stuck into the harpy’s right wing. The harpy screeched out several words that even J’De would never say, but continued flying. The next thing that hit the harpy was a fireball and it blasted away most of its left wing. Unable to stay airborne and on fire, the harpy spiraled down.
G’Cia was madly thrusting his torch at the rank harpy when they landed in a giant spider web that was stretched out over part of the foyer. As both the harpy and G’Cia struggled in the sticky web, two giant black spiders scuttled out onto the web. Two more daggers flew from the band, but each missed their target. Willow quickly wove another fireball spell, but it was too late. One of the spiders landed on G’Cia and sunk its long fangs into his chest. His struggles slowed, then stopped. The other spider had attacked the harpy, but its poison was not as effective. The second spider scuttled over and joined the fracas.
Despite each loosing some legs, the spiders prevailed and the harpy stopped moving.

“We can’t leave him there.” Red said as the rest of the band stood in shock. “He’s still alive, isn’t he?”
“Yes.” J’De answered. “But we can’t save him. There is no antidote or spell against the spiders’ venom.”
“But they’ll lay their eggs in him! We can’t let that happen!”
“No, and we won’t!” Willow proclaimed as she released a huge fireball.
Her aim was true and the fireball hit the paralyzed G’Cia square in the chest. Most of him was immediately incinerated, as was the web and his remains fell to the dark floor below.
Every one else stood there stunned until J’De cried out. “Let’s move! The zombies are almost upon us!”
A quick glance behind them revealed the zombies slowly coming down the stairs. As one, they all turned and fled down the stairs to the foyer.

As they fled across the foyer, they could hear things coming into the room. They ran to the main door and as a group struggled to push the heavy oak door open. There was a great grinding of rusty metal and the door opened just enough for them to squeeze through.
They burst forth into the courtyard, blinking from the harsh light of the sun. As they ran to the main gate, Willow fought to blink back her tears. Her mind told her that what she had done was necessary, but her heart was saddened.
Red glanced back as he heard the oak door screech open. A dozen creatures spewed forth, giant salamanders, the two huge spiders, more zombies and things he couldn’t name.
“Don’t look back, just hurry!” He shouted.
As they ran under the main arch, Red turned and cut one of the ropes holding the portcullis open. The sudden added weight to the other rope caused it to start shredding. They could all hear the snapping of the rope and the squeal of the iron portcullis as it slipped lower.
They made it through and were halfway across the drawbridge when they heard the portcullis slam down. They turned and could see one of the giant salamanders impaled by the spikes on the bottom of the portcullis. The other creatures were trapped behind it and the band was safe for the moment. Then the creatures moved to one side and a huge troll lumbered up to the portcullis, grabbed it with his massive hands and slowly began to lift it.
Willow turned to her band. “Run!” She commanded.
Once off the drawbridge, Willow turned back and began the intricate process of casting another spell. Everyone but J’De continued to run towards the low hills. He recognized Willows’ stance and knew that he was still needed.
As Willow raised her arms and chanted the spell, she moved her hands precisely. There was no room for error if she was going to save her band.
The portcullis was raised just enough and a salamander wiggled under and scrambled to the drawbridge. Willow shouted the last part of the spell and brought her hands down sharply.
Out of the clear blue sky, two huge bolts of yellow lightning hurtled down and smashed into the middle of the drawbridge, splintering it. As the burning ends dropped into the moat, the salamander tumbled into the water. When it broke the surface, it tried to scramble back onto the shattered drawbridge. It barely had its front feet on the wood when a huge scaly head burst from fetid green water, sank its long teeth into the salamander and pulled it underwater.
Willow, exhausted from the spell, turned away, took one step and then collapsed into her man.
J’De knew Willow could barely handle the lightning spell and was ready for her. As she collapsed into him, he bent down to let her fall onto his shoulder. He pushed her legs up slightly until she was slung over his shoulders, then he straightened. Even with her light armor, she was not very heavy. He turned and ran after his men.

At the top of a small row of hills, Red, A’Bulo, B’Don stood watching while J’De caught up to them.
“Nothing is following us.”
“How is she?”
“Okay, but getting heavy.”
“Let me take her for a while.”
B’Don stepped forward and J’De shifted the unconscious Willow onto his shoulder.
“She seems light enough.”
“Then let’s move. We’re burning daylight.”

Each took their turn carrying Willow and by the time the sun was setting they had reached the small clearing where they had camped the day before and left their packs hanging from a tree.
While A’Bulo shinnied up the tree to untie the packs, Red helped J’De carry the still unconscious Willow over to another tree. They would make camp here and try to sleep. They all knew that Willow just needed rest, but they were afraid there would not be time.
While the rest of the band made camp and divided up what was in the now extra packs, J’De pondered what to do. Something might make it across the moat and they were not far enough from the castle. In the morning, if they were still carrying Willow, they would be hard-pressed to defend themselves. Then J’De remembered the idol and its effect on Willow after she used the grabbing spell. He reached into her bag and pulled the idol out.
It was a small thing and fit easily in his hand. He could tell it was solid gold, from the weight; but with rubies for eyes and a mean expression on its face, it unnerved him. He carefully placed it in Willow’s hand and her fingers wrapped around it. A moment later, her eyes fluttered opened and she smiled at him.
“How long was I out?”
“Just a few hours, my love.”
She smiled at him again and luxuriated in the power flowing into her from the idol. As her strength returned, so did her senses. She became aware of the amulet hanging from J’De’s neck, the little curse on Red and the special sword that B’Don carried. When her senses swept over the pack that A’Bulo had carried from the castle, she suddenly felt a darkness.
“Help me up, please.” And she reached her arm out to her man. He pulled her up, steadied her for a moment and then released her.
“I’m okay now, thanks; but there is something wrong. Come.” She walked over to the pack and the rest of the band gathered around her.
“What’s in there?” She asked.
“Just the loot from the castle.” Red answered. “We haven’t had a chance to look at the stuff yet.”
“Don’t. There is evil in there. Things that none of us should touch!”
“What then?”
“We need to get rid of it. I fear that if anything gets out of the castle, this will draw it to us.”
“I’ll get rid of it.” A’bulo said, stepping forward. He lifted it by its straps and turned to the North. “I’ll be back soon.” And he loped off into the woods.

Willow was still holding the idol and despite the effect on her, knew she needed to release it. She stuffed it back into her pouch. That was the problem with holding something so powerful, it became addicting. She knew some of the history of it and how it eventually took control of the wielder. She was a powerful mage, especially for her age, but she was wise enough to know the idol would eventually control her.

A’Bulo returned well after the sun had set. They ate a quick meal, divided up the watches and went to sleep.

Willow had the last watch and as the sky began to lighten, she removed her detection spell from around the camp and began to wake the others.
They were quiet as they broke camp and prepared for the march back to the village. Losing two of the band yesterday weighed on their minds, as did having to throw away their plunder. Willow walked to the edge of the camp and extended her senses, feeling for trouble. She could perceive nothing, so she carefully removed the idol and grasped it tightly in her hand.
With the added power of the idol, she could sense the loot that A’bulo had disposed of the night before. She focused her attention towards the castle and could easily sense it in the distance. Ignoring the castle, she scanned the area between her and the castle. There was nothing there, but something was wrong. She scanned the area again and suddenly knew what was wrong! There was an area of nothing. A large black void and it was moving towards them.
She hurriedly stuffed the idol back into the bag and turned to her men. “Something is coming. Something we never want to face!”
The men quickly slung their packs onto their shoulders and J’De helped Willow with hers. “How fast is it moving?”
“Fast enough that it will catch us if we dawdle!”
Red was the slowest runner, so he set the pace as they loped off into the trees.

Chapter Three.

Seemingly half-man and half-warthog, G’Wog stood in the grassy area a hundred meters from the villages’ North gate. At two meters tall, he dwarfed the four other villagers standing next to him. His small tail, with its little tuft of hair, twitched nervously. “They are coming.” He stated.
“How soon?” L’Yaw asked. G’Wog looked into the distance and then turned to her. She was a pretty young thing and well proportioned. Though few people realized that her smooth curves hid a well-muscled body, when her full lips smiled a certain way and her eyes flashed a warning, men knew it was dangerous to trifle with her.
“Maybe fifteen minutes.”
L’Yaw pulled an arrow from her quiver and nocked it into the bow that was as tall as she was. The two guardsmen cocked their crossbows and nocked bolts also.
G’Wog turned back and studied the hills in the distance. L’Yaw and the others saw his hands gesturing and heard him muttering something. They knew to wait.
His face seemed to darken and he cursed in a language they didn’t know. “Something is following them! Something dark and evil!” He turned to his left and addressed the chief of his small village. “L’Shrim. Be a dear and go tell A’Gee that her services as a healer will be needed. Then please hurry back, we will need you at the gate.”
The young woman he addressed knew they were in trouble. His use of ‘dear’ underscored the seriousness of the situation. Though she had only been their chief for a year, she had quickly earned everyone’s respect by the wisdom of her decisions. The fact that her pretty face hid a quick temper had surprised many.
“Right away!” She said as she turned and ran back to the village.
G’Wog allowed himself a small smile as he watched her run towards the North gate. The man she was destined for could not ask for a more attractive woman. To also get one of such intelligence would make him the envy of many.

The Amber Band crested the last hill and could see the little village below. They could feel the dark void behind them and it was getting ever closer. Unless they increased their speed, they all knew that they would never make it.
Without pausing, they sped down the hill. Red was the first one to shuck off his pack and the rest of the band quickly emulated him. Willow was faster than them all, but she kept pace with her man for her place was always at his side. In the distance she could see G’Wog and three others waiting for them. A moment later a young woman walked into the open gate and planted herself in the middle, blocking it. When Willow glanced at her again, she had a staff in her hands with a brilliant glowing crystal on one end.

They were twenty meters away from apparent safety when they heard Red scream from behind them. As one, they stopped and turned.
Red was held high in the air by something they couldn’t see. They heard someone bellow, “Run!” from behind them, but they were frozen by the tableau before them. Red was thrashing in mid-air and one of his arms had been torn off. Before they could move to help him, his other arm was ripped off. Red screamed again.
“Run you stupid fools!”
Willow glanced behind her and G’Wog was frantically waving at them to keep running. Willow turned back just in time to see Red’s head ripped from his torso. Stunned, the band was frozen to the spot.
A fireball erupted in front of them, breaking the spell.
“Run you miserable bastards!” That got their attention and they turned and ran towards the village.
They were breathless when they got to G’Wog and the villagers.
“Get behind us. Now!” G’Wog bellowed.
“The barrier!” Willow gasped.
“It’s no good.” G’Wog shouted. “It’s just an illusion!”
Willow looked back where they had come from, but she could only see Red’s lifeless body lying in the grass. Despite her exhaustion, she started a fireball spell.
“That will be of no use.” G’Wog yelled at her. “Where is the knife?”
“Knife?”
“Stupid little girl! The knife I told you to leave in the castle!”
Shocked, she fumbled the little knife out of her sack and unsheathed it.
“Throw it at the creature! It will slow it down!”
“I…I don’t see anything!” She cried out, frustrated by being yelled at.
“Feather it!” G’Wog yelled.
There were simultaneous twangs and two bolts and a long arrow flew through the air. The bolts never stopped, but the arrow hit its mark and stuck there, quivering in midair.
There was a queer warbling scream from the thing out there. “Again.” He shouted and turned to Willow. “Can you hit it now?”
Willow aimed for the arrow and threw the small knife with all her might, but she was exhausted and the knife landed harmlessly in the grass.
The archer faired better and her arrow struck true, just under first arrow. The two crossbowmen were still fumbling to ready their weapons.
Willow finished her strongest fireball spell and hurled the crimson ball of flame right at where the arrows were. It struck just above them and vanished.
“You can’t hurt a void with magic, it only absorbs it!” G’Wog yelled as he drew the small flat piece of wood from his belt.
Willow looked back at the nothingness and saw the small knife rise from the ground. She pulled out her rapier and set her feet, ready for the attack. She heard the sounds of her band pulling out their swords and wondered if they would be effective.
“Wait here!” G’Wog commanded and as he stepped forward, he held the piece of wood up high and said a word in the old tongue.
Strange runes glowed on the stick for a moment and it suddenly elongated and became a quarterstaff as thick around as Willows arm. With a bellow, G’Wog sprang forward and raced towards the knife and arrows floating in the air.

As he passed where the invisible barrier was, Willow let out a gasp. For what had been half man and half warthog, suddenly became a huge shambling creature seemingly made from moss, mud, leaves and sticks.
“A Shambling Mound!” Someone gasped.
“A Swamp Thing!” Someone else said.
Willow suddenly understood what the barrier was for.

G’Wog swung his massive quarterstaff, but the change in his shape slowed him and he missed the creature. As he pivoted around, he saw the knife come up. Too slow now, he couldn’t dodge it and he felt it slice into his face.
The pain was incredible and he bellowed in his rage. As the knife came up again, he twirled the staff and knocked it to one side. Before the creature could strike again, he rammed one end of his staff into it, just below an arrow. There was that queer scream again and the knife paused. G’Wog spun the staff over his head and smashed it down on top of the unseen creature. There was a tremendous crack and as he spun around for the next blow, he bellowed a word of power.
When the staff hit the creature, the resulting shockwave knocked everyone off their feet. As they scrambled back up, they could see G’Wog on his knees holding the knife up high. Then he plunged it down into the creature.
Slowly, painfully, G’Wog used the staff to pull himself to his feet. Green blood poured from the gash in his face and he could barely see out of one eye. Something was eating into him and he knew he needed to get to a healer quickly. He stumbled back towards the village and collapsed just as he crossed the barrier.

L’Yaw was the first to his side and was shocked to see the damage to her friend. One side of his huge face was cut open and the angry red sides were quickly turning black. A moment later, Willow was kneeling next to her. She gasped as she saw the blood and pus running from the wound. The wound was so deep that she saw the white of his jawbone! While L’yaw yelled at someone, Willow wove the only healing spell she knew. When she cast it, she was not surprised that it seemed to have no effect. She felt the evil poison that was consuming her friend and mentor, but was at a loss as to what to do. She turned to yell for help and saw the young woman from the gate racing towards them. Behind her, four stout men were following with a huge litter. She turned back to G’Wog and suddenly had an inspiration. She grabbed the idol from her sack and with its power now flowing through her, she scanned the wound. Yes, she could now sense what was going on. She quickly wove a simple containment spell. As she released it, she controlled it with the help of the idol, shaped it over, under and around the wound. As she watched, the blackening of his skin hit the barrier she had cast and stopped.
“Move!” Someone commanded and Willow scrambled to her feet, but not before she picked up the small flat piece of wood that had been G’Wog’s quarterstaff. The stout men put the litter down next to her friend, and with great effort, lifted him onto it. The two guardsmen dropped their crossbows and ran over to help lift the litter. Once it was up, the six men started off towards the village in a trot.
Willow turned to follow but L’Yaw blocked her path. “Come, we must first check on the creature.” Willow followed her, as did everyone else.

There was nothing to see when they got there, except the arrows and the dagger seeming to float in midair.
L’Yaw turned to the other woman, “L’Shrim, what should we do?”
“I think...” Willow started to say, but L’Shrim flashed her a look that made her swallow what she was going to say.
The young woman with the staff studied the area carefully. “We need to keep others away and to know if this thing threatens the village.” She turned to Willow. “Can you make smoke, or fog?”
Willow harrumphed. “Any first level…” But L’Shrim cut her off. “ Please cast it over the area and let it sink slowly to the ground.”
Willow was annoyed at being treated in such a way, but she bit her tongue and cast the spell.

The smoke cloud formed from her fingertips and floated away until it was over the arrows, then settled slowly down.
For just a moment, they could see the vague outline of the huge misshapen creature, then the smoke was absorbed.
“Well done.” L’Shrim commented, then moved closer to where the creature lay. She held the crystal end of her staff over the creature and muttered a few words.
From the crystal, a pale blue light shimmered forth and formed a dome that enveloped where the creature lay. Satisfied, L’Shrim pulled her staff back. “That will keep people away and let me know if it rises again.” She whispered a word and the staff shrunk down until it was just a small, flat piece of wood. She slid it into her belt and turned to the others. “We have done all we can here. J’De, you and your men need to go collect your packs and your comrade. There are rooms waiting for you at the Prancing Horse Inn. I will take you to the small cemetery we have and help with the arrangements. L’Yaw, please take Willow to the healers house. She may be needed and she also needs to return the stick.”
“This way.” L’Yaw said and she motioned to Willow.

They were almost to the gate when Willow turned her head to address L’Yaw. “Who is she?”
“L’Shrim? She is our chief of the village.”
“A Woman?”
“You lead your band.”
“But that is different, my man and I lead.”
L’Yaw harrumphed. “I can see that you are the leader.”
Willow wisely chose not to argue the point and allowed herself to be led.

When they got to the healers house, L’Yaw left her and Willow hurried inside.
She was surprised find no one in the front room, but then she heard a noise to her right and hurried through the open door.
There were two beds pushed together and G’Wog lay stretched out of them. A short, slightly rounded woman was bending over her friend and she was muttering to herself.
“How is he?” Willow said. The woman turned to face her and Willow was surprised at how young she was. “Where is the Healer?”
“I am she.”
“But...but you can’t be! You are too young! Healers are always old crones! My friend needs help!”
Anger flashed on the healers face for just a moment, then a look of calm serenity replaced it. The healer suddenly seemed to fill the room with her presence. A wave of strong faith and goodness pushed into Willow, forcing her to step back. The symbol of her faith, hanging from the healers’ neck burst forth with a blinding white light. Eyes burning from the bright light and her stomach roiling from the gentle goodness that enveloped her, made Willow shut her eyes and she took a shuddering breath.
Then it was gone! She opened her eyes and the pretty young woman was smiling pleasantly at her.
“You must be Willow! Our friend has mentioned you.” She calmly walked forward and took Willows hand. “Come, you can help. I am A’Gee. You were the one that cast the containment spell? Very smart thinking on your part. Though I am afraid you healing spell was no match for the magic, it was a good idea. Come.”
Momentarily bewildered, Willow allowed herself to be led to the bedside. “How is he?” She finally stammered.
“He is okay for now. However, I need your help to cure him. Can you weave a containment vessel spell?”
“Yes. One to hold, say a Djinn?”
“Yes, that would be perfect! Now here is what we should do. Weave your spell and place the opening of the vessel here.” She indicated the top of G’Wogs’ head. Make a small opening in your containment spell there also. Then make a small opening here and I will force the evil magic out of him and into your vessel. Once that it sealed, you can remove the main spell and I can heal the nasty wound.
Willow nodded and reached for her leather sack.
“Oh, you won’t need that accursed item. Just take my hand.”
Willow took the offered hand and began her small spell. In moments, there appeared a small, clear vessel over G’Wog’s head. It floated down until it stopped just over the top the now blackened wound. Once it was firmly in place, she opened a small hole in her containment spell.
“Perfect. Now, just another small hole near the bottom.”
Willow did as she was told and for just a moment, she felt the evil she had contained. The evil magic seemed to flow towards the hole, but was stopped by a force emanating from A’Gee’s left hand. She moved her hand closer to the small, unseen opening and the darkness seemed to retreat. A’Gee’s pendant began to shine brightly and Willow felt the same force of faith and goodness flow to meet the evil darkness. The glare did not hurt Willow’s eyes this time and her stomach was calm. Willow watched in awe as the darkness retreated more. Soon, it began to flow into the vessel she had created. She felt the force against it and fought to strengthen it. The evil pushed hard and she knew she could not contain it. Her right hand moved to the sack that held the idol, but a look from A’Gee stopped her. A’Gee smiled and squeezed Willows hand and Willow felt a flood of power flow into her and strengthen her spell. It was so different from the power of the idol. No desire to control, no ties or bindings, just pure power. At the same time, she felt some of her own power flowing back to A’Gee, strengthening her also.
Willow glanced back to the wound and almost all the blackness was gone. And in the vessel, the darkness was drawn into a tight ball, no longer exerting any pressure.
When the last of the darkness slipped into the vessel, Willow sealed it. It began to float down and she grabbed it.
“What now?” She asked.
“Hold the vessel carefully and release the spell on our friend.”
Willow nodded and whispered the words that ended the spell.
“Now I can get to work.” A’Gee said as she released Willows hand. She held both hands over the wound and though she said no words, Willow could feel the effects.
The wound was still an angry red and there were flecks of green rot on the edges. As A’Gee passed her hands over the wound, the green faded and red slowly turned to the bright pink of healthy flesh. Satisfied, A’Gee ended the healing and grabbed her needle and thread. With quick, deft hands, she sewed up the wound. Next, she slathered a salve on it and covered it with a clean dressing.
She stepped back. “Done!” She pronounced.
“And very well!” Willow commented. “Will he have a scar?”
“Yes. The wound will heal, but since it is no longer a clean edge, it will scar.” She glanced at G’Wog. “Not that he will care, men love to brag about their scars.” And she rolled her eyes.
Willow let out a small chuckle.
“Come.” A’Gee said as she took Willows hand. “We are both tired from this ordeal. Put the bottle carefully in that iron pot and secure the lid. You can leave his stick there on the table. I’ll make us some tea. Do you like spice cake?”
The way Willows’ eyes lit up at the mention of sweets, told A’Gee that she had discovered Willows weakness.

Chapter Four

Seven days later, the four remaining members of the amber band stood well outside the South gate. They and a dozen stout men from the village had taken four days to carry the vanquished creature back to the castle and dumped it into the moat. Willow had stayed behind to look after her friend, who had recovered enough from his wound to give young Willow a few lessons.
A few moments later, A’Gee, L’Shrim and G’Wog joined them.
“We are ready to go, but we want to thank all of you for your help and hospitality.” J’De said as he extended his hand. G’Wog shook it and said. “You are missing one person.”
“Who?” Willow said, looking around.
A moment later, L’Yaw came through the gate. She was dressed in calf-high boots, doeskin trousers and a simple tunic. On her back was a quiver of arrows and small pack; her longbow was in her hands. She looked competent and ready for an adventure.
“I thought you might need a archer and since you are going my way, I hope you do not mind the company for a short time.” L’Yaw said as she joined them.
The band looked at one another and J’De nodded.
Willow ran over to her friend and gave him a big hug. “I shall miss your ugly face.” She said and smiled.
“I will miss you also, my slim friend.”
Willow smiled again and rejoined her band.
“Fare thee well.” G’Wog said as the band turned and headed off to deliver the idol to their master.

They watched until the band reached the trees, turned and waved to them, then disappeared into the forest.
“I wish I could go on an adventure with them.” A’Gee said.
“I need no adventures and besides, your place is here in the village, as is mine.” Answered L’Shrim. “At least we are not cursed with ‘Traveling feet’, like L’Yaw.”
G’Wog grinned, then winced.
“Your wound still bothering you? L’Shrim asked.
“Yes. I think A’Gee missed a spot with her healing.” He answered and smiled.
“I think you need a reminder to be more careful!” A’Gee answered and grinned mischievously.
They all laughed.
“L’Yaw will return, as always.” Said G’Wog. “Come, we have a village to care for.”
They turned as one, each pulling a small flat stick from their belts. Words were whispered and the runes on the sticks glowed for a moment and each became a walking staff. A’Gee’s had a simple silver cross, L’Shrim’s a shining crystal and G’Wog’s had the head of an ugly warthog.
As they walked back to their village, G’Wog wondered how L’Shrim would feel if she knew her destiny and happiness lay with a man in a far off land.

The End, (for now)

Friday, July 10, 2009

The other piece of the tale

The other part of my fishing trip involves our dog Tommy, but first, the funny part.
When we got Molly last year, we liked to watch them play. Despite her being about three and Tommy about eleven, they did play. Molly used to run up to him, jump on his back, then start chewing on his ears and neck. Kinda reminded me of a young woman I once dated, but I digress.
As Tommy has gotten older, he plays with Molly less.

Two weeks before my fishing trip, Tommy suddenly started limping. His back legs seemed sore. We shortened the daily walk, but it got worse. So we took him to the vet and the vet gave him a shot of an NSAID and he got a little better. He had been on a low dose of aspirin and a glucosamine powder for the winter, just to keep him limber during the cold months.
The steps off the back deck were short, with two eight-inch drops. Tommy had difficulty going down and required help getting up. I built new steps that only dropped four inches and were two feet wide and a foot and a half deep. Tommy could manage them with only a little difficulty.
This worked for a week and then Tuesday morning Tommy could not get up. His back legs just didn’t work, he didn’t wag his tail and he wasn’t ticklish when you rubbed his tummy by his back legs. We suspected Molly had jumped on his back once too often, for there were times we heard him bark at her!
I rigged a sling to help get him up and walk him around, but he didn’t get better. Thursday morning I took him in to the vet again. It was obvious from the pinch tests, that Tommy had little or no feeling in his back end. However, he still had bladder and poop control. The vet gave me several options. The vet said that at Tommy’s age, it could be a number of things; a growth on his spine, an injury, arthritis or a degenerating vertebra. Sure, we could have X-rays taken, go see a specialist, spend lots of money to find out that there really isn’t much that they could do. Sure, if he was just a few years old, it might be worth it. But Tommy is an old dog.
I opted for another shot of a stronger NSAID, watch him and look up where to buy a doggy wheelchair, or make one.
For Tommy was still a happy dog. Wanted to go for his walks, patrolled the yard, barked at strangers and most importantly, did not appear to be in pain. But it was tough to watch him drag his butt around the room.
I was to leave for my fishing trip the next morning.

I got up early for my fishing trip, dreading leaving Tommy and also leaving WG to take care of him if things got worse. We didn’t talk much about what to do if he got worse, no one likes to talk about that!
But Tommy got himself up, and with the help of the sling, I got him outside to do his business. He seemed a little better, but I worried. The guys arrived and I gave Tommy an extra goodbye.
Five hours later, we were at Chester and I called WG, because the campsite had no cell phone coverage.
Tommy was doing better. He could get up and walk a little, but he still needed the sling to help him stay up.

It was nice being isolated at the campsite, but I worried. For I have always been the one to do the final caretaking of our dogs. The first time, with Celeste, WG and our son went with us, but WG just couldn’t stay and our son eventually had to leave also.
For our last dog Barney, I just went myself.
It’s tough to sit there next to your dog, waiting for the vet to give him the last shot. You pet your dog and he looks at you, trusting you to take care of him, you nod to the vet and the needle slides in, the plunger goes down. Slowly, the eyes seem to cloud over and his breathing slows, then stops.
I was not sure how I managed to make it out of there, nor drive home. Everybody Hurts by REM was on the radio and all the road signs were fuzzy.

So as I tried to fish and joke with the guys, but a pallor hung over the trip. I went through town once on Sunday and my cell phone said there were no messages. I was glad, hopeful, but could not bear to call.

On Monday, we headed home. I called WG when we passed through town and Tommy was much better. He no longer needed to use the sling, but still had trouble getting around.
I almost cried when I got home and Tommy met me at the door.

Several times since then, WG and I have talked a little about it. We both knew what might have to be done, if Tommy didn’t get better, but neither of us could say it at the time.

Tommy loves his walks and knows when they are. He knows when we are getting ready, no matter how we hide what we are doing. He knows when we take Molly without him.
A week later, I took him for his first walk. Walk to the next house, turn around, walk back. Several days later, two houses; then three. Bit by bit, slow progress.

It has been about seven weeks now and I take him and Molly for walk first thing in the morning. The same old routine that Tommy expects.
Only for one block and it is a short one. We have kept his weight down and he seems to be his old self again. A little limpy at times, but he is old. We take Molly for a separate, longer walk and Tommy knows.

We figure he will be about twelve in September and as long as we can keep Molly from jumping on him, I think he will last many more years.

Thursday, July 09, 2009

A piece of tail

At the end of May, the guys and I went on our annual fishing trip to Northern California. Now we always joke that there are no girls allowed, or that it is an estrogen-free zone; but the truth of the matter is, that most women just don’t want to come.
No showers for four days, pit toilets that never smell good and no shopping. Just not a girl’s idea of fun.
And that’s okay.
The camp broke into two groups. The younger, noisy guys in their twenties and the older guys who aren’t going to stay up late partying and drinking (as much). Friday afternoon was just spent getting the camp set up and since the fishing season did not open for the creek next to the camp until Saturday; we drove to another creek and practiced fishing there.
A few hours later, we got back to camp and had a nice leisurely dinner. I had caught one fish, a small 9 incher.
We had been hearing strange noises from the next campsite and as we made dinner and ate it, we watched. There were girls in the next campsite.
Not your ordinary girls, it turns out, but six twelve to fourteen-year-olds. Yes, a gaggle of giggles.
While us older guys toned it down a little, we warned the younger guys to watch their language a little. No, it did not help much.
You could hear the girls giggling long into the night. The rest of the weekend was going to be fun.
Early Saturday morning, Fishing Buddy’s wife arrived with their son(T1) and his friend(T2). And the fun really began, for they are almost fourteen.
Oh yes, the gaggle spotted them right away, for they are good looking boys. A lot of the fun was just watching the girls watch the boys, watching the girls. Oh yes, we teased the boys. ‘Go talk to them. The one in yellow looks kinda cute, and she has been watching you.’ Stuff like that. T2 said he wasn’t interested because he had a girlfriend. I asked him, if that was so, then why was he always combing his hair? He just smiled.
The outhouses and the trash cans were just passed our camp, so the gaggle of giggles had to pass us to use them.
The girls always seemed to need to use the outhouse, or they had to dump the trash. Amusing, isn’t it, how it takes four girls to throw away a bottle. Then fifteen minutes later, two other girls had to throw away a bottle.
The boys were shy, and despite us older guys teasing them and telling them what they should do; ‘after all, it’s just the weekend T2 and your girl will never know if you steal a kiss’; but also we remember being young and shy.
‘Dudes, just go over and talk to them. You don’t have to choose which one you like, they will choose for you!’ “Dudes, it’s like shooting fish in a barrel!’

Saturday morning and we start fishing the creek. Most of the good spots were filled, so I tried a few odd places with no luck. I didn’t want my line tangled with others and I like my solitude while I fish.
I found a little spot between some bushes with just enough room to cast my line. The river wasn’t running too fast, so I could cast out my line and let the salmon egg bait just bounce down the creek and flow under the bushes that hung over the water. Nice spot, because the rocks didn’t eat my bait and the bushes didn’t snag my line. Quite easy fishing.
In ten minutes, I had caught a nice twelve-inch rainbow trout. Some bait got nibbled off, then another fish on the line. No time to ponder life’s mysteries, every time my line floated to a certain spot, I got a nibble!
In an hour I had four fish and there was still a bait stealer eating the little red eggs off my hook. I stayed another hour, carefully practicing my casting, (yes, I need a lot of practice!) I finally got the little bastard, though I am sure there were more. And I was done for the day. The daily limit was five and I had five nice ones, all between ten and thirteen inches.
Now my personal best for the annual fishing trip is six and I had equaled that. I felt pretty darn good.
Better yet, when I climbed up the bank and walked back to camp, I met one of the locals who had fished that same spot earlier in the morning; he got nothing!

I didn’t catch another fish the rest of the trip, but that’s okay, I made my limit that day. Other’s in our group fished the spot and caught a few. We teased the boys the rest of the weekend and despite our prodding, they never got one of the giggles on their line. But they never did bait their hooks, nor toss in a line.
The girls will be there next year and I hope T1 & T2 come also. It is so much fun to watch the interaction between them.

Saturday, June 13, 2009

Real men's toys

So, I have a friend keeps a nice little Beretta .380 under her pillow when her man is away,
She is such a namby-pamby.
My other friend has her Walther PPK 9mm,
she is such a girly-girl.
Another friend has a nice Colt .45,
he is such a 'Nancy'

I have a genuine Buck Roger Atomic Pistol!
You know the one, it will take out the intruder and that pesky wall that your wife wants opened up and a bay window installed.
And the best part is, all you have to do is sweep up the intruders ashes and dump them in the trash!
(I think my homeowners insurance will fix the wall :-)

Hubley Toys and The Sqadron

Who needs a Hubley P-40 Warhawk
















or Hubley P-38 Lightning.















Not when you have your own Hubley squadron of three fighters and two bomber-destroyers!
Yes, I am talking about three Hubley Seversky P-36 monoplanes and two Hubley Airacudas!
Yes, the famous YFM-1 Airacuda that were made by Bell Aircraft in the late 1930’s..














Sure, the Airacuda was a lousy airplane, but it was unusual and still is cool looking.

I just wish I had somewhere to build a little airfield so I could set them up with a hanger. (sigh)

Sunday, June 07, 2009

Master Manipulator

Well, I finally had my procedure to fix my ‘frozen shoulder’ (adhesive capsulitis) Basically, my shoulder froze due to the build-up of scar tissue in my shoulder joint. I am sure it was caused by heavy lifting on two home improvement projects about a year and a half ago.

So my shoulder complained bitterly when I moved my arm beyond certain points and sleeping was very uncomfortable.
Two cortisone injections in my shoulder joint last winter made things manageable, but not better.

So last Thursday, WG and my neighbor CG (Chemical-Girl) went with me for the surgery to fix it. CG came along so we could drop her off at the car repair shop and pick up her car. It ended up that she was also good for moral support for WG and comic relief for the two of us.

It was a long wait. You check in and they give you one of these ICUB (I see ur Butt) gowns to wear, have you lie down on the gurney and you wait (for hours).
It was nice to have the girls with me, to chat and laugh while we waited.
The prep nurse was fun and immediately caught on to our banter. At one point, she asked if I had shaved my armpit. I hadn’t and CG asked if she could pluck them out.
I told her that she could go ‘pluck’ herself.

So for about two hours we teased each other while the Nurse asked questions, then the Anesthesiologist came and asked questions. The doc visited and checked on me. He even wrote his initials on the arm to be fixed. He found it amusing that I had written ‘NO’ on my good arm. (Yes, I am glad his initials were not N. O.!)

Then a nice sedative is put into the IV and I am feeling much better. Wait a little longer and they roll me into the block room. A nice little injection at a shoulder nerve to block it and soon my whole left arm is numb. Imagine a limp dead fish, yes, that numb.

So, the procedure was to manipulate my arm to break loose the scar tissue (imagine putting a big wrench on a rusty bolt and forcing it to move!)
If the manipulation was not successful, then two little incisions in my shoulder would let the surgeon go in with a scope and cut loose any scar tissue that didn’t rip loose.

It was funny, listening to him describe what he was doing, how he could hear and feel the scar tissue tear loose. I couldn’t hear, or more importantly feel, a thing.

After fifteen minutes, or so, of him arm wrestling my limp arm, he said he was done. And, since it went so well, no need to cut into me! And no overnight stay.

The next day I tried my shoulder exercises and could move my arm through almost the full range of motion! And better still, very little pain!
Nice to have a surgeon who is a master manipulator.

Sunday, May 31, 2009

Guilty pleasures, guilty secrets

Not long ago, Even-sister sent me her mp3 player to pass on to our niece. It didn’t work. After I charged it up and reset it, I listened to a lot of the music on it. WG asked later if it was now good. ‘Well,’ I answered, ‘It’s good, except for some of the music.’
It’s just that there was a fair amount of country music, which I don’t care for and lots of Bluegrass, which for me, a little goes a long way. (but I did pull off one John Prine song I liked.)
I think we are all like that. We have music we like to share with others and music that most folks like; but we have some songs that we are just a little too embarrassed to let people know that we listen to.
So I don’t mind playing my iPod in the car, I can usually skip the stuff that WG doesn’t like. But there are songs, silly or sappy, that I always bypass, despite that I like them or that they have special meaning to me.
I seriously don’t want anyone to know I listen to that crap.

Friday, May 15, 2009

Wise to her tricks

Yesterday morning, WG and I were relaxing on the back deck. Just back from our dog walk, we were reading the newspaper and drinking coffee. Tommy was resting and Molly was exploring the backyard. Nice and peaceful.
It was then that we heard some click-click noises coming from the side gate as if someone was trying to unlatch the gate or maybe the wind was making the gate rattle the latch. After a few minutes of this, WG got up to check the gate and laughed when she saw what was going on. She called me over and we both got a chuckle out of what was going on.
A little bird was frantically pulling at the string that unlatches the gate! I guess it was building a nest and the green string looked useful. The bird kept at it until WG walked over to the gate and shooed it away. “We can’t have that!” She said. “It might open the gate and…where’s Molly?”
Uh oh. We immediately checked the yard and in the house, no Molly!
WG opened the gate and went into the front yard and I heard her calling for Molly to come! A moment later, the Bad Beagle ran back through the open gate, followed by WG.
“She was just down the street. Our neighbor was shooing her home.”
Tommy, the good dog, was still resting on the grass.
WG closed the gate and put a brick in front of it. “That will keep it closed.”

The little bird kept at it all morning, until I replaced the string with a thin chain. So, as I have said, never trust a beagle! Nor little birdies also!

Friday, May 08, 2009

Discombobulation

I not sure if dogs count, if they know when one gets more treats than the others; but they can tell time (mostly).
And that’s the problem we have, now that I am no longer working. For it is hard to maintain a schedule now and the routine is broken. Tommy like his routines.
If I get up before seven, which is not likely, it is the usual. Pet the dogs who are waiting, make the coffee, WG and I take the dogs for their walk. But if I get up later, then we have to wait until after eight, for the sidewalks are crowded with kids walking to school.
Now it is fun to see the expressions on the little girls’ faces when they see Molly and Tommy, but it is hard to walk and constantly avoid them. Not everyone likes dogs and it’s polite to let the kids have the sidewalk.
So Tommy waits for us and watches for the signs of the walk. Molly does not see the signs and is just excited.
And it is hard for me to set up a routine, but I am close. Choose one day to do projects, one day to job search. I have found that on the current stone path project, I am better off if I just mix half a bag of mortar. Then I am only on my knees for four hours and my knees don’t hurt as much. I then have the afternoon to do like fix-it jobs, or write.
I really have to be in just the right mood to write and I can’t be if a project looms over me. So a half-day of the project, I have made some progress and I can clear my mind of it and think of a story.
I have nine pages of a fun little story done and might be able to finish it soon. Willow will be pleased.

It’s three o’clock and Molly is antsy. She thinks she should be fed. Tommy is relaxed, for he knows feeding time is four-thirty. Tommy can tell time, but Molly is hopeless; or should I say, hopeful!

The kids are getting out of school now and Molly has to bark at the voices on the other side of the fence. Tommy sometimes barks, but Molly always does. Silly beagle that she is.

Sigh, I am a man of unfortunate leisure, with dogs.

Monday, May 04, 2009

Nobody knows where we are.


So, we have started laying the stones for the front walkway. I have found that it takes the same amount of time to lay a big stone as it does to lay a small stone. So despite the smaller space in front: because we are using smaller stones, it will take longer to do the front walkway than it did to do the backyard patio.
Put down a dollop of mortar, set the flat stone in the mortar. Tap it down, check the slope, tap it some more. If you tap the north side down, the south side lifts a little. Tap the center and it settles evenly. Because of this, I have to run a string over the stone to see where the high and low spots are, then careful tapping gets the stone to match the slope of the walkway.
Most stones are flat, but some are a little uneven and they take longer to set. I have to make the uneven stones fit the average.
Then some silly song goes through my head.
One minute high,
next minute low.
Nobody knows where we are.
Nobody knows where we are.

I wish I could remember the rest of the song, or who sung it, but it reminds me to take a step back and eyeball the slope and fit of the stones. It is easy to get focused on one or two stones and get off your mark.

Wonder-Girl has the stones all positioned. It’s like a picture puzzle, but without the picture. WG checks the fit in the pattern that I can’t see. Not too many of one color together, not too many with similar shapes together.
I am too busy just getting them set in mortar.

One minute high,
next minute low.
Nobody knows where we are.
Nobody knows where we are.

We make a good team. WG does the chipping to make them fit, adjust the color and texture, I set them in the mortar and keep the slope (or do my level best.)

Four to five hours at a time, then even a steady dose of Advil can’t keep my knees from complaining. Time to clean up and call it a day. WG says it is looking good, I can’t see the forest for the trees.

After the stones are done, we will put in the border of clay bricks. At least they are uniform in size and shape, so they should be easier to lay.
I’ll worry about that later, I am still focused of the paving stones.

One minute high,
next minute low.
Nobody knows where we are.
Nobody knows where we are.

Thursday, April 23, 2009

Old dog, old tricks.

Flapity-flapity-flap, Flapity-flapity-flap.
‘I didn’t want to get up this early.’ Wonder-Girl grumbles. I was barely awake, but I knew it was Molly. A bother of a beagle.

It used to be Tommy that would sneak into the back of the house and shake his head to wake us up. Flapity-tinkle-flap. His dog tags would tinkle. After we got Molly last year it wasn’t long before Tommy brought Molly along on his wake up calls.
So if we slept in too late on Saturday morning, there was a chorus of flapity-flaps and a tinkle. I am sure that the flapities are a little different since Molly has the oversized beagle ears.
Now Tommy is an old guy and I know that he has just gotten lazy. Instead of him walking all the way to the bedroom, where he is not allowed; he has taught his tricks to Molly and he sends her to do his dirty work.

And sometimes, when we are not paying attention to Molly, she walks up to us and flaps her ears. Just to get attention, I think.

Friday, April 03, 2009

Building a Better Beagle Barrier


So we have this patch of dirt for the vegetable garden. Tommy knows to stay out (border collies know their borders (mostly), but the Molly dog doesn’t. I put up a simple little wire mesh fence to keep Molly from becoming a mud-mutt. But alas, it didn’t work. The persistent (stubborn) beagle kept pushing at the bottom of the fence until she wormed her way in. Then we would wonder where Molly was and we would find her in the dirt, trapped by the fence. Because of the stone border, she could get in, but not out.
Since Molly is not good with the word ‘NO’, we decided that we needed to build a better beagle barrier before we planted the vegetables. Molly has already trampled Wonder-Girl’s flowers, so there is no sense in planting vegetables unless they are protected!
The wire mesh fence took a day to build and the planting took the second day. By Sunday evening we were all set.
Molly was not happy.

Monday morning Molly went right to the fence and began trying to push herself between the wires. I think she smelled the little present that the neighborhood cat left. (Why do dogs like cat shit?) Anyway, she pushed apart some of the wire, but could not get through.
So far, so good.

Until she takes a running jump, I suppose.

Beagles are stubborn and you can never trust them.