Part of the story

I started this story back in June and got stuck with the kettle girl, not knowing what to do with it/her. It was supposed to be 4-5 pages. On the flight back from Boston, I added the rest of the 12 pages.
GW

A Darkness of Auntie
By GW Hogg
©6-25-05


I had been looking forward to Memorial Day weekend ever since last year. I remember the way Nikki looked, smelled, felt; when I held her in my arms and gave her a kiss. A simple kiss on the lips, that evolved in a most wondrous way. Tongues were suddenly not just for talking anymore. I remember the way she looked, as the sun went down over the ocean. Nestled in a quiet spot on the dunes, the suns orange rays added a special light to her face and her short curly brown hair. We lay behind some bushes, listening to the waves, and the sound of the foghorns.
Now, a year later, I looked forward to renewing the friendship, the special warmth one feels when you hold someone close.

The sedan was packed. We squeezed ourselves, and the last minute stuff, into the car then headed out. It was going to be a fun-filled weekend of camping and listening to music. Mom and dad were glad we all wanted to go. Glad we enjoyed the music, even if it was folk music! But my reasons for going were a little different. Sure I enjoyed hiking and exploring around the area, but girls filled most of my thoughts now.
It was crowded in the little compact. Most of you today would call it a full-sized car. Since we were not going far, we would survive. It wasn’t a long drive; over the bridge, through the city, and over the final bridge. My older sister wanted to play her guitar, but there was no room. The fact that she had a propensity to yodel in some of her songs made it more important not to let her sing. Out in the wide prairies, or in the mountains, a yodel could get nicely swallowed up. In the tight confines of a car, our ears would suffer.

My younger brother had his flashlights, tools, map-making equipment and rope ladder. He was all eager to explore the gun emplacements. Wild imaginings of manning the massive guns and blowing up Japanese warships filled his thoughts. No one would bother using those nowadays, not when you could lob an ICBM over the pole in fifteen minutes. But I know what else he was thinking. The bunkers would make good fallout shelters. Especially since the wind tends to blow towards the city.

We were all restless and eager by the time we turned off 101 and drove to the gate. We were in luck; someone was there to open it. The thin, hippie-looking guy checked our reservations and opened the gate. Then it was a slow drive down the gravel road to the parking lot.

We found a nice campsite, not far from the lot and started setting up. It’s always good to get here early, before the Friday afternoon rush. Saturday? You sleep on the hillsides!
My brother and I helped dad set up the heavy tent while mom and sis set up the food. Once that was done, I set up my small tarp and sleeping bag. I didn’t want to be in the tent, it would restrict my prowling. Plus it never got that cold, even when the fog rolled in.

Silly sister grabbed her guitar and went off in search of music. Lunatic brother went exploring. Mom and dad went for a walk on the beach. I went prowling.

When the sun began to dip towards the fog, and the foghorns began their mournful sounds, it was time to head back to camp. I had looked everywhere but found no sign of Nikki. No, we had no set meeting place, we didn’t know who was driving what car. We had just told each other in our letters, that we would try and find each other. She was pretty sure that her parents would not be driving in till Saturday. But there was always hope they could get away early.

Dinner was simple, burgers, chips, and sodas. Burgers grilled outdoors are always better, and dad was pretty good on the fire pit. Then there was chitchat about who did what that day. Silly sis had that look in her eyes and we all knew she was composing a new song. I just hoped I was not around as she stumbled her way through it for the first few times! My brother had found some guys to go exploring with and they were planning a full-scale assault on the bunkers in the morning. After that, there were the lookout posts up on the ridges.
After dinner clean up was quick and dad made sure we all had our flashlights before we went off to listen to the music.

I stopped by the center of the campground and marveled at the two stainless steel kettles and the huge propane tank next to them. It looked as if you could almost take a bath in them!
“What are you cooking?” I asked the pretty girl busy stirring the pots and gave her a smile.
“Stone soup.” She said and smiled back.
“You can really make that?” She looked really nice in just blue jeans, boots and a half laced-up tunic. The view was enticing.
“Yes. Lots of people bring stuff just to be put in the pots.”
“I would think rocks taste the same everywhere. Why would you import them?” Long brown hair and green eyes; a sort of hippie cowgirl.
“Silly we don’t really use rocks.” And then she saw my grin. “I can’t do my work, with you pulling my leg!”
“What’s the diff?” I pointed to the two pots.
“One’s vegetarian. One has meat.”
“Is it any good?”
“It’s coming along. We’re shy a few things.”
“Well, I brought my wrist-rocket. Perhaps I can get you a squirrel.”
“Oh! You wouldn’t do that, would you?”
“Naw. Not enough meat.”
“You’re terrible!”
“Thanks.”
“That wasn’t a compliment.”
“I know.”
“I only have to do this for another half hour. Wanna go for a walk later?”
“Well…look, you’re awful pretty, but there is a friend I met here last year and she arrives tomorrow. I really shouldn’t.”
“She’s your girlfriend?”
“No.”
“Well, then she has no claim on you.”
“But…”
“No buts. Be back here in half an hour and we’ll go for a walk. It’s not like I’m asking you to the Prom!”
“No, it’s not. Okay, I’ll see you in a bit. By the way, my name is Greg.” And I reached over the kettle.
She wiped her hand on her apron and shook mine. “Cindy. Nice to meet you Greg. See you in a half. And bring some salt!”
“Okay Cindy.” I waved and ambled over to the next clearing and set of picnic tables. Four guys with guitars and a gal with a banjo where busy playing, singing and laughing. There were kids around the fire pit, roasting marshmallows and singing along. Kids have it so easy at times. Sweets and a song and they are happy. My thoughts were just starting down into one of my sister’s songs. ‘Oh come on now!’ I thought to myself. ‘It’s not like you are cheating on your wife! Cindy knows there is someone else. All she did was ask you to go for a walk. What’s the harm in that?’
I walked on until I found another group singing around another fire pit. They sounded much more interesting.
“Roll me o-ver, in the clo-ver.
Roll me over, lay me down and do it again.
Now this is number three,
fancy friggin, fast and free.
Roll me over,
Lay me down
And do it again!”

Okay, this is my kind of music! I sat down and a lady handed me a cup. She first grabbed a bottle of wine, then looked at me a second time and grabbed a jug of lemon-aid.
“Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Do you know the songs?”
“Sure do! My dad has a bunch of these records.”
“Good, we need to be able to drown out the yodelers on the other side of those bushes!” And she winked at me.
“Be glad to help.”

The song came to an end and they launched into ‘A Gob is a slob’. The group soon noticed that I had changed genders on the song and they let me finish the last half, just to see if I could fix the end. I did, and there was a good round of applause.
“Nicely done young man.” The lady next to me said.

We all launched into ‘Bell Bottom trousers’ and finished that with a lot of laughter. It was time to go. I thanked them all and they told me to come back anytime.

It was a short walk back to Cindy. It was getting dark, but I could still see without the flashlight.

She was just taking off her apron when I got there.

(The story continues, but I felt that 17 pages was too much to post. At least this gives you a taste. I can send you the rest if you want. Just email me. GW)

Fishsticks

I think I was perhaps seven, maybe eight. (Mom and Dad might remember.) It was dinner time, but we were told we had to put our laundry away first. “And don’t use the back stairs, the door sticks.” Said mom.

So I grabbed my stack, and as the rest of the kids went to use the front stairs, I headed to the back of the house. I knew a secret way to open the door.

Into the back sun porch, up the steep narrow stairs and I was in the upstairs sun porch. The sun porch filled the whole back side of the house and the three walls were covered with windows. The floor was a sealed blue Linoleum and there were little drain holes at the corners. I suppose in case you left the windows open. Mom said that originally, there were no windows.

There was a double-hung window in the fourth wall and it led to my bedroom. Between the window and the door to the stairs, was the sticking door. A regular door with glass panes. I knew that if I ran at the door, my arm out front, and hit the wood side of the door with my palm; I could pop the door open. I had done it before and I felt clever. So I put my laundry down, backed up and ran at the door, hitting it with my palm.

And my palm went right through the glass!

I don’t remember screaming, but mom and dad we there in seconds. Nor do I recall the blood pouring from my sliced up arm. But I suppose I must have bled like a stuck pig. Mom disappeared and then reappeared, wrapping my arm in a white towel. Then my dad carried me down the front stairs and outside to the van for the drive to the doctor’s office. It was an English Thames, with a metal cover on the engine, between the driver and passenger seats. I remember mom placing the backing sheet with fishsticks on the engine cover.

So as we drove to the doctors, at least the four other kids could eat dinner. I don’t think I ate, I was probably being held safely on my mom’s lap, as dad drove.

I do recall my older brother telling me that I would get a lollipop for each stitch the doctor had to do.

I wonder if there were emergency rooms back in 1964? Today, that is where you go. But back then, we were driving across town to Dr Payne’s office. I guess dad called ahead, because there was a doctor waiting. Not Dr. Payne, I guess she had the night off.

It’s funny how people talk of how traumatized kids can get by some disaster. But I think that kids can be very resilient and over time, an incident can just become a footnote in a persons life.

So I sat there, as the doctor washed the blood off my arm. It didn’t look too bad, a small slice in my thumb, two parallel cuts over my wrist. An interesting group of gouges close to my elbow, they looked like a thin leaf and a wide leaf, joined together. Unlike leaves, these were bright red. Oh, and one little cut at my elbow.

The needle injects the Novocain around the leaves and the doc begins to stitch things up. I don’t remember seeing the stitching, so I am sure I wasn’t allowed to watch. Then some butterfly bandages and wrap my right arm in gauze and stuff.

We piled back into the van and started the drive home. “There are some fishsticks left, if your hungry.” Mom said. “But your little sister ate all the ends off. That’s the only part she likes.” So I munched on lukewarm fishsticks as we drove home.

Oh course, I had to explain why I did what I did. And yes, a good example of why you should listen to your mother. And yes, perhaps the lesson didn’t sink in that well.

I do remember that my older brother and I thought it was real neat that the blood on the floor was still wet after three hours. Good thing it was linoleum, for it made it easier for my mom to mop up. I don’t remember if she had trouble cleaning up the trail of blood that lead to the front door. Dad carefully removed the broken glass from the door and later replaced it with a board.

Dad said that if I had not pulled my hand out quickly, but done it slowly and carefully, I might not have been cut as badly.

Years later, mom told me that if the two parallel cuts were much deeper, then it would have slice my tendons and would have lost the use of my right hand.

Oh, and there were seven little stitches. And no lollipops! My older brother was telling fibs!

Postscript- My brothers and sisters could not add much detail, neither could my mom and dad. But oldest sisters said that mom forgot the ketchup for the fishsticks!

A Recipe for Disaster

But incomplete.

You sometimes hear that phrase, and yes, at times, you can look at a situation and say, “Wow, that was sure a recipe for disaster!”

But every kitchen has that. Cabinets filled with ingredients, pilot light on the stove is burning, the refrigerator filled with food, recipe books on the shelf. Depending how you mix and cook thing, determines what you have to eat for dinner.

Last night’s ingredients are(in no specific order)
HSGF-High School Girlfriend, that I have known and loved for thirty years.
We get together for dinner, or the Reunion, every five years.
She has driven into town for the weekend, by herself.
She is staying at her dads' house, but he is away for the weekend.
I am driving into town to see her and have dinner with her.
And yes, the pilot light is always lit.

We had a really nice evening. Dinner was simple, at a nice burger place, then it was back to her dad’s house where we talked a bit about our high school days. Then we pulled out pictures of our families and got caught up on the trials and tribulations of raising kids, what our brothers, sisters, moms, dads were doing.
We had a great time.
Then it was time for me to go home. A long hug, a kiss on the cheek and off to home I go.

And that is the end of the story until we meet again in five years.


What you don’t see in the recipe book, is the ingredient where we trust ourselves not to make a move, we trust each other not to make a move. Our spouses trust us. Because you just don’t do things to jeopardize everyone’s trust. And that is the main ingredient.

And if we both were single? That is a different recipe and a different story.

Alone

Sunday

She told the man,
in the Broadway hotel,
‘Nothing was stranger than being yourself.’

Alone, in your room you hide,
as the night goes by,
in the street outside.
-AS

I may be lonely, but I’m never alone.
-AC

So I sit here on a gray Woburn day, listening to the kids splash in the pool. An atrium is nice, I can hear and see people, but the fall rain and cold is beyond the glass.
Oh I suppose I could gaze at the pool, watch the people swim. But they are all kids, and I would look the pervert if I stood there gazing. Even more so if I stood on my balcony and gazed at the teenage girls using the exercise equipment below me.

The network is down here, so I cannot see if friends are online, cannot email or web surf. That leaves me to depend on myself for something to do. I got a little work done, read some reports, but I have to admit, I am a little bored. I have stories to finish, but today, the Muse just isn’t there. I know I have to be awfully clever to work my characters just right. I still don’t know how to handle Cindy and Auntie; I got to a point in the story and just couldn’t figure out how to tie them together, and to hint at what really happened. Oh I know the end, it’s just that I am at the 3/4 mark and can’t get past that point. It started as a small story, maybe five pages. But then it took off and I am up to a dozen pages already! Sometimes that happens. I start with a little idea and the next thing I know, I have a dozen chapters. Then the hard work begins; the careful plotting.
The easy times are when the idea hits, the cute little Muse is perched on my shoulder, whispering in my ear. The next thing I know, I am done and I have a nice little story. I like the Muse and she likes me. But at times, I guess she has things to do and just isn’t there. I guess I am not the only one she whispers to.

But the amusing thing is, that despite being alone these last two days, I am not lonely. In fact, I am rarely lonely. I’ll go to that Mexican restaurant down the street tonight and ask for a table for one. I hope I don’t see pity in the hostesses eyes, for I need it not. I am not alone. My thoughts churn in my head, I watch the people swirl around me, and I get ideas.
Other times, I think of my sweet wife and how soon I will be back at her side where I belong. But you know, she is never far away. Everywhere I go, she is with me. Even in my dreams, I can feel her presence. Always there, always steady and supportive.
So I am never lonely.

You Can't Fool Me

Saturday
So I go downstairs to have lunch at the bar yesterday. It’s nicer there, TV screens, maybe a chance to chat with the bartender there.

I grabbed a seat at the bar, there was a lady sitting at a table to my left; otherwise the place is empty. I ordered a Sam Adams and a sandwich.
While I was eating, two ladies come in and sat down across from me!
Now this is a bar in the center of the room, so there are places to sit all the way around. And yet the two ladies sit directly across from me.

Now let me describe them. Both are in their mid thirties. The brown-haired woman is good looking,. Her blonde companion is, well, let’s just say she hurts the eyes a little, just to look at her. Border-line ugly.

Now I know what they are doing. When you look at them, your eyes have to go to the nice looking one. It’s a setup, just to put all the attention on one person. But you can’t fool me! I know it’s a setup. I know that it is designed to lure a guy by himself, to make eye contact, smile, approach. And she will be approachable. We’ll buy each other drinks and the ugly one will quietly disappear. Then, when she thinks I have loosened up enough, she’ll invite me back to her room.
And if I were to go there, I would maybe get three steps into the room, and the ugly one will come out of the bathroom, grab me from behind and hold a chloroform soaked rag over my face, knocking me unconscious.

Within the hour, a van will pull up behind the hotel and two burly guys will collect the body. Within hours, my parts will have been surgically removed and winging their war to rich organ recipients around the country.

They can’t fool me and I did not make eye contact.

Dinner two

Finally got a hold of Prada-Girl. Dinner is set for Monday. With any luck, I can convince DT to join us! Wow, this is going to be a busy week! I have a dinner with HSGF next weekend, in lieu of the reunion!

Yes, as you might have guessed, I have a number of female friends, scattered around the country/world. No, I do not know why I seem to collect more gal friends, than guy friends. Some, like Filet, I am very close to, others are just good friends. If I ever get back to Cebu, I will be sooo busy!

Life is tough, but I survive.

Dinner with Skinner

The logistics of being out of town, while friends are scattered around the Boston area; can be daunting. This especially true since the roads and off ramps change daily.
But I was finally able to get some free time in my busy schedule and touch base with Skinner.
It’s funny, but I can call it all manner of things. Basically, it’s dinner with a friend of mine. If I want to get people to talk, well then, I have a date with Skinner.
Skinner is 5’2", short light brown hair and blue-gray eyes that just sparkle with intelligence, mischief, and intensity. I have known her for…gosh, fifteen years now! Every time I am in Boston, I try to get together with her. Maybe just for a beer, maybe for dinner. She is just fun to be around. (yes, and quite attractive!)
The one time I brought WG to Boston with me, Skinner took the day off and took WG all over town while I had to work. The two of them had never met. You just have to love her.
So I drove into town and met her for dinner at the Red Rock. (Oh, it would have been so amusing, to have run into Prada-Girl!)
I had a great time with her, catching up on our lives. (I so miss working with her.) She spins a good yarn and it just fun listening to her.
I was careful and only had one beer. After all, I had to drive, while Skinner rides the train. I told Skinner there was another reason to only have one beer. If I had too many beers, she might take advantage of me! (here is where we pause for just a moment, allow all of you to step off the curb, into the gutter. Now while you are all thinking dirty thoughts…)
For I knew if I had too much to drink, I would wake up in the back seat of her car, surrounded by brushes, rollers and cans of paint. She and her husband would be laughing maniacally in the front seats; for now they had someone to help paint their summer house and they didn’t even need a ladder!
Skinner laughed when I told her that.
Alas, she could not stay too late, she had a train to catch. But the few hours we could spend together was worth it.

The three of us

It is fun when something happens to me and I can sit back, assess the incident, then put a fun spin on what happened.
I had just finished a business dinner with ML. As he went off to his room, I stopped at the hostess station to get a copy of the bill. There was no one there so I scanned the restaurant to see where she was. Now there were two (good looking)young ladies having dinner in the restaurant. And as my eyes slid past them, I paused my glance for a split second on the one who was facing me.
(now I am adept at letting my glance just touch a woman, and not linger. For I know full well that if the glance lasts for more than a moment, she will feel creepy chills going up her spine and the hair on the back of her head will start to stand. Why should I ruin her dinner?)
And the young lady facing me was looking at me. When my gaze came back around, she was looking at me again.
A good looking young lady.
I waited a minute or two, then scanned the restaurant. Each time, this young lady was looking right at me!
Now if I was OTP, I would have smiled. Maybe gone over and chatted. After all, there was eye contact. But the days of a woman walking over to talk to me, and leaving a snail-trail; well, they are far in the past (if they ever existed.)
And I can split myself into parts and spin this story into two directions.
The hog knows that she was checking me out. And despite the fact that I am a bit older, she was debating what her next move was. After all, we were two people staying at a hotel, far from the city. There could be some interesting interactions if we wanted some brief companionship to ease the loneliness of being far from home.
The gentleman would be concerned that this older guy might have given her the creeps. Young ladies do not care to be ogled by an old guy.
Warty knows that the simple explanation is that, when she looked up at her friend, I was simply in her line of sight.
Nothing more.
Skinner thought the story was amusing.

Okay for you!

Well, in 24 hours, I’ll be in the East. Skinner and I will meet for dinner, have fun catching up with our worlds.
No word from Prada-girl or the Daughter-Twin. I am soooo not talking to them!

Travels

Well, in another week I’ll be on the East Coast to do some training and getting some training myself. It will be nice to see my coworkers again and to meet two new ones. It will be odd this time because I’ll be spending the weekend. In times past, when we were based in the city, I could walk all over the city and do site seeing. But now the office is in the suburbs, so if I want to see the city, I’ll have to drive in. With luck, Skinner and her husband will be available. It will be nice to see them both. Hmmm…I’ll have to see if Prada-girl and/or the Daughter-twin can meet me for dinner, lunch, a beer?

Good that they have me going to the East before the weather gets cold.

And speaking of cold, there is a rumor afoot that they may need to send someone to Cebu to help provide some training. It’s amusing that when the boss put forth some names, the three supervisors there said that they only wanted me! It’s nice to have friends like that. This wouldn’t happen until maybe January. So while it’s cold here, I would be in a warm climate. I don’t know how long it would be, or if WG can come this time. If she can, I’ll have to schedule some of my friends to help show her around. WG loves the beach, and an island has beaches!
Then there are diners, island hopping, dancing at nightclubs.
Should be fun if I can survive the fun!

We will wait and see. I assume that when I am back east, I will be approached about this.
Fingers crossed. :-)

Are we there yet? II

So, I was talking to Mr. B and he was telling me of a property he had just bought. Several acres and a closed medical clinic. He wants to convert the clinic into a house and resell it. The clinic even has an operating theater!
So I told him of my story idea of the organleggers. He caught on right away. Yes, he agreed, that would be a good place to do the harvesting. A small building, way out of the way.

And I began thinking more on the idea. How hard would it be to convert the clinic to a home, but leave the operating room? Easy.
Of course, living 30 miles from Chico, transportation would be an issue. Chico does have a good supply of young college boys and girls. Healthier, than say a forty year old. But I would guess that someone would miss a young college girl more than a forty year old executive.
As I build this story, there are so many details to figure out.
A young organ source would be more valuable, but an older person less missed?
Well, move the abandoned clinic closer to SF?
All I have to figure out is how to find a doctor and how to slip organs into the organ donation system.

Bit by bit, piece by piece, the idea forms.

Weekend in the country

Spent the weekend visiting friends up near ‘B’. It’s nice to get away to the country. A relaxing time, a little fishing. Watch the animals.
Mr. and Mrs. B. have seven acres and five horses; three dogs and several cats. The fun was watching their two new puppies and Tommy interact. There was the usual sniffing of butts and licking wrong places. The fun thing was the puppies. There are both about a year old. One is your basic Lab, the other smaller, mixed breed. There were a few barks and snarls, then things settled down with Tommy in charge. The one older dog knows Tommy and they already knew how to get along.

The puppies did get a little wild, as puppies do. After a while, Tommy would want to go in. A little rumpus is okay and then it’s time to settle down.

Fishing on the lake wasn’t very good. Just a few nibbles. But the next morning, we took three of the horses to the neighbors' property next door. They walked us down to a good sized pond and through handfuls of dog chow in. And tons of catfish, some quite large, came up to feed. We could have just dipped in a net and gotten lunch and dinner!
Next time we come up, I’ll catch dinner in the pond!


A good weekend. Quiet, nice and quiet.

Happy Now?

Bitch!

Okay, for all we know, it could have been a bastard.

Two weeks ago, we received an anonymous letter addressed to us. No name, return address, signature. Our mailing address was printed on a computer, then taped to the envelope. Pretty chicken shit.

The letter was as follows.
====
I have waited patiently for you to trim the hedge that is encroaching upon the sidewalk that surrounds your home.
Apparently, this not concern you. I am reliant upon a wheelchair due to my disability. You are in direct violation of both City, State and Federal statutes. I have a right to use the sidewalk without it being obstructed in any manner.
I strongly advise you to tend to this matter immediately. I will pursue any and all actions to see that this matter is resolved.
Thank you for your anticipated cooperation.
====

Is that a hateful, nasty letter, or what? Yes, our hedge was overgrown and we were planning to trim it back. But a nice letter, asking us politely to trim it, would have been the first order of business. If that didn’t work, well yes, you can ‘pitch a bitch’.
So we hacked the hedge back a foot and now it looks like a gnarly hedge, all full of branches and sticks that I am sure will scratch people as they go by. Well, it will look good for Halloween!
If the letter had been nice and polite, we would have felt bad for the disabled person. We would have trimmed it back and then felt good about ourselves. Now we just hate this ornery cripple.

People should realize that not everyone is aware of how something as simple as an overgrown hedge can impede someone in a wheelchair. I am fully aware that short people(95% of the population) forget that normal sized people like me(over six foot) have to constantly duck because people don’t cut there low hanging branches, hanging lamps and signs in stores the hit me in the head. Oh, and one of my favorites, ATM machines made for little children! I almost have to kneel to use them!
So I am fully aware the people go through life, thinking they are the norm and everything should be built to fit them.

More Warts

Well, it suddenly dawned on me, with Google adding email and IM, I had better sign up, lest someone else usurp my special chosen name(as if)

Now all I have to do is wait for someone else I know to get on, then I can try the voice communication. It would be fun to talk to some of my friends around the world, instead of IM chat. I type slowly, inaccurately and I am a lousy speller. Actual audio would be fun and cheaper.

Are we there yet?

Amusing how an idea pops into your head. You think about it for a while and you have to wonder…
I was surfing through Craig’s list, looking at the free stuff. I almost snagged a wood burning stove, but I was perhaps, hours late.

So I looked at a few other things. Personals are always amusing to read and not much has changed in forty years. But I guess what has changed is how people can secretly communicate. Emails lead to pictures exchanged, pictures to Im. Maybe phone calls. A meeting is set up. Probably takes hours now, instead of days?

A guy or gal leaves their office at lunch, walks a number of blocks, and spend their lunch…

And back to the office. The day ends, they go home.

Soon, it’s not going to be that way. Because think about it. Someone quietly goes somewhere, doesn’t tell anyone. Outside of some emails or phone call, if you look, no record.
“Oh, Mrs. Smith went out for lunch.”
“Does she do that often?”
“A few times a week.”
“And she didn’t come back?”
“No Officer, she missed her 2pm meeting. It’s just not like her.”

And no one hears from her again. The trail goes cold. One more missing person.

And miles away, in the Sunset district, a sedan pulls out of a garage and makes it’s way to a warehouse. The unconscious body is delivered to a small team of surgeons. What can be sold is removed and quickly flown to waiting hospitals. Money changes hands and those who can afford it live on.

An back in the Sunset district, money is divided up and they go to work on the next ad.

“GWF seeks lunch date with Mature same. Please come show me pleasures I never thought possible!”


How close are we to this? Or are we there already?

Local darkness

As I was tightening the last screw, the spa breaker went clunk, clunk.
“Something’s wrong with the spa.” WG said.
“Power outage.” I said as I got off my knees and went to the outdoor light switch. Nothing happened.
Okay, I’ll finish up putting some boards along the base of the deck. We could see evidence of something digging at the edge of the lawn and getting under the deck. From there, the rats are getting under the deck, and under the house. I can’t get under the deck, so this is the next best thing. With luck, the little bastards will starve to death, or better yet, nibble on the generous food on the traps.(Bwahahaha!) Barring that, they at least won’t get under the house.
And lest you think it’s terrible, my poor coworker has some nice tomato plants, but no tomatoes. Something is eating them.

And perhaps we should talk to the dog. He is not patrolling well enough. We can tell because we find that squirrels are starting to bury their nuts. (yes, squirrels can be like rats, but a little cuter.)

And now the power comes back on and perhaps I should get some more tools and fix some other things. Oh, I can make some more coffee now!

Expectations

I watch the news of the hurricane aftermath and wonder about my area. I find it interesting on how quickly chaos can take over. Maybe it starts with ‘I need food and water.’ Soon it’s anger over the situation or simple want, and people begin to take everything.
I am sure some people wanted to stay and I have less sympathy for them. Some could not leave, they have my sympathy. But for the vast majority, there was ample time to get out. Whether people could not evacuate, or the government didn’t evacuate them; I can’t say. But there was time.

At some point, the San Andreas, or the Hayward fault will let loose. And when the shit hits the fan, there will be no warning. No time to evacuate. Just deal with it if you are alive afterward.
And everyone warns you not to expect ANY help for at least three days. Zero, nada, you are on your own!

I fully expect a week. And I have food and water for that week.

I am not sure what went wrong beforehand, down south. Why not enough people evacuated. But perhaps next time, more will leave sooner.
Unfortunately, people have to die, for others to learn lessons.

gas prices

So the other night, I heard that to lessen the effect of high gas prices, you need a jar a Vaseline to lubricate the gas nozzle, as they stick it to you!
But then I realized that Vaseline is petroleum jelly and the price of that is gonna go up also!

Leinigen vs the Ants

Well, not as epic a battle, but the battle goes on.
Tonight, WG poked her head into the garage. Hurry Honey, come quick! There is a rat at the bird feeder!”
I dropped what I was working on, grabbed a broom(I don’t own a shotgun, but kinda wished I did.) I follow her into the backyard and in the gathering twilight, I can see the little rat at the bird feeder, at the other corner of our yard.
The rat sees us and jumps down into the flower bed. As I rush over there, deadly broom in hand, I can hear WG. “Get a shovel.”
“No Time, I want to kill the bastard.”

I started poking around, hoping to scare it out so I can whack it. WG grabs a heavy shovel and moves to the vegetable garden. In the gloom at the base of the fence, I see movement and poke at something.
‘I saw something on this side. “ She yells. I move around the pond and poke among the herbs. I see some movement further down and turn.
Two of the little bastards go running up the fence post, sixteen feet from me! Once on the top of the fence, one runs away from me and one runs towards me! I cock the broom behind me and watch as the little gray shape bears down one me. He is at eye level and I can see his little beady black eyes.
Just as he got abreast of me and swung the broom and was gratified to feel a squishy thump!
As he fell to the ground I yelled out to WG. “I thumped him!” And I struck again and the gray lump on the ground moved and I missed. The little shit then scampered up the orange tree and vanished.

And the Tommy dog arrived to see what was going on. Definitely not a rat dog!

I couldn’t see anything in the orange tree as it was getting darker. WG came up to me, still holding her shovel. “I figure, place three traps. One there, there and there.”
“Yes, that should cover it.”
“Do you think the birds might set them off?”
“I don’t think so.”
“What about the squirrels?”
I shrugged.
“I don’t worry about them much either. I don’t want to hurt them, but I hate rats!”
“I wish I had a pellet pistol. But I might not have been able to shoot fast enough.”
“Get the little shovel and keep it out. It’s lighter and you may be able to do more damage next time.”

So we go back inside, the excitement of the moment gone. Tomorrow, buy more traps.

I can only hope that somewhere out there, there is a rat scurrying around with a pronounced limp.

And I am sure that no one but my older brother even know who Leiningen was.

creaping age, creeping me out

I seriously need to make fun of my older brother. He just turned fifty! You know, the need to cover the grey, a looming mid-life crisis?

But alas, I fell asleep on the couch after dinner(again!)

I need to think of something to say, I’ll be there myself, all too soon.

Poor guy, one daughter is grown and out of the house. Daughter two will graduate from college in 3-4 years. Then he has to retire! Poor, poor guy. All alone in his house, no kids, nothing to do but get naked and chase his wife around the house, just because he can!