Long December

Goodbye 2025. Hello 2026.

This past year has been full of surprises. One of my partners had cancer. It sucked. Diagnosed in April and after surgery and chemo, declared cancer free earlier this month. I never got out of the country this year as planned, nor did I travel much farther than the Berkshires to visit my other partner from time to time in her travel job. I had a pinched nerve in my neck that took weeks of chiropractic care to correct, enjoyed a cardiac ablation to cure my SVT (spoiler, it kind of worked…) and missed seeing Counting Crows this year for the first time since 2016. We lost a cat in January, had another run-in with mental health issues and drug abuse, resulting in not one but TWO stolen cars on two different occasions, and generally had a shit time. I missed a lot of motorcycle weather for various reasons, so it wasn’t a record year for riding, although I will admit that the Mohawk Trail in Western Mass is a great ride. You should try it if you bike.

Things are ending on an upside, though. Like I said, we’re cancer-free. The travel job is ending this week, and I’ve made a new friend who offers me a world of things to learn about that I never needed to understand before. I went 48 weeks straight on my weekly photo challenge before having such a busy Sunday that I missed the fucking thing in week 49.  I’ll start again next year, I guess. Also, we got two new kittens that have become the heart of the house (see Cats in the Library for a take on that) I watched Ted Lasso – all three seasons of it- because my partner with cancer asked. It was enjoyable, but that’s about as much TV as I want to watch for a while, thanks.

But I’ve started to want to write again. That’s a very good thing. I’ve also taken up shooting pool again, so let’s add that to the long list of things I spend time on (and photography, and ax throwing, and bowling, and soon go-carting, too!) I’ve got some biggish ideas in my head that might end up here if I can make them work out.  I signed up for a half marathon, too. In May. I Guess I should start training seriously for THAT soon. I keep myself busy these days, and I keep trying to be a better human being every goddamned day.  It’s hard. You all know.

This post seems like a stream of consciousness and that’s okay – at least I’m writing (on a Cherry mechanical keyboard, no less… what a pleasure THAT is) and writing is good. My muse has been chirping to me in the dark places that are no longer occupied by monsters, which is also a good thing. Let’s all raise a glass to therapy, right?

I guess that’s enough catching up for now. I expect to write a holiday story one of these days, but not today.

At least not right now.

 

It’s been a year, and as our friend Adam Duritz reminds us:

“…It's been a long December and there's reason to believe
Maybe this year will be better than the last…”

I am hoping for 2026 to be far better than this one.

Cats in the Library

The house was quiet and mostly dark. Rain pattered against the windows and the kittens sat watching the raindrops glide down the window.  They glistened like stars as in the reflected light, moving either slowly or quickly as their size and weight dictated. The kittens pawed at the window, hoping against futility that one would end up in their belly. Alas, not.

 

I typed. The soft clacking of the keyboard my companion in the silence while the house was still and the sun warmed up the eastern sky. I typed, trying to express my thoughts in a coherent way. Trying to squeeze the juice from the somewhat dried lemon I called my creative mind. My other companion sat by me on the next chair, nearly invisible and waiting patiently while words flowed onto the screen. She watched in silence, a larger-than-life character who kept this library guarded in its early days. A Rubenesque companion to teacups, books, and warm laps. She let her eyes wander over the words, my face, the kittens, and the ever-expanding shelves of books.

“So, what do you think?” I asked her quietly. “Making any sense?”

She blinked, looked away, then replied “My bowl is empty, you know.”

“Yes, I know, but you really don’t have a bowl here anymore. But thank you for staying”

“Someone has to watch out for all of you.” She mumbled as she turned in the chair.

I felt her nestle down and get comfortable. The kittens became distracted and left the window. On the way past, the girl, much smaller than her brother, paused just for a second and looked at the two of us. She blinked slowly at my companion and moved past, leaving just the two of us in the library.  I pushed back from the table and picked up the ghostly cat from the chair. She glared at me in false indignance but settled lovingly into my arms. I leaned over and sipped my tea then carried her around the shelves.

“See what we did while you were gone? It’s grown, hasn’t it?” I whispered to her, kissing her ear and making her make the face at me.

“I have.  Not a place to sit anymore – at least not with the books. I liked it airier, if you get me. It is easier to get in there and listen to the whispering books.” Her eyes moved from my face to the books and back again.

“I don’t think we thought about that. Good idea, but the kittens aren’t you. They’re clumsy and full of themselves. It is one of their charms.  You were always so careful and respectful.  These two are so funny. They have too big feet and too long legs for their bodies. You? We never worried about knocking anything over. Them? Not so much.” I paused, “We miss you.” I felt my eyes get wet. I blinked the tear away and smiled at the cat in my arms.  

She blinked and started to purr a little.

“I know. I’ve kept them away from those glass things, so they don’t knock them over, but they are busy little kittens. I show them how to do things, but kids these days…” She smiled a little and looked up at me. I appreciated the joke and held her a little closer. “So, what are you writing, Big Person?” she asked quietly.

“I’m writing a little story for her birthday.  I really haven’t written much, and this seemed like a good thing to get out”

“Huh. Didn’t you tell her happy birthday already?”

“I did”

“Didn’t you tell her you loved her?”

“I did. You sure are full of questions, aren’t you?”

“So why the story?”

“It’s what I do, isn’t it?”

“I thought you took pictures. I see them around…”

“I do that too, silly.” I kissed her head between her ears, and she shook it off.

She looked at me and I smiled back. I walked all around the library with her and showed her all my favorite books that we added since she left. Giving me the usual cat indifference, I could still feel her purring against me, so I knew she approved.

“So many stories here now. I think I will make a little room from time to time and listen to some books.  They always want to tell their stories; but you must listen. Humans don’t listen enough.”

I nodded in understanding. The kittens flashed by the door of the library, then returned to watch me. Sitting patiently, they blinked and groomed. “I think the little masters want to be fed” I said to my furry black companion.

“They do, Bring me to her. I want to lie with her on her birthday.”

I got a little teary and kissed her again.

Ever so quietly, I made my way to the bedroom and pushed the door open a little more, careful not to wake her. My companion looked up at me and blinked slowly, rubbed her face on my hand then my chin, and began to rise. I tipped her towards the bed, and she landed, maybe a little more softly than she intended.  I watched her make her way around the sleeper’s feet and legs, then up along her body to her beautiful little face. She tipped her head down and licked her ever so lightly.  Again, looking back at me a moment, she moved to her usual spot, draped over blanketed legs and curled up. The sleeper moaned a little, made a sweet noise and sighed in comfort and love.   I turned away, closing the door behind me. As I left, my companion said “Wait”

I stopped and waited.

“I never left you. Either of you.”

I teared up yet again.

“I feel you every day. Thank you for being with us” I whispered very softy.

“Go feed the kids, They’re great. I’ll take care of them too.”

And with that, she put her head down and curled her luxurious tail around herself and went to sleep. I closed the door and tended the little masters. Fed and content they returned to their window to continue catching raindrops, although a little more slowly. I typed, working through the words. Alone with the kittens this time.

 

 Surrounded by stories waiting to be told and so very, very in love.

 

<3

Happy Birthday

2025

 

Writing Again. Again.

     It’s been a a long, long time since I’ve written. A long time. Years, even. But here i am again, thinking about what i should write about. I’ve got a single installment of “Dream of the Raven’s Gate” to wrap up and post and finally complete that damned thing.  We’re coming into the holiday season so i could write another Halloween story, or another installment of Black Friday, or hell maybe even an Angus tale. 

But I’ll start with this. 

Fucking Feelings

It’s been so long that i can’t even remember the last time i gave anyone an update about my life. But in these days post-social media nonsense, i feel like nobody actually needs an update on my life. It’s my life. It’s a little complicated, a little easy, and always very deep in emotion. But sometimes things come up  that are worth sharing, and this one feels like it might be that. You be the judge. 

I’m am so tired of talking about my feelings. So tired. Every time I dig down to be able to express what it is I want to express, I discover yet another goddamned stone I didn’t intend to turn over. But there it is, lying in the sun in its shallow grave, belly up and exposed. Thus it needs to be picked up and turned over and over. And over. 

And over. 

A typical conversation about my feelings goes like this:

“I feel this way. I think it’s because ‘Reason x’ and I’m doing these things to work on that”

Pause. 

“Actually, ‘Reason y’ seems to be contributing to the way I’m feeling, not just ‘x’. I’m not sure how to deal with ’y’ just yet so I’ll put a pin in that and think about it until I’m ready to feel it. Then i will and we can talk some more”

A few minutes later…

“As i think about it…”

And this is how it goes.  Eventually I’ll get to the story from my childhood about something that didn’t SEEM traumatizing until viewed through the lens of time and experience. And then I realize exactly how traumatizing my childhood was. And then I realize how traumatizing all my previous relationships were. And THEN I realize how poorly I recovered from all this. Somewhere in the middle, I spiral down into realizing how poorly I responded to all these issues in the past: Setting boundaries, protecting myself with anger and rage and hate, and bottling up the emotions so i could examine them later. You know…intellectually.  And as you know, thinking is as long way from feeling those emotions. 

So i keep my emotions buried and deep. I put them in little isolationist jail cells, and i call them my monsters. And then I learn to believe that they are important to who I am as a person. 

But who the fuck keeps betrayal and hurt and disappointment close to their heart just to not  forget what it feels like?  Fucking broken me, that’s who. And I’m tired of it. So I’m trying to let all that shit go.  Can you guess the spoiler here? 

It. Is. SO.  Fucking. Hard. 

But with people in my life who understand, and hopefully some therapy with a human therapist, I’m going to get through all this shit.

It’s time to grow out of these childish fantasies of tapping that hurt to protect myself in the future. It’s a lie I’ve told myself for decades. 

And I’m tired

The Ramblings of an Aging Photo Enthusiast - Vol.I / (Or: How I Stopped Worrying and Learned to Love the Primes)

 Oh, look. He's writing again.

I'm going to talk about cameras and lenses today. Yes, again.  Nerd Alert!!!

I spent a few bucks along the way on good camera bodies. I try to NOT own the entry-level cameras because for a little more money, I can get an older, more capable one. My "Canon Body Adventure" went like this: Rebel XT, 40D, 7D, 5D, 5D MkII. I'm not sure the 5D was actually an upgrade from the 7D, but that's how I saw it then.  Now, as ANY photographer will tell you, it's not about the camera so much as it is about the glass, but we're not talking a TON of money invested in these bodies. They were all old and all used and all far below book value (of you know me, you know I like a bargain.) amd they were all well-respected bodies for one reason or another...But the lenses - THAT'S where I get my ass kicked. 

You see, ANY new consumer-grade body come with a couple lenses. These are usually something like an   18-55 and a 50-200 or so. Higher end cameras might not, but you can still get a kit lens.  And then it starts. Primes, Upgrades, and Superzooms, oh my! We're told "When you outgrow your kit lens..." over and over and over by the same group of people who might recommend "only use one focal length for a year so you can master it" or some similar guidance. I've seen YouTube videos that show you how to take gorgeous night sky photos "with your kit lens!"  It's all very confusing and helps lead to GAS (Gear Acquisition Syndrome)

But we learn some things, right? Things like: Good lenses can cost more than the cameras we buy. All-in-one zooms (superzooms, vacation zooms, whatever you call them) are usually more affordable, but are generally a major compromise in image quality. A zoom is worth a handful of primes. Yaddah yaddah yaddah...

Here's where I'm headed with this: 

I have a fair number of zoom lenses that tend to cover a lot of the same range. I've learned that a couple primes in my bag mean a lot more to me than a bunch of random overlapping zooms. For my Canons, I've got a Tokina 19-35 f3.5-4.5 & 28-70 f2.8, Canon 24-105 f4 L, 80-200 f2.8 L, and a 70-300 f4-5.6. In addition, I've got a Yongnuo 35mm f2 & 50mm f1.8, Canon 50 f1.8STM, and a Rokinon 14mm f2.8...not to mention the adapted Zeiss Jena 50mm f2.8.  Any idea what typically lives on my 5dII these days? The Canon 50.    

It's crazy.  On my other camera bodies, I seem to have the same kind of thing going on. My Fuji X-E2? Fuji 27mm. My Pentax K3? That damned 35mm DA (although I'm trying to love the 21 mm I just got... sigh)...And my EOS-M5? The freaking little 22mm!  I just got another GF-1 for work... and it's got an Olympus 14-42EZ because that is the only lens I really have for it. But don't think I didn't consider grabbing that little 20mm Panny...because I considered it SO much!  

With all the glass I own, I'm falling back to something that is right around 50mm equivalent in almost every case. 50.  The most BORING focal length ever (or so I'm told by the internet) But I do love it. And I'm going to keep doing it as long as I want - because it's MY art, damn it. Give me my primes, TYVM.

I might really try to post a single image a week this year. If I do, let's come back in June and see how what my most popular focal length is, shall we? It might be interesting.

For now - Happy New Year. I hope you have a better 2021. 

m 

This, of course, was taken with my 24-105 L lens at India Point Park in Providence, RI.

Not a Prime.  ;)

Wondering Where to Wander

 Well.  

Here we are again. Another year winding down. Another year I committed to writing more, to doing things differently, and another year where I find myself looking back and wondering where the hell it all went .

Today, let's talk about hobbies, shall we? 

I have a lot of hobbies - these days I find myself obsessing about Photography and cameras, about my growing Ukulele collection, and about woodworking.  This year found me doing far more things around the house (Thanks, COVID) and trying to make the time to get all the stuff I wanted to do actually done.  If you know me, you know I have a passion for many things, and I wonder if I actually spread myself a little thin when it comes to what I want to accomplish.  I've invested in not on, not two, not even three - but FOUR camera systems. I've got a big old Canon 5D MKII (and I still have my older Canon 5D Classic, too) as well as a EOS-M5 mirrorless rig. I've got a pair of Fuji's (X-E2 and an X-T1), THREE Pentax cameras as well.  That started with a pair of Pentax lenses I bought off Craigslist with the intention of trading them, but the seller included the broken K30 along with the lenses, and it suffered form a non-working aperture solenoid. When I discovered that it was a pretty straightforward repair, I broke the camera open and fixed it. Using that camera, and realizing I hated the ergonomics led to the purchase of first a K5IIs, then a K3. I added a bunch of manual lenses, then a few less manual ones. I also reinvested in a Panasonic GF-1 beacuse I traded mine for the Canon 5D and miss it.  I got that to bring to work for macro shots using a macro lens I still had laying around. In addition, I had my old Canon AE-1P CLA'd and got another AE-1 for shits and giggles. Those are both film cameras if you didn't know.  I've taken some pretty decent pics with all of them, and each brings a different approach to my photographic game. The big Canons give me full-frame images that are spectacular, the Fuji's are Kings of the JPGs right out of camera, and the Pentax cameras all get me the ability to take very long sky exposures using the SkyTracer function.  

I won't mention the triplet of different point and shoots I've got in the pile because they were really inexpensive and added to the arsenal. I invested in a laptop that could actually drive my Lightroom needs, and added a 27" monitor so I could get some real work done on my pictures. As I said,  I like my camera gear. 

In addition, I've grown my Uke collection over the past year. Where I once had a Lanakai soprano and a Kala archtop tenor, I've added a Gretsch resonator, an Oscar Schmidt tenor, a Fender tenor, and a Vorson solid body strat-style.  I actually play them all. 

What else is there, though? How else do I spend my time? I bought a table saw worth using, and have plans to make my own frames. COVID made getting appropriately sized frames difficult, especially larger ones, so I'm going to try my hand at making my own - which means I'll need to make a crosscut miter sled, which means I'll need to spend a little more time there. 

And let's not forget my minor interest in Gaming...Jedi Fallen Order was a downright blast to finish, but then there's the board games and, well, D&D. I'd play more if I just could find the time to invest there as well. 

More time. 

That's the challenge for all of us, isn't it? Where to find the time to carve out and get to doing all the things we want to do. Between work, and the Have-To's we all have the same challenges - "finding the time"... So where does that time come from? Lately, my mood hasn't been all that great. The year in isolation has made travel impossible. Yes, I went to Chicago in February, but that has pretty much been it. I've gone for the same walks so many times that I no longer want to go. I've been to the same places so many times that they are no longer interesting. I miss travel - one of the main reasons I dove so deeply into photography was to take great images of the places I've been.  So what now? What do we do when we can't travel? What did I do before that particular bug bit into me and infected me with a lust for seeing the world? 

Simply put - I don't know.

But I'd like to find out because I need to.  I need to see the wonder in the familiar things, and I need to keep pushing that shutter button. 

Plus, I haven't written a goddamned thing since last year. That, to me, is a shame. But I managed to kick my Facebook habit this year. I keep the page because I don't feel the need to delete it, but I'm not spending much time there at all. THAT was a really good thing for me, I think. (And if you haven't seen it, watch Netflix's "The Social Dilemma" it's amazing)

So here it is. Hopefully, not the last for the year. Hopefully my Muse gets off her ass and decides that I need to get the words out. 

I'll try to see you all before the end of the year.

M

Through the Looking Glass

2019

What a year, huh?

So many people I know are saying that it was a hard year, and I cannot disagree. It was on many levels one of the hardest years for me in a long time. If it was for you as well, you have my heart.

But in many ways, it was an amazing year, as well. A year of growth, and a year of changes. It was the year where I discovered The Isle of Skye, and I saw Philly and NYC again.  I had some pretty cool adventures, too. I invested in a really nice camera (okay, two) and committed to taking better, more intentional pictures. I printed some of my stuff and hung it on the walls of my homes, even. I bought my very first new car- not new to me, but brand new! I'm never going to drive junk again, no matter how much I love it. I may buy an old car to play with, but not as a daily driver.  Also, I came to terms with some things that were always important, but never really made important in my life.

Things often went in funny directions, but there's always something to learn.


So now I sit here in an empty house, typing for myself and committing to blogging more in 2020. I will find people to challenge as well - do YOU want to write more? We all should, I think.
Maybe I'll actually do a photo blog as well, I'm not sure about that yet, but I think I'd like to.  Maybe I'll bring back Three Photo Friday on my Facebook feed - it was a good idea that never really got much traction because I didn't make it important enough. Maybe I'll finish The Dream of the Raven's Gate this year, or start a new character, or give Angus some love. Who knows?

But I know that the people in my life are really important to me. And I intend to keep loving them as I always have - with all of me.  I know that the person I am is going to grow and evolve and find new ways of being a better me. I'm worth it.  A long time ago, I was involved with a discussion about what you would tell younger you at any point in your life. It was a really great discussion (as they all were), and I believe that the advice I decided on then is the same I'd give now: We are all the same inside.
Every one of us feels the same things, I know that sounds a little hard to believe, but I do.  Every one of us has felt set aside, or nervous, or disappointed. We've all felt like the fake in the room at some point, or the last person YOU would want to hang out with. We've felt like we've fucked up BAD, or made the wrong choice, or made the right choice at the wrong time. We've felt awkward, too. But knowing that the coolest person you know has felt like an ass makes that person even cooler, doesn't it? More human?  Yeah - it does. At least to me.

As your friend and mine Mr. John Hughes made enormously famous:

"You see us as you want to see us, in the simplest terms, in the most convenient definitions. But what we found out, is that each one of us is a brain, and an athlete, and a basketcase, a princess, and a criminal. Does that answer your question? Sincerely yours, The Breakfast Club."


I'm here with you - all of you. A photographer, an artist, a writer, a blacksmith, a basket case, an otaku, a nerd, a gamer, a runner, a mechanic, a parent and a child, a grandfather, and a criminal. I'm here with all of you, whoever you are.

I wish you all a happy new year 2020. I wish you all the best and brightest.

m

The Last Love Letter: Goodnight Starlight

Beloved,

If I had a T.A.R.D.I.S.what would I do? Would we go back again and again as we spoke so often about? Would we live our lifetimes over and over together in the chaos of the infinite universe? Would we just open the door and step out into places we made up together in our imagination?

I would not, however, go back in time and change what happened, even if it was "for the better". If I did that, it would change what we DID have. It would change the laughter and the love and the tears we shared. It would remove the memories I carry now and replace them with something that wasn't us. And I look back on our life too fondly to let that happen.  Instead, I'll sit with the hurt and the sorrow right now, and I will be brave and hopeful for whatever comes next between us. I'll go visit the secret library we built. I'll step quietly down the stairs into the basement, holding my breath so as to not wake my monsters, and cast the lamplight upon the volumes we have written during the life we lived as one. 

There's that story over there where we learned about how to share space, and here's where we cried over what wasn't way back when. Oh, and then there's "The Treehouse Stories"... always good for warm tears and sad smiles.  We have Calvin and Hobbes, and all those miles under our feet both together and apart. We have dreams we pieced back together after they were broken. We have collections called "Two Drunks in the Big Apple" and  "Dancing in the Park". So many others. All good stories to share, or to keep secret. All of Us.

So many little moments together. None of which deserve to be shattered or burned or thrown away. Each one, even if it is just a line or two, deserves to be read aloud in the darkness and cherished for what it is -  a piece of the larger story that we wrote over the course of what was "Us". 

I loved you then, and I love you still. I will sift through the picture books and collages we made in our life together and I'll cry a little here and there, as well as laugh out loud at the funny ones. I'll remember all the goddamned miles I drove to come home to you, happily. I'll see your smiling face and hold fast to the good times, and the bad. Both are deserving of respect in the bigger picture. We were a pretty good Us. 

So, as we need to write our new chapters, I'll send this letter off into the world hoping for a brighter tomorrow,  and say...

Goodnight Starlight, 

I'll see you in the sunshine. 

Love, Poet.

For I am alone in the dark, surrounded by OUR life
Dreaming under the sky of your eyes

Me and Bruce

Let's start with my loathing of Bruce Springsteen, shall we?

"I've got a '69 Chevy with a 396
Fuelly heads and a Hurst on the floor"
                                          -Racing in the Street
                                         

No, Bruce, you didn't. And either none of the people involved with the album didn't even like or respect you enough to tell you, or you simply insisted that it was going on the album like that.
Either way, you didn't ever have one of those. At least not in that combination.

I heard these lyrics in, oh, 1983 or 1984, 5 or 6 years after it came out. I eventually discovered the truth about the engine block/head combination impossibility and that ended my relationship with the man. Just. Like. That. Eventually, the "Born in the USA" single hit and if there was ANY love inside me at all for the man, it died with that song.

Let's fast-forward to Summer of 2016.  A woman who would become my partner professed her love for all things Bruce. It was one of the truly heart-breaking moments of our relationship, but we agreed to accept each other's faults (hers, for loving Bruce "her first boyfriend" ... me, for loving a woman who loved Bruce like that). We would find opportunity to banter on the subject, teasing each other about our respective positions. She hinted at dragging me to a concert, and I suggested she find someone else to take. It went like that a lot.

Until today.

I listened to this interview:
https://www.newyorker.com/podcast/the-new-yorker-radio-hour/bruce-springsteen-talks-with-david-remnick

His emotional awareness and candor in the interview betray my view of the man called "The Boss". I  listened to him tell a story about his aging father dragged from a schoolyard fight by his grandmother (a woman who also had a hand in raising Bruce) and point out that his dad was most upset because "I was winning, Bruce. I was winning..." He talked of how he understood that his grandmother went to get her only living child from that fight because he was too precious to lose.  He spoke of how his wife saved his kids from his wanting to protect them from any time in the public eye. I listened to the man I couldn't stand for all of my adult life become a human being - a fellow traveler on the planet we share.

I thought of all the times I denounced his songwriting and his musical style. I thought of all the songs I never listened to. And as I sift though my new feelings for the man, I wonder to myself,"What else am I wrong about?"


I'm not wrong about that motor, but I can forgive one lyric in a career of artistic expression?
Yes, I can.
What can YOU forgive, my friends?

Sugar and Spice

Zero.

Diane watched it happen for the second time.
It was real.
Death was real.
Not in the sense that death was a real event, but rather that Death was a real character. A "person" of substance
And there he was again.
Closing the door behind him nonchalantly, and with a calm demeanor, he barely glanced in any direction. He just closed the door. Then he would not leave through it again, at least not that she'd seen yet. Diane waited at the counter, watching the function room doors. She didn't think Death was on the guest list for the party.
There was a scream and a large, red-faced woman screamed "CALL NINE ELEVEN!!"
Yep. That's Death. And he was damned cute.


One.

The mail carrier smiled when she gave him the cookie. "Thanks!" he said, "But I watch the sweets. Diabetes, you know!"
"Oh, I'm so sorry. I didn't realize... " the woman apologized. "I'll keep that in mind."
"Sure thing, Ms. Preston."
Smiling, the mail carrier slid into his van and began fussing with his clipboard. He wasn't paying attention when she appeared suddenly in the open door and jabbed him with the needle in the thigh.  He was stunned, and yelled at her to move away from the van. She grabbed his keys off the dashboard and ran inside, careful that nobody had been present on the deserted street. The postman wasn't feeling so good, but he was going to get to the bottom if this. He reached into his shirt pocket for his phone, but realized that she must have grabbed it when she got the keys. He made his way up the stairs to the house again and knocked.
"Lady, you're in a world of trouble. I called the cops and you're really screwed. They'll be here any minute." he called through the door. The street was empty, as always. He knew this route well enough, and if he could get his keys, he wasn't more than 8 or 10 minutes to the next house in the run. How far a walk, though... that was the question. And what did she stick him with? He knew it was a needle, he'd given himself enough insulin to know that... but what did she use? Could he walk that far? He began to feel worse. He thought about his glucose level... he'd felt like this before when his sugar was really high. Was his meter in the van? He didn't remember if he'd taken his bag from the locker this morning. He started down the steps and felt the world shift a little. he sat down and rubbed his eyes. "Shit. This sucks." He heard a car coming down the street, and stood up. It was unfamiliar. It pulled up behind his van, stopped running, and the driver stepped out. He was a good-looking young man in a black suit. He pushed his sunglasses onto his head and squinted.
"Charlie? You okay?" He asked.
"How do you know me? And NO I"M FUCKING NOT OKAY, OKAY?" the mailman sat back down and slumped forward.
"I know. But you're gonna be coming with me. It's all good. You'll see." Death grinned as he approached. "You weren't on my schedule, man. What happened?"
"What are you talking about? Who ARE you?" there was a haze starting to fall over the mailman's mind. "I really need some help, whoever you are. Can you take me to the hospital?"
"I'll take you wherever you want to go in a few minutes. What happened?" Death asked.
"This woman... she stuck... me ...in the leg with some..." The mailman made a little gurgle and drooled onto the steps.
"Woman, huh?" Death asked. He looked at the house and squinted.


She watched from the window as Death, dressed in his sexy black suit and shiny leather shoes, approached the mailman on the steps. They were having  a conversation of some kind, then they stopped and Death looked at the house.
"Goddamn is he beautiful" she whispered to herself while she watched him stare at the house. She closed her eyes, leaned against the door and masturbated in the stillness of the otherwise empty house to the thoughts of Death touching her anywhere he wanted. "Oh, you beautiful thing" she whispered as she finished. She thought of all the ways she'd read in fantasy novels about how to capture an unearthly being. She was pretty sure that she'd read something from Neil Gaiman about it, but she wasn't positive. "How do I catch him? How do I keep him as my own?"

Death looked at his watch. He'd been there for almost 20 minutes already. He looked up at the mailman and asked, "You going to finish this anytime soon?"
"Finish what?" the mailman asked, standing and staring blankly at Death. "And who the fuck ARE you, anyway?"
"Oh, good. About time. Let's go." Death said impatiently as he headed for the car. He gestured, "Come on. Charlie. It's not that hard. Get in."
"With you?" the mailman asked, looking down at his slumped-over body.
"Great," Death shook his head, "Another fucking dummy."

Diane began drawing Death. She drew him from memory, and she produced sketch after sketch, some nearly life-sized. She collected stories from the internet, printing them out and pinning them on to her living room wall. Her obsession grew.

Two.
Her contact was entirely correct...Insulin OD was the perfect murder weapon for the killer in her "story". The police didn't even give her a second look, and the paramedics carted the dead mailman off the steps less than an hour after she called them. There was an apology from the post office in way of a card and some free postage. She responded to the Postmaster's letter via email, didn't notice that autocorrect made sure she was offering her 'condiments' to his family. She snorted when she saw that. Condiments. Just in case they wanted a little mustard with that dead Uncle? Ridiculous.
Diane took her backpack and locked the front door behind her. It had been two weeks since she saw Death. She missed his face and would do almost anything to see  him again. She was so in love with that creature - she HAD to know more about him.  She'd been reading all about the relationship different cultures had with Death, and had no real explanation for his appearance, actions, or seemingly magnanimous nature.  To be honest, she told herself, she really had no idea if he was magnanimous or not, but the word looked great when she wrote it down in the "Death Journal" she'd been keeping.

Diane was more than ready for another date with Death.

The bus terminal was almost empty, but a brief conversation gleaned her a short ride with a nice woman who  got her within walking distance of the apartment she'd rented. "Oh, this is great, right here is fine" Diane pointed at the curb adjacent an emissions test station. The car pulled over. Diane got out and leaned back in, never taking off her hat or sunglasses "Thanks so much. My sister is going to be so excited to see me. I want it to be a surprise!"
The two women parted ways as women often do, and Diane wheeled her suitcase up the block after she'd waited until she was certain the woman was gone. It was only a few blocks, and Diane was very eager to get on with the day.

The rental apartment was nice enough, and Diane was able to remain mostly anonymous by using a pre-paid visa debit card she'd purchased on craigslist. She dropped her bags and transformed herself. a wig, contacts, and makeup offered a new woman in the mirror. Underneath, though, it was the same old Diane - ready and willing to do anything to get herself alone with that gorgeous hunk of man. She was careful about not leaving hairs around. She'd used a lint roller over and over in order to recover as much hair as possible. She'd taped the handles and knobs after wiping them,

Alex was an easy hit. He was, according to his Craigslist posting, "a recovering alcoholic looking for a second chance at love." Fifteen minutes after they met at the bar, he was on his third Vodka tonic. An hour after meeting him, he was on number five . They returned to the apartment. Diane kissed him at the door, they wrapped around each other and spun into the room, passion welling up between them. They chased each other into the bedroom, kissing and groping the whole time. She unbuttoned his shirt, pushing him onto the bed and straddling him. He smiled up at her, sweating and red-faced. He slurred an "Oh, baby" at her in his light brogue, and she pushed against him. "Wait here" she said.

Diane returned to the bed, the man now nearly naked. "I've got something for you..." and she pulled the needle from her shirt pocket. The man looked at her drunkenly...questioningly. She leaned in and kissed him again "This won't hurt, baby" and she slipped the needle into the meat of his arm. She kissed him over and over, her hands covering his flesh. He didn't even seem to mind the needle.

He went quiet, and she sat up in the chair, ready for her date.

Death opened the door and entered the room.
Diane went giddy.
Death looked around as the man suddenly jumped up and was surprised to see Death standing there.
"Who are you?" he asked Death. "Diane, What the fuck?" Diane looked at Death longingly. Death barely noticed her.

"Listen dummy,"Death said, "I've got a car waitng outside. You can't miss it. Go get in and I'll be right out."

"Oh. She called me a Lyft? Cool" He got up and went out,never noticing his dead body lying on the bed.

"Dummy." Death breathed. He looked at Diane. She looked back, swooning.  "You can see me, can't you?" he asked, folding his arms and leaning on the door jamb. "I'll be damned."

"I do. Fuck you're sexy. Can I kiss you?" Diane asked, standing up and unbuttoning her blouse. "I could do more if you let me..." she said, biting her lip seductively.

"You can see me. That's strange, you know? And no, you can't kiss me. Put those away." Death gestured at her bare breasts.

Diane sat in a huff."Come on, you. I want you so bad right now. I'm crazy about you."

"Crazy. I bet."

"Stop. I can't stop thinking about you. I have been planning this for so long..." She stared at him.

"The mailman, right? That was you in the house?"

"Yes. It was me." she smiled and beamed a little. "Pretty good, right?"

"If you say so.  I'm leaving. Dead people attract attention. Especially when you are around for more than one. Get my drift?"

"Don't worry, handsome. I'm clear. I want you."

"That's a little odd, lady. I'll see you around. " He turned and walked out the door. "Bye."

Diane deflated a bit. She'd spoken to him, though. That was something. Next time, she'd have him for sure.

She stood up and closed the door before going to the bed. She lay down next to the cooling body there and began to masturbate, her mind filled with the sound of Death's voice. "Next time, baby. You'll be mine..."


Three and Four.

Philip and Angela were a hot swinging couple into needleplay and bondage.  It took less than a week to work out the details. Philip and Angela found themselves hogtied and craving release when Diane pulled the needles out and waited patiently for the inevitable. She arranged the playroom so there was room for her coupling with Death, and she already looked fabulous from her encounter.  Death wasn't late. Philip and Angela were standing in the middle of the room looking confused and elated.

"I'll be damned. You." Death said, surprised. "Lady, we need to stop meeting like this. At least until it's your turn."

"Hello, Sexy. I'm here. They aren't going anywhere. Let's party some before you go." 

The two others began to talk, but Death cut them off. "Listen. No stupid questions. Sit down and shut up before you ... no, wait. Go upstairs and wait in the living room. I'll be right up. Not. A. Word."

"Are you the cops? Why are..." Philip began.

"Do you have fucking ears? I said No questions. Go." Death was cantankerous with them. "NOW."
They left, talking to each other as they did as they were told.

"Now, hot suff... We're alone. Let's you and I play some. Whattya say?" Diane was visibly aroused, her face and chest flush, and her eyes ablaze.

"I have a better idea, sweetheart." Death was smiling.

"Oh yes? Well come over here and we'll talk about it" Diane motioned to the bed and began to remove her panties."I've got a conversation starter for you..."

Death kept smiling. He reached out and kissed her on the lips. She felt so cold, and was no longer interested in fucking Death, she just wanted to warm up. She pushed him away, and crossed the room for the robe she'd dropped there before tying the couple up. When she looked at Death, still sitting on the couch next to her body, she reeled.

"You got what you wanted, lady. You had a real date with death. You had a brief, illustrious career as a serial killer, but it's going to be in all the papers that you died with your last kills. And to make it worse, you're going to be photographed like this." Death motioned to her body, reclining on the couch, her panties hooked onto the heel of her left shoe. "Pretty nice, don't you think?"

Diane stood with her mouth open, staring.

"It's a good thing I have a big car. Let's go for a ride, shall we?" Death said crossing the room and taking her arm. "A date with Death. Really? That's what you wanted?"

She looked at him, cold and tearing up.

"Come on, Dummy. I've got heat in the car." 

The Girl's Dragon

The little girl looked up, her perfect eyes reflecting the perfect sky. Clouds rolled slowly and lazily past the sun, slightly dimming the light, but replacing it with the faintest of prismatic color changes just around the edges. She smiled and let herself get dizzy from the enormity of the boundlessness.

From a long distance, it would seem that this one child was all alone in the universe. A single point of laughing innocence in a field of green almost as large as the sky. The grass waved like the ocean tide, low hills and shallow swails interrupted by an occasional rocky outcropping. She stood at the edge of a cliff where the field met the sky, and far below the ocean roared and foamed onto a rocky shore. The wind caressed the cliff face, blowing the little girl's dress up from time to time, as she giggled.

She used her hand as a visor to shield her eyes from the sun and scanned the horizon. There He was. Enormous even from this distance, she never ceased to feel giddy when she saw him. It wasn't the seeing that delighted her so much as feeling him rise into the sky long before that. She could feel his joy, his freedom. She could feel the weightlessness of his heart when he flew, soaring high or skimming low at breakneck speeds. He was pure joy in the sky, and to her soul.  She waved to him, laughing the whole time.

The dragon pivoted sharply against the blue, a black shape made of blades and spines. He tightened his wings and careened seemingly out of control towards her and the cliff. She stood her ground and held her breath, as she always did. He approached with such speed that it seemed impossible for him to escape crashing headlong into the stone face or rocky beach. But with a mighty effort, the dragon turned his face upwards, strained his body against the pull of the ground, and began to turn skyward again. he skimmed the edge of the ocean, picking up water and releasing it against the rocky cliff higher and higher until the last of it became a fine mist that covered the giggling child. He rose up, unfurling his wings against the sky and hovered for just a moment to gaze upon her. She smiled up at him and he landed beside her, gently so as not to knock her over. He flattened his bristles and spines, smoothed his scales, and curled around her as a 60 foot long cat might curl around a mouse. She wrapped her arms around his muzzle and kissed him incessantly. He nuzzled her, sliding his face against her gently, and lovingly. she squealed in delight.

The dragon nosed her, easing her up onto his muzzle. She sat astride, and leaned down onto her elbows, staring into his enormous face. She leaned all the way down and kissed him between the eyes. He blinked, made a tender expression, and she understood. He loved her, too. She hugged his muzzle again, lying prone against it. He closed his eyes and relaxed in the sunshine. The breeze blew gently and they slept together, safe in each other as the sun slipped closer and closer to the horizon. The girl dreamed of flying, of being a tiny little dragon, herself. She opened her tiny little wings and soared in her tiny little way. She was happy to feel this free, as she had felt through her enormous friend so many times before. The dragon dreamed of being a boy, earthbound and average. A boy who could hold a girl's hand and kiss her cheek in the dark under the sky. They woke together, as they often did, and worked the nap-induced fog from their minds. The dragon rearing up, the girl clinging casually to his muzzle. He turned his head and allowed the girl to slip onto his back. She scrambled to her spot between his shoulders and settled down. It was time to fly.

And fly, they did. A series of deceivingly smooth steps, a beat of those circus-tent-wide wings, and a leap of faith and passion over the edge of the cliff found them skybound. The girl chuckled and grinned, the dragon felt her tiny hands on his neck and embraced the tenderness. She held on tight, as she'd been taught, and he trusted her to not let go. They barrel tolled, and spun, and swooped, and pivoted. They dd all manner of acrobatics, and without fail, each trick make the girl laugh.  They went so high that the very ocean looked small. They fell for minutes at a time as the dragon listened to the squeals and pips from his companion, each one a song that fed his heart. They cavorted until the sun disappeared behind the horizon, and the air grew chill. But Dragon had a trick or two inside of his ancient body. He could keep her warm. She let his heat fill her entirely, her cheeks flushing. She looked up to see the field of stars, then down to see the tiny island she had been standing on. It was bewildering to be here, to have a dragon to love and cherish. It was a gift to her that an old monster would accept and love her with all the tenderness she was shown.  She let her head swoon with happiness, then leaned forward and kissed his neck.  The Dragon felt it, closed his eyes for just a second, and in that eternity felt the love of a child smooth over all the old wounds. He spiraled up, then began a long, slow descent to the ocean.  They watched the luminous creatures beneath the waves as they meandered over the water. They saw the sky reflected, and even the old dragon felt a little small at this. Everything was so big. Dragon gracefully alighted on the cliff, and crouched so the girl could slide off. She hit the grass, turned and gave him the biggest hug she could muster.  Dragon smiled and touched her with his muzzle.

"I love you, Dragon" She said, her voice as tiny as she was.
"And I love you, Little One." He replied.
They fell asleep under the free and open sky, a dragon and his treasure

And everything was right in the 'verse.


For Nancy.
Happy Birthday. <3
2017

Death is a Busy Guy

I.

     Death knocked at my door, but I wouldn't answer. He stood there, quiet and still, kept his hands clasped in front and waited I could clearly see him through the window, his jacket neatly buttoned, and watched as he turned his face to meet mine in the window.

"Hey Chuck. You might as well come out. I can stand here literally forever." Death said to me through smiling lips. "I actually do have all night."

I grimaced and pulled by face back from the window and closed the blinds. Sitting on the floor below the window, I pressed my hot face into my knees. "This can't be right" I thought to myself. "That can't really be Death. I mean, not THE Death..." my thoughts trailed off. I lifted my face and craned my neck to peek outside between the blind and the casing. He was just standing there. Who says Death waits for no one?"There's got to be a way out of this" I thought to myself. "There's got to be..."

The doorbell rang again.

"Chuck. C'mon, This is embarrassing. I've been out here for long enough. You can't get away, and there's no use running."

"What do you want from me?" I bellowed into the empty house. "WHAT?"

"Dude, your soul and all that. I'm fucking Death. What do you think I want, girl scout cookies? Open up and we can get on with it."

I stood up. made my way to the door, and opened it. "What do you want, man?" I asked.

"You"

Death reached out and touched my chest. I felt oddly still for a long moment, then realized that my body was lying on the floor at my feet.

"Son of a bitch. I really am dead?" I asked.

Death smiled. "Yeah. That's that.  Come on with me" he said grinning.




II.

Death had a really nice car. It was a '29 Rolls, I think, but it was really pristine.  It was white, of course. I mean really- if Death was going to drive ANYTHING, wouldn't it be white? What color is "pale" anyway?  I looked across the seat at him. He drove, oh fuck, "Casually" is the best I got. He didn't seem interested in slowing down or in avoiding traffic, right? He's Death. right? What's he going to do, die?

"So, where are we going?" I asked intentionally. Death had been pretty quiet since he picked me up. "Like, Purgatory or something?"

"Very Funny. I thought we'd go get some Thai. Are you hungry?" he answered, never turning his gaze.

I considered the question, not really having thought of that. "Fuck, yeah! I'm famished!"

"Good. I know a great place in Trang. We'll be there in no time."

"Trang? Like in Thailand? We're going to drive to fucking Thailand?" I was astonished and disoriented.

"What are you, stupid? You can't drive Thailand. We're gong to take a goddamned plane Like you have to."

""Oh." My face wet a little flat. I felt stupid and childish.


Six hours later, I was pushing the plate away from in front of me. Death was right. It was really good.  "So, now what? Are you going to tell me what's next? Seems like there must be a lot of people dying while we cavort around the globe getting lunch, no?" I picked the remains of rice noodles out of my teeth.

"Honestly, when I pulled your name, I had heard you were a little slower than the rest... But you keep making the point, don't you? I'm not the only Death, you know. I'm one of countless beings known as Death. You'll see others in our travels... like that guy over there... watch ...see? Red shirt. Watch the guy across from him in the booth. That what a food poisoning looks like in Thailand..." Death smiled a little, a guilty grin...

The man in the red shirt smiled, then seemed shocked... then his companion reached across the table and touched him in the chest. He fell over immediately, yet, remained seated upright. He looked at me, smiled, waved, and then seemed to realize his situation. Panic crossed his face as his companion stood up and turned to Death. "HEY! How's your guy?" he asked from across the room.

"Dumb as a box of rocks. Yours?" Death answered.

"He just ate 2 servings of fugo and never asked about certifications. Not so bright..."

"Jeesh. See you around." Death waved and stood. "C'mon... let's go."

"Where now?" I was getting tired of the whole thing.

"I've gotta show you a little something in Alaska. We'll take the car." He looked at me and smiled.

"Really?" I smiled back.

"No, Stupid. You can't drive from Thailand to Alaska." He blurted as he turned and shook his head.

The Fifteenth Remembrance

It's September eleventh again.

I know. It's surprising to me as well. I seem to write every year about this particular tragedy and this year is no different, I suppose. But this year I won't be naming the names, nor sharing pictures, nor ranting about how meaningless the changes made since then to fight the war on tourism have been, Not this time.

This year, please let me say this one thing:


I love you.



Simple, right? Just like that. Here... here's some love. It's for you. No box, no bag, no bow, no packaging. Just my love. Leave it there, take it with you, or stare at me while you question my motives. It's yours, so I'll leave what you do with it all up to you.

No, I don't want anything in return for it. I'm sharing love with you because you might not have love right now, or you might be having a really hard time in your own life, and a little extra love might make the difference.

See, THIS is what I think we all need, especially on days like today when we had an event that impacted so many lives. I think we all need a little extra.  I think the world in general could use more love and less hate. More tolerance and less judgement. More kindness and less greed. I think the world needs us: the artists, the musicians, the lovers, the dreamers (and me... sorry, Kermit). I'm pretty sure if I open my heart wide and give all the love I have inside to you, then my heart will make more of it to share. Neat trick, that. I believe that the best Magick is that which creates, not destroys, and I mean to create more love in my life than I ever dreamed possible. Today. Right now.

And while I'm giving you this unconditional love, I'll be remembering the particulars of my day fifteen years ago. I'm sure you can remember, too. Please don't forget because when we forget we disrespect those who willingly or unwillingly gave their lives.

Here's my love for you. It's boundless.


With all my heart, I remember. For all of them, I'll love all of you.


9-11-16

Four Months

The pages of my calendar slip away so deliberately that I think there must be some kind of conspiracy against me keeping track of time.  I look up, it's been less than fifteen minutes on the clock. I go back to what I was doing, feel the weight of time, and check again to find that it's been two weeks, or tow months, or two years. Time is not something I watch closely. It is a companion, oft forgotten, and left to grow feral along the side of the road. It is not something I keep a close eye on.

Let me leave you this:

Four resonant strings
Accompany the singing
Playing my life's song

Where is my muse? Why can't she pop up when my heart is full and I am loving uncontrollably? Why does it take something to pull the drain plug on my soul in order to get something worth writing?

I'll ponder it some more, I think.


Let's hope it's not another four months before I write again.

<3

Let's Begin Again...

“Begin at the beginning," the King said, very gravely, "and go on till you come to the end: then stop.”
Lewis Carroll, Alice in Wonderland


     It's so hard to get back into the swing of writing. I've been away so long, and the Muse is tired of my bullshit. I re-read the list of half-started posts sitting in the list and I just want to delete the entire bunch.  But I will not because that would be like eating my own children. Delicious, but riddled with guilt. Well, at least for a little while.

Instead, I'll start yet another new entry even though I've not published a new Angus piece in far, far too long, nor have I written a meaningful holiday post, completed the Doctor Who fanfic I've got in the can, or much of anything else. Yes, a new post is in order.

Some haiku?

the keys click away
fingers the conduit to
my mind's eye speaking


thrice I have begun
unfinished business waiting
my Muse slumbering


...



I challenged someone I respect to write more in her blog. In response, I agreed to write once a week as well. So, if my Muse won't visit, perhaps another inspiration can apply leverage to my slumbering thoughts. I am looking forward to seeing what she writes. One of my problems with writing is that it is far, far easier to produce when there is difficulty in life rather than bliss. Things have been marching along fairly well in the chaotic maelstrom I call my life, but the Muse has found fairer havens for her work.  Darkness, sadness, anger, and fear are far better driving forces for quality work in my neck of the woods. Joy? Not so much. But I'll have to learn, won't I?

Actually, I had a conversation like this one fairly recently. How does one tap the light in the same way we tap the darkness? How do we access the same emotional sharpness when things are a less focused? How did the greats keep their Muse engaged? It will be an interesting journey to discover the lighter, more positive side of writing (if I can), or a lesson in stirring the demons up.

As I've said before, I'm intimately familiar with my monsters. I keep them close just in case I need to stroke them a little. Even monsters need to be loved.


Slàinte mhath!

Let's get writing.

Blacker Friday

I.

"Hey Tony... you gotta see this."

"Lemme be, okay? I hate doin' this shit."

"Naw... you just hate doing this shit with me." The driver reached over and hit Tony hard in the arm. "Suck it up, my friend. Some day, all this'll be yours."

"Yeah. So you keep tellin' me."

"Look, see?" The driver pointed at the storefront. "See the blond? That's our girl."

"I see her. The black Jag, right?"

"Yeah. Right there." The driver pointed again, several cars up from the end of the row. "You got the key?"

"Yeah. How many times you gonna ask me?"

"Until we're fuckin' done. You got that? Until we're fucking DONE."

Tony shrunk into his seat, pulled his coat a little tighter, and looked out the window. "One day," he thought, "One day I'll get the fuck outta this city."

"There she goes. Get the fuck on with it, Tony. Go!" The driver hit him again and leaned past him to open the cab door. A split second later, Tony was pushed out of the truck and fell all the way to the ground. "Fuckin' amateur. GO!"

The truck whined and pulled away down the row of cars, chains swinging.  Tony ran into the Jaguar, found the key in his pocket and unlocked the door. He slid behind the wheel as the tow tuck lumbered past, swung tight to the row of cars and paused, the air brakes blowing pressure as it came to rest.  The Jag lurched to life, powered out of the parking spot, and came to rest behind the tow truck. In almost no time at all, the driver and Tony secured the Jag and were out of the parking lot. It was as clean a job as it could have been. They were practically invisible to the shoppers. Black Friday was calling their wallets. Who cared about a repossession?



II.

Phil sat on his couch eating his breakfast. Scrambled eggs marked a trail from the plate to his mouth over the expanse of terrycloth robe covering his girth.  He slid the plate off his belly
and on to the couch next to him, leaned forward and gulped the coffee from the cup on the table. His phone rang, startling him and causing the cup to fall from his hands and onto the rug. He cursed, leaned off the couch to retrieve the cup that had rolled under the coffee table. The phone continued to ring as Phil sat back on the couch, cup in hand. "HELLO?" he bellowed.

"Heyyyy! S'me. Where you want the black kitty cat?"

Phil brightened. "In the old garage. It'll be safe there. I'll come by and square up the rest of what I owe you. in a week or so if that's alright?" He paused, "And thanks."

"About that. It was a lot tighter than we originally talked about. It'll be an extra $500."

"What?" Phil held the phone tight in his hand. "You never said..."

"Tough shit, Fatty. I grabbed this car in broad daylight in a public parking lot. You don't like it, I'll go put the fuckin' thing back. And furthermore..."

"Done. Sorry for the trouble. I'll make it $750 as a thank you." Phil hung up and smiled inside. "That bitch is gonna have the shittiest Christmas ever."

Phil sat back and let the warm glow of his own rage ripple over his body. He was winning. His ex just had her car 'repossessed' (okay, stolen Phil admitted to himself) and would be flipping out. With any luck, she'd take it out on their young son and Phil would need to come rescue him. Perfect. She'd lose the kid, her car, and after his lawyer got through with her, she'd be paying HIM child support. Merry Christmas, you bitch.



The split had been terrible. Terry, their son, was only a 8 months when they split. For the last 4 months, she'd been grooming her new boyfriend. She didn't waste any time getting the hole filled, so to speak.  Julie was a tall drink of water, long and lean, and a great piece of ass. Everyone warned Phil that she was setting him up, but he didn't believe it. He was in love. He was blind.

He could recount every detail of the day he came home early to surprise her. Terry was asleep in his playpen in the living room. There was a man's coat in the kitchen on the chair and the table was a damned mess. He immediately thought someone had broken in. Phil rushed upstairs and heard music coming from the bedroom and panicked. He dumped the flowers out of the vase and held it like a club as he pushed the door open to the sound of moaning and screaming.  It wasn't rape, it was fucking. She sat astride her lover, those long supple legs squeezing him as she rose and fell in heated rhythm to the music. She leaned forward a little and smiled in surprise at Phil as she made sure he saw the other man inside her. Phil exploded. He threw the man out of his bed and went after Julie. "YOU FUCKING BITCH!"

When he woke, the police and a rescue were there, tending Phil's head as well as Julie's. Before the rage could well up again, something softer filled him and he thought she had been attacked by the intruder. The police questioned them, and the man, and as he answered he came to realize that they were blaming him for the injuries. The other man came to her rescue and hit Phil in the head with the same vase that Phil had used to hit her. It took weeks for Phil and his lawyer to get things bargained down to a plea, some financial restitution to her,  and some community service. Phil sat through the abuser's classes and fumed in his heart. He plotted and planned as Julie moved out of his place, took her stuff, some of his, and their child.

He would make her sorry.

As far as the world and a couple of two-bit repo men were concerned, he just had.


III.

The week passed slowly. Phil waited for the phone call to come from the police that he was a suspect in a robbery or something, but it never did.  Julie called a couple times over the weekend. She only left one message for him to contact her. Phil didn't.

But Monday Phil got a call from Family Services. They wanted to talk to him about Terry. Something about neglect and endangerment or some such shit. "Oh, this is rich." Phil thought. If she's hurt him, he'd kill that bitch. But the woman on the phone had a thick accent and Phil was having a hard time understanding what the hell she was talking about. Finally he agreed to just go down and talk in person.

Phil arrived at the office of Family Services. He was greeted by a short, thick woman in a green dress. Her dark hair held off her face by wide glasses. She spoke with a heavy Spanish accent.
"Mister Austin?  I'm Angelina Gomez, Terry's case worker. Thank you for coming down. These things are always so hard to do over the phone. Have the Police spoken to you yet?"

"Police? What about?" Phil reeled. The LAST thing he needed was the cops involved. "Can't you tell me what the hell is going on?"

"Oh, Mr. Austin, I'm so sorry. Please come with me." Angelina took his hand and led him into a small office. It held only 3 chairs and a child-height table. There were drawings on the walls and a box of kleenex on the table. "Please, have a seat"

"I don't want a goddamned seat. I want you to tell me what is going on?"

"I will, I promise. It's just... Mr. Austin, your child is missing. He's been taken."

"Taken? You mean kidnapped?" Phil was feeling sick. That lazy, ignorant bitch. Julie was a terrible mother, Phil knew it. It was all her fucking fault and he would be so glad when Terry was safe at home with HIM."Tell me."

The woman lowered her eyes and opened the file. "Well, the police really should tell you, but since they haven't. yet..."

"No, they goddamned well haven't."

"So you haven't been contacted by anyone this weekend? This is the first you have heard of this incident?" She questioned him, keeping her gaze on his eyes.

"Correct," Phil snapped. "I HAVEN'T HEARD ANTHING!"

The woman sighed. "Mr. Austin, Ms. Burroughs left your son in her car when she went shopping last Friday morning. The car was stolen with your son inside. She claims he was sleeping...Mr. Austin, are you okay?"

Phil felt the world reeling. He felt the darkness wrapping around his vision and drag him into unconsciousness. "FUCK!" he screamed "NONONONONONONONONONOOOOOOOOO!" The mountain rose, pushed past the woman and hit the hallway running.  He had to get out of here. He had to know if his son was... was...

The elevator doors opened just as Phil got close to them. The officer stepped out just in time to catch Phil as he passed out into a sweaty heap.


IV.

The police officer approached the Jaguar and moved to the rear passenger door. The windows were all rolled up tight. The doors locked. "Anyone have a key?" He shouted to the two men handcuffed to the chain-link fence.

Tony looked at the driver. They both turned to the officer and shrugged. "No idea how it got here, officer. it just showed up Saturday morning."

The officer nodded knowingly. "Yeah, you said that already." He raised his flashlight and broke the passenger side window, reached in, and pushed the door lock switch. He opened the rear door and saw the car seat. Flies swarmed out of the car as the officer covered his mouth just before wretching his breakfast onto the ground.

"How the fuck did you not notice a kid, fuckhead? A KID!" the driver whispered hard under his breath.
"Must have been asleep. He never made a sound." Tony said as he started to weep.

"He never made a sound."

The Fifth Free Thanksgiving

I'm cheating a little. I'm writing this on Wednesday the 25th of November. I'm a bit early, but tomorrow will be busy and I won't have time to write my thoughts down. Enjoy the ride, if you so choose.

For the first time in my life, I will not be having Thanksgiving dinner at anyone else' home. With the help of those I love and cherish, Home South will be where this year's dinner will be served.  This is an occasion, to say the least. So while I beam over that fact, let me tell you a story about nuts. 

Growing up, Thanksgiving was still a pretty crazy time of year. We always hosted, and I mean always. My mother would get the turkey in the oven at an ungodly hour, and as I remember it the damned thing was always in the neighborhood of 25 pounds. (It probably wasn't, but that's how my brain remembers it, so I'm going with it, okay?) There was the mashed potatoes (I actually remember adding the milk and stopping exactly when my mother told me to) and the carrots (not whipped, but mashed in a consistently coarse manner I don't think I recall experiencing anywhere else), and the yams (sweet potatoes), and the stuffing (oh, the stuffing!), and all the other fixin's. It was a pretty typical spread, I suppose, but it was OURS. There was football and the usual familial back and forth, and pickles, and olives (my father ate too many of them), and the bowl of mixed nuts in the shell. Walnuts, almonds, Brazil nuts, filberts, and pecans awaited their demise in the nutcracker. We used a heavy crystal for a long time, then it changed to a thin wooden salad bowl that I think she still must have somewhere, I'm sure.

As I age, I begin to believe that it was not the spread that I liked best about Thanksgiving dinner - it was the nuts. We always had them, and I seem to think that we had them for Christmas as well, but they were SUCH a part of the Thanksgiving season. To be honest, I think my mom might have just saved the nuts left over from Thanksgiving and served them at Christmas dinner! But why, you may ask, is a bowl of nuts so important to my memory?

I don't know.

If you've cracked nuts in a cheap silver handheld nutcracker, you might understand my nostalgia. There is a satisfying <CRACK> when the shell gives way and reveals the delicious bits inside. If you never cracked nuts, I suggest you try for yourself. It's a lot of fun to pick the freshly-roasted meats out of the remains of the shell - especially filberts! Yummy!

When I was a child, I connected mixed nuts with the richness of life. Maybe they were something I considered exotic. I'm not sure, but I do know that I felt rich when I reached into the seemingly endless bowl and pulled out one after another, cracked them, and ate the delicacy I found inside. They are tied forever to my holiday.

Funnily enough, as much a part of the season that they might be to me, I can not have them at OUR hosting of dinner. One of my partners is deathly allergic to tree nuts, so the bowl shall remain empty forever. I'm sure she'd tell me to just go ahead and have them, that she won't touch them or go near them. But you know, the memory is really what's important. I say that a lot to people who attach themselves to things rather than memories. Things can be lost, or destroyed, or stolen, or any of a million other possibilities, but memories are yours for as long as you can remember them.  Only time, the giver of wisdom, can take memories from you. I've come to recognize that more than anything, I cherish the sharing of the stories around the holidays. I enjoy listening to how my family remembers events in a slightly different way from each other and from my own recollections. I enjoy sitting around with my ever-shrinking family and remembering collectively.

I see this same thing with my additional family members - the ones I inherited from my loves. Grandparents, aunts, siblings, cousins, and all manner of family new to my life in these past 5 years, but each a new source of stories and laughter and shared joy.  I remember those I've lost, both in the distant and not-so-distant past. Their stories will make their way around the table this year for sure, I'll see to that.

To all my friends, family, and loved ones: May your hearts be full, your tables be beautiful, and may love shine on. I'll wish you well this Thanksgiving. I'll hope that even if you are hurting from a loss this year, that you can find the joy in the memories. Share them and let the continue to be a part of your tradition.


2015

World Photography Day

From the website (http://worldphotoday.com/):


"Why Celebrate Photography?

Photography surrounds us in every moment and yet, we often don't realise how powerful the images we capture every day can be.

Today, we can share memories across the globe in seconds. Photography is an invention that has revolutionised the way we see the world. We can visit places without leaving our home. We can share adventures with friends in another city and we can watch grandchildren grow up thousands of kilometers away.

There was a time when photography didn't exist."

Not so long ago, I was given my first (and only) film SLR. It was beautiful and perfect, and it had some miles on it.  It was a Canon AE-1 Program from somewhere in the early 80's, and I ran a lot of film through that thing. I'd take it to my son's hockey tournaments and shoot 200+ pictures, happy to get one or two good ones. It was my companion for a long time.

When I put it away during a move, it was an even longer time before I was able to fish it out again. Film was old school now, and I had a couple Canon point-and-shoot cameras that worked well enough. A Canon A60 at first, a 3MP gem that had some pretty decent manual controls. It was stolen from the car in Florida on a trip. I purchased one of their ELPH cameras to take pics during that trip and didn't really care for it - too small for my hands, and I couldn't get used to the square body, so it went back. It was replaced by a Canon A1100is, which took amazing pictures and was again my constant companion until it went into the pool with me one summer. That was replaced with TWO other cameras, one lost or stolen shortly after I got it, and the other was not a Canon and although it took really nice pictures, I just couldn't get used to the controls or menus. I replaced that with a Canon 120HS and loved that, sort of. I dunno, there was something just RIGHT about that A1100is, and eventually I bought another one off Craigslist. Apparently it was stolen, and I made every effort to find the rightful owner to no avail. I have that camera to this day. "Pinkie" is never far from my reach, even now. I am intimate with the controls, the menus, the way it takes just a little too long to focus in low contrast shots... It's my friend.

Fast forward to a few months ago when I found myself looking for a DSLR to travel with. I'm not big on the latest and greatest (as you know, I'm sure), so old is okay as long as it's good quality.  I found an Olympus E500 four-thirds body with two kit lenses and an additional prime macro lens. It was priced low on CL and I lowballed the offer as I do. The seller bit on it and I was back into a DSLR. Now, some of you may or may not know that there is some complaining about the white balance on the old Oly's. Once I figured out how to hit the custom WB, that went away. For an 8MP DSLR, it takes amazing photos. I'm sure there are better cameras, but for my money, I'll keep the Oly.

As I oft find myself doing, I ended up buying another camera for an amazingly low price. This was a Panasonic GF-1 mirrorless micro four-thirds camera.   See that word there? "Micro" isn't the same as regular four-thirds. I thought I was being sly when I grabbed it, and would be able to use the 4/3 lenses on the m4/3 body, but no. Instead, I ended up with an incredible camera. It really is about as much fun as you can have with photography. It takes beautiful pictures with the Sigma 19mm and 30mm primes I have and is almost pocketable with either lens on. If I spring for the 20mm Panasonic kit lens, it IS pocketable in a jacket. Imagine trying to stuff a DSLR into your pocket? No, I think not.

I have a carabiner and ring set-up for the GF-1, allowing me to simply hang it from my belt, ever at the ready. It's fast, it's quiet, and I find myself digging deep into my eyeballs to see the world through the prime lens.   Bokeh? Yes, please.

I love taking photographs. I love making ART out of the mundane, seeing the world in a different way, and sharing my obsession with clouds.

So, get on with taking pictures, will you all?
It's really good for the soul.

And here's my contribution to today: