Could It Have Been Me?

I like visiting places that I have never been before. This was right in line with an exercise from a new book that I picked up on “writing”. The point of the exercise was to go to a place, building, house, park, or anywhere that you had never been – someplace out of the ordinary for yourself, but not putting yourself in any real danger. Spend at least thirty minutes in this strange environment and make note either mentally or on a note pad. Use judgment in not drawing unwanted attention to yourself. This new knowledge would be new fodder for a future story.


Passing by on numerous occasions, I had never paid any great attention to the outer facade. Entering the main door, I was greeted by a uniformed gentleman.

“How are you today?”

Friendly enough it seemed. “I am doing ok, and you? My name is (you know what it is)

“Hello, they call me Webster.”

“I am doing a writing exercise for a class and part of the experiment calls for me to observe a place or situation that was new to me”. (Ok, “a class” can be just one person, can’t it?) “I should be finished within thirty minutes”.

“That’s fine. I will leave you at it then”.

I took a seat in one of the several nondescript vinyl upholstered stools. The room was brightly lit and with no windows. There could hardly be any differentiation between day and night. Eggshell colored walls enclosed the room towering upward three times the height of normal. The number of people was sparse. No conversation indicated that anyone was familiar with the other. A monotonous stare affixed to each as if they were unaware of the person in close proximity. Do they know or feel as if they are being held prisoner. Do they even have the will power to live and thrive outside these walls, or has the routine welded itself into their being so that what was once an individual is following the same motions as the gang. Minutes, for me, seemed like hours. How did they feel about time? A large clock fastened high on the south wall might as well not been there. No one seemed to check for the time of day. My upbeat mood was shot for the day. I didn’t like this place. How had I missed all this? Could I have just as easily been part of this bunch? Each one is a decent human being and I in no way draw a conclusion as to what is right or wrong. What would I do?

My sentence ended after what seemed much longer than thirty minutes. I had the option and ability to get up and walk out. I did.

“Thanks you Mister Webster. Time for me to be getting on down the road. I appreciate your hospitality.” He opened the door ahead of me and I couldn’t pass through quick enough.

“Come back anytime”. Mr. Webster’s grin had no indication of true intent.

“Sure thing”. I touched the visor of my cap.

The roar of my truck’s diesel engine eased a soothing effect over my fading anxiety. I was leaving. I wondered when their stay would be ending. The power steering belt gave a whining screech as I turned to leave the parking area and I glanced up at the stark sign marking the location. Casino

Well, what do YOU, think ? :)

"Outside of a dog, a book is a man's best friend;  inside of a dog, it is just too dark to read"!

Groucho Marx

pic credit http://s226.photobucket.com/home/sulisaeris

Redirect

“Shawn, what the hell is the matter with this computer?”


Total frustration had caused me to throw the styrofoam cup across my office. Fortunately, only a few drops of cold coffee splattered against the eggshell wall. The fifth refill was almost completely finished after a morning of “boot and re-boot”.

“Throw your coffee cup. That always seems to fix the problem.” His friendly sarcasm reverberated from the adjoining office. “I’m having to tinker with mine this morning too. I will give yours a look in a couple of minutes.”

Every time I would google “Granger Supply”, “Apartment Finder in Your City” would pop up. Backspace and start over and “Cheapest Airfares” would cover the screen. Each time the search would redirect to another site. A minor stumbling block each time would follow with the proper searched site. No big deal.

“I will be in there in a minute, my danged computer keeps redirecting my web search.”

“Virus”. My first thought was immediate. Where could I have picked this up? I haven’t been into any “neeckeed” picture sites..today. Ok, just “Norton” my files and things will be fine. An hour and a half later, same routine. Redirect. The usual check of any changes show nothing new being amended in any file anywhere. Restoring the computer to an earlier date brought no fix. After finally getting several searches to work properly, no articles were posted about a fix, although numerous people were reporting the same problems. One particular article was quite informative and I decided to go back and print it to see if I could find any clues. It would not “search” this title a second time. I eventually gave up that search and tried a generic search again. Redirect, redirect, redirect.

“Shawn”!

“You’re on your own, dude. My computer keeps redirecting me when I do a search”. No sarcasm this time, only frustration was in his voice.

“That’s all right. I am going to post about what my computer is doing on my blog and see if anyone else is having this problem”.

……………………..

Under normal circumstances, no one would notice the empty store front with the “For Lease” sign propped up in the front window. The blinds were drawn and the building lay between a Payless shoe store and an ancient Baskin Robbins ice cream parlor. There was no sign out front designating what the prior business had been. The city of Newark had almost forgotten about this once family oriented neighborhood. The twin black Yukons, parked out front, should seem out of place, but no one noticed. The three banks of computer servers, neatly arranged in the back store room, were completely out of sight.

“It still has a few bugs in it, but the initial setup is working toward what we had hoped. It is well hidden and doesn’t cause enough problems that people will expend a lot of effort trying to find the cause and hunt for a correction to the aggravation.”

“But, does it proceed with the intent of allowing the use of individual computers to be manipulated”?

“Oh, absolutely. All that is needed is the Czar Committee to put pressure on the major browser companies and they will understand that we actually control them, just as the Chinese did with Google. It will be just a matter of changing a few commands in the root program. Any information distribution the Information Czar Committee wants to put forth or “redirect” will be simplified. The individual will be limited on exchanging their own ideas and thoughts. Any use of the internet can be rerouted through a tracking program. The Tax Czar Committee has been searching for a consistent method to tax usage of the internet. This is a sure fix. The possibilities are only limited by the various Czar Committee’s imagination“.

“I am seeing an indication of an incoming inquiry. It looks like some sort of a trace exercise. I need to see where the signal is coming from”.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

“Shawn, have you figured this thing out yet”?

“Not yet”.

“ I’m trying to run down any incoming changes that have been automatically downloaded to my laptop”.

“Ok, fine, but pick up line one. I think it is one of your redneck buddies. He said he’s from the Homeland Security Czar Committee. You need to find some new friends”.

“Ok, tell him I will be right there as soon as I finis

Boop De Do De - DA DA

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“Know where the FedEx place is?” The Boss asked off handedly.

“There are fifteen in town, which one?” (Actually about 3, maybe 4)

“Well, I need to pick up something. They tried to deliver it and we weren’t home.”

“What wuz it?”

“Somethin’.”

Two things here. (I have learned to read between a few lines over the last fortyumpteen years.) Well kinda one, with a couple of subplots. It was something that we didn’t really need or it was a surprise for me, which I probably didn’t need because I have about everything I need already.

“Why can’t we wait ‘till tomorrow?”

“Cause, I said.”

“Well then, I guess that settles it.” It is usually settled before I get to put in my suggestions anyhow. Reckon?

A couple of clicks on The Boss’s I-Phone and we had the correct location in the crosshairs. Only waiting an unreasonable period of time, we were handed a cardboard box with a label that had more inscription than the Magna Carta, but we were off. One step outside the door the boss handed me the box.

“Here, happy birthday.”

“It ain’t my birthday yet.”

“If you don’t take this, you may not make it.”

I gingerly took the box and saw the word Apple on the label in various places. I will have to admit, I sorta, kinda figured out what was in the box. I was, for real, excited. I opened the box and inside was a special edition, candy apple red I-Pod with my name inscribed on the back. I was, for real, excited. I know I said that already. I am really hard to buy for, according to my girls and The Boss, but this hit the target. I wore out a Zune so this was a great surprise. I don’t download a lot of songs, but I am a big fan of podcasts and especially old radio shows. Mysteries and Orson Wells classics are great to listen to. I have found that by listening to these old programs, it can generate ideas for writing and scene setting. Some are pretty “hooky pooky”, but fun just the same. There are several websites that offer these to download for free or a donation of some amount.

Another new adventure came in the form of a credit card looking piece of plastic. It was what ya’ll already know about as an I-Tune card. I actually learned how to “redeem” its value and trade it for real music. Now ain’t that somethin’? I am still a traditionalist and I like to have the CD or album on hand, but this does seem pretty easy. During my first year of school we had what we called and “assembly program”. The student body had the opportunity to watch a movie in the auditorium. The movie starred Jimmy Stewart in “The Glenn Miller Story”. Even today if it comes on TV I am glued to watching it again.

One day last week I was wrestling with a bunch of junk at the office and I took a break and ordered some Glenn Miller tunes with that I-tune bunch of folks. Now that is “slicker that greased owl…”, well never mind, but it was easy. In a matter of not time, I was tapping my foot and in a much better mood. Those songs never get old to me. You might not have the tune handy so I went out on the YouTube and found this old clip from the real Glenn Miller and if you have a few minutes give it a listen. I bet you can help yourself from tapping your foot and singing along.

Boop De Doo De Daa Daa
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Texas Tea,, or Yummm

As a writing exercise, i have expanded on the "One Minute Writer" blog's idea. (please visit that site).  Look close at hand and pick an object and use a 7 minute span to write a short essay.  The few extra minutes, to me, seems to help relax the experiment.  It was hot and I stopped in at Star Bucks, and,,,,,,


Texas humidity and ice cold tea: Quite a recipe. Unsweetened, to me, is preferred. I suppose I am a traditionalist in a sense. I don’t think most things need a lot of “phizzazz” added in order for their true nature to be appreciated.


A classic smooth crystal glass holding just the right of amount of pure, clean perfectly formed ice cubes; hidden from the heat, but condensing vapors, a hint of treasure. Golden chestnut color liquid cascading down over the dancing heat diffusers, creates a minute stirring of the ingredients. Light rays expose tiny ripples of current, changes in the mixed ingredients slowly realigning their positions. Tiny molecules of moisture attach themselves to the outer layer of the shimmering crystal container and as if holding hands grab each other, growing into larger droplets of atmospheric droplets. Weight finally pulls them into miniature streams of sweat devouring the shell of the mixture’s universe. Only at the right moment can the experience of the mixture be realized. Small sips, each being wholly appreciated and then, only then, can the enjoyment be shared.

The amazing thing about iced tea is that a true tea drinker never tires of the experience. He always looks forward to the next “refreshing”, visualizing in his imagination, the previous wonderment of quenching and awaiting his next thirst.

In A Bit....

There is nothing like the glowing warmth of a campfire. Snapping and popping, the oak logs piled high with the yellow and orange flames squirting upward through the tightly stacked cracks from the bark still on the wooden fuel.


Too large to be intended for the fire, cut sections of trees    served as resting stools for more than one annual trip to the familiar river bottom. Without confirmation, each has in intended occupant. Time has a way of etching routine without formality. The unceremonious act of who takes their place in cadence is stamped in time.

It seems one always has “one more thing” to sort out and put in its place. The last to take his place in line. The last to turn out the lantern. Beyond the reach of the campfires shine clattering of assorted gear indicates the restlessness. All, except this one, have gathered at their appointed places amongst the bark covered thrones.

“What are you doing out there? You gonna come on or what? We ain’t gonna wait all night.”

The strings are tuned and the whistles are wet. We wait momentarily.

“Well, are ya coming?”

From the darkness and damp, with clarity comes a chuckle and reply.

“In a bit, perhaps, you old codger, In a bit.”

The usual banter and ribbing of “always late” and “it’s gonna be daylight soon" offers a familiarity to the situation. We know we are going to have to wait. A round with flask and a dirge of song pushes the hour past.

The shifting of logs and flicker of flame, upward the embers struggle to rise. The glow still strong but not quite as bright, the warmth still surrounds us all. The sweetgum stump, awaits in quiet with sounds from just beyond. It seems the clatter is not intense as it was some time earlier.

“The music is old and bellies are full, if you’re coming on, then ya gonna have to do it soon. Not sure of the duration with this routine of fun.”

A chorus of laughter votes in favor of wit, but certainty not at all certain. Waiting for a reply I sit suddenly quiet as I listen for anticipated answer.

“In a bit, perhaps, when I finish. In a bit.”

The campfire out, the reminding ashes, what’s left of the mighty oak, a reminder that dawn is near. The river fog cloaks the forest near and water still between the banks flows. The cold ashes swirl about and, with a grin, I answer the wind’s invitation ; “are you coming”.

“In a bit, perhaps, you old codger, In a bit.”

..

"Todlums" aka Carlus Wayne Morgan

If any of you read the "Boat Fishing Story"...... you know "Todlums"

When I first started blogging, I wrote this for "Sixty second Writer", but never put it on my blog. Well, here it is.....

The prompt "Trust"

Reminiscing is a common past time when the beard turns gray and “The Bark of The Dogwoods” becomes brittle and shallow. Old men sometimes tire of playing checkers and other highly active games and they resort to other less strenuous exercises such as games of “Remember When”.

“ Bet I got something of yore’n that you have forgotten about”.

Smoke curled from his freshly lit corncob pipe. It was bobbing up and down. He kinda looked like Popeye except he didn’t have the massive ham hock forearms. I swiveled around on my stool and looked around the barn trying to see what might be out of place or missing. Hell, who could tell anyways? It had been longer than yesterday since I had straightened up the sundry of tools that I had collected over the past forty some odd years.

“Hell, I don’t know”. “You better not drag this out too long, we both are on borrowed time and best I remember you’re older than me”

Somehow we both thought that was funny. Hearty laughter just seems to make the joints move a little smoother.

“Need any money”? The growl sounded more like a a directive than a question.

“Nope, still got some beer in the fridge”

He slowly fished around in the back pocket of his old overalls and fished out his old weather worn wallet. He had his head all crook-ed and sideways. His eyes all squenced shut from the over abundance of smoke. He finally fumbled around until he pulled out of stack of folded receipts and other junk. He shuffled them around until he pulled out a folded piece of currency.

“Yonta take a peek at that”? Still another directive.

I unfolded the wrinkled bill and recognized it to be a two dollar bill. Instantly my smile could no longer be suppressed. I guess the smoke was in my eyes too.

“I don’t need it yet”, I replied as I gently handed it back to him.

“Didja thank that I had lost it”?

“Nope”

“Well that day while we were out at the old Sinclair plant a dranking hot beer, you handed me that two dollar bill and told me to hold onto it ‘till you might need it so if you don’t need it, I figure you trust me to hold onto it ‘till you do”
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Today nineteen sixty seven doesn’t seem like such a long time ago.I spit on the ground and finally spoke again,

“ Give me another beer and put that danged ole pipe out, that smoke is making my eyes water".

July 24, 1949 - August 9, 2010

June 6, 2009 2:05 PM