FOLLOWED
The concert was fantastic. The atmosphere was estrogen charged. The artist, whose career I’ve followed since I was an adolescent, was my Idol, and every other females apparently. I swayed to the lyrics and floated in my personal heaven. Something was bothering me though. I could feel bur holes being drilled into the back of my head. Turning around I caught sight of Him. There He was again. It seems everywhere I go there He is, watching me, with just a hint of a tear on His lower eye lid. Making it obvious I was ignoring Him I returned my attention to center stage. Eventually I twisted around nonchalantly, and He was gone, someone else was in His seat.
I hurried to the safety of my car in the highly populated parking lot after the performance to avoid running into Him again, though lately He has been popping up a lot. At first I hardly noticed Him, but the more I ran into Him the more I realized He was following me. Yes, I know I sound paranoid. He has never approached me or attempted to contact me in any form but I’m sure He’s tailing me. I can’t possibly have that much in common with a stranger.
A car on my left hand side cut me off from my exit. Words of profanity escaped my lips that would tinge the cheeks of a wizened sailor, phrases that called on a high deity to condemn the vehicles occupants. There He was again, in the passenger seat, looking me right in the eye. Accelerating so I could show him the one finger salute I found an empty passenger seat. The driver gave me a apathetic look. I slowed down and pulled up behind to see if anyone sat up in the passenger‘s side, maybe he dropped something on the floor board? Nobody. I tried to memorize the license plate number.
At home my dog met me at the door apprehensively. I didn’t always give him the best greetings when I was tired or out of sorts, he had to test the waters continuously before approaching me. Tonight he thought better about getting too close and slinked away to his doggy bed in the kitchen where he felt safer.
The next day at work, (yes, I stayed up too late on a work night, I’m not real responsible), I received a call from my mother wanting me to take her to church on Sunday, Mother’s Day. Though she lives just down the street it’s been weeks since I’ve seen her. She knew I needed at least 48 hour notice for any change in my schedule. I stopped going to church when I left home, years ago, so it wasn’t hard to come up with an excuse to not take her. I have my own life and can’t always be bothered with her errands or needs. Her nursing home provided transportation or she could call MITS. (mobility impaired transportation system). I wanted my Sunday’s to be free of commitments. That was my time to refresh in the pool with a nice drink and a good no strings pulled romance novel, with steamy love scenes. I also had to be available for my “friend”. Sometimes his wife, (also a friend of mine, it’s not my fault her husband could be enticed by eye candy,) did things with her church group in the afternoons and he was able to sneak over to my place to share the pool, have a nice drink and make our own steamy love scenes! Why waste a Sunday in a church pew when it could be spent in bed doing gymnastics. His wife shared a fear with me once that she felt hubby was roaming and I put her off course by suggesting she keep a watchful eye over another shared comrade. This advice worked and ruined their friendship, keeping me in the clear and in the know about our mutual hubby‘s activities.
Before I placed the receiver in it’s cradle I noticed the UPS man delivering a package to the receptionist. He turned in my direction to give me the eye causing a shudder to ripple my spine, I recognized Him immediately. Dropping the receiver to the floor, creating some attention, I chased Him to the elevator and tapped Him on the shoulder. I was going to find out who the hell He was! The man that turned back to meet my eyes was not the same UPS man. Not at all. I looked up and down the hallway. Where did He go? I stuttered out an explanation that I was expecting a delivery and stumbled back to my work station amid curious glances and whispers. This man keeps showing up and getting away. He needs to leave me alone.
After lunch I went to the restroom to freshen up and discovered the office’s newlywed left her rings at the sink. Lovely. Expensive. Antique. Doesn’t she know there are thieves here? Even housecleaning, who have back ground checks done, can slip things like this away. Well, losers-weepers. I snuck the golden bejeweled items into my bra, knowing full well I could never wear them to work and must be careful who sees me with them. Of course I could always remount the gems. On the street out side my window He passed by, giving me the customary teary eyed look. This man was incredible. He was definitely stalking me and with perfect timing. He always sparked feelings of guilt in me, of being discovered. I had to stop him before any of my secrets were made public. I was going to the police, immediately if not sooner and file a complaint. A restraining order. Request a body guard. Something.
At the police station I waited for someone to come to the main desk incased behind a bullet prove window. Even police officers need protection. When an officer entered from the rear door, I recounted my whole story. Someone was following me and had been for weeks. He was crafty and dangerous because he appeared harmless, and I wanted it stopped.
The officer listened with trained patience and started writing on a slip of paper. “We can’t help you here, but go to this place tomorrow morning. There is a group that has encountered this man before.” He informed me, with a trace of a foreign accent I couldn’t place. He wasn’t from around here originally.
“Really? They can help?”
“Yes, ma’am, I know they can.”
Thanking him I went outside before I read the information he’d written. Just a minute. I knew this address. This was a joke! He thought I was crazy! (can’t blame him there!) I rushed back to the police desk. Finding a different officer manning the station I demanded to speak with the man I’d spoken to earlier. Officer number two explained to me, as though I was a child, he was the only officer on duty at the desk and he hadn’t spoken to anyone about anything in an hour. I practically called him a liar and persisted in my demands to see the other officer. I was threatened with arrest before I decided to call it quits and make a rapid departure.
It seems I’m going to have to take the law into my own inept hands. I was considering confronting this man and luring him to some remote location to dispose of Him, His body and His intrusions into my life. I’ve read enough murder mysteries I started formulating all sorts of plausible scenarios. The problem was His slipperiness. If I could commit some immoral activity, (yea, that will be hard!) which seemed to be His cue to appear, and catch Him spying on me, He’d be dead in seconds.
A small voice in my head encouraged me to stay home the following morning but a louder more insistent voice won. I would check out the address the disappearing officer gave me. I showered, dressed and dawdled over breakfast with my dog laying timidly under the table. I still made it in time much to my dismay.
My feet defied my neurological commands, it was though I suffered some sort of paralysis. This place scared me. The people entering it with joyful faces repelled me. I had nothing in common with these folks. They and I traveled different roads, my road had more options and exits. I recognized some. What in the world were they doing here?
There was my friend and her husband, he gave me a surprised look, then a conspiratorial wink. Suddenly I felt dirty, exposed, naked. There was my mom in her wheel chair, up ahead. She couldn’t see me but I could see her with her head bowed and lips moving silently. It brought back strong recollections of my youth catching her with her head bent over her bible several times daily. There was the mysterious police officer, up in the choir, smiling from ear to ear. No, wait a minute, it’s just a look a like.
Oh, my gosh, there He was! Up on the stage behind the speaker, between two other guys; one of whom seemed to be harassing Him while the other guy was pleading with Him about something. The speaker, a minister, spoke from the fifth chapter of Deuteronomy on the ten commandments. I read them once before they were removed from public places. As the sermon progressed I felt myself shrinking, surely all eyes were on me. I’ve broken everyone of the commandments he listed. Idolatry, blasphemy , dishonoring my mother, adultery, false witness against an innocent friend, murder, theft, coveting. What was left? I managed to fit all those vices into just a few days. I wanted to slink out, unobserved like a snake. Impossible. I mentally visualized myself in sack cloth, with ashes floating from my brown tresses to my shoulders while open wounds erupted on my skin.
After the sermon He kept staring at me from high on the wall behind the pulpit, His arms stretched out, inviting me to come while music wafted through the auditorium. My feet, weighed in cement, started forward. My mother saw me. My friend saw me. Her husband saw me and snickered. The music director, conducting “Whiter Than Snow”, turned to smile at me, it was the police officer again, he sure was an illusive son of a ….female dog.
I offered my life up at the cross giving people reason to come greet me, to welcome me to the family. My clothes mercifully returned to the Dillard’s outfit I purchased last week, my hair impeccable. The oozing sores on my arms sealed shut, my skin was blemish-less once again!
My mom who had wheeled up beside me was crying, confessing she had prayed for this day for years. She had more to cry about than she knew. I was going to take her home to live with me. Since she had prayed me into this building, she was going to have to suffer the consequences! My friend shook my hand and her husband whispered in my ear that he’d see me latter. My response was, “Not again in this life time!” (and maybe not in the next!) He pulled his hand back in shock and embracing his wife went home. I stunned myself by praying for healing in their marriage!
At home my dog crept towards me with his usual insecurity, ears flat, tail motionless. Suddenly he perked up and leapt into my arms. His uncanny dog sense told him I was not the same person I was when I left that morning. I was a new creature. Animals can’t be fooled! His mistress had been transformed.
I called Mrs. Newlywed and explained to her I’d found some rings in the ladies room at work the other day and forgot I had them,(yea, right) was it possible they were hers? She broke down crying with relief explaining they had belonged to her husband’s grandmother. I told her I’d bring them to work first thing in the morning, good as new and shiny clean. Boy, that felt nice. I wasn’t going to admit to stealing them, hey, I’m saved now but not stupid. I only have one reputation, I don’t want to screw it up completely.
Up above in a far, far away galaxy that was as close as the air we breathe, the police officer, now wearing his true uniform of feathery wings, sat with Him and looked down on creation and one more lost sheep brought home to the fold while a choir sang in the background.
-.
Duet. 5
Isaiah 1:18
Math. 7:13
Mark 12:28-34
Acts 17:27-28
Rom. 8:10
2 Cor. 5:17-19
Eph. 4:28-29
1Thes. 5:19
Tuesday, October 30, 2007
Saturday, September 22, 2007
Wrong Turn
The wrong turn
It was way past my bedtime but not my daughter‘s, Cindy, who I’d just retrieved from a school event. I was yawning my way home behind the steering wheel while she informed me of a new approach to allowances that her school chums had stumbled on. Credit cards. Apparently some asinine parents thought teenage girls and credit cards were compatible, like oil and fire. Credit cards would fuel massive indebtedness.
“Really, mom, then I won’t have to keep asking you for money!”
“You’re right, then it would be the bank asking me for money, I can say no to you but not to them.”
“But mom, I’m the only girl in my group that still uses cash, and a limited supply at that. I feel like a kid.” Cindy wailed making me feel like the wicked witch of the west for ruining her life. She just recently got a learner’s permit to start driving. Should I be the one to tell her she is just a kid, and as far as I was concerned would always be my baby. Nope. Why burst her fragile bubble when I’m to tired to enjoy the reaction.
“Cindy, you’ll get a credit card when pigs fly. That ends this conversation.”
Cindy crossed her arms, the signal I was about to get the silent treatment. Wow, that really, really hurts. Not! Unfortunately, the lack of conversation resulted in my exhausted senses being dulled further. It seemed like it was taking me longer to get home than it had to get to the stadium where Cindy had been. Some one had recommended this route as a short cut, it was probably a short cut to his house, not mine!
Cindy stirred. She peered out the windshield and twisted around in her seat. “Mom, don’t we live in the city?”
“What kind of question is that?”
“Just curious. It’s dark up ahead and all the city lights are behind us.” She said, stating the obvious. Well, apparently not to me, I hadn’t noticed we were heading in the wrong direction. How could I get lost on a straight street? Never mind, I get lost going to the bathroom at night.
Up ahead some tall, narrow edifice blocked the road. I hoped it was a guard house to the entrance of some rich and wealthy community, if someone was on duty I could ask for help. As it turned out it was an abandoned reform school. I toyed with the idea of copying the address in case I needed to drop Cindy on their doorsteps some day if it ever reopened, which I doubted as all the graduates and prospective admit-tees were running the city.
Well, the school marked the dead end of the street. Backing up I retraced my steps, not necessarily a good move since I was misplaced. Now I could see house lights twinkling merrily in the distance, the very far distance. The saying “go towards the light” made sense now. In the absence of street illumination, I followed the yellow strip highlighted down the center of the road to avoid going off into the sporadically placed ditches. Follow the yellow brick road, played over and over in my mind! Was I in Kansas anymore?
The road forked in front of me with the first street sign we‘ve seen, unfortunately the names weren’t known to me. Should I go right or left? Left. Why not? We turned down Lion Lane, still nothing looked familiar or promising. I take that back , the darkness was becoming very well-known. I had no idea where we were, I just knew where we weren‘t, close to home, or to anybody‘s home for that matter. Some short cut!
Car lights came in to view up ahead. The first sign of human life in twenty minutes. Yippee. They were parked in front of a closed marina. Several men were standing holding up someone who looked injured, while some other man was braced in front of him, fist poised to deliver another blow. My headlights hit square into very perplexed and surprised faces momentarily blinding them.
Scruffy, the family guard dog and my constant companion, was on the back seat whining. He didn’t seem to like the circumstances we had chanced upon. He barked at something on either side of him and waited as though expecting an answer, his ears perked so as not to miss a single word.
Cindy croaked out, “Mom, don’t you dare stop!” She knew full well my constant desire to lend a helping hand in moments of crisis’.
“Like that’s going to happen!” Tonight I was willing to abandon old habits.
I saw lots of blood as the “body’ was released “gently” to the gravel drive way with a loud thump heard behind my closed windows. The man rose to his knees and coughed up more blood. The upright men leapt into their car. Scruffy howled and lunged under my seat in a move so smooth it looked assisted. Grabbing my cell phone from the console I tried to remember the speed dial number I had set 911 for. Cindy yanked the phone from my hands as I reversed directions and sped off spraying loose stones willy-nilly. Driving at night wasn’t my long suit,(is this obvious by now?) and it was even more challenging on this winding back road. I could feel Scruffy’s wet nose on my ankles above my red shoes coupled with his hot breath coming fast and furious.
Cindy was screeching at the 911 dispatcher, explaining we were lost and being chased by strange men, (under normal circumstances that wouldn’t have bothered me, I mean us). No, she yelled, she couldn’t give directions, that’s what lost meant, and no we wouldn’t slow down to read street signs,(even if there were any!) I went airborne over a very large dip in the street and hit the ground hard causing the phone to soar out of Cindy’s hands onto the floor board where neither of us could reach it. Scruffy crawled forward between my legs and encasing the phone in his snout handed it back into to Cindy’s shacking hands complete with slippery doggy slobber.
Shooting started! We were being shot at! I couldn’t duck and see the road but Cindy dived downwards, hands over her head. Did she think her hands were bullet proof. Scruffy, now further out between my legs and interfering with my access to the clutch and accelerator, crossed his paws over his eyes. I tried to shove him back with my feet while I careened from side to side, making us a difficult target to hit. It was essentially close to my normal driving style. Bullets, bullets everyway and no place to hide.
At one point I swerved into some bushes beside a scare crow, so the gangsters could pass us unknowingly. Cindy explained, rather calmly, (if lurching in front of me and stabbing at the light controls is considered calmly) that in order for this to trick to work, I needed to turn off the lights, informing me the scarecrow had more brains than I did, (and she wanted me to give her a credit card, well the answer was still no from this brainless idiot!) I got back on the road but it wasn’t long before the villains realized we pulled a fast one on them and were hot on our tails again.
Around one wide curve a startled deer frozen in my headlights loomed dangerously in my way. I slammed on the brakes and my hunters swerved around me to avoid creaming themselves into my wide heavy behind, and instead found a huge buck leaping onto their hood breaking their windshield with powerful hoofs and leaping back into the heavy foliage.
Finally I could hear sirens and see blinking lights speeding towards us. Yeah, the Calvary. As the bullets whizzed past me, and presumably into my car, I prayed they would be in time.
The patrol cars up ahead went airborne over some more unseen road hazards, their lights bobbing up and down, pre warning me so I could slow down as I approached them. Closer, closer. We barely passed each other, the road being scarcely large enough for one vehicle ( I could swear their rearview mirrors were scrapping the paint from my door as they went by!) I counted three squad cars with six officers. Looking in my rear view mirror I watched as my pursuers abruptly braked, shifted gears and backed up into a deep ditch on the narrow backwoods thoroughfare. Their rear bumper went downwards tipping their hood up into the air. I envisioned the wheels spinning madly now having lost contact with pavement. This gave me cause for a little snicker. Cindy wasn’t seeing any humor yet. I’m sure she was pissed because her hair was messed up.
The very, very naughty men were now imprisoned in their car because the doors were jammed against low lying bushes but they could crawl out through the jagged opening the wonderful stag provided for them. Serves them right, chasing two defenseless women with only a tear gas gun, and a shivering terrier for protection.
A brief futile gun match ensued between the cops and robbers which the police won. The 911 dispatcher instructed us to pull over at a safe distance and wait till an officer could get to us ,take a statement and direct us home. I was shaking so badly my feet were knocking together scuffing the sides of my red shoes, all the while I kept repeating, “I just want to go home!”
Cindy fluffed up her hair while thanking a nice officer for his help. She didn’t have dating privileges yet but she was always on the look out for some one who might wait till she came of age. I didn’t feel like it was my job to tell her that her left ear still glistened with saliva that Scruffy had coated the phone with. Scruffy was now back on the back seat, panting happily giving his attention to the empty spaces on either side of him. Officer Tim Mann proofed to have a good heart as he guided us to a familiar road, this was beyond our expectations.
“Mom, did you see those police cars fly over that dip when they were coming towards us?”
“I sure did!”
“Aren’t police sometimes called pigs?”“Not by anyone in this family.” I declared
“Yea, but you said I could get a credit card when pigs fly. I think that counts!”
Not bothering to comment I just settled into the drivers seat and guided my car home, praying that gunfire was covered in our auto insurance. This was definitely a short cut after all, it cut my life short by about twenty years.
Getting up early the next morning I inspected the back of my car before calling my claim into the insurance agent, not a single bullet hole to report! Unbelievable, especially since we‘d been so close I could see those jerks’ unshaved chins! I went to run an errand and buy a paper which covered the story about a poor local marina owner (local! It didn’t seem very local to me!) who had been held up last night and saved from sure death by a car that had passed by and interfered in the burglars plans. The identities of the car’s occupants were being withheld for their protection. The marina proprietor had been airlifted to nearby hospital where he was expected to make a complete recovery. Several suspects were being detained in the county facilities facing criminal charges.
When Cindy eventually came down to breakfast she found a Visa card by her oatmeal.
“ Mom, is this for real!” She squealed.
“Of course it is, I always make oatmeal for breakfast.”
She flung her arms around my neck and smothered me in kisses before running off to make some phone calls. This was something she needed to share with her amigos before eating.
“ I didn’t realize you liked oatmeal that much!“ I yelled after her. I hope those kisses will keep coming when she discovers it’s a gift card with a limit, one that can be refilled at my discretion. At least her friends don’t have to know.
Two winged guardians hovered above the house in a sitting position, one poured himself a drink of wine from a floating pitcher and leaned back.
“Man that chase last night took it out of me,” he declared gulping down the cold beverage. Liquid poured from a hundred nine millimeter sized holes in his upper body placed there as he shielded the car last night from bullets, more accurately, shielded the occupants from injury.
Angel number two wrapped his wings around himself and laughed heartily. “You look like a garden ornament, a angelic water fountain!” He hooted over and over beside himself with mirth.
His partner whined, “Oh, toot, I might have to pay a visit to “h-e-double hockey sticks” to get these wounds cauterized!” This produced more rounds of laughter.
Inside Scruffy and I peered out the window at the sudden downpour. Strange it was just raining over our house, and the rain water looked rusty, rather, burgundy tinted. Talk about pollution. Scruffy just curled up in a ball and went to sleep feeling safe and content in his solid, motionless bed.
It was way past my bedtime but not my daughter‘s, Cindy, who I’d just retrieved from a school event. I was yawning my way home behind the steering wheel while she informed me of a new approach to allowances that her school chums had stumbled on. Credit cards. Apparently some asinine parents thought teenage girls and credit cards were compatible, like oil and fire. Credit cards would fuel massive indebtedness.
“Really, mom, then I won’t have to keep asking you for money!”
“You’re right, then it would be the bank asking me for money, I can say no to you but not to them.”
“But mom, I’m the only girl in my group that still uses cash, and a limited supply at that. I feel like a kid.” Cindy wailed making me feel like the wicked witch of the west for ruining her life. She just recently got a learner’s permit to start driving. Should I be the one to tell her she is just a kid, and as far as I was concerned would always be my baby. Nope. Why burst her fragile bubble when I’m to tired to enjoy the reaction.
“Cindy, you’ll get a credit card when pigs fly. That ends this conversation.”
Cindy crossed her arms, the signal I was about to get the silent treatment. Wow, that really, really hurts. Not! Unfortunately, the lack of conversation resulted in my exhausted senses being dulled further. It seemed like it was taking me longer to get home than it had to get to the stadium where Cindy had been. Some one had recommended this route as a short cut, it was probably a short cut to his house, not mine!
Cindy stirred. She peered out the windshield and twisted around in her seat. “Mom, don’t we live in the city?”
“What kind of question is that?”
“Just curious. It’s dark up ahead and all the city lights are behind us.” She said, stating the obvious. Well, apparently not to me, I hadn’t noticed we were heading in the wrong direction. How could I get lost on a straight street? Never mind, I get lost going to the bathroom at night.
Up ahead some tall, narrow edifice blocked the road. I hoped it was a guard house to the entrance of some rich and wealthy community, if someone was on duty I could ask for help. As it turned out it was an abandoned reform school. I toyed with the idea of copying the address in case I needed to drop Cindy on their doorsteps some day if it ever reopened, which I doubted as all the graduates and prospective admit-tees were running the city.
Well, the school marked the dead end of the street. Backing up I retraced my steps, not necessarily a good move since I was misplaced. Now I could see house lights twinkling merrily in the distance, the very far distance. The saying “go towards the light” made sense now. In the absence of street illumination, I followed the yellow strip highlighted down the center of the road to avoid going off into the sporadically placed ditches. Follow the yellow brick road, played over and over in my mind! Was I in Kansas anymore?
The road forked in front of me with the first street sign we‘ve seen, unfortunately the names weren’t known to me. Should I go right or left? Left. Why not? We turned down Lion Lane, still nothing looked familiar or promising. I take that back , the darkness was becoming very well-known. I had no idea where we were, I just knew where we weren‘t, close to home, or to anybody‘s home for that matter. Some short cut!
Car lights came in to view up ahead. The first sign of human life in twenty minutes. Yippee. They were parked in front of a closed marina. Several men were standing holding up someone who looked injured, while some other man was braced in front of him, fist poised to deliver another blow. My headlights hit square into very perplexed and surprised faces momentarily blinding them.
Scruffy, the family guard dog and my constant companion, was on the back seat whining. He didn’t seem to like the circumstances we had chanced upon. He barked at something on either side of him and waited as though expecting an answer, his ears perked so as not to miss a single word.
Cindy croaked out, “Mom, don’t you dare stop!” She knew full well my constant desire to lend a helping hand in moments of crisis’.
“Like that’s going to happen!” Tonight I was willing to abandon old habits.
I saw lots of blood as the “body’ was released “gently” to the gravel drive way with a loud thump heard behind my closed windows. The man rose to his knees and coughed up more blood. The upright men leapt into their car. Scruffy howled and lunged under my seat in a move so smooth it looked assisted. Grabbing my cell phone from the console I tried to remember the speed dial number I had set 911 for. Cindy yanked the phone from my hands as I reversed directions and sped off spraying loose stones willy-nilly. Driving at night wasn’t my long suit,(is this obvious by now?) and it was even more challenging on this winding back road. I could feel Scruffy’s wet nose on my ankles above my red shoes coupled with his hot breath coming fast and furious.
Cindy was screeching at the 911 dispatcher, explaining we were lost and being chased by strange men, (under normal circumstances that wouldn’t have bothered me, I mean us). No, she yelled, she couldn’t give directions, that’s what lost meant, and no we wouldn’t slow down to read street signs,(even if there were any!) I went airborne over a very large dip in the street and hit the ground hard causing the phone to soar out of Cindy’s hands onto the floor board where neither of us could reach it. Scruffy crawled forward between my legs and encasing the phone in his snout handed it back into to Cindy’s shacking hands complete with slippery doggy slobber.
Shooting started! We were being shot at! I couldn’t duck and see the road but Cindy dived downwards, hands over her head. Did she think her hands were bullet proof. Scruffy, now further out between my legs and interfering with my access to the clutch and accelerator, crossed his paws over his eyes. I tried to shove him back with my feet while I careened from side to side, making us a difficult target to hit. It was essentially close to my normal driving style. Bullets, bullets everyway and no place to hide.
At one point I swerved into some bushes beside a scare crow, so the gangsters could pass us unknowingly. Cindy explained, rather calmly, (if lurching in front of me and stabbing at the light controls is considered calmly) that in order for this to trick to work, I needed to turn off the lights, informing me the scarecrow had more brains than I did, (and she wanted me to give her a credit card, well the answer was still no from this brainless idiot!) I got back on the road but it wasn’t long before the villains realized we pulled a fast one on them and were hot on our tails again.
Around one wide curve a startled deer frozen in my headlights loomed dangerously in my way. I slammed on the brakes and my hunters swerved around me to avoid creaming themselves into my wide heavy behind, and instead found a huge buck leaping onto their hood breaking their windshield with powerful hoofs and leaping back into the heavy foliage.
Finally I could hear sirens and see blinking lights speeding towards us. Yeah, the Calvary. As the bullets whizzed past me, and presumably into my car, I prayed they would be in time.
The patrol cars up ahead went airborne over some more unseen road hazards, their lights bobbing up and down, pre warning me so I could slow down as I approached them. Closer, closer. We barely passed each other, the road being scarcely large enough for one vehicle ( I could swear their rearview mirrors were scrapping the paint from my door as they went by!) I counted three squad cars with six officers. Looking in my rear view mirror I watched as my pursuers abruptly braked, shifted gears and backed up into a deep ditch on the narrow backwoods thoroughfare. Their rear bumper went downwards tipping their hood up into the air. I envisioned the wheels spinning madly now having lost contact with pavement. This gave me cause for a little snicker. Cindy wasn’t seeing any humor yet. I’m sure she was pissed because her hair was messed up.
The very, very naughty men were now imprisoned in their car because the doors were jammed against low lying bushes but they could crawl out through the jagged opening the wonderful stag provided for them. Serves them right, chasing two defenseless women with only a tear gas gun, and a shivering terrier for protection.
A brief futile gun match ensued between the cops and robbers which the police won. The 911 dispatcher instructed us to pull over at a safe distance and wait till an officer could get to us ,take a statement and direct us home. I was shaking so badly my feet were knocking together scuffing the sides of my red shoes, all the while I kept repeating, “I just want to go home!”
Cindy fluffed up her hair while thanking a nice officer for his help. She didn’t have dating privileges yet but she was always on the look out for some one who might wait till she came of age. I didn’t feel like it was my job to tell her that her left ear still glistened with saliva that Scruffy had coated the phone with. Scruffy was now back on the back seat, panting happily giving his attention to the empty spaces on either side of him. Officer Tim Mann proofed to have a good heart as he guided us to a familiar road, this was beyond our expectations.
“Mom, did you see those police cars fly over that dip when they were coming towards us?”
“I sure did!”
“Aren’t police sometimes called pigs?”“Not by anyone in this family.” I declared
“Yea, but you said I could get a credit card when pigs fly. I think that counts!”
Not bothering to comment I just settled into the drivers seat and guided my car home, praying that gunfire was covered in our auto insurance. This was definitely a short cut after all, it cut my life short by about twenty years.
Getting up early the next morning I inspected the back of my car before calling my claim into the insurance agent, not a single bullet hole to report! Unbelievable, especially since we‘d been so close I could see those jerks’ unshaved chins! I went to run an errand and buy a paper which covered the story about a poor local marina owner (local! It didn’t seem very local to me!) who had been held up last night and saved from sure death by a car that had passed by and interfered in the burglars plans. The identities of the car’s occupants were being withheld for their protection. The marina proprietor had been airlifted to nearby hospital where he was expected to make a complete recovery. Several suspects were being detained in the county facilities facing criminal charges.
When Cindy eventually came down to breakfast she found a Visa card by her oatmeal.
“ Mom, is this for real!” She squealed.
“Of course it is, I always make oatmeal for breakfast.”
She flung her arms around my neck and smothered me in kisses before running off to make some phone calls. This was something she needed to share with her amigos before eating.
“ I didn’t realize you liked oatmeal that much!“ I yelled after her. I hope those kisses will keep coming when she discovers it’s a gift card with a limit, one that can be refilled at my discretion. At least her friends don’t have to know.
Two winged guardians hovered above the house in a sitting position, one poured himself a drink of wine from a floating pitcher and leaned back.
“Man that chase last night took it out of me,” he declared gulping down the cold beverage. Liquid poured from a hundred nine millimeter sized holes in his upper body placed there as he shielded the car last night from bullets, more accurately, shielded the occupants from injury.
Angel number two wrapped his wings around himself and laughed heartily. “You look like a garden ornament, a angelic water fountain!” He hooted over and over beside himself with mirth.
His partner whined, “Oh, toot, I might have to pay a visit to “h-e-double hockey sticks” to get these wounds cauterized!” This produced more rounds of laughter.
Inside Scruffy and I peered out the window at the sudden downpour. Strange it was just raining over our house, and the rain water looked rusty, rather, burgundy tinted. Talk about pollution. Scruffy just curled up in a ball and went to sleep feeling safe and content in his solid, motionless bed.
Monday, September 17, 2007
Meal time at the nursing home
One of the residents in a nursing home I’m responsible for as an Ombudsman (representative) has been insisting that I sample the meals they serve, contending if she had to eat this food I should also. I had dragged my feet for so long a trench could have been made and filled with water to make an old fashion moat complete with alligators to eat the leftovers or in some instances before the food even became leftovers, or maybe they could just throw the dietitians in and order out from Burger King!!!
First I went to the administrator and asked for permission to eat, which she gladly consented to by providing me with a free pass. I would have been happier if she had declined my request so I’d have a legitimate excuse to not join Elaine. Then I found the dining room, a major feat for me since I always got turned around in the hallways, eventually I will be able to get around without a seeing eye dog. Heck half the residents here had bad eyesight and Alzheimer’s and could pass me in the hallways on the way to their destinations.
About twenty chair -less white cloth covered tables were being organized in the dining room. Two glasses per resident, one for the mandatory water provided with at each meal, an another for a beverage of their choice. Silverware wrapped in a napkin marked each setting. No candles though, as most of the diners came equipped with oxygen, candles would provide a bang similar to earth’s creation.
Well, here I was on my day off looking for a chair to sit in at a nursing home, the residents came with their own seats, chairs with wheels, and came good and early to claim their spots. Sometimes as early as an hour, what else did they have to do but wait to be fed three times a day? They rolled slowly down the carpeted hallways but soared into the dining room when they reached linoleum where their rides met no resistance. It was amusing watching all these grannies scud missile to their tables in bumper car fashion. No assigned seating meant they had to race to get their desired spots. No assigned seating but definite permanent preferences.
I located Elaine, the resident who had invited me, (or should I say dared me.) It was touted as home cooking served restaurant style. I wonder if this meant the residents were suppose to leave a tip? Nursing homes are trying to improve the dining experience by listening to the consumer, novel idea. Well it certainly wasn’t restaurant style as far as the service went. Plates were brought out individually and to separate tables. No one group of residents were served at the same time. It seemed it would be much easier to use a rolling cart and bring several plates from the buffet counter at once, it would shorten the wait and reduce the workload, but oh well, I’m just here on a dare, I shouldn’t be giving advice, should I? It did give the residents prolonged exposure to socialization and bickering. It also gave me time to scrutinize the plates as they were walked past. Except for the puréed meals (some only ate pureed food due to swallowing difficulties) everything looked presentable, but at with my age and three marriages I know how deceptive looks can be.
Every one wore pastel stripped, terry cloth bibs and I petitioned one for myself, I wanted to fit in, peer pressure and all. Elaine, the perfect hostess, wheeled herself to the laundry cabinet and retrieved one for me.
A frail lady who truly should have been in a wheel chair but was pushing a walker attempted to join us at the table. Elaine and Laura, one the regular table mates, prevented this from happening, very diplomatically.
“Get away from here, you old battle-axe! This isn‘t your table.” They ordered in unison. The newcomer sauntered off perplexed. Nice welcome for a new resident! I did mention they had no assigned seating but definite permanent preferences. Oh, well, this is one time Alzheimer’s is beneficial, the poor lady has already forgotten she was rejected and found some other agreeable companions that invited her to join them, Eleanor Roosevelt and Amelia Earhart, (so they finally found her!)
Those at my table received their meals before me, individually and over ten minutes time. I eyed their plates suspiciously, trying to identify the entrees. The staff must have thought this would be slow torture like locking me in a room with dripping water and no toilet. Mine finally came, and (wow!), was I thrilled. Boiled lobster, baked potato with sour cream and chives, home baked rolls with tablespoons of melting butter dripping off the sides and a napkin that said “Steak and Ale”. Wrong. Gotcha! Thin, crispy chicken fried steak, mashed potatoes and spinach is what was really placed before me. This didn’t look like it would be painful. The residents had different meals depending on their health requirements
Warned that the food is usually too salty I test tasted mine and reached for the salt shaker, I must have different standards of salty.
Laura, sitting across from me, is legally blind so Elaine cut her meat while telling her the location of her various side dishes. Recovering from a stroke and somewhat uncoordinated but completely mentally competent and still active in the community, Elaine is the healthiest of those at my table and the unofficial care taker for dear Laura, whose family appreciate her assisting their love one.
Gracie, sitting next to me complained about her salad.
“Don’t eat it if you don’t like it.” Elaine said.
Lifting her milk glass, Gracie looked at me for approval, “I drink all my milk.”
“Good for you, it’ll keep your bones healthy.” I promised.
“Have you seen my son? He’s going to be here today.” Gracie asked
“She doesn’t know your son, she won’t know if he’s here.” Elaine informed her.
“Quack! Quack! Quack!” came from behind me.
“That man is irritating, he does that every meal time!” Elaine divulged. I turned to visualize the man acting like a duck.
“Maybe he’s just clearing his throat,” I offered
“Nope. He’s just an ___.” Elaine repeated, foul language is a problem of all age groups.
“Oh, my gosh!” Gracie yelled causing me to jump and spill some spinach on my lap, way below my bib.
“What’s wrong?” I asked
“Is my son here yet?” Gracie questioned calmly after having obtained my attention.
“Shut up and eat, she doesn’t know your son!” Elaine commanded, poking at her mashed potatoes. “These potatoes taste funny.” she complained.
I sampled mine, actually they were fair after I had buttered, salt and peppered them, and I said so.
“Her’s look different.” Gracie observed comparing their mash potatoes.
Elaine looked at her meal ticket. Cheesy grits. Well she couldn’t argue with that. The potatoes tasted funny but they were just right for cheesy grits. She forgot what she had checked off on her meal ticket.
“I don’t like my salad.” Gracie repeated.
“Spit it out then,” Elaine said, and she did, all over the table.
“For God’s sake, were you raised in a barn?!” Elaine yelled, pulling lettuce off her plate and throwing it back at Gracie.
Gracie stopped the beverage cart and asked for some coffee, I winced, hoping she didn’t burn her tongue, or worse, me, if she spewed it out like the salad, I inched a litter further away and rotated my bib to cover any flesh facing Gracie.
“I think I see my son,” Gracie said wheeling herself away. Her son must have a visibility problem, I couldn’t see anyone.
The desserts came out and since Gracie had excused herself, I introduced her key lime pie to mine, this meal just got better. The pie was home cooked the same way I made mine, by removing it from the freezer, taking it out of the box and thawing it per the typed instructions of Mrs. Smith. Actually the whole meal was decent. Just like home cooking no meal will come out the same way or taste like a highly trained chef was in the kitchen overseeing things, unless of course it was the chef’s own home!
Well from start to finish the banquet lasted about 1 ½ hours and in three more hours the residents would be gathering back here for their final meal of the day, but not their final snack, carts went up and down the hallway to provide nutrition in the evening. Apparently if a resident started loosing weight it looked bad on the records so the aim was to fatten them up without consideration of the health risks; increased fat tissue leads to decreased muscle tone and mass, leading to dehydration, low immunity and from there the list is endless. As I pointed out early, nearly everyone was in a wheel chair so exercise was minimal and confined to upper body movements and leg kicks, that is if a resident chooses to attend the exercise class. The fear being if a resident fell because they were unsteady would lead to repercussions. Well, of course they are unsteady on their feet, if you don’t use it you loose it is not a lie it’s a pearl of wisdom.
After saying my good byes, going from table to table meeting new residents and hugging those I was already acquainted with, I noticed the staff gathering up leftovers. Most plates had been barely untouched and were heading to the garbage. The residents are offered so much to eat during the day and exert so little physical energy their appetites are non existent, they eat out of habit, probably coming to the dining room out of curiosity to see how the meal could be screwed up, visit with friends, or just to break the monotony. What a tremendous waste of food, the home should at least acquire a few trash compactors complete with four legs and wet noses, feeding them would be inexpensive and would bring great pleasure to the natives. I thought my plate was pretty good but my opinion wasn’t shared by all. I was a bad critic, this was better than my home cooking! And any mess I didn’t have to clean up got a gold star in my book.
The staff was now loading up the food carts for the bed bound who were fed last since they needed more assistance. Others just preferred eating in the quietness of their rooms in the company of their TV's, they didn’t care to socialize or watch others bath in the cuisine. The whole day for the kitchen staff really was spent preparing food, cooking and cleaning; also different from my home where plates and utensils went in the trash and store prepared food was simply nuked. Time consumed: five minutes tops.
Elaine escorted me to the exit, a little peeved that I had actually enjoyed my fare. As I wished her well until my next visit she recommended we make it a breakfast date. I groaned, now it would be home cooking before sunrise. Elaine explained the residents start filing in to their tables at four in the morning: I reiterate, what else have they got to do!
First I went to the administrator and asked for permission to eat, which she gladly consented to by providing me with a free pass. I would have been happier if she had declined my request so I’d have a legitimate excuse to not join Elaine. Then I found the dining room, a major feat for me since I always got turned around in the hallways, eventually I will be able to get around without a seeing eye dog. Heck half the residents here had bad eyesight and Alzheimer’s and could pass me in the hallways on the way to their destinations.
About twenty chair -less white cloth covered tables were being organized in the dining room. Two glasses per resident, one for the mandatory water provided with at each meal, an another for a beverage of their choice. Silverware wrapped in a napkin marked each setting. No candles though, as most of the diners came equipped with oxygen, candles would provide a bang similar to earth’s creation.
Well, here I was on my day off looking for a chair to sit in at a nursing home, the residents came with their own seats, chairs with wheels, and came good and early to claim their spots. Sometimes as early as an hour, what else did they have to do but wait to be fed three times a day? They rolled slowly down the carpeted hallways but soared into the dining room when they reached linoleum where their rides met no resistance. It was amusing watching all these grannies scud missile to their tables in bumper car fashion. No assigned seating meant they had to race to get their desired spots. No assigned seating but definite permanent preferences.
I located Elaine, the resident who had invited me, (or should I say dared me.) It was touted as home cooking served restaurant style. I wonder if this meant the residents were suppose to leave a tip? Nursing homes are trying to improve the dining experience by listening to the consumer, novel idea. Well it certainly wasn’t restaurant style as far as the service went. Plates were brought out individually and to separate tables. No one group of residents were served at the same time. It seemed it would be much easier to use a rolling cart and bring several plates from the buffet counter at once, it would shorten the wait and reduce the workload, but oh well, I’m just here on a dare, I shouldn’t be giving advice, should I? It did give the residents prolonged exposure to socialization and bickering. It also gave me time to scrutinize the plates as they were walked past. Except for the puréed meals (some only ate pureed food due to swallowing difficulties) everything looked presentable, but at with my age and three marriages I know how deceptive looks can be.
Every one wore pastel stripped, terry cloth bibs and I petitioned one for myself, I wanted to fit in, peer pressure and all. Elaine, the perfect hostess, wheeled herself to the laundry cabinet and retrieved one for me.
A frail lady who truly should have been in a wheel chair but was pushing a walker attempted to join us at the table. Elaine and Laura, one the regular table mates, prevented this from happening, very diplomatically.
“Get away from here, you old battle-axe! This isn‘t your table.” They ordered in unison. The newcomer sauntered off perplexed. Nice welcome for a new resident! I did mention they had no assigned seating but definite permanent preferences. Oh, well, this is one time Alzheimer’s is beneficial, the poor lady has already forgotten she was rejected and found some other agreeable companions that invited her to join them, Eleanor Roosevelt and Amelia Earhart, (so they finally found her!)
Those at my table received their meals before me, individually and over ten minutes time. I eyed their plates suspiciously, trying to identify the entrees. The staff must have thought this would be slow torture like locking me in a room with dripping water and no toilet. Mine finally came, and (wow!), was I thrilled. Boiled lobster, baked potato with sour cream and chives, home baked rolls with tablespoons of melting butter dripping off the sides and a napkin that said “Steak and Ale”. Wrong. Gotcha! Thin, crispy chicken fried steak, mashed potatoes and spinach is what was really placed before me. This didn’t look like it would be painful. The residents had different meals depending on their health requirements
Warned that the food is usually too salty I test tasted mine and reached for the salt shaker, I must have different standards of salty.
Laura, sitting across from me, is legally blind so Elaine cut her meat while telling her the location of her various side dishes. Recovering from a stroke and somewhat uncoordinated but completely mentally competent and still active in the community, Elaine is the healthiest of those at my table and the unofficial care taker for dear Laura, whose family appreciate her assisting their love one.
Gracie, sitting next to me complained about her salad.
“Don’t eat it if you don’t like it.” Elaine said.
Lifting her milk glass, Gracie looked at me for approval, “I drink all my milk.”
“Good for you, it’ll keep your bones healthy.” I promised.
“Have you seen my son? He’s going to be here today.” Gracie asked
“She doesn’t know your son, she won’t know if he’s here.” Elaine informed her.
“Quack! Quack! Quack!” came from behind me.
“That man is irritating, he does that every meal time!” Elaine divulged. I turned to visualize the man acting like a duck.
“Maybe he’s just clearing his throat,” I offered
“Nope. He’s just an ___.” Elaine repeated, foul language is a problem of all age groups.
“Oh, my gosh!” Gracie yelled causing me to jump and spill some spinach on my lap, way below my bib.
“What’s wrong?” I asked
“Is my son here yet?” Gracie questioned calmly after having obtained my attention.
“Shut up and eat, she doesn’t know your son!” Elaine commanded, poking at her mashed potatoes. “These potatoes taste funny.” she complained.
I sampled mine, actually they were fair after I had buttered, salt and peppered them, and I said so.
“Her’s look different.” Gracie observed comparing their mash potatoes.
Elaine looked at her meal ticket. Cheesy grits. Well she couldn’t argue with that. The potatoes tasted funny but they were just right for cheesy grits. She forgot what she had checked off on her meal ticket.
“I don’t like my salad.” Gracie repeated.
“Spit it out then,” Elaine said, and she did, all over the table.
“For God’s sake, were you raised in a barn?!” Elaine yelled, pulling lettuce off her plate and throwing it back at Gracie.
Gracie stopped the beverage cart and asked for some coffee, I winced, hoping she didn’t burn her tongue, or worse, me, if she spewed it out like the salad, I inched a litter further away and rotated my bib to cover any flesh facing Gracie.
“I think I see my son,” Gracie said wheeling herself away. Her son must have a visibility problem, I couldn’t see anyone.
The desserts came out and since Gracie had excused herself, I introduced her key lime pie to mine, this meal just got better. The pie was home cooked the same way I made mine, by removing it from the freezer, taking it out of the box and thawing it per the typed instructions of Mrs. Smith. Actually the whole meal was decent. Just like home cooking no meal will come out the same way or taste like a highly trained chef was in the kitchen overseeing things, unless of course it was the chef’s own home!
Well from start to finish the banquet lasted about 1 ½ hours and in three more hours the residents would be gathering back here for their final meal of the day, but not their final snack, carts went up and down the hallway to provide nutrition in the evening. Apparently if a resident started loosing weight it looked bad on the records so the aim was to fatten them up without consideration of the health risks; increased fat tissue leads to decreased muscle tone and mass, leading to dehydration, low immunity and from there the list is endless. As I pointed out early, nearly everyone was in a wheel chair so exercise was minimal and confined to upper body movements and leg kicks, that is if a resident chooses to attend the exercise class. The fear being if a resident fell because they were unsteady would lead to repercussions. Well, of course they are unsteady on their feet, if you don’t use it you loose it is not a lie it’s a pearl of wisdom.
After saying my good byes, going from table to table meeting new residents and hugging those I was already acquainted with, I noticed the staff gathering up leftovers. Most plates had been barely untouched and were heading to the garbage. The residents are offered so much to eat during the day and exert so little physical energy their appetites are non existent, they eat out of habit, probably coming to the dining room out of curiosity to see how the meal could be screwed up, visit with friends, or just to break the monotony. What a tremendous waste of food, the home should at least acquire a few trash compactors complete with four legs and wet noses, feeding them would be inexpensive and would bring great pleasure to the natives. I thought my plate was pretty good but my opinion wasn’t shared by all. I was a bad critic, this was better than my home cooking! And any mess I didn’t have to clean up got a gold star in my book.
The staff was now loading up the food carts for the bed bound who were fed last since they needed more assistance. Others just preferred eating in the quietness of their rooms in the company of their TV's, they didn’t care to socialize or watch others bath in the cuisine. The whole day for the kitchen staff really was spent preparing food, cooking and cleaning; also different from my home where plates and utensils went in the trash and store prepared food was simply nuked. Time consumed: five minutes tops.
Elaine escorted me to the exit, a little peeved that I had actually enjoyed my fare. As I wished her well until my next visit she recommended we make it a breakfast date. I groaned, now it would be home cooking before sunrise. Elaine explained the residents start filing in to their tables at four in the morning: I reiterate, what else have they got to do!
Monday, August 20, 2007
First Responders
We were in position, watching, waiting. We didn’t know what was about to happen but we were prepared, we always were. Our orders never varied, always present at major or minor catastrophes it was our job to do recovery work. We were the first responders. It was our singular responsibility to serve mankind. In contrast, our counterparts munching on snacks, were across from us in gleeful anticipation of whatever upcoming event we were here for.
While we were surveying the rush hour traffic make it’s way across the bridge and conjecturing what our assignment would end up being, we felt the earth move, it was barely perceptible but it did move. We waited a few more seconds on full alert now, in fight or flight mode. There it was or rather wasn’t. The bridge we had been studying collapsed, metal beams cracking, cement splashing into the river, cars rolling down and vanishing into the foaming liquid, other cars spiraling down to the embankment below piling up on top of each other, upside down and side ways being transformed from shiny metal to unrecognizable salvage heaps. The preceding sounds were ghastly, cars honking, alarm systems blaring, people screaming, debris flying. Blood pouring. Cement dust and mud covering everything. Our counterparts jumping up and down gratified, they were loving it!
People surfacing on the river looked about in shock. Some caught sight of us immediately and gasped as we waved them over, other people, blind to us, swam to the shore, pulling loved ones with them. A dog had his teeth on the bottom of a toddlers training pants pulling the sputtering child to safety. I praised the canine for his devotion and he almost barked at me in response before he realized he’d loose his mouthful. I gently encouraged him in his good deed willing him the strength to succeed. A man reached down, grabbing the tot and hugging his furry pet. One of the man’s arms dangled oddly at his side, apparently relief over the recovery of his son wiped out the sensation of pain. Relief and love are better than morphine! I bet that dog was going to get the best cut of meat from the dinner table from hence forth! He’d probably even be buried in the family plot!
I dove into the murky water searching for more survivors, finding some souls by a severely demolished van trying to get the lifeless bodies inside free. I motioned for them to follow me up. They were in total denial not willing to leave the bodies behind but they eventually realized the situation was in vain and did as I directed them, meeting up with my friends and the other survivors on the banks above. Air bubbles were coming up from a jeep deeper down, diving to it I cracked the window and waited till the last denizen floated up and was seized by other survivors.
I was pulled toward an upside down Toyota, occupied by a woman and her daughter, by the mother’s earnest cries to God. Mom was frantically trying to open the door unsuccessfully, I could feel her overwhelming panic. With barely a touch to the handle, I opened the door and watched as the two jetted to the surface hand in hand where they were aided to land. New help had arrived with medical equipment and treated her cuts and abrasions, checked her daughter over and went on to the other injured. Triaging the injured. Eight bodies were being lined up and covered, there was no earthly help available to them. Those I had propelled to my group held each others hands staring at the dead in amazement, conscious of their good fortune. Our counterparts jeered, hurling rocks and sticks our way but not venturing close.
A school bus crammed with crying kids was precariously positioned on the edge of the broken overpass. Our counterparts were gleefully waiting for it to topple fifty feet down to the bridges remaining skeletal frame where the occupants would be dashed into pieces. They thrived on misery and chaos. Summoning several of my colleagues to assist me, we grabbed the rear bumper and held on for dear life as the bus driver briskly evacuated his passengers, with the help of everyday heroes while the odious onlookers cursed the rescue of the blameless kids. Not a single middle school-er was lost or injured. Not one cut or scratch. Now that’s a miracle! Plus they would have a good excuse for not having their homework done tomorrow. There is always a silver lining if you look for it!
My team had done all we could do for now so we stood back to let our co-workers, the paramedics, do their job. They were skilled in their profession, working without emotion, distancing themselves from the upheaval this disaster had created in the lives of so many innocent citizens. Without that detachment they would be useless. Calm experienced objectivity was a necessity for them to perform well.
Eventually we wandered about looking for more survivors. Displaced souls, kneeling by lifeless bodies and looking about in confusion were relieved to see us and accept our invitation to join the group we had collected. Then we heard the now expected. After years of doing this vocation we would never get used to this aspect of it. The accusations, the blaming, the anger. All directed upwards. To God. Why did he let this happen? Where was he? What was his problem? The evil cohorts who were opposed to our intercessions, mingled with the walking wounded and encouraged them to blaspheme God, whispering more fabrications about his faithfulness into their ears. These accusations in turn escaped bleeding lips in strings of profanities, that reached the heavenly throne, causing pain. Yes God has feelings! I clutched one woman staggering about, hands covering her ears from the hideous cries around her, and tried to reason with her, attempting very earnestly to get her attention but, my words went right through her as she looked past me, as though I wasn’t there. I hoped however I had planted a seed that would take root once she recovered from shock.
Helicopters hovered overhead, broadcasting the disaster on life T.V. Spectators gathered on nearby overpasses. Some offered welcome help, prayers. Others were just voyeurs like the ancient Romans at the coliseum, drawn by the smell of blood. Vehicles sped to the scene, stopping blocks away. Parents raced up to the wreckage looking for their children who rushed to meet them. There was much rejoicing, hugging, joyful crying and God praising. However I knew if the circumstance had been less than desirable for these parents different words would be pouring from their mouths. It’s true, sweet and bitter words come from the same mouth, but not the same hearts.
As every thing started to settle down, I rallied our eight survivors. They were hanging back, eyeing the eight bodies that were being covered with tarps, unable to find tears to shed. Granted, eight wasn’t very many considering the huge volume traveling over the bridge this afternoon. I looked at the others on the shoreline and in the ambulances, who had benefited from our help; hundreds. Dozens of school children, rush hour commuters, perplexed pets scuttling around refusing the help of strangers, looking for their human family- and finding them! Bandages were applied to arms, heads, legs. Faces scratched. Not bad, only eight. And the hurt asked where was God? He was on his throne commanding his army. He had issued orders for us to lend a hand, and a few wings, which we did in our usual manner, quickly and without question. When he said jump, we jumped. No need to ask questions. Just eight? Only eight? Eight very lucky souls would be accompanying us home, their home, prepared years ago. Not bad for a days job.
Why did this happen? The present world is as full of misfortunes as it has been since Adam and Eve disappointed God and their unborn family. God has nothing to do with every disaster that befalls man. The fallen and frail nature of humanity is to blame. But God is responsible for us First Responders, and he uses us wisely and fairly. The eight that we are bringing home with us today have no complaints. A few of us will linger behind to comfort their families. Our wicked counterparts scattered back to hide under their rocks with their close relatives, the snakes, and sulk. This wasn’t the ending they had hoped for. Our survivor count of eight disappointed them tremendously since they had netted no trophies. No souls would be tortured by them as a result of this particular calamity. Praise be to God, now and forever. Our eight survivors and my team ascended upward towards the light, pain free and elated.
While we were surveying the rush hour traffic make it’s way across the bridge and conjecturing what our assignment would end up being, we felt the earth move, it was barely perceptible but it did move. We waited a few more seconds on full alert now, in fight or flight mode. There it was or rather wasn’t. The bridge we had been studying collapsed, metal beams cracking, cement splashing into the river, cars rolling down and vanishing into the foaming liquid, other cars spiraling down to the embankment below piling up on top of each other, upside down and side ways being transformed from shiny metal to unrecognizable salvage heaps. The preceding sounds were ghastly, cars honking, alarm systems blaring, people screaming, debris flying. Blood pouring. Cement dust and mud covering everything. Our counterparts jumping up and down gratified, they were loving it!
People surfacing on the river looked about in shock. Some caught sight of us immediately and gasped as we waved them over, other people, blind to us, swam to the shore, pulling loved ones with them. A dog had his teeth on the bottom of a toddlers training pants pulling the sputtering child to safety. I praised the canine for his devotion and he almost barked at me in response before he realized he’d loose his mouthful. I gently encouraged him in his good deed willing him the strength to succeed. A man reached down, grabbing the tot and hugging his furry pet. One of the man’s arms dangled oddly at his side, apparently relief over the recovery of his son wiped out the sensation of pain. Relief and love are better than morphine! I bet that dog was going to get the best cut of meat from the dinner table from hence forth! He’d probably even be buried in the family plot!
I dove into the murky water searching for more survivors, finding some souls by a severely demolished van trying to get the lifeless bodies inside free. I motioned for them to follow me up. They were in total denial not willing to leave the bodies behind but they eventually realized the situation was in vain and did as I directed them, meeting up with my friends and the other survivors on the banks above. Air bubbles were coming up from a jeep deeper down, diving to it I cracked the window and waited till the last denizen floated up and was seized by other survivors.
I was pulled toward an upside down Toyota, occupied by a woman and her daughter, by the mother’s earnest cries to God. Mom was frantically trying to open the door unsuccessfully, I could feel her overwhelming panic. With barely a touch to the handle, I opened the door and watched as the two jetted to the surface hand in hand where they were aided to land. New help had arrived with medical equipment and treated her cuts and abrasions, checked her daughter over and went on to the other injured. Triaging the injured. Eight bodies were being lined up and covered, there was no earthly help available to them. Those I had propelled to my group held each others hands staring at the dead in amazement, conscious of their good fortune. Our counterparts jeered, hurling rocks and sticks our way but not venturing close.
A school bus crammed with crying kids was precariously positioned on the edge of the broken overpass. Our counterparts were gleefully waiting for it to topple fifty feet down to the bridges remaining skeletal frame where the occupants would be dashed into pieces. They thrived on misery and chaos. Summoning several of my colleagues to assist me, we grabbed the rear bumper and held on for dear life as the bus driver briskly evacuated his passengers, with the help of everyday heroes while the odious onlookers cursed the rescue of the blameless kids. Not a single middle school-er was lost or injured. Not one cut or scratch. Now that’s a miracle! Plus they would have a good excuse for not having their homework done tomorrow. There is always a silver lining if you look for it!
My team had done all we could do for now so we stood back to let our co-workers, the paramedics, do their job. They were skilled in their profession, working without emotion, distancing themselves from the upheaval this disaster had created in the lives of so many innocent citizens. Without that detachment they would be useless. Calm experienced objectivity was a necessity for them to perform well.
Eventually we wandered about looking for more survivors. Displaced souls, kneeling by lifeless bodies and looking about in confusion were relieved to see us and accept our invitation to join the group we had collected. Then we heard the now expected. After years of doing this vocation we would never get used to this aspect of it. The accusations, the blaming, the anger. All directed upwards. To God. Why did he let this happen? Where was he? What was his problem? The evil cohorts who were opposed to our intercessions, mingled with the walking wounded and encouraged them to blaspheme God, whispering more fabrications about his faithfulness into their ears. These accusations in turn escaped bleeding lips in strings of profanities, that reached the heavenly throne, causing pain. Yes God has feelings! I clutched one woman staggering about, hands covering her ears from the hideous cries around her, and tried to reason with her, attempting very earnestly to get her attention but, my words went right through her as she looked past me, as though I wasn’t there. I hoped however I had planted a seed that would take root once she recovered from shock.
Helicopters hovered overhead, broadcasting the disaster on life T.V. Spectators gathered on nearby overpasses. Some offered welcome help, prayers. Others were just voyeurs like the ancient Romans at the coliseum, drawn by the smell of blood. Vehicles sped to the scene, stopping blocks away. Parents raced up to the wreckage looking for their children who rushed to meet them. There was much rejoicing, hugging, joyful crying and God praising. However I knew if the circumstance had been less than desirable for these parents different words would be pouring from their mouths. It’s true, sweet and bitter words come from the same mouth, but not the same hearts.
As every thing started to settle down, I rallied our eight survivors. They were hanging back, eyeing the eight bodies that were being covered with tarps, unable to find tears to shed. Granted, eight wasn’t very many considering the huge volume traveling over the bridge this afternoon. I looked at the others on the shoreline and in the ambulances, who had benefited from our help; hundreds. Dozens of school children, rush hour commuters, perplexed pets scuttling around refusing the help of strangers, looking for their human family- and finding them! Bandages were applied to arms, heads, legs. Faces scratched. Not bad, only eight. And the hurt asked where was God? He was on his throne commanding his army. He had issued orders for us to lend a hand, and a few wings, which we did in our usual manner, quickly and without question. When he said jump, we jumped. No need to ask questions. Just eight? Only eight? Eight very lucky souls would be accompanying us home, their home, prepared years ago. Not bad for a days job.
Why did this happen? The present world is as full of misfortunes as it has been since Adam and Eve disappointed God and their unborn family. God has nothing to do with every disaster that befalls man. The fallen and frail nature of humanity is to blame. But God is responsible for us First Responders, and he uses us wisely and fairly. The eight that we are bringing home with us today have no complaints. A few of us will linger behind to comfort their families. Our wicked counterparts scattered back to hide under their rocks with their close relatives, the snakes, and sulk. This wasn’t the ending they had hoped for. Our survivor count of eight disappointed them tremendously since they had netted no trophies. No souls would be tortured by them as a result of this particular calamity. Praise be to God, now and forever. Our eight survivors and my team ascended upward towards the light, pain free and elated.
Monday, August 6, 2007
The Break In
It was time for a good nights sleep. My daughter Cindy and I were on our way home from visiting with my husband at his job site this week and were staying in our usual hotel. The manager knew us personally after all our visits here so we always got first rate attention. It was like a home away from home with more hired help.
Cindy was spread out on her bed, long brown hair flowing over the pillow, snoring enthusiastically with our dog Scruffy, it was hard-pressing to determine who was snoring the best. He had his little terrier head on the small of her back and was sawing twigs to her logs.
I was facing the foot of my bed watching a pay for view movie that I’d already seen at the theaters. I wasn’t going to pay for a movie I hadn’t seen yet as I always fell asleep mid way through. I just wasn’t sleepy yet. Could it have something to do with the enormous dinner I scarfed up in the dining room? I couldn’t be rude to the chef who kept placing temptations in front of me. The spirit was willing to resist but the flesh craved nourishment. He always liked to provide me with a sample of all his cuisine and I enjoyed being his guinea pig.
Less than halfway into the movie I began to loose control of my eyelids. If there was a battle to stay awake, I was waving a flag in sublime surrender when I heard the adjoining door unlatch and my lids flew open. A baldhead popped in, craned around the entrance and led a full body into my boudoir. I had to be imagining this. Nope. There he stood, all six feet plus of him. Totally muscled. Totally bald. Totally black. Totally dressed….in a pair of red silk boxer shorts with white hearts splattered over them. Or…they were white silk shorts with a red background. I no longer felt sleepy. Adrenalin was rushing through my vascular system. The fight or flight response had been activated. I lay there, on my stomach facing him, aware that I was propped up on my elbows revealing cleavage. How could I be so immodest in the privacy of my own room! Sometimes I just don’t think.
“Hey,” my visitor greeted me. “Do you come here often?”
‘Uh, yeah.” I answered, wearily, as he walked around the room taking things in, not literally, as he had no pockets. No pockets meant he probably had no concealed weapons. This made me a little calmer. I couldn’t help but observe he had the most developed latisimus dorsi muscles I’d ever seen. (back muscles)
“This room is nicer than mine,” he announced plopping down in the corner chair and crossing his legs. As well developed as his back was, his thigh and calf muscles were undersized.
It appeared he was going to be here for a while. He was getting comfortable. I was getting just the opposite. What should I do? Trying to appear nonchalant, I pulled my pillow to my neck and wrapped my arms about it to conceal my chest. I was wearing more clothes than my visitor was at any rate. This didn’t make me feel any more relieved.
I looked over my shoulder at Cindy and Scruffy. Scruffy had awakened and was dividing his attention between the chair and me. Nothing on his body was twitching or moving, he was motionless except for his eyes. Don’t bother to bark or help me out here old buddy, I mused. He would bark at the flea on a squirrel’s back, but let a stranger into his zone and he just lies there. I’m glad I didn’t buy him as a watchdog; I’d have to ask for a refund. If he would just bark the manager would come to investigate, Scruffy was only allowed if I promised he wouldn’t create a disturbance for the other guests. Come on Scruffy, disturb, I’m willing to break my agreement!
“You know, you should be more careful. You don’t know who could wander in here,” My companion stated the obvious. “They have great room service here; I think I’ll order something up for us, what would you like?”
“Oh, anything!” Great plan I told myself. The receptionist would know I was here with just my daughter, surely, she would send help. I’m glad I thought of that. I hope that young receptionist with the perfect teeth; hair and makeup would have some sense. Please don’t let her assume I was having a clandestine meeting with some strange man. That would be just my luck; my reputation doesn’t need any interceptions.
My guest made the call, ordered some goodies, and hung up. We conversed awkwardly while I waited for the Calvary to come to my rescue. (Awkward for me, he was perfectly serene.)
Scruffy had gone back to sleep. Cindy could sleep through a tornado and land in Oz without breaking a sweat. I was in this alone. Yet…I oddly didn’t feel a sensation of doom. I had started feeling….safe. That was bizarre.
The door to the hallway opened. Another uninvited soul thrust his head in. I gasped, (gasp.)
This person was wearing a ski mask to conceal his face, leather gloves, and was carrying a bag. Were Cindy, Scruffy and I breathing the last of our allotted oxygen supply? Was I the only one scared? This last thought came to me as a series of exceptionally loud snores vibrated from Cindy’s bed stirring the nearby curtains. I guess so.
Ski Mask started towards me then caught sight of Silk Shorts in the corner, stopping in his tracks. They shared a staring contest. Ski Mask hadn’t expected three victims. He hadn’t counted on the third victim being nonplussed by his appearance. Ski Mask started to sweat. I could see moisture penetrating the face covering. Silk Shorts kept his cool, controlling everything with just the look in his eyes. I bet if he had kids they never got out of line, those eyes could hypnotize lions. Scruffy roused and started barking. Ski Mask turned on his heels and ran out of the room. I screamed. Cindy woke up, slowly. Scruffy lunged off the bed chasing Ski Mask out the door. Finally! Wait! He only weighs ten pounds with all his hair; Ski Mask had better not hurt him! I was in hot pursuit. Cindy groggily in bed shaking cobwebs from her brain.
I was going to protect my dog but who was going to protect me! Big strong looking Silk Shorts never came out of the room. Sure, they all look packaged good, but inside they are just wusses, using their physique just for show.
Pandemonium broke loose in the corridor. “My” midnight snack was flung over polished ceramic, it’s delivery man sprawled out on top of chicken sandwiches and hot cocoa. Ski Mask lost his balance after colliding with Deliveryman and slipped on the slippery surface toppling on top of Delivery Man. A struggle ensued. I picked up the serving tray and waited for the correct head to be targeted. Bang! Delivery Man yelped as his shoulder was smacked. Scruffy was prancing around under my feet snipping here and there. Ski Mask oozed blood from tiny puncture marks. Tiny but effective. Good old Scruffy. Doors up and down the hall opened. Security Man, an authentic gun toting off duty police officer, tore around the corner, shouting, “Halt! Police!” Nothing stopped. No one paid any attention to the armed man waving a firearm. We all were caught up in our own agenda. More help arrived. I was bear hugged and pulled aside, presumably for my safety but more likely for Delivery Man’s protection. Ski Mask was hoisted to his feet drenched in hot cocoa and wearing chicken salad on his skull, Delivery Man gripped his injured shoulder and glared at me, muttering that minimum wage wasn’t enough for this. He brushed lettuce off his mayonnaise stained trousers.
“Sorry,” I managed. I was just trying to lend a hand, or rather serving tray.
Security Man frisked Ski Mask for weapons and found a key card that fit our door. Cindy finally joined the gathering and recognized the card as her’s. She thought she had misplaced it in the room but had probably been lax enough with it that Ski Mask had appropriated it from her unawares. This wasn’t the first time she was careless with things, always misplacing keys, money, books…the list goes on. Besides, he was a professional, but since he had been caught by chicken salad and hot cocoa he unmistakably needed some more practice.
I started my story from the beginning, when Silk Shorts, who was now notably absent, came into my room and ordered room service. At the end of my essay Security Man countered, “That room is never used.” and the receptionist backed him up. I blinked. By the set of Ski Mask’s mouth I could tell he wasn’t about to confirm my story.
“Honey,” the receptionist said in her smoothest voice, “Except for the legs, you just described the man of my dreams, I think I would have noticed him! In fact I would have presented him the best room in the house: across from my desk” I knew she was an airhead. What did she get paid for, doing her nails at the counter?
To convince me they unlocked the hallway door next to mine. It was a storage room. No one would be checked into here. Silk Shorts had said my room was nicer than his!?
Cindy, patting my back, explained to everyone present that I went to bed on a tummy full of French fries drenched in chili and onions watching the movie, “The Hills Have Eyes”, it was no wonder my imagination was acting up tonight. This got understanding responses. I was reacting to a piece of undigested food.
“But he called the front desk and ordered these snacks! If he hadn‘t this scum bag would have gotten away” I exclaimed pointing to the fragments of food we were all decorated with. It’s true I realized, if he hadn’t run into delivery man he’d have made a clean break. Coincidence?
“The only call I got from your room was from you,” the receptionist informed me giving Cindy a sympathetic look. How dare she. She was feeling sorry for my daughter having such a delutional mother!
Cindy sighed, “ I knew this day would come, but not so soon.”
“What day?”
“The day I’d have to start being in charge, you know role reversal, where it falls on the kid to raise the parents.”
“Okay, that’s it. We’re going back to bed.” I marched us back to room 301 and slammed the door. Let management figure everything out with out me. I looked under the bed, in the closet, behind the shower curtain, in the desk drawers (why not?) and climbed under the covers, after checking the dead bolt to the adjoining entry and blocking it with a heavy chair. I heard the sirens coming to take Ski Mask into custody.
Scruffy situated himself on the chair to eavesdrop on the two beings in the storage room.
Silk Shorts had been examining his legs. “What’s wrong with my legs?” he asked his compatriot who had arrived after all the excitement.
“Nothing. Any hen would be proud of those sticks!”
“What are you saying?”
“Oh, nothing except ….cluck, cluck, cluck” he answered dissipating rapidly into the air to avoid retaliation.
Silk Shorts shrugged, sprouted wings through his buffed up shoulders and sighed, “Well it’s not like I use my legs for anything anyway,” and he soared off. Scruffy, satisfied his invisible friends had left, curled up, laid his head on his paws and commenced guarding his women.
At check out the next morning I paid the full balance of my night’s stay, a big whopping zero, with a guarantee of tremendous discounts on my future visits. I learned that Ski Mask was a self employed merchant picking up his inventory from hapless guests, either in motels or parking lots. All the more need for increased vigilance on the part of society. I would wager he never filed his inventory with the IRS. There comes another slap on the wrist.
Saturday, July 21, 2007
Girls night out!
I’m going out with the girls! Yea! I haven’t had “me” time in a while. My darling hubby is out of town again on business. I just hope it isn’t monkey business! Nah, he doesn’t have the guts, he’s seen me mad before! It’s great having a dependable, phantom husband, who is in town often enough to pay the bills and spoil me. Besides, I call his cell at odd hours to see if there is any heavy breathing or background snoring! Trust, but with follow up!
Cindy invited a friend over, though I don’t know why the invitation was required, Mandy has spent more time here than at home the past few months. I barely know her mother, she just waves in passing. That’s why I don’t let Cindy go to her house often, no supervision. Lorraine is divorced and lives the wild life, I keep Cindy from that type of milieu, she needs to enjoy her youth and naiveté for as long as I can control it, and I’m very controlling!
Cindy looked up from her T.V show long enough to appraise me. “Hey, you look pretty good,” {before I could thank her} “I didn’t know you could do it!” followed the compliment.
“I’m sure there’s a better way you could have phrased that,” I announced, preening in front of the hall mirror. I do look pretty darn good for an old married woman. No. That was wrong. For a young married woman who has an old husband! (He’s my senior by nine weeks and already forty)
“Got a question for you.” Cindy stated approaching me slowly. “Don’t you think I’m old enough to car date?”
“Where’s the question? All I heard was something totally out of the question.”
“But mom, Mandy car dates and she’s just 6 months older than me!” Oh, wonderful peer pressure. Why can’t they pressure each other to do better in school?
“Well, in six months we’ll discuss this again. It’ll give me time to explore the alternatives.”“What alternatives?” Cindy questioned, suspiciously.
“I need to locate the local convents and acquire an application or two.”
Something sounding like harrumph came out of Cindy as she marched back to the couch. Scruffy jumped in her lap to comfort her with wet kisses.
I could see through the glass door Mandy was here. Boy has she put on weight. (I think). She used to wear the popular midriff revealing clothes of teenagers; tight low cut jeans and tight high cut tops. Now she has reverted to the opposite style, baggy everything. She entered with her hands on her back, looking somewhat uncomfortable, claiming she got an injury in gym class. I suspect she’s getting an “F” in the subject; scales would back me up.
Mandy quickly joined Cindy on the sofa before I could give her my customary hug. Well up until a few months ago I gave customary hugs but she has been scrambling just out of reach recently. I think she’s self-conscious about her weight gain.
“Okay, girls, have a good time, the only boys allowed in here tonight are the ones on T.V.”
Cindy rolled her eyes but I detected a slight look of surprise on Mandy (surprise or revulsion?)
followed by a look of extreme discomfort with an explanation of brutal indigestion. I directed Cindy on where to find the Tums for her guest and made my departure.
“Oh, and don’t spill anything on my new couch!” I warned poking my head back in the door.
The evening was blissful, good friends, fine dining, and virgin drinks. (All of us were designated drivers having come in separate vehicles). Some guy looking for a date sent us over a tray of real drinks that we declined after laughing heartedly. We were all spoken for but did enjoy being noticed at our age, especially by some young college kid. (The lighting almost certainly fooled him into thinking we were younger!)As we were studying the desert selections, my cell jingled. I thought I had turned it off. It was Cindy.
“Don’t answer it! We promised no interruptions tonight, just us girls, no cares or worries.”
“You’re right!” I ignored the ringing, once, twice. No! I couldn’t do it. Cindy wouldn’t call for nothing, she would text message.
Answering, I got a frantic, “Mom! Get here quick!” Background screaming with Scruffy barking sent me to my car faster than greased lightening dialing 911 as I went. I ran several red lights, barely avoiding getting t-boned at least three times. I don’t know how I got home, I wasn’t thinking about driving, I was thinking about the panic in Cindy’s voice.
Police cars, an ambulance and a fire truck were all crowded in my driveway forcing me to park two houses down and race home on heels. How I didn’t break an ankle, I’ll never know.
Mandy lay on the couch, writhing and shrieking. Sweat was pouring from her face and blood seemed to be all over. Scruffy was in a corner curled in a ball with his paws crossed over his ears. People were everyway, issuing orders and giving directions. A police officer was talking to a horrified looking Cindy by the kitchen. I rushed to her side.
“What’s going on? What happened?” Fearing someone had broken in and harmed Mandy but left Cindy unmarked.
“Mandy is having a baby!” Cindy cried. Time stopped. How did I miss that one? Mandy wasn’t even sixteen. No hugs. The clothes. That explains the voluminous outfits and weight gain. I’m an idiot.
“Did you call her mother?” I asked
“Mandy didn’t want me too. Lorraine is out on a date and doesn’t like to be bothered. She tells her dates that Mandy is her younger sister.” Since the divorce, Mandy has called her mother Loraine apparently at Lorraine’s request.
“Surely she wants to be here for her daughter and grandchild!”
“Mom, Mandy didn’t even tell her she was pregnant. I just found out and we’re best friends!”
Wow. What a secret keeper. What a performance! What a travesty. Not being able to speak to anyone about something so momentous. What a mother! She didn’t deserve a child like Mandy. Sure, she made a mistake but she was still a sweet kid. I should know, she spends more time here than at her home and now I know why. This is more home for her than her own. Heck, half her clothes were in Cindy’s closet or my laundry hamper.
Mandy, gasping, panting, sweating, was yelling she didn’t want this baby. She didn’t want this baby! She wasn’t prepared for motherhood. She didn’t want to be a mother. She had plans for her future. She was begging for pain relief. She gripped the hand I offered to comfort her, and peace miraculously descended on me. I rubbed her swollen belly during the contractions and talked her down from the ripping exploding sensations, that I remember so well, the best I could. She kept apologizing to me. To me! This girl needed apologies from those around her that had lived completely unaware of her private earthbound hell. Cindy, white as a sheet, couldn’t handle it; one of the EMT’s assisted her to another room and stayed with her. (This had better not be a trick for her to meet a guy or she‘d be the one leaving here on a stretcher! A mother always has to worry!)
When the baby came, paramedics wrapped it up and offered it to Mandy. She turned her head and wept. The paramedics removed the baby and shook their heads sympathetically.
A police officer slowly approached Mandy and me. After a brief discussion we learned that the paramedics could take the baby without questions to a baby safe site, under the Baby Moses law, which allowed anyone to hand new born babies over to qualified professionals, paramedics, hospitals, firemen, or police, with no repercussions. It was a law in Texas to prevent infant deaths and maternal prosecution patterned after the biblical story of Moses.
Mandy didn’t have to keep the baby if she didn’t want to! What would Mandy have done with the baby if she had been home alone when this “blessed event” occurred? No one suspected she was pregnant. Her mother obviously didn’t know, or care. Stories of abandoned babies showered my mind. Babies abandoned in bathrooms, dumpsters, anywhere. Left to the elements.
Sometimes found alive, sometimes not. Mothers hunted down like dogs and prosecuted, as well they should be. Lives changed forever over one bad moment in time, one response to hormones.
Refusing a trip to the hospital, Mandy was checked over, abdomen massaged to expel the remaining uterine contents and given a sedative. (Can I have one too, please?) The medics, after helping me get her to a bed, said she would probably be alright. She would be staying here for a while, I decided. Who would miss her at home? I was instructed to watch for complications, bleeding, fever ect. And contact her doctor for a follow up.
I tried several times that night to contact Mandy‘s mother unsuccessfully. Her cell was off and I hung up on the answering machine ten times, this wasn’t leave a message material except for her to please give me a call.
The first thing in the morning, after five cups of coffee and some ibuprophen, I trooped over to Mandy’s house. Two cars were in the driveway. Mandy didn’t have a car and Mommy dearest only had one. Hmmmm.
A partially dressed man, (if wearing a towel is considered being dressed) answered the door. Not at first however, I had to pound relentlessly for ten minutes. With water dripping from his torso and pooling on the ceramic tiles at his feet, he informed me Lorraine was taking a shower. I noticed a gold band on his left ring finger. Where did you tell your wife you’d be last night, I thought.
“Well, get her out. I need to speak with her.” I wasn’t going to be shy. I don’t even think I was going to bother being polite.
Lorraine entered wearing an identical towel, with water running rivulets down her body.
“What’s the meaning of this?” Lorraine snapped. Good, don’t ask if Mandy is alright.
After a brief, virtually one-sided conversation, arrangements were made for Mandy to stay at my house indefinitely. Lorraine didn’t seem saddened by these measures, unless smiling was a cover up for intense pain. She was being given her freedom for uninterrupted dating. Wow. She was going to have as much fun as her ex husband. So this is what passes for fun now, a new guy every night, no security, no commitments, just exposure to every STD in the book. Russian roulette was safer. I’m glad I’m boring.
I was back home before the girls woke up. One more look at my new couch and I nearly cried. Scruffy, sniffing around his favorite spot, pointed his nose in the air and went in search of another resting place. I only had it for two weeks. Let’s see how good professional cleaners are, I deliberated, going through the yellow pages.
Cindy came downstairs looking glum. She must really feel bad: no makeup and unbrushed hair. The night had taken its toil on her. She needed a tranquilizer as much as Mandy had but instead she had relied on prayer and her snuggle buddy, Scruffy. The two paramount remedies.
“Mom, about car dating.” Cindy said.
“My answer hasn’t changed,” I answered, flipping through the phone book. (car cleaners, carpet cleaners…. Upholstery cleaners!)
“That’s alright; I think I’d rather be a nun!” Cindy stated on her way into the kitchen.
Apparently she was handling things better than I expected. Wait till I tell her they don’t wear makeup and they shave their heads. I think I'll lay a pillow on the floor behind her for safties sake.
In the hall way, eavesdropping, figure number one bent over scratching Scruffy’s ears, “ I hope I never get in a car with that woman again, if I wasn’t immortal I could have been killed at least three times!”
Figure number two, “If you hadn’t been in the car, she would have been killed, but only once!”
“Very funny. Thank heavens (literally) we saved another baby and found a good placement for a lonely teenager. Good thing the mother forgot to turn off her cell phone."
“What makes you think she forgot?”
“Let’s get out of here before the husband comes home and finds out he has another mouth to feed.”
“What ? The Boss didn‘t handle Joseph to your satisfaction? He's good at convincing people to raise other people‘s kids!”
“Let’s go. ” And they were gone leaving Scruffy whimpering for more attention.
Exodus 2:1-4
Isaiah 1:18
Isaiah 49:15
Rom 8:31-39
I Cor. 7
Eph 3:14-21
Eph 4:22-24
Cindy invited a friend over, though I don’t know why the invitation was required, Mandy has spent more time here than at home the past few months. I barely know her mother, she just waves in passing. That’s why I don’t let Cindy go to her house often, no supervision. Lorraine is divorced and lives the wild life, I keep Cindy from that type of milieu, she needs to enjoy her youth and naiveté for as long as I can control it, and I’m very controlling!
Cindy looked up from her T.V show long enough to appraise me. “Hey, you look pretty good,” {before I could thank her} “I didn’t know you could do it!” followed the compliment.
“I’m sure there’s a better way you could have phrased that,” I announced, preening in front of the hall mirror. I do look pretty darn good for an old married woman. No. That was wrong. For a young married woman who has an old husband! (He’s my senior by nine weeks and already forty)
“Got a question for you.” Cindy stated approaching me slowly. “Don’t you think I’m old enough to car date?”
“Where’s the question? All I heard was something totally out of the question.”
“But mom, Mandy car dates and she’s just 6 months older than me!” Oh, wonderful peer pressure. Why can’t they pressure each other to do better in school?
“Well, in six months we’ll discuss this again. It’ll give me time to explore the alternatives.”“What alternatives?” Cindy questioned, suspiciously.
“I need to locate the local convents and acquire an application or two.”
Something sounding like harrumph came out of Cindy as she marched back to the couch. Scruffy jumped in her lap to comfort her with wet kisses.
I could see through the glass door Mandy was here. Boy has she put on weight. (I think). She used to wear the popular midriff revealing clothes of teenagers; tight low cut jeans and tight high cut tops. Now she has reverted to the opposite style, baggy everything. She entered with her hands on her back, looking somewhat uncomfortable, claiming she got an injury in gym class. I suspect she’s getting an “F” in the subject; scales would back me up.
Mandy quickly joined Cindy on the sofa before I could give her my customary hug. Well up until a few months ago I gave customary hugs but she has been scrambling just out of reach recently. I think she’s self-conscious about her weight gain.
“Okay, girls, have a good time, the only boys allowed in here tonight are the ones on T.V.”
Cindy rolled her eyes but I detected a slight look of surprise on Mandy (surprise or revulsion?)
followed by a look of extreme discomfort with an explanation of brutal indigestion. I directed Cindy on where to find the Tums for her guest and made my departure.
“Oh, and don’t spill anything on my new couch!” I warned poking my head back in the door.
The evening was blissful, good friends, fine dining, and virgin drinks. (All of us were designated drivers having come in separate vehicles). Some guy looking for a date sent us over a tray of real drinks that we declined after laughing heartedly. We were all spoken for but did enjoy being noticed at our age, especially by some young college kid. (The lighting almost certainly fooled him into thinking we were younger!)As we were studying the desert selections, my cell jingled. I thought I had turned it off. It was Cindy.
“Don’t answer it! We promised no interruptions tonight, just us girls, no cares or worries.”
“You’re right!” I ignored the ringing, once, twice. No! I couldn’t do it. Cindy wouldn’t call for nothing, she would text message.
Answering, I got a frantic, “Mom! Get here quick!” Background screaming with Scruffy barking sent me to my car faster than greased lightening dialing 911 as I went. I ran several red lights, barely avoiding getting t-boned at least three times. I don’t know how I got home, I wasn’t thinking about driving, I was thinking about the panic in Cindy’s voice.
Police cars, an ambulance and a fire truck were all crowded in my driveway forcing me to park two houses down and race home on heels. How I didn’t break an ankle, I’ll never know.
Mandy lay on the couch, writhing and shrieking. Sweat was pouring from her face and blood seemed to be all over. Scruffy was in a corner curled in a ball with his paws crossed over his ears. People were everyway, issuing orders and giving directions. A police officer was talking to a horrified looking Cindy by the kitchen. I rushed to her side.
“What’s going on? What happened?” Fearing someone had broken in and harmed Mandy but left Cindy unmarked.
“Mandy is having a baby!” Cindy cried. Time stopped. How did I miss that one? Mandy wasn’t even sixteen. No hugs. The clothes. That explains the voluminous outfits and weight gain. I’m an idiot.
“Did you call her mother?” I asked
“Mandy didn’t want me too. Lorraine is out on a date and doesn’t like to be bothered. She tells her dates that Mandy is her younger sister.” Since the divorce, Mandy has called her mother Loraine apparently at Lorraine’s request.
“Surely she wants to be here for her daughter and grandchild!”
“Mom, Mandy didn’t even tell her she was pregnant. I just found out and we’re best friends!”
Wow. What a secret keeper. What a performance! What a travesty. Not being able to speak to anyone about something so momentous. What a mother! She didn’t deserve a child like Mandy. Sure, she made a mistake but she was still a sweet kid. I should know, she spends more time here than at her home and now I know why. This is more home for her than her own. Heck, half her clothes were in Cindy’s closet or my laundry hamper.
Mandy, gasping, panting, sweating, was yelling she didn’t want this baby. She didn’t want this baby! She wasn’t prepared for motherhood. She didn’t want to be a mother. She had plans for her future. She was begging for pain relief. She gripped the hand I offered to comfort her, and peace miraculously descended on me. I rubbed her swollen belly during the contractions and talked her down from the ripping exploding sensations, that I remember so well, the best I could. She kept apologizing to me. To me! This girl needed apologies from those around her that had lived completely unaware of her private earthbound hell. Cindy, white as a sheet, couldn’t handle it; one of the EMT’s assisted her to another room and stayed with her. (This had better not be a trick for her to meet a guy or she‘d be the one leaving here on a stretcher! A mother always has to worry!)
When the baby came, paramedics wrapped it up and offered it to Mandy. She turned her head and wept. The paramedics removed the baby and shook their heads sympathetically.
A police officer slowly approached Mandy and me. After a brief discussion we learned that the paramedics could take the baby without questions to a baby safe site, under the Baby Moses law, which allowed anyone to hand new born babies over to qualified professionals, paramedics, hospitals, firemen, or police, with no repercussions. It was a law in Texas to prevent infant deaths and maternal prosecution patterned after the biblical story of Moses.
Mandy didn’t have to keep the baby if she didn’t want to! What would Mandy have done with the baby if she had been home alone when this “blessed event” occurred? No one suspected she was pregnant. Her mother obviously didn’t know, or care. Stories of abandoned babies showered my mind. Babies abandoned in bathrooms, dumpsters, anywhere. Left to the elements.
Sometimes found alive, sometimes not. Mothers hunted down like dogs and prosecuted, as well they should be. Lives changed forever over one bad moment in time, one response to hormones.
Refusing a trip to the hospital, Mandy was checked over, abdomen massaged to expel the remaining uterine contents and given a sedative. (Can I have one too, please?) The medics, after helping me get her to a bed, said she would probably be alright. She would be staying here for a while, I decided. Who would miss her at home? I was instructed to watch for complications, bleeding, fever ect. And contact her doctor for a follow up.
I tried several times that night to contact Mandy‘s mother unsuccessfully. Her cell was off and I hung up on the answering machine ten times, this wasn’t leave a message material except for her to please give me a call.
The first thing in the morning, after five cups of coffee and some ibuprophen, I trooped over to Mandy’s house. Two cars were in the driveway. Mandy didn’t have a car and Mommy dearest only had one. Hmmmm.
A partially dressed man, (if wearing a towel is considered being dressed) answered the door. Not at first however, I had to pound relentlessly for ten minutes. With water dripping from his torso and pooling on the ceramic tiles at his feet, he informed me Lorraine was taking a shower. I noticed a gold band on his left ring finger. Where did you tell your wife you’d be last night, I thought.
“Well, get her out. I need to speak with her.” I wasn’t going to be shy. I don’t even think I was going to bother being polite.
Lorraine entered wearing an identical towel, with water running rivulets down her body.
“What’s the meaning of this?” Lorraine snapped. Good, don’t ask if Mandy is alright.
After a brief, virtually one-sided conversation, arrangements were made for Mandy to stay at my house indefinitely. Lorraine didn’t seem saddened by these measures, unless smiling was a cover up for intense pain. She was being given her freedom for uninterrupted dating. Wow. She was going to have as much fun as her ex husband. So this is what passes for fun now, a new guy every night, no security, no commitments, just exposure to every STD in the book. Russian roulette was safer. I’m glad I’m boring.
I was back home before the girls woke up. One more look at my new couch and I nearly cried. Scruffy, sniffing around his favorite spot, pointed his nose in the air and went in search of another resting place. I only had it for two weeks. Let’s see how good professional cleaners are, I deliberated, going through the yellow pages.
Cindy came downstairs looking glum. She must really feel bad: no makeup and unbrushed hair. The night had taken its toil on her. She needed a tranquilizer as much as Mandy had but instead she had relied on prayer and her snuggle buddy, Scruffy. The two paramount remedies.
“Mom, about car dating.” Cindy said.
“My answer hasn’t changed,” I answered, flipping through the phone book. (car cleaners, carpet cleaners…. Upholstery cleaners!)
“That’s alright; I think I’d rather be a nun!” Cindy stated on her way into the kitchen.
Apparently she was handling things better than I expected. Wait till I tell her they don’t wear makeup and they shave their heads. I think I'll lay a pillow on the floor behind her for safties sake.
In the hall way, eavesdropping, figure number one bent over scratching Scruffy’s ears, “ I hope I never get in a car with that woman again, if I wasn’t immortal I could have been killed at least three times!”
Figure number two, “If you hadn’t been in the car, she would have been killed, but only once!”
“Very funny. Thank heavens (literally) we saved another baby and found a good placement for a lonely teenager. Good thing the mother forgot to turn off her cell phone."
“What makes you think she forgot?”
“Let’s get out of here before the husband comes home and finds out he has another mouth to feed.”
“What ? The Boss didn‘t handle Joseph to your satisfaction? He's good at convincing people to raise other people‘s kids!”
“Let’s go. ” And they were gone leaving Scruffy whimpering for more attention.
Exodus 2:1-4
Isaiah 1:18
Isaiah 49:15
Rom 8:31-39
I Cor. 7
Eph 3:14-21
Eph 4:22-24
Saturday, June 30, 2007
THE BUSINESS VENTURE
We were on a break doing what employees do on break; criticizing management. Well, criticizing is too harsh a description. Mulling over managements decisions might be more accurate. The boss had extensive real estate holdings world wide that he let local managers operate. He sent representatives from the home office frequently to inspect and encourage. Only no one wanted to be a representative. The job was thankless and frankly, dangerous. The first delegates he sent to one of his prize developments always came back worse for the wear. They were beaten, tortured, maimed, and some arrived back in body bags. Those were the luckiest! Over the years the torture methods increased in severity as the community developed nastier approaches to discourage “spies”, input from abroad. We saw nothing of value in the present location; we all thought the boss should cut his losses and explore other territories. The universe was at his disposal so to speak, he was a pioneer in space travel. He started projects from scratch more than once. The citizens of this far off development didn’t want to be overseen by distant supervision. They wanted representation that lived among them, that knew their situation. That could be bought to cut corners. That could lie convincingly and tell them only what they wanted to hear. Those that boss left in charge were ambitious, greedy, conniving men that could sway the townsfolk and turn a good dollar; for their own pockets.
Boss and Son flipped through a wall calendar and pointed to some date in the future, it looked like years ahead. The son bowed his head in resignation. Boy, we’d have given anything to hear that conversation.Time went on and no new delegates were sent out of the country for sometime though updates on the situation arrived daily. Petitions were received regularly from the minority of residents who actually wanted changes made. We just observed the business from a distance. Hopefully Boss had decided to call it quits. That is the way it seemed to us when he cut back his interest.
The day came when we heard a horrible rumor. It was being said that the son was being sent to the outpost to straighten things out. The worst one! He didn’t seem thrilled about it but he never said no to Daddy. He wasn’t capable of this task. We were wiser than the boss on this matter. The son’s privileged life hadn’t prepared him for the destinations ruggedness. He’d never had anything but comfort and servants for as long as we could remember. He hadn’t just been born with a silver spoon in his mouth, he’d arrived feet first into a gold mine.
The boss convened a mandatory meeting to inform us of fractions of the upcoming plans. We only worked for him, as in any company we never got the full scoop. We were given orders and shifts to keep and eye out for his son’s welfare but to stay in the background. Anything Son requested or called for was to be doled out, no exceptions. Our only thought was to destroy the sight, wipe out the rebels that assumed they could take over the enterprise, conduct business, and usurp the Boss’ authority. They didn’t like micromanagement but they weren’t handling things well on their own! It was absurd how the men that were hand picked by the boss fell from Boss’s good graces. The benefit package was excellent if they followed orders. They were promised good healthy soil, a land that would yield all sorts of crops. The opposite was true if they disobeyed; famine, drought and insect infestations. Boss was a mastermind at horticulture and agriculture.
The son was to go incognito and inspect things from the sidelines. Living arrangements had been made but were sparse. We silently placed bets he wouldn’t be gone for long, since he knew what he could come home too. He would be deprived of his position here and he’d never had to fend for himself before.
The day came for the start of his assignment. He had two contacts to join up with that would provide him with room and board, easing him into the culture. He was reduced from thousands of servants to just two, beggarly types at that. This wouldn’t last long. We monitored him continuously. Boss sent three care packages in the hands of a caravan who passed by where son and his associates were staying to help him and his two companions, who seemed to have tainted reputations. The woman had almost been executed for some criminal offence but had been given an 11th hour reprieve; the man was scorned for his connection with the woman. People were judged by their actions and associates.
Over time, Son picked up a few friends of all sorts. I use the word friends freely, they were oddities to say the least, no way would they be useful to him in getting inside information and, they would hurt his reputation in the end. We wished he would ask for our advice. You are identified with those you connect with.
The local competitor hunted Son down and tried to coax him over to his side. He made joining up with him sound unbelievable attractive. We were actually surprised Son had the fortitude to withstand the bribes. He and the boss had a fantastic relationship; he really respected his dad and wanted to do the job assigned to him. We began to have some hope. We met up with him to provide encouragment. He had character, you had to say that.
Son stayed in touch with Dad daily. He made no move unless he passed it by dad. We could tell Son was homesick, though. Sometimes he spent hours talking to Dad, late into the night while everyone slept.
His friends proved shockingly loyal and stuck with him to the end. The end being when the CEO’s and shareholders started hearing the buzz that Son was there doing a search and rescue. Searching for loyal followers and rescuing them from the negligence of the wealthy upper class. They heard claims that he was taking over the business again, after all it was his family‘s business. They had trepidations of a huge rebellion and take over. Homeowners were flocking to him, listening to the improvements that could be achieved if they built their houses on solid ground instead of the sand that was being recommended by the unscrupulous usurpers trying to cut overhead. He promised excellent living conditions in housing with warranties that would last for more than a lifetime.
Son spent hours one long night in dialogue with Dad, begging him to let him come home but only if he thought it was the right time. One of Son’s so called friends had informed the contractors and builders where Son could be found. We knew Son had made a bad choice when he picked this person out. Son never saw the bad in anyone but we’ve been around and suspected this person was villainous from the get go.
The CEO’s had tolerated Son’s interference long enough and trumped up charges of embezzlement. Gathering many false witnesses together, they conducted a ridiculous trial and beat Son to death. To death. Slowly and painfully, to death. Alone. This is when his friends deserted him. We all gasped. He could have called on us to yank him out of town, but he suffered the abuse. We were armed and ready. But our orders were to not interfere without his request. He was no rich, spoiled wimp.
Dad locked himself up in a dark room for a long time before he finally came out and sent two of us to collect Son’s body.
We were all sickened. How would the boss handle this? It had been the two of them for eons. They had never been separated. They were so close you couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began. We fell into a melancholic silence; waiting for Son’s body. It came. It came under its own power. Up through the clouds, down the streets of gold, right to Boss’s office and he sat down, on Boss’s right side. He didn't look so dead to us! Such cheering erupted the ground shook, even on the far away construction site. Tombs opened, more dead walked. People ran. People ran to the Boss. They accepted Son’s contract. The new contract he had been able to engineer in his brief visit. Things were starting to look up for that distant project on a little piece of land called Earth. Maybe we had been wrong. Annihilating the planet seemed extreme… for now.
Immediately after Son was seated sparks started to fly. The air looked like electrical feather scarves were being tossed up and falling randomly. The tongue shaped embers landed on three thousand men and women gathered at the town square in that distant development and strange languages spread the word; the word that there was a renewed administration in town.
Talk in the break room took on a whole new flavor, for a while, after all something new and scandalous will surely surface to give us something to complain about.
Math 4:1-11
math 26:36-44
Math 27:45-46
Math 27:-51-53
Mark 12:1-12
Luke 6; 46-49
Luke 23:3-7
Act 2:1-4
Gal 4:4-5
Phil. 2:5-11
Boss and Son flipped through a wall calendar and pointed to some date in the future, it looked like years ahead. The son bowed his head in resignation. Boy, we’d have given anything to hear that conversation.Time went on and no new delegates were sent out of the country for sometime though updates on the situation arrived daily. Petitions were received regularly from the minority of residents who actually wanted changes made. We just observed the business from a distance. Hopefully Boss had decided to call it quits. That is the way it seemed to us when he cut back his interest.
The day came when we heard a horrible rumor. It was being said that the son was being sent to the outpost to straighten things out. The worst one! He didn’t seem thrilled about it but he never said no to Daddy. He wasn’t capable of this task. We were wiser than the boss on this matter. The son’s privileged life hadn’t prepared him for the destinations ruggedness. He’d never had anything but comfort and servants for as long as we could remember. He hadn’t just been born with a silver spoon in his mouth, he’d arrived feet first into a gold mine.
The boss convened a mandatory meeting to inform us of fractions of the upcoming plans. We only worked for him, as in any company we never got the full scoop. We were given orders and shifts to keep and eye out for his son’s welfare but to stay in the background. Anything Son requested or called for was to be doled out, no exceptions. Our only thought was to destroy the sight, wipe out the rebels that assumed they could take over the enterprise, conduct business, and usurp the Boss’ authority. They didn’t like micromanagement but they weren’t handling things well on their own! It was absurd how the men that were hand picked by the boss fell from Boss’s good graces. The benefit package was excellent if they followed orders. They were promised good healthy soil, a land that would yield all sorts of crops. The opposite was true if they disobeyed; famine, drought and insect infestations. Boss was a mastermind at horticulture and agriculture.
The son was to go incognito and inspect things from the sidelines. Living arrangements had been made but were sparse. We silently placed bets he wouldn’t be gone for long, since he knew what he could come home too. He would be deprived of his position here and he’d never had to fend for himself before.
The day came for the start of his assignment. He had two contacts to join up with that would provide him with room and board, easing him into the culture. He was reduced from thousands of servants to just two, beggarly types at that. This wouldn’t last long. We monitored him continuously. Boss sent three care packages in the hands of a caravan who passed by where son and his associates were staying to help him and his two companions, who seemed to have tainted reputations. The woman had almost been executed for some criminal offence but had been given an 11th hour reprieve; the man was scorned for his connection with the woman. People were judged by their actions and associates.
Over time, Son picked up a few friends of all sorts. I use the word friends freely, they were oddities to say the least, no way would they be useful to him in getting inside information and, they would hurt his reputation in the end. We wished he would ask for our advice. You are identified with those you connect with.
The local competitor hunted Son down and tried to coax him over to his side. He made joining up with him sound unbelievable attractive. We were actually surprised Son had the fortitude to withstand the bribes. He and the boss had a fantastic relationship; he really respected his dad and wanted to do the job assigned to him. We began to have some hope. We met up with him to provide encouragment. He had character, you had to say that.
Son stayed in touch with Dad daily. He made no move unless he passed it by dad. We could tell Son was homesick, though. Sometimes he spent hours talking to Dad, late into the night while everyone slept.
His friends proved shockingly loyal and stuck with him to the end. The end being when the CEO’s and shareholders started hearing the buzz that Son was there doing a search and rescue. Searching for loyal followers and rescuing them from the negligence of the wealthy upper class. They heard claims that he was taking over the business again, after all it was his family‘s business. They had trepidations of a huge rebellion and take over. Homeowners were flocking to him, listening to the improvements that could be achieved if they built their houses on solid ground instead of the sand that was being recommended by the unscrupulous usurpers trying to cut overhead. He promised excellent living conditions in housing with warranties that would last for more than a lifetime.
Son spent hours one long night in dialogue with Dad, begging him to let him come home but only if he thought it was the right time. One of Son’s so called friends had informed the contractors and builders where Son could be found. We knew Son had made a bad choice when he picked this person out. Son never saw the bad in anyone but we’ve been around and suspected this person was villainous from the get go.
The CEO’s had tolerated Son’s interference long enough and trumped up charges of embezzlement. Gathering many false witnesses together, they conducted a ridiculous trial and beat Son to death. To death. Slowly and painfully, to death. Alone. This is when his friends deserted him. We all gasped. He could have called on us to yank him out of town, but he suffered the abuse. We were armed and ready. But our orders were to not interfere without his request. He was no rich, spoiled wimp.
Dad locked himself up in a dark room for a long time before he finally came out and sent two of us to collect Son’s body.
We were all sickened. How would the boss handle this? It had been the two of them for eons. They had never been separated. They were so close you couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began. We fell into a melancholic silence; waiting for Son’s body. It came. It came under its own power. Up through the clouds, down the streets of gold, right to Boss’s office and he sat down, on Boss’s right side. He didn't look so dead to us! Such cheering erupted the ground shook, even on the far away construction site. Tombs opened, more dead walked. People ran. People ran to the Boss. They accepted Son’s contract. The new contract he had been able to engineer in his brief visit. Things were starting to look up for that distant project on a little piece of land called Earth. Maybe we had been wrong. Annihilating the planet seemed extreme… for now.
Immediately after Son was seated sparks started to fly. The air looked like electrical feather scarves were being tossed up and falling randomly. The tongue shaped embers landed on three thousand men and women gathered at the town square in that distant development and strange languages spread the word; the word that there was a renewed administration in town.
Talk in the break room took on a whole new flavor, for a while, after all something new and scandalous will surely surface to give us something to complain about.
Math 4:1-11
math 26:36-44
Math 27:45-46
Math 27:-51-53
Mark 12:1-12
Luke 6; 46-49
Luke 23:3-7
Act 2:1-4
Gal 4:4-5
Phil. 2:5-11
Sunday, June 24, 2007
Feathers
Cuddled up on the couch with Scruffy, my ten pound terrier, and a good book is the best way to spend a stormy afternoon, I thought as I laid cuddled up on the couch with Scruffy, reading a good book while it thundered outside. Scruffy wasn’t so composed. Thunder upsets him. Thunder outside. Thunder on the T.V. Thunder on those nature CD's. Imitation thunder at church plays. Thunder is absolutely not Scruffy's thing.
"Mom, where's my swimsuit?" Cindy asked.
"In the laundry room." I answered, eyes never leaving the intriguing tale of horror on the harmless pages in front of me.
"Thanks."
It wasn't long before the atmosphere I considered relaxing, but Scruffy considered alarming, lulled me to sleep and my book nose-dived to the floor when my arms became spaghetti noodles. Scruffy snuggled closer as a blast of thunder echoed through his head. The back yard door opened and closed and Scruffy started whining and probing me with his cold wet nose. He put it in my face, my ears and back to my face till he aroused me again, though barely. I sleep hard.
"Cindy!" I called. "Scruffy wants out!" Scruffy tensed. The last thing he wanted was out closer to all the noise, but he did want something and I was too drowsy to investigate. Scruffy was getting more agitated by the minute. I swear I felt feathers tickle my nose.
I finally gave up trying to return to my dream and swung my legs to the floor. Slowly something started to jiggle my brain. Somewhere deep a disturbing thought was trying to crawl up into my consciousness.
“Cindy!” I got up in search of my darling ,sometimes, obedient daughter.Scruffy leaped to the floor and raced to the back door making every attempt to get me to pursue him with all sorts of acrobats. He knew something. He knew that I wasn’t going to like the something he knew.
The kitchen windows revealed torrential rain being dispensed from the clouds accompanied by a lightening show worthy of any audience who appreciated God’s beauty and waited for his return on the clouds. The windows also revealed a seal in the pool. A seal with two arms and two legs but with a completely brainless head!
“Cindy, Get in here!” I yelled from the porch with Scruffy between my legs whimpering. “You know better than to swim in a thunderstorm!”“It’s alright mom, I prayed that God wouldn’t let me be hit by lightening.” Cindy responded from the edge of the pool. “Besides, the lightening can’t find me under this tree.” The wonderful rationale of teenagers always missed the mark of reality but had such a fantastic optimism. Trees, water and lightening. A wonderful cocktail for disaster.
Crack, Bang. Splash. Scream. It all happened suddenly. Lightening hit the tree, a branch broke off and plummeted to the pool hitting Cindy on the head. She went under, blood came up, I jumped in, or was I pushed. Scruffy stayed on the porch. Feathers floated on the pool surface.
Thank heavens for survival training. I pulled her to the deck carefully keeping her neck and spine straight,then checked her breathing. Nothing. I gave two quick breaths and felt her carotids for a pulse. Her heart was beating! Scruffy watched from the door, no way he was going to get wet to help me with CPR. I yelled at him to call 911. What the hell was I doing?! Scruffy acted human so often I forgot he couldn’t use the phone! As I breathed for Cindy, Scruffy cocked his head to the side and appeared to be listening to something. Dogs and their selective hearing. I was suppose to breathe for a minute then activate the emergency medical system. There was no way I could leave Cindy! Scruffy turned on his heels (paws) and dashed into the house’s empty interior. Latter on in hindsight it almost seemed like he had been carried inside.
I heard an ambulance screeching somewhere. Oh, God. Someone tell them I’m out here! Please see me back here and send help! Ran washed the tears down my face as I begged Cindy to breathe. Breathe damn it! (sorry, “darn it” seems too inadequate here!) Breathe on your own, Please!
Some one pushed me to the side. A paramedic, followed by his partner pushing a stretcher on wheels. I watched in amazement as unexpected help took over the situation, intubating my daughter ,placing a cervical collar on her neck and hoisting her to the stretcher and into the ambulance. I followed in my car, sopping water all over the cloth upholstery from wet jeans and t-shirt.
At the hospital’s waiting room I called my husband who was out of town as they “worked” on my baby. He was going to catch the first flight home. I hoped he would be in time. The registration lady was asking me to sign papers for permission to treat, blood transfusions and organ donations (if necessary).
People came and went in white lab coats and bright scrub suits with cute-sie designs. How inappropriate for an emergency room. My daughter‘s life was doubtlessly in the hands of someone dressed in Sponge Bob scrubs! This didn‘t inspire confidence!
I hurried to the desk when an orderly called my name.
The “orderly” proceeded to update me on my daughter.“ Ma’am, your daughter is up and talking. I sutured a gash on her head and sent her for some tests to rule out skull, or neck fractures or any lung aspirations. I think we need to keep her over night but based on my initial assessment I think she had the wind knocked out of her and sustained a possible small concussion. She can most likely go home in the morning.” The doctor, aka: orderly, speaking to me had to have taken medical courses in high school! He hadn’t started growing facial hair yet!
How many times a day must this soap opera looking doctor be accosted by grateful mothers, or wives, I wondered as I threw myself into his arms to kiss him gratefully! I blinked, realizing I was fantasizing at the most inappropriate moment and gratefully thanked him: verbally and at a distance. I had to glance down at my left hand to remember I was a married woman….darn it. (damn it!) When things return to normal I’ll try to remember why I married my wonderful husband, who always seemed absent during family crisis’s.
When Cindy returned from her CAT scan, MRI and x-rays I finally got to see her for myself. Now that I knew she was going to live, I was going to kill her!!! I’ll let her recuperate first, I want her to feel the pain! She looked awful, stitched up, pasty faced and groggy. What doctors call up and talking must have a different connotation than the general publics.
“Mom,” Cindy groaned from white sheets that had more color than her complexion right now. “Do you know a Mr. Peepaw?”The question startled me. Peepaw was my gramp’s name, rather what I had called my gramps when I was a little wee bairn. Cindy didn’t know that.
“Why?”
“Because he was on the ambulance with me. He wanted me to remind you of when you went to the pond on his ranch by yourself, against his orders, and nearly drowned after getting caught in some under water vegetation.”
I looked at the paramedics who had brought her in. They looked at each other and shrugged. “She must have been dreaming, there was no one on the ambulance but us. That happens sometimes.” Then they packed their expensive toys up and left. I wasn’t convinced it was a dream.
I stared Cindy down. She wasn’t alert enough to make this story up to save her pretty hide. This was too far-fetched. Peepaw, had died way before Cindy was born. She never met him, never heard this story from any one living, and for sure, not from me,(I keep my mistakes to myself as long as I can!) She must have taken quite an extended trip when her “breath” got knocked out of her! Who said the dead tell no tales? I hope Peepaw had kept his dead mouth shut about the rest of my rebellious days. Cindy is not allowed to know I make mistakes.
“Hey, mom”, Cindy weakly snapped her fingers to retrieve me from my reverie. “Did you see my doctor ? Give me some makeup and comb my hair before he comes back and if you let me start dating now, I can promise you a doctor for a son in law!”
“Only if he’s willing to wait ten years,” I informed her.” That’s how long I intend to ground you.I’ve warned you hundreds of times you could get hit by lightening if you swim in thunderstorms”
“Well, technically I got hit by a tree, so you haven’t quite proved your point yet,” Cindy pouted and slipped into a medicated oblivion. I think she was faking it to avoid confrontation.
I pulled her blanket up around her neck and a feather fell to the floor that I picked up and stuck in her hair.Now that Cindy was thinking of her appearance and men I feared the worst; she’d be back to normal in no time. Oh, the wonderful restorative powers of hormones, they’re wasted on the young!
Stopping at the police station on the way home I asked the 911 operator how she knew to send help. She informed me she’d received a call from my address. That was impossible, I told the dispatcher, there was no one in the house, I was at the pool doing CPR. Kind enough to replay the tape for me she became flabbergasted as we listened to the recording. We heard her advise someone to stay on the phone until help arrived, then she proceeded with routine questions. Pauses followed each question as though someone was responding but all the tape picked up was Scruffy barking in the background. No human voices just lots of static and the resonating sound of thunder.
“How odd.” Declared the dispatcher. A shiver went up my spine. I had told Scruffy to call 911. Naw, he couldn’t have.
At home I inspected the phone and looked intently at Scruffy. “Did you call 911?” No, impossible. I’m going bonkers. Listen to me, talking to a dog. “Well, did you? ‘Fess up!” Scruffy tilted his head to the side and stared at me, then peed on the carpet. I tossed him outside on his fanny. Then I noticed the lone feather on the floor, where did that come from?
Two figures levitating above the house saluted Scruffy who barked zealously as they ascended higher and higher, wings outstretched, tossing heavenly treats into his open mouth. He always looked forward to their continuously timely visits. He would be useless to his owners without the help of his invisible friends. Hey, even dogs can have invisible friends, but theirs are real.
“It’s a shame she won’t remember her visit with Peepaw for long, but he'll sure remember the thrill of meeting his great-granddaughter.”“She’ll be back soon enough. The human brain just can’t hold the glory of our world in their minds. It’s way to magnificent for mortal neurons.”“By the way, that was a good job of deflecting that lightening bolt.”“Thanks, I was just instructed to protect her from lightening, not learning. Now lets get home before we miss dinner.”Zoom. Two streaks of light hit the sound barrier and vanished into the cosmos leaving a trail of glowing feathers floating behind.
Deut 6:16
Psalm 28:6
Psalm 29:3Psalm 30:11
Psalm 40:14psalm 104:4
Psalm 103:21
Jere. 33:3
Saturday, June 2, 2007
the break up
The Break Up
Breaking up was hard to do, we had been together for a long time but I decided I wanted my autonomy. I had been young when we met and I felt I deserved to see more of the world. It wasn’t fair to him that he had been my first love without my knowing what else was in reach. Besides, he was so possessive. Always directing my actions, whispering in my ear whenever he sensed I was going to do something that displeased him. Well, I made my decision now and I had to live with it. I wasn’t going to be wishy-washy, my mind was set.
As I walked out of his house he just stood there with a tear rolling down his cheek. I had no empathy for him, he had never rejected or deliberately hurt me as I was doing to him. I was disappointed that he didn’t rush after me, plead with me, beg me to stay. He must have wanted this himself! What a hypocrite, why did he let this relationship go for so long if he was worn out with it himself? If I meant something to him he should have fought for me! What a wuss!
I breathed the air of autonomy as I walked down his driveway to my car. I knew where I wanted to go first. A bar. He never prevented me from going to one but he always went with me, inhibiting my actions. Everyone else always seemed to be having so much fun, switching partners, meeting new people, getting a buzz from alcohol, while we just had a coke and observed fun in action. I only went for going away parties when someone at work left for other pastures. I‘ve never been drunk so that was my first objective. Real mature goals, huh?
The music was loud, the lights were flashing, beverages were a hundred proof, no one seemed unhappy, (and there were tons of “no ones” everyone in the city had to be in this one building). I couldn’t move without brushing against a body from the front, back or side. Fluid spilled on me from several glasses as I made my way back for seconds and thirds, purposely passing by a gentleman who had been observing me from the moment I entered; yes, I noticed. He couldn’t keep his eyes off of me, and I wanted more than his blue orbs embracing me. He was an extremely handsome dude and he was ogling me! Well, stop looking and start touching!
Oops, I tripped as I neared him on my way back to my table and wouldn’t you know it, I practically fell in his lap! Gosh, I’m such a klutz. Hmmm. As it turned out, my little clumsiness was a great ice breaker, we spent the rest of the evening together. He bought all my drinks and things started getting hazy from then on but I had no doubts about where we would end up.
.I woke up the next morning in his room, I left the bar a girl and woke a woman. I just wish I knew whether I had enjoyed it or not. I spent the day with him, then the night, then the morning again. (I’m not going to tell you to get your mind out of the gutter because whatever you’re thinking happened, happened, let your thoughts go feral!) I was smitten. It was hard for me to believe that it had been so easy to find love again, on my first night of liberty. If this was rebound love I don’t know why it got such a bad reputation.
What followed was a whirl wind courtship. Is that still a popular phrase? We spent time together, invented time to be together, cancelled appointments to be together, gave up friends to be together. He taught me how to drink, and explore the world of drugs safely; what an oxymoron! I was getting the life I didn’t have with Mr. Goodie Two Shoes (GTS). I was seeing the world with a personal guide. I had a man that knew how to treat a woman so that she knew she was a woman.
I missed lots of work to be with Tophet. I gave up my friends because they had been part of my life with GTS and kept imploring me to go back. None of my old friends liked Tophet and didn’t mind voicing their unsolicited opinions. I wouldn’t do it. Slowly I became a hermit with just that special some one only in my life, Tophet.
The weeks melted into months. Months with many changes. My employment changed several times do to repeated absenteeism. Where we lived changed several times, due to failure to meet the rent. My bank account changed due to failure to work steadily. My health changed several times due to….never mind. I got a “disease” that Tophet and I argued about. He skillfully convinced me I must have picked it up off a toilet seat at one of the filthy bars we visited recently. It embarrassed me to seek treatment for it since old acquaintances worked at the public health office, the only medical care I could afford now. They were very kind to me but that didn’t hide the “I told you” sign that hung in the air between us in flashing neon lights.
One morning while Tophet went in search of some nourishment, the kind you inhale, pop or shoot up, I drug myself to the medicine cabinet in search of any small pill or grain of cocaine that we might have over looked. I screeched when I found an intruder in the bathroom hiding behind the sink. She stared at me with sunken eyes, (lusterless sunken eyes), bruised cheeks, (sunken bruised cheeks). Eye shadow was smeared to her hair line, lipstick was smeared to her chin, mascara was smeared to her upper lips, however there was no make up whatever on her eyelids, lips or lashes where you would expect to see such things. Her bare shoulders were battered and scratched and her hair looked like it was combed with an egg beater. I reached to toss her out on her ears but she wouldn’t move. She was standing flat against the wall so I tried again, I couldn’t get a good grip. Good grief she was so flat! Following a few efforts to get my hands on her it hit me; this trespasser was my reflection! My heart stopped. My breathing stopped. My brain stopped. A video lit up the mirror and my choreographed life played in slow motion. It had to have been produced by Stephen King.
I was in no condition to walk so grabbing my car keys I stumbled to my car. I didn’t know where I was going. I just had to get away from that person in the mirror but she pursued me to the car, I could see her in the rearview mirror. My car went into auto pilot and took me down old familiar lanes. I passed people who didn’t wave or honk at me. They should know me but no one recognized me.
I found his house. Should I get out? What nerve I had, expecting him to be home waiting for me after months of making fun of his lifestyle? He wouldn’t want to see me now. I had broken my promise to stay pure for him till my wedding night. I had researched drugs, alcohol, theft, sex and things so carnal even I don’t want to list them.I got out of my car and wobbled to the front door. Lights glowed out of the windows. I gently tapped the knocker. Gently because I didn’t want him to hear me. Then I was afraid he wouldn’t answer so I knocked harder. He must have peeked out the window. Of course he wouldn’t let me in. He warranted someone better than me. I wasn’t good enough for myself, why would he want this broken body, filled with broken promises? He was probably calling the police at this very moment.
Tophet pulled up on the curb; literally. The passenger side hit the streetlight making metal to metal racket. He had his special angry face on! The one that preceded teaching me “a lesson I would remember!” I resumed pounding on the door and crumbled to the cement. This would be mortifying. I was going to get a pounding right under GTS’s nose. He would enjoy this, I‘m sure. The girl that jilted him and her “lover” getting carted off to jail for disturbing the peace.
“Oh, God help me!” I moaned, my lips moving with the words sliding silently out onto the air.
Seconds before Tophet reached me the door swung open and GTS stood there, hands at his side slightly angled out, palms up. Blood dripped from old wounds on his wrist onto my head. Tophet braked to a stop inches from me. There was a staring contest between the two men as I wept in a disintegrated heap. Tophet cursed and raged. He spewed all sorts of epithets at me, I covered my ears with shaking hands. GTS crushed Tophet without even raising a arm or uttering a word. Tophet retreated, a hissing looser. I grabbed GTS’s feet to prevent him from leaving me outside. He stooped down and gently hoisting me to my feet steered me into the living area. They were all there. All my friends. My true friends. On their knees. Heads bent. Praying. For me. Behind them stood radiant wispy figures only I could see, applauding. It must have been the residual effect of some drug, at least it was pleasant unlike the nightmarish apparitions I’d caught sight of in the past few weeks.
In nano seconds, I was surrounded. Caressed by loving hands, (in decent places!). Cleaned. Fed. Dressed. My wounds were treated, and covered. I was welcomed back. Similar stories were shared. I wasn’t alone. I never was. To my astonishment they all had comparable tales they were ashamed of. What bombshells they dropped on me! Hard to believe? Believe it. My story isn’t unique. It’s not hopeless. GTS wasn’t ashamed of me. He was willing, ready and able to take me back. He would never mention the past few months to me again. With his wonderfully selective memory he chose to only remember that I called out to him, you see…..GTS, goodie two shoes, is really GTS, the God That Saves. I was back home, in his house.……….Oh, P.S I latter learned that the door had never been locked behind me, all I had had to do was turn the knob, GTS was on the other side just patiently waiting.
Psalm 27:4
Psalm 84:10
Psalm 103:12
Isaiah 1:18
Isaiah 30:33
Luke 15:10
Luke 15:11-32
John 8:
Rom. 6:15-23
Eph 1:7-12
Breaking up was hard to do, we had been together for a long time but I decided I wanted my autonomy. I had been young when we met and I felt I deserved to see more of the world. It wasn’t fair to him that he had been my first love without my knowing what else was in reach. Besides, he was so possessive. Always directing my actions, whispering in my ear whenever he sensed I was going to do something that displeased him. Well, I made my decision now and I had to live with it. I wasn’t going to be wishy-washy, my mind was set.
As I walked out of his house he just stood there with a tear rolling down his cheek. I had no empathy for him, he had never rejected or deliberately hurt me as I was doing to him. I was disappointed that he didn’t rush after me, plead with me, beg me to stay. He must have wanted this himself! What a hypocrite, why did he let this relationship go for so long if he was worn out with it himself? If I meant something to him he should have fought for me! What a wuss!
I breathed the air of autonomy as I walked down his driveway to my car. I knew where I wanted to go first. A bar. He never prevented me from going to one but he always went with me, inhibiting my actions. Everyone else always seemed to be having so much fun, switching partners, meeting new people, getting a buzz from alcohol, while we just had a coke and observed fun in action. I only went for going away parties when someone at work left for other pastures. I‘ve never been drunk so that was my first objective. Real mature goals, huh?
The music was loud, the lights were flashing, beverages were a hundred proof, no one seemed unhappy, (and there were tons of “no ones” everyone in the city had to be in this one building). I couldn’t move without brushing against a body from the front, back or side. Fluid spilled on me from several glasses as I made my way back for seconds and thirds, purposely passing by a gentleman who had been observing me from the moment I entered; yes, I noticed. He couldn’t keep his eyes off of me, and I wanted more than his blue orbs embracing me. He was an extremely handsome dude and he was ogling me! Well, stop looking and start touching!
Oops, I tripped as I neared him on my way back to my table and wouldn’t you know it, I practically fell in his lap! Gosh, I’m such a klutz. Hmmm. As it turned out, my little clumsiness was a great ice breaker, we spent the rest of the evening together. He bought all my drinks and things started getting hazy from then on but I had no doubts about where we would end up.
.I woke up the next morning in his room, I left the bar a girl and woke a woman. I just wish I knew whether I had enjoyed it or not. I spent the day with him, then the night, then the morning again. (I’m not going to tell you to get your mind out of the gutter because whatever you’re thinking happened, happened, let your thoughts go feral!) I was smitten. It was hard for me to believe that it had been so easy to find love again, on my first night of liberty. If this was rebound love I don’t know why it got such a bad reputation.
What followed was a whirl wind courtship. Is that still a popular phrase? We spent time together, invented time to be together, cancelled appointments to be together, gave up friends to be together. He taught me how to drink, and explore the world of drugs safely; what an oxymoron! I was getting the life I didn’t have with Mr. Goodie Two Shoes (GTS). I was seeing the world with a personal guide. I had a man that knew how to treat a woman so that she knew she was a woman.
I missed lots of work to be with Tophet. I gave up my friends because they had been part of my life with GTS and kept imploring me to go back. None of my old friends liked Tophet and didn’t mind voicing their unsolicited opinions. I wouldn’t do it. Slowly I became a hermit with just that special some one only in my life, Tophet.
The weeks melted into months. Months with many changes. My employment changed several times do to repeated absenteeism. Where we lived changed several times, due to failure to meet the rent. My bank account changed due to failure to work steadily. My health changed several times due to….never mind. I got a “disease” that Tophet and I argued about. He skillfully convinced me I must have picked it up off a toilet seat at one of the filthy bars we visited recently. It embarrassed me to seek treatment for it since old acquaintances worked at the public health office, the only medical care I could afford now. They were very kind to me but that didn’t hide the “I told you” sign that hung in the air between us in flashing neon lights.
One morning while Tophet went in search of some nourishment, the kind you inhale, pop or shoot up, I drug myself to the medicine cabinet in search of any small pill or grain of cocaine that we might have over looked. I screeched when I found an intruder in the bathroom hiding behind the sink. She stared at me with sunken eyes, (lusterless sunken eyes), bruised cheeks, (sunken bruised cheeks). Eye shadow was smeared to her hair line, lipstick was smeared to her chin, mascara was smeared to her upper lips, however there was no make up whatever on her eyelids, lips or lashes where you would expect to see such things. Her bare shoulders were battered and scratched and her hair looked like it was combed with an egg beater. I reached to toss her out on her ears but she wouldn’t move. She was standing flat against the wall so I tried again, I couldn’t get a good grip. Good grief she was so flat! Following a few efforts to get my hands on her it hit me; this trespasser was my reflection! My heart stopped. My breathing stopped. My brain stopped. A video lit up the mirror and my choreographed life played in slow motion. It had to have been produced by Stephen King.
I was in no condition to walk so grabbing my car keys I stumbled to my car. I didn’t know where I was going. I just had to get away from that person in the mirror but she pursued me to the car, I could see her in the rearview mirror. My car went into auto pilot and took me down old familiar lanes. I passed people who didn’t wave or honk at me. They should know me but no one recognized me.
I found his house. Should I get out? What nerve I had, expecting him to be home waiting for me after months of making fun of his lifestyle? He wouldn’t want to see me now. I had broken my promise to stay pure for him till my wedding night. I had researched drugs, alcohol, theft, sex and things so carnal even I don’t want to list them.I got out of my car and wobbled to the front door. Lights glowed out of the windows. I gently tapped the knocker. Gently because I didn’t want him to hear me. Then I was afraid he wouldn’t answer so I knocked harder. He must have peeked out the window. Of course he wouldn’t let me in. He warranted someone better than me. I wasn’t good enough for myself, why would he want this broken body, filled with broken promises? He was probably calling the police at this very moment.
Tophet pulled up on the curb; literally. The passenger side hit the streetlight making metal to metal racket. He had his special angry face on! The one that preceded teaching me “a lesson I would remember!” I resumed pounding on the door and crumbled to the cement. This would be mortifying. I was going to get a pounding right under GTS’s nose. He would enjoy this, I‘m sure. The girl that jilted him and her “lover” getting carted off to jail for disturbing the peace.
“Oh, God help me!” I moaned, my lips moving with the words sliding silently out onto the air.
Seconds before Tophet reached me the door swung open and GTS stood there, hands at his side slightly angled out, palms up. Blood dripped from old wounds on his wrist onto my head. Tophet braked to a stop inches from me. There was a staring contest between the two men as I wept in a disintegrated heap. Tophet cursed and raged. He spewed all sorts of epithets at me, I covered my ears with shaking hands. GTS crushed Tophet without even raising a arm or uttering a word. Tophet retreated, a hissing looser. I grabbed GTS’s feet to prevent him from leaving me outside. He stooped down and gently hoisting me to my feet steered me into the living area. They were all there. All my friends. My true friends. On their knees. Heads bent. Praying. For me. Behind them stood radiant wispy figures only I could see, applauding. It must have been the residual effect of some drug, at least it was pleasant unlike the nightmarish apparitions I’d caught sight of in the past few weeks.
In nano seconds, I was surrounded. Caressed by loving hands, (in decent places!). Cleaned. Fed. Dressed. My wounds were treated, and covered. I was welcomed back. Similar stories were shared. I wasn’t alone. I never was. To my astonishment they all had comparable tales they were ashamed of. What bombshells they dropped on me! Hard to believe? Believe it. My story isn’t unique. It’s not hopeless. GTS wasn’t ashamed of me. He was willing, ready and able to take me back. He would never mention the past few months to me again. With his wonderfully selective memory he chose to only remember that I called out to him, you see…..GTS, goodie two shoes, is really GTS, the God That Saves. I was back home, in his house.……….Oh, P.S I latter learned that the door had never been locked behind me, all I had had to do was turn the knob, GTS was on the other side just patiently waiting.
Psalm 27:4
Psalm 84:10
Psalm 103:12
Isaiah 1:18
Isaiah 30:33
Luke 15:10
Luke 15:11-32
John 8:
Rom. 6:15-23
Eph 1:7-12
Sunday, May 20, 2007
THE THEFT
The Theft
There he was, walking down the center aisle of the busy mall pushing his purple walker (hence the nickname Mr. P.W) and inhaling supplemental oxygen. It had taken me some time to relocate him, I had briefly gone into a store and he bypassed me. He gets along pretty good for a man in his shape! He was slightly hunched forward with his face tilted to the ground watching where he stepped, he took short steps but they got him to his destinations. He paid no attention to the throngs that passed him so closely they bumped up against him. Not good judgment. Everyone should be alert when in public these days, especially the frail and young. Any number of opportunities presented themselves to swipe his billfold, which was my goal.
When he got to the children’s area, he sat down on his portable seat. He seemed to enjoy watching the kids amuse themselves. I, myself, was amazed the kids never seemed to be injured with all the rough housing they did. Everything was heavily padded and geared for the communities smallest citizens. Adults were restricted from the play area being allowed spectators rights only. I could still see the prominent bulge in his sweat pants pocket (the back pocket! Keep your mind clean!) .
I stayed at a distance to keep him from spotting me, though there was little danger of that, I doubted he would be able to pick me out in a horde this size. He was paying no consideration to the other shoppers. Dumb. Most of the mall’s customers looked more like prison parolees, wearing spiked dog collars about their necks, pants that looked like double duty duffle bags, big enough to tote all their belongings, (or conceal weapons), and shirts displaying glorified demonic images. Kids playing hooky from school, dropouts, unemployed bums, wolves in lambskin vests. This place was crawling with evil looking for prospects and I hoped to be the first hit on this man. I’d be kind to him, a gentle hit and run.
Mr. Purple Walker was the ideal target, unmindful of danger. In addition, a WW2 vet at that, as advertised by his baseball cap. That placed him in his eighties. As much as he must have seen in his life, you think he would have learned vigilance. Doesn’t he read the papers, the elderly are easy marks, and crime against them is on the rise. I was just waiting for my chance to add him to the statistics, prowling after him like a lion in the African savannah. He was old and feeble, easy prey for a hungry lion. Heck, a lone, malnourished rabbit could topple him over!
At a bookstore’s cash register, I spied several large bills in Mr. P.W’s arthritic hand as he paid for his purchases, which had taken some time for him to select. Wow, he had lots of mullah on his body. He placed his wallet casually into his hip pocket, so casually I could see three inches of his chubby money receptacle just pleading to be heisted and I was willing to accommodate its desires. I looked about to be certain no one else detected my objective; however, good criminal minds know how to wear a poker face. There could have been dozens of other “lions” tailing Mr. P.W but I vowed to strike first. He needed to be taught a lesson about safety and I was volunteering to be his tutor.
My opportunity was fast approaching. I recognized the path he was heading down now, a long hallway leading to the rest rooms behind all the stores, practically deserted. It was the closest thing to a dark alley. I psyched myself up for his exploitation, stealthily following him, flabbergasted he never turned to look back. Not the least bit aware of his circumstances or upcoming ordeal. It was only the two of us now. Witnesses were far away in the main section of the mall. No one would hear him cry out. Closer, closer. The wallet was screaming at me. We were yards into the hallway and several feet from the men’s room when I leaned forward with my thumb and forefinger ready to grab Mr. P.W’s identity; a wallet full of personal information, address, credit cards, identification and of course his cashed retirement check’s residual.
I was so focused I didn’t notice the men’s bathroom door open. I got the wallet! Success! Wrong. I was looking into the face of a security guard who caught everything. Mr. P.W turned around, (not very quickly and not very shocked) to stare me down. He looked confused when he spotted his wallet in my hands.
The guard promptly approached me while beckoning for help on his walkie-talkie. A young punk, not even old enough to shave yet was getting ready to seize me and claim victory over crime! It wasn’t long before the exit was blocked with white shirted high school graduates wearing replicated Canadian Mountie hats and badges, looking very self-important. I was their answer to a slow afternoon.
“What are you doing?” Mr. P.W questioned.
“Teaching you a lesson about being careful with your wallet.” I responded displaying my trophy.
“Well, call me when you need a ride home from jail,” Mr. P.W offered serviceably as he headed into the bathroom snickering, pushing his walker ahead of him and puffing on his oxygen cannula.
“Dad come back here and help me explain this!” I yelled as the guards descended on me.
“What! And ruin this lesson! Not on your life!”
The bathroom door closed leaving me alone in the corridor with five excited mall guards and a fast forming crowd of spectators.
Duet. 5:16
Prov. 1:10-19
1 Tim. 5:1
James 1:27
1 Pet 5:5
1 Pet.5:8-9
There he was, walking down the center aisle of the busy mall pushing his purple walker (hence the nickname Mr. P.W) and inhaling supplemental oxygen. It had taken me some time to relocate him, I had briefly gone into a store and he bypassed me. He gets along pretty good for a man in his shape! He was slightly hunched forward with his face tilted to the ground watching where he stepped, he took short steps but they got him to his destinations. He paid no attention to the throngs that passed him so closely they bumped up against him. Not good judgment. Everyone should be alert when in public these days, especially the frail and young. Any number of opportunities presented themselves to swipe his billfold, which was my goal.
When he got to the children’s area, he sat down on his portable seat. He seemed to enjoy watching the kids amuse themselves. I, myself, was amazed the kids never seemed to be injured with all the rough housing they did. Everything was heavily padded and geared for the communities smallest citizens. Adults were restricted from the play area being allowed spectators rights only. I could still see the prominent bulge in his sweat pants pocket (the back pocket! Keep your mind clean!) .
I stayed at a distance to keep him from spotting me, though there was little danger of that, I doubted he would be able to pick me out in a horde this size. He was paying no consideration to the other shoppers. Dumb. Most of the mall’s customers looked more like prison parolees, wearing spiked dog collars about their necks, pants that looked like double duty duffle bags, big enough to tote all their belongings, (or conceal weapons), and shirts displaying glorified demonic images. Kids playing hooky from school, dropouts, unemployed bums, wolves in lambskin vests. This place was crawling with evil looking for prospects and I hoped to be the first hit on this man. I’d be kind to him, a gentle hit and run.
Mr. Purple Walker was the ideal target, unmindful of danger. In addition, a WW2 vet at that, as advertised by his baseball cap. That placed him in his eighties. As much as he must have seen in his life, you think he would have learned vigilance. Doesn’t he read the papers, the elderly are easy marks, and crime against them is on the rise. I was just waiting for my chance to add him to the statistics, prowling after him like a lion in the African savannah. He was old and feeble, easy prey for a hungry lion. Heck, a lone, malnourished rabbit could topple him over!
At a bookstore’s cash register, I spied several large bills in Mr. P.W’s arthritic hand as he paid for his purchases, which had taken some time for him to select. Wow, he had lots of mullah on his body. He placed his wallet casually into his hip pocket, so casually I could see three inches of his chubby money receptacle just pleading to be heisted and I was willing to accommodate its desires. I looked about to be certain no one else detected my objective; however, good criminal minds know how to wear a poker face. There could have been dozens of other “lions” tailing Mr. P.W but I vowed to strike first. He needed to be taught a lesson about safety and I was volunteering to be his tutor.
My opportunity was fast approaching. I recognized the path he was heading down now, a long hallway leading to the rest rooms behind all the stores, practically deserted. It was the closest thing to a dark alley. I psyched myself up for his exploitation, stealthily following him, flabbergasted he never turned to look back. Not the least bit aware of his circumstances or upcoming ordeal. It was only the two of us now. Witnesses were far away in the main section of the mall. No one would hear him cry out. Closer, closer. The wallet was screaming at me. We were yards into the hallway and several feet from the men’s room when I leaned forward with my thumb and forefinger ready to grab Mr. P.W’s identity; a wallet full of personal information, address, credit cards, identification and of course his cashed retirement check’s residual.
I was so focused I didn’t notice the men’s bathroom door open. I got the wallet! Success! Wrong. I was looking into the face of a security guard who caught everything. Mr. P.W turned around, (not very quickly and not very shocked) to stare me down. He looked confused when he spotted his wallet in my hands.
The guard promptly approached me while beckoning for help on his walkie-talkie. A young punk, not even old enough to shave yet was getting ready to seize me and claim victory over crime! It wasn’t long before the exit was blocked with white shirted high school graduates wearing replicated Canadian Mountie hats and badges, looking very self-important. I was their answer to a slow afternoon.
“What are you doing?” Mr. P.W questioned.
“Teaching you a lesson about being careful with your wallet.” I responded displaying my trophy.
“Well, call me when you need a ride home from jail,” Mr. P.W offered serviceably as he headed into the bathroom snickering, pushing his walker ahead of him and puffing on his oxygen cannula.
“Dad come back here and help me explain this!” I yelled as the guards descended on me.
“What! And ruin this lesson! Not on your life!”
The bathroom door closed leaving me alone in the corridor with five excited mall guards and a fast forming crowd of spectators.
Duet. 5:16
Prov. 1:10-19
1 Tim. 5:1
James 1:27
1 Pet 5:5
1 Pet.5:8-9
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