the sky is falling

We were being threatened with foreclosure. That’s miserable news for anyone but this was the proverbial family homestead, it’s been in our family for generations too numerous to count. Most of us had been born or died in one room or another in the historic farm house. (historic to our family anyway!) We even had and ancestral cemetery. How do you move away from that? I know they are just lifeless bones now (at least I hope so!) but still….

“Every one can make their story sound more pathetic than the next person’s”, the bank manager informed us, still we had to come up with cash or vacant the premises and start a new family tradition, well fare. “But cheer up, you can still take the ‘birthing beds’ with you.” Mr. Bank Manager snickered. I had wanted to hold him down on one of our downy mattresses with a pillow over his breathing orifices to see how long it would take to stop snickering. Then lay him to rest in our pet cemetery; no, I couldn’t desecrate their resting places with something so subhuman.

“God, forgive me,” I had to pray afterwards, with little sincerity. (A long time afterwards as I replayed my murderous fantasy over and over again for the sinful joy it gave me) God would come through some how. He always had in the past and being the same today, yesterday and tomorrow…..

We spent the day together as a family with some wonderful friends, rounding up the herd. Doesn’t that sound extravagant. You’d think with “herd” comes money and wealth. Our herd was modestly small, not enough to bail us out of our financial difficulties, but enough to continue it. Breeding and feeding of live stock is costly, especially when nature connives against us withholding necessary moisture. We were land poor. We had let the help go so we could pinch money together for the loan we’d taken out on the family business. When we signed the papers five years ago I could have sworn I heard wailing coming from some of the dearly departed interred in the white picketed grave yard past the barn. Surely it was just the wind. I hoped it was just the wind.

We lived way outside of town but a modern paved road passed our long winding dirt driveway and in the past few days it was seeing a lot of traffic. Something was going on in the big city. Cars were whizzing by continuously, packed with luggage. We hadn’t been to town in sometime so it was a mystery to us. Nor did we care, with our problems we just stuck to ourselves. We didn’t like presenting ourselves to the city folk for scrutiny since we didn’t keep up with the city fashions and people in town had long noses to look down at us with.

What a lovely, peaceful night this was turning out to be. This is what life is all about! Sitting under the stars with friends and family, breaking bread, talking. We had been busy most of the day rounding up strays and now we got to relax. Thankfully cousin Marcy couldn’t ride horses, that left her the cooking detail, something she could do better than I could sit a steed so a wonderfully cooked meal was waiting for us.

We listened to each other’s jovial grumblings of sore rear ends (Marcy’s complaint was a sore back from bending over the cooking fire) while shoveling cowboy stew in to our growling stomachs. With the balmy night breeze blowing over us, we sat upwind from the campfire, it was only needed for protection against wild life, and cooking, the night’s temperature didn’t needed to be augmented. I was contemplating sleeping on top of my sleeping bag, I feared I would fry if I slept enveloped in it.

We had a radio playing nearby with soft music to go with our wine coolers. The cows were milling around nibbling on grass and being kept in check by a few well trained canines who occasionally crept over to rest a head on someone’s lap or get a tidbit or two. Of course eventually some news reporter broke into the electronic melodies with disheartening stories from Iraq to remind us of the tragic world affairs going on in areas we had never seen. I remember dreaming that if I ever won a beauty contest I would campaign for world peace, but the fact that I am so ugly is why the world is still at war.

As I lay tranquilly on my back listening to the surrounding conversations I observed numerous falling stars crisscross the black velvety sky. It’s a wonder there are enough stars to light the skies right now with all the ones I tallied streaking downward. The talk in the background faded as the sky began to fill me with fascination. Was it falling in. I was beginning to feel like Chicken Little. I lay there waiting for something to hit me on the head so I could run and tell the world the sky was falling. That would be a happy ending to our story. It sure would solve our problems in a big way; or create new ones. Was the glass half empty or half full? I drained it, now it was completely empty. I wished every one around me would shut up, lie down and look up so I wouldn’t be the only fool worrying about the descending luminaries! I was in the beginning of a panic attack!

“Ohhh, look at the meteorite shower!” Goosey Loosey exclaimed. Finally, someone else noticed. Some one with common sense apparently, I hadn’t thought of that simple explanation. My fear of impending doom started to subside. Thank you God for people with wisdom. I was in the progress of feeling foolish, yet relieved I had kept my suspicions to myself, when suddenly one of the meteorites hit the earth; Bang, pop, boom. Then flickers of world destruction similar to the dinosaur extinction theory flooded my brain cells. Back to panic attack mode.

We all sat upright or stood depending on our immediate positions. We could smell smoke: that usually accompanied fire! We ran to get our horses to check things out, but our faithful mounts had already checked out. We couldn’t even see the dust from their hoofs, they were so far gone! So we raced to the proximity of the landing site on foot, all the while some little voice kept insisting this was insanity, we should be on the tails of our smart horses….. We should be alerting the city that everyone should climb into their bomb shelters and pull the doors in after them.

Over a few hills and mounds and we came upon a crater with earth fragments still spiraling upwards and pelting the surrounding turf; ground zero. A winged creature was pulling himself up over the rim and shaking himself off when we appeared on the scene. He fanned a twisted wing to halt us and then commenced clearing his throat; eloquently preparing to address us. He was trying to be noble looking in robes tattered from his landing. He started off in several different dialects till he stumbled on one he could tell we comprehended…English. His words were highly implausible. He would have done better speaking in Greek. Then without warning (not that giving notice would have mattered) more winged creatures lit up the atmosphere turning the midnight skies into noon, singing songs of peace and praise. It was getting harder to feel frightened while getting your own personal opera. I doubt invading armies sang their captives into submission!

After the thousands upon thousands of performers twinkled away into nothing and night returned, we asked each other if we really saw anything. Slowly at first, none of us wanted to be the first to ask, “Hey, did you see that?” When we concluded that our wine coolers couldn’t have produced the same hallucinations on each of us we headed down the hill to see if the winged creature’s statements were authentic. He had made a incredible announcement that needed verification.

We went in the direction of town and found what we were looking for. A lonely frayed tent was set up on our property with a broken down jalopy parked nearby. Some of our livestock was milling about the parameters. We also found our horses nearby. We hesitantly approached the tent flap, making polite noise so as not to frighten the campers. A man, on his knees, parted the flaps and revealed a young woman lying on a sleeping roll, holding….a young infant. A king! That is what we had been informed by celestial messengers we would find! A King with his umbilical cord newly severed, wearing pampers and tightly wrapped up in a receiving blanket, and nursing. (or so I assumed, mom was discreetly covered and we could hear suckling.)

The new father started apologizing immediately for trespassing but explained the city was having a genealogy convention producing a lack of available sleeping spaces. What was left over he couldn’t have afforded. And, he shrugged, it was necessary to get his wife comfortable as she had decided to go into labor without consulting him. We assured him he was welcome to stay as long as needed and we would be glad to set him up in our spare guest room. Heck, I’d give him the master bedroom and take the guest room myself.

We could hardly wait to get back to get our campsite where we first learned of this miracle. There by the crater we stopped to reflect on the miracle we had been made privy to. Suddenly I stared once, twice, thrice at the clumps of rocks lying about and went into shock. Gold glitter, gold streaks, lumps of gold everywhere and on our land! The landing party (of one clumsy angel) had unearthed riches untold. Chicken little would be paying off Foxy Loxy, a.k.a, the bank manager soon and would never have to worry about him snickering at me or my family again. We’ll be hearing more, “Yes sirs, and yes m’ams” from his pompous lips, that is if we decide to invest our money in his establishment.

anniversary, birthday weekend

I woke up lazily. It was the first day of my 51st year. Glancing at the alarm I jumped up and hit the floor(no wonder it's called an alarm). How could I have overslept! It was already 5 a.m! Aging has slowed me down. I made it to the microwave to boil water for my gourmet instant coffee (at my age you may not have time to brew a full pot) then went to the computer room to let my sugargliders out to play while I did my bible study. Then it was wash the floor time so the pet sitters engaged for the next two days wouldn't think I had an old fashioned sod floor. Then a hearty work out to get the blood moving. At the five decade mark blood justs sits in the arteries till it's jump started.

Around eight I began the count down for my husband.
"Two hours till we leave, honey." He was still in bed. I packed a few of my last minute things, "I'll be ready."he promises
"One hour till we leave", I announce. He's just getting his first cup of coffee. I'm putting things in the car. "I'll be ready." he promises.
Fifteen minutes before we leave, "I'll bring the puppy to your mom's while you're getting ready." (the puppy was too young to leave at home with the sitters) Hubby was just getting in the shower. "Okay, I'll be ready", he promises.
When I get back at ten, take off time, he's not ready. Was I ever surprized! I sit in the car waiting till he gets his stuff packed,I'm just grateful he wasn't doing last minute laundry.

Finally, we're on the highway. The car ride is uneventful, except it takes two hours to make a one hour trip. He doesn't listen to the directions that I got off yahoo, or stop for help. When I read the steps off the driving directions he insists on one thing at a time. Turn left and make an immediate right are too many instructions at once, therefore he misses the turn for the immediate right. We have to back track at least five times. Finally we arrive at the extravagant resort I booked for the weekend. We checked in and headed for the vineyard tour I signed us up for. This was for my husbands half of the trip to celebrate our twentieth anniversary, he better not get in the way of my birthday half of the weekend.

We visited three wineries of the eight participating. It was a fantastic mix of people. Young and old, couples and groups. All types, wealthy , poor, in between. Dressed up and dressed down. People mixing and having fun. Music varied from mellow country and western to loud and boisterous jazz. Each winery gave four ounces of tasting pleasure and snacking foods. I don't drink much so after my first 4 ounces I also wasn't walking good. Where did they keep moving the sidewalk??? Three wineries with 4 one once samples, thats 4 plus 4 equals 8 plus 4 equals 11. No wait a minute. Counting on my fingers that equals about 12 ounces of alcohol, I wouldn't be able to handle it, I gave the last tickets to my husband. I could never tell if he had too much to drink, he always appears to be in a stupor when he's just looking a a bottle of wine.

One group of college students were having an exceptional time, and next to them a trio were dancing together,a man in the center and two women,he was in hog heaven. Then there was the couple on their first anniversay and the couple celebrating their 29th. My husband informed them we were celebrating our fortieth.

"Forty!", they chorused. "Twenty for her and twenty for me." he explained.

At the start of the tour the shuttle buses were empty. Towards the end of the day the lines to get back on were longer than the capacity of the buses. There was a man from Manchester, England on one shuttle asking jovially for ten dollars for his seat, (the ride was free compliments of the wineries.)) I told him I was born in Manchester fifty years ago. This delighted him till I added, Manchester, New Hampshire, he replied that made me second rate. What a small world.

Before we shuttled back to the resort we stoppd at a bakery for dinner. While I was waiting for our order I headed to the ladies room, a lot of wine had built up in my bladder. There was a commotion in the rest room, opening the door that stood ajar I saw an hispanic maid bent forward over the sink with a hispanic male leaning over her. "Disculpeme!" I closed the door. Then on second thought I reopened it. The male brushed past me.

"Were you having fun?" I casually inquired of the red faced woman.
"No, senora, He is just loco!" she responded covering her face and rushing out.I don't recall seeing any scratches on the man before he left, I doubt there was much of a struggle.

With salads and strawberries romanoff to go we headed to the pick up area for the resort quests,
where picknicked on the log cabin steps. Modern man on the porch of a pioneer family's home. They came to Grapevine walking beside their covered wagon and built this small two room homestead. This wooden cottage has seen a lot of history. I'll bet the walls sported many arrow holes placed by their indian neighbors. One room held a sparse wooden bed with a ragged home made quilt, I'll bet at the end of the day a lot of hard core sleeping took place there. The other room held the fireplace with a cast iron pot hanging in it, and a dining table-desk-counter top combo. One piece of furniture had many uses as there wasn't much space available for niceties. I don't guess they had internet access or a t.v. I didn't see any electrical outlets along the floor boards.

At length we got back to our room. Talk about lavish. All the rooms looked out over a four acre forest-garden area. It was designed to resemble the Aztec pueblos where all the homes faced off a cliff wall and access to each house was by rope ladder. We could open our balcony and sit there and enjoy a picturesque view. At night we could leave the balcony doors open and hear the waterfall and feel safe. Unless someone had wall scaling equipment (there were no rope ladders here) they couldn't enter our room six flights up. My husband noticed the absense of one ingredient to the ambiance. No birds. The singing of birds would have fit in better that the piped in music. My husband advised I close the curtains while I got ready for bed. I felt daring. I stepped out on the balcony a-la natural. No one noticed. Boy, was I feeling fifty, they probably assumed I was wearing a pleated nightgown. These aren't pleats, darlings, this is my skin.
I felt I was in the lap of luxury. I called room service to make our morning coffee.

"M'am, you do that yourself. The coffee machine is in the bathroom." What! at these rates I thought the maid did that. Wrong, guess again. There was also a missing personal attendant to hand me my towel after showering. I had to reach for it myself, I think I pulled a muscle. No tip will be left here.

I visited the spa area to see if they took walk-ins.
"Yes, m"am, but it depends on what's available."
"I'd like a pedicure."
"Well that's booked up."
"Why don't you tell me what is available then."
"Well,actually everything is booked right now."
"Wouldn't it have been easier to start off the conversation with that tib-bit of information?" I left. But I felt rich and smug after my sarcastic exit. I really didn't intend to pay for any of their high priced services anyway.

There was a lovely gift store with sequined t-shirts to die for. I quieried about how much damage a t-shirt would do to my budget,
"Eighty dollors."
"Is that all? Do you have it in my size?" (Sorry, I'm not divulging the size I requested! Remember I'm fifty, not dumb!)
"Sorry m'am, we don't." (Thank heavens, who would spend eighty dollars for a t-shirt!)

Another gift store offered a book that looked interesting. It was by a western artist. It sold for thirty dollars because it was autographed by the author. I found it on aAmazon.com for eleven dollars marked down from sixteen dollars. I'm obviously not one to ask about shopping at this location.

At 10:00 on Sunday morning we boarded the elevator to check out with a group of young girls. They were here at the resort celebrating a birthday.
"Did you go on the wine tour yesterday?"
"No, we're just 18."
"It's a good thing you didn't go then, but you could have been disignated drivers. I went but I'm too young to drink also."
One giggled, "That's funny."
"Well, that comment wasn't", I responded with good humor.

As I made good on the bill I informed the young thing handling the counter,"We were here for our twentieth anniversary. I told my husband after twenty years the sex was still good."
"Oh, that's so sweet."
"Yeah, I know. I just hope he doesn't find out who I'm having it with."
My husband is part homing pigeon. The return trip home took less than an hour.

First priority was getting the puppy home from "granny's" and loving on all the other pets. Then came nap time. Relaxing at a resort takes alot out of you, mostly from your pocket book, the hemorrhage of dineros causes total exhaustion!

thanksgiving day encounter

Thanksgiving Day Encounter

 

I pulled the curtains back just enough to watch cars park. People up and down the street were getting loads of visitors complete with casseroles, deserts and drinks.  Parking spaces were at a premium and some were being forced to park on neighboring blocks and trek to their destinations; no one seemed to consider this as undo punishment. Not a frown anywhere to be seen;  just smiles and out and out laughter.

 

I let the curtains fall back into place and turned my back so the tears could roll freely. As if anyone would notice. My house was empty and dark, parallel with the ache in my soul, even though it was only noon. My car was tucked away in the garage so friends wouldn’t feel sorry for me and offer me an obligatory meal. I didn’t care for pity, except for maybe self-pity.

 

Thanksgiving Day alone. Again. You’d think my kids would bury the hatchet and make up. My son wouldn’t come if my daughter did and vice versa. How can a mother choose between her off spring? Actually if they got together I feared they really would bury the hatchet. Hard core hate had been boiling between them for years.  Misunderstandings can be fatal. I never listen to either side of the story anymore, I don’t want to be involved or accused of taking sides.

 

Sitting in my lazy boy I poured another glass of wine. Wine and tuna sandwiches, that was my menu today. Why cook for a holiday I had no empathy with? What did I have to be thankful for today? Don’t give me that bull about being alive. Sometimes that’s actually no comfort, just banal sentiment that can be easily reversed.

 

Oh, dear. I’m almost out of wine. I couldn’t survive today without spirits. Off I headed to the nearby convenience store.  In back, where I parked, three men were filling up water jugs from a hydrant. They appeared tired and worn out, in need of some refreshing. They were the age of my kids, mid-thirties or so. They were still in the parking lot after I purchased my wine.

 

I carefully got into my car, slightlyafraid of being ambushed by the three vagrants,  at the same time hoping to be ambushed, after all maybe physical pain would remove my emotional agony.  Then out of nowhere someone  asked, “Do you guys need a good home cooked meal?” I looked around to see who had said that, and was shocked to learn it was me. The three men hefted their back packs and eagerly climbed into my Sedan, gratefully accepting my kindness without hesitation.  Introductions were proffered and handshakes passed out by Joshua, Pete and Juan.

 

At home I was embarrassed to have nothing elaborate to offer them. Remember, I was eating a tuna sandwich by myself on Thanksgiving Day.  My embarrassment was combined with embarrassment that I was embarrassed for having nothing good to eat for men that shopped from garbage cans (you can only understand that If you are as slightly inebriated as I am).. A can of beans and rice would be a gourmet meal if served on plates with real silverware and a beverage in a glass. I apologized for not having the usual over indulgent Thanksgiving meal and whipped up something only a mother could do at the last moment. My guests were profusely appreciative as they helped where they could. And between preparations they individually showered and shaved in the guest room, cleaning up after themselves. More than my own kids did. The bathroom actually looked fresher after they were done than before they started.  Cleaned up, they were nice looking young men, and smart. I couldn’t understand why they were homeless. They explained it was their calling to roam the country looking for people to help. This definitely took me by surprise. Who was helping who here?  They were smart but slightly mixed up. 
 

 We talked for hours about family, friends, and God. They had more insight into that divine being than I had, speaking of him more as a personal acquaintance than some distant phenomenon.  They offered up prayers for my family and me. they had no personal requests for themselves, they emphasizied to me their perpetual gratefulness to the God of the universe who gave them all they needed in this live and the life eternal. They finally said their concluding thanks and walked out the door. Out of my life. Out of the saddest day of my life. Saddest day turned pensive, turned warm. It had sustained me to have company today.  Five hours after I had gone for more wine, wine that had never been opened, I watched three backs walk into the sunset without a hint of the hardness that comes from being homeless.

 

I was back in my lounger, next to my forgotten tuna sandwich, alone again, when the door chimes ruptured my reverie. Without waiting for me to answer my son and daughter broke through the entrance arm in arm, followed by their families and—tons of food.  Really, I couldn’t eat another bite.  I reached for my wine glass and quickly downed the last drops.

 

“You guys aren’t here to draw me into your absurd squabble, again are you?” I blustered out, fearing a repeat horrible family feud on my terrain. A premonition out of place with the gleeful expressions on their countenances and the banquet they were carting in.

 

“No, we were worried about you, we tried to call several times and when no one answered we got together and decided our fight was silly and we agreed to disagree. We didn’t want you to be alone on Thanksgiving so we combined our menus and ……Walla!”

 

Once again tears rolled down my soggy cheeks. It was then I noticed the time on the grandfather clock by the door; and the sunshine that poured in the window around the closed curtains.  I’ve only been in this chair for twenty minutes. My sandwich was still refrigerator cool. I must have dreamed the whole afternoon’s activities.  I roamed through the house in shock. Nothing had changed; no dishes in the dishwasher from the meal I thought I had served hours ago, no discarded food cans, and no towels in the laundry from recent bathers. I had never gone anywhere, never had any visitors. It had seemed so real. It had to have been real, but lacking evidence I had to assume it had been nothing but a very, very remarkable dream, or the beginning of mental instability.

 

As my kids laid the dining room table with the lavish spread of edibles I answered the phone; since it was ringing that seemed the appropriate thing to do.

 

“Mrs. Watson, you left your wallet here. I tried to flag you down before you drove off with those three bums. I was afraid they had carjacked you, I was about to call the police.” It was the convenience store manager.  I heard my kids gasp just before I collapsed on the floor, the phone receiver at my side; “Mrs. Watson?  Mrs.Watson?” emanating from the speaker.

 

Outside Joshua, Pete and Juan who had returned to sneak a peak in the window, smiled contently, joined hands and ascended upwards.

 psalm 68:6
Mathew 26:36-40
Hebrews 13:1-2

Reality Check

I got up at four this morning, (yes, that’s way before the rooster crows) as usual, to start my day. Obviously, I don’t work in a bank! My job starts at 6:40 but I actually start working a few hours latter, after the caffeine kicks in! I’m not a real hero like baseball or football players, I’m just a lowly operating room nurse who cares for their injuries so they can go back to their fans and the Super Bowl or whatever bowl. (I think it’s a bowl of mixed nuts, myself). Gee, I hope I don’t sound anti sports!

I start my day off with both feet on the ground running, pulling heavy equipment around, rolling stretchers from pre-op to post-op. Holding patients hands as they go to sleep and comforting them when they wake up, no easy task as some are real weenies. I pleasantly and professionally keep their families updated during their procedures. At days end I chauffer my riding companion to the pharmacy to pick up her prescriptions, to the grocery store to pick up her groceries, to her mailbox to pick up…surely you know where I’m going with this!

Then I finally dump her on her doorsteps with a sigh of relief after she gets out and doesn‘t request any more errands like mopping her floor or sanitizing her refrigerator! (I “m so co-dependent!) I hit the gas pedal and burn rubber with my glass slippers before they turn into house shoes . I still have more demands on my schedule before I can rest.Next, I run by the nursing home I volunteer at to check out a few residents. I make sure they aren’t abused, or abusing the staff. Yes, senior citizens have accumulated years of tactics to get even with caregivers. I will sit with one or two of the bed bound to chat for a while then check out the diners. I always get complaints about the home-style cooking by residents sitting next to someone who claims they never get a bad meal here. Well if home cooking means anything, I hardly ever like what I cook so the nursing home is living up to the claims of their advertising brochure! One woman complained her food was too salty. After I took a sample nibble, I was tempted to pour more salt on and add catsup to the mix. If she thought the salt was the cuisines problem her tastes buds died way before she did. Anyway I registered her complaint with the cook along with the compliments to the chef from her dining partner. Score one, loose one! I then have to remind one elderly lady that it’s not nice to pinch the orderly’s butt, his “no” means NO. I don’t care how cute he is, I tell her, it’s just not part of the care plan. I don’t confide in the “abuser” that I identify with her needs, it just wouldn’t be proper! I make a mental note to tell the orderly to stop dressing like he’s asking for it. He should know these old ladies could only restrain themselves for so long.

After my rounds at the home I pull into my dad’s drive way. It’s a nightly routine to check up on him. He forfeited his rights to drive a few years ago when he misjudged a curb and landed in someone’s patio, stopping just inches from a lady in her lounger. Me. This made me his personal driver. Before I go inside I pick up a little birdie that fell from its nest and gently return him/her to safety. Loading dad and his walker into my car we take off to the mall for his exercise. It’s an exercise for me too. I get a good heart rate going looking at all the sales. I end up having to track dad down. One peek into a store and I’ve lost him in the melee. A little old man with a walker and oxygen shouldn’t be this hard to keep up with! I just may have to invest in a halter strap for him. I assumed wrongly that raised him better than this. “Always stay close to me in crowds”, if I haven’t said that once I’ve said it a thousand times. I found him in the video store, at the x-rated display case, sweet talking some cute little thing. They had identical walkers and used the same oxygen supplier. A match made in heaven, (or the local HMO!) He informed me she still drove her own car, hint, hint. That’s good, I respond, maybe she can start driving him around: not what he was implying, I’m sure.

I eventually park in my dark, gloomy driveway, nearly 12 hours since I rolled out of it his morning. I put the final touches on my day, like feeding the pets and preparing for tomorrow. Forget eating, I’m too tired. I then curl up with my warm fuzzy house mates on the sofa and promptly fall asleep in front of my favorite television show just as the starting credits roll down. Now how it can be my favorite show if I never stay awake for it is another question all together.Something went wrong in my sleep. The dream I’m having is so surreal. I feel light headed. Airy. Wispy. Looking down at my feet I see miles of nothing below me. I’m rising at a speed unknown to man. It doesn’t hurt though, breaking the sound barrier, and my fear of heights is gone; it shouldn’t be since falling from this distance wouldn’t even leave a splinter of a bone in place! What has happened? To my right is a winged creature, holding my hand, pulling me along. She explained that my days have been numbered, my heart had quietly failed in my sleep (do you wonder why?) and I was on my way to see the Judge. The Judge! Oh, my gosh, I need a lawyer! (doubt I’ll find one where I’m going!)

My guide deposited me at an enormous white luminescent gate and flew off. Was this a large pearl? I wouldn’t want to be around the oyster that laid this beauty. A bearded man at the entry was holding a registration book and looking for my name. I could see thousands of souls on the other side of the golden wall milling about. Jewels sparkled every where. Everything glistened, reflecting the sunshine. But wait, there was no sun here. I recognized family and old friends even though they looked healthier than they had in ages. Healthier, younger, happier. It was apparent the gatekeeper was having a difficult time locating my name. I remained unruffled since I had changed my name so often he would need some time. (I always signed important documents in pencil to alter them when needed.) All the names in the registry were hand written in peculiar red…ink? What neat penmanship. He kept mumbling to himself and moving his finger down the pages. He ultimately closed the tome in exasperation and looked me in the eye.

“You don’t seem to have pre registered. You’ll need to give me one good reason I should let you in.”

What? This would be easy. One good reason, ha! I’ll give him more than he asked for. I was an over achiever after all. I had done nothing but good deeds all day long, yea, for years. My routine didn’t vary much. I helped more people than I could count. I started my defense and ran with it. I must have talked for hours patting my back at the same time, literally. Apparently death makes you flexible. The man just listened. He wasn’t hearing what he wanted to hear. I’m familiar with the look of boredom, especially when he punctuated it occasionally with an exaggerated yawn. Boring, that’s pretty much how my life was beginning to sound. Yet I did so much for people I couldn’t imagine being refused admission. I even threw in helping a little old lady cross the street. (never mind she didn’t want to cross and I had to walk her back!) And for the icing on the cake I reminded him of several homeless dogs I rescued. Who can refuse a good animal story?

“Sorry, you just don’t meet our qualifications here.” He declared, turning his scarred back on me. He was rejecting me. Sending me on my way. No trial by jury, no review board, no appeals process. No asking to see his superior. What kind of a monkey court was this?

“Wait!” I yelled gripping and rattling the barred gate, trying to force it open. Looking over my shoulder all I could see was absolute darkness sucking everything into its opening, pulling my feet towards it while I clung to the platinum bars in the pearly gate. In front of me the brightness of heaven was fading as the guard put distance between us. His shoulders were shaking; did I hear faint sobbing? Staring horrified at his retreating posterior I screamed, “This is a joke! It sounds like the only way to get in here is by the grace of God!”

Cling! My judge turned back around with an colossal smile, happy I had seized the correct concept. Pulling out the three nails that locked the gate, he inserted two into his hands and one into his feet co-joining them, as the gate slowly swung open. He motioned for me to enter with a regal bow. The darkness behind was quenched, the radiance before me intensified. The crowds inside the gate broke into song and danced: they were non-amazing light on their feet! Firecrackers exploded in the air. It was like New Years Day. New Eternities Day. No. It was like the fourth of July. Independence Day. No Dependence day. We are all dependent on God’s grace and mercy. Good deeds are worthless with out doing them in God’s name, under his cloak of salvation. I hadn’t earned the right to enter through the pearly gate; I was admitted by the grace of God. And I was given a new name that had been added to the registry hand written in blood by the only man qualified to permit me entrance.

Isaiah 62:2
John 20:25
Act 4:122
Cor. 5:10
Eph 2:8-9
Col 2:13-15
Rev 2:17
Rev 20:15
Rev 19:12,15
Rev 21:21,23

followed

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

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.

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 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.

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.