Still Sick but Thinking

I am still sick with the flu, but as is the usual state of my brain, I have been thinking. Some of the thoughts are not worth putting down like, "Why does the world look puce all of a sudden?" or "Why do I suddenly feel so car sick when I have never felt car sick before?" or "Am I dying?" OK, maybe the question about dying is important, but since I am still here and still writing and still thinking, I believe I am doing pretty good at least in the living department (although I really feel as if I could die from this crud).

One question that has been popping into my fevered brain (and trust me, it IS fevered) has been "What do I want out of the New Year?" All of the old resolutions about writing and submitting stories is a given, of course, as is getting in shape and STAYING in shape, but the one thing I would really love to happen in 2006 is that no one I know and love should die.

Remember how I have said I am tired of people leaving me? I really, really am. Just one year I would like to have without someone I care about die and leave. I would like for them to be as healthy and happy as they could possibly be and that deaths (of the people I hold dear) would not happen.

Does this make me a selfish person?

For myself and B - well, I would just like for us to be happy and healthy and love one another.

No one to die and us to be happy and healthy, these are the things I would much rather see than anything else for 2006.

Whether or not you make or keep resolutions, I hope you have the best of years in 2006 and this year is only the beginning of something absolutely wonderful for you.

OK, and that you all keep reading The News and enjoy it (although it would be nice if you commented a little more, but if you don't, that's OK too; just keep reading).

God Bless.

Made It Through Christmas and Now I Am Sick

It is hard to think through mushy cotton. This is how my head feels right now. More later.

'Tis Christmas

For the next few days there may or may not be many updates until about the 27th or so because 'tis Christmas! Much is planned and this weekend is the weekend I must get it all done, which has been quite a surprise for me. See, usually, everything is done as of last weekend. The groceries are purchases, the baking is at least planned or started, some presents are delivered and ALL of the Christmas shopping has been done and all of the presents wrapped AND the Christmas tree is up. Not so this year - it all falls to this weekend.

It would be nice to have it all done so all I had to do was the baking, but things happen. Luckily B will be off to help me this year so everything looks to be just where it needs to be in order to have the most merry of Christmases.

On Christmas night I am going to give B one of his special Christmas presents. (I have already had to give him the filter for his aquarium and fish supplies.) This will sort of be our own little private Christmas.

The festive celebration list looks as follows:

Friday - Grocery shopping, delivery of Avon to customers, last minute gift shopping
Saturday - Church for Vespers and the beginning of the Christmas time there (much yayness!), wrapping of presents, baking
Chrismtas Day - Church, of course, then off to B's parents' for gift exchange and dinner, then back home for a little private gift exchange and perhaps a smaller dinner of our own
Monday - Christmas with friends, gift exchange, dinner, probable collapse in front of the TV
Tuesday - Clean up and cooking (but only a little)

It seems everything looks perfectly in order doesn't it. Then why do I feel as if I am going to come un-glued at any second?

Here and Now

HERE AND NOW
By H.A. Handy
Copyright (c) 2005 by H.A. Handy

It is cold.
Very cold.
No snow.
Still not in the Christmas spirit all in all,
but things may be looking up.
Yesterday was a mental day
and today is threatening to be the same.
I still have hope,
and hot chocolate.
Life still has
the chance of being good.

Pretend

PRETEND
By H.A. Handy
Copyright (c) 2005 by H.A. Handy

Pretend
Pretend
Pretend
Show the world what it wants
Pretend
Pretend
Pretend

That you are happy
Perhaps then the people who say they love you
Can see who you are inside

Pretend
Pretend
Pretend
Show them what they want
Pretend
Pretend
Pretend

Peace does not exist upon this earth
Sometimes I wonder if after
But can I speak these words?

Pretend
Pretend
Pretend
Show the face most happy
Pretend
Pretend
Pretend

Lost amid a thousand emotions
Wondering if any are Real
The Soul bubbling over

Pretend
Pretend
Pretend
Give them the answer they desire
Pretend
Pretend
Pretend

Hold the truth deep inside
Even if it is MY truth
Lock it away, because no one wants it

Pretend
Pretend
Pretend
That life really does matter
Pretend
Pretend
Pretend

Always compared to someone else
Never quite accepted for the self
Hope...disappearing

Pretend
Pretend
Pretend
Pain no longer exists
Pretend
Pretend
Pretend

Raw and unemotional
Seething to the core
Sad beyond expression

Pretend
Pretend
Pretend
Nothing said can hurt
Pretend
Pretend
Pretend

Take everything in good grace
Nothing out of turn
Not even the back handed compliments

Pretend
Pretend
Pretend
It doesn’t matter someone else compliments
Pretend
Pretend
Pretend

Pretend you can take it
Pretend you are fine
Nothing truly matters
Just the feast the worms will dine

Pretend
Pretend
Pretend
Everything is fine
Pretend
Pretend
Pretend


-- 12/17/05

New Magazines Floating

It really isn't a new magazine, it is Redbook and I haven't received it in ages. One of my sisters gave me a subscription for the magazine for Christmas. I feel so housewifely! I spotted new recipes right away and coupons. I am doomed! DOOMED!

*giggle*

What Would It Be Like?

What would it be like to go into exploritory surgery and testing and have it discovered you have terminal cancer? You could be sleeping the most peaceful and blissful, hopeful sleep, but your family and friends would know before you that your time on earth was just a little shorter than theirs. How would that make you feel? How could you cope with it? God bless those who do.

Twas the Night Before Christmas

The Night Before Christmas


Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse,
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there.
The children were nestled all snug in their bed,
While visions of sugarplums danced in their heads,
And mamma in her 'kerchief, and I in my cap,
Had just settled our brains for a long winter's nap...
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.
The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below,
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer,
With a little old driver, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick.
More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name:
"Now, Dasher! now, Dancer! now Prancer and Vixen!
On, Comet! on Cupid! on, Donder* and Blitzen!
To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!
Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!"
As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky,
So up to the house-top the coursers they flew,
With the sleigh full of toys, and St. Nicholas too.
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound.
He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot.
A bundle of toys he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a peddler just opening his pack.
His eyes -- how they twinkled -- his dimples how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow.
The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath.
He had a broad face and a little round belly
That shook, when he laughed, like a bowl full of jelly.
He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself.
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread.
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And filled all the stockings; then turned with a jerk,
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose.
He sprang to his sleigh, to his teams gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,
"Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night!"

Clement C. Moore

For Those In The Know?

Go to http://wilwheaton.typepad.com/ and check this picture out of Wil Wheaton. Can anyone put a comment on the expression on his face? I mean, I am creative, but this time I'm stumped. It is almost like, 'Hey man, I think I went already' or something. It has helped to make the day enjoyable.

What an expression!

The Triangle, a TV Movie Review

The Triangle was one of those television viewing events I actually looked forward to with much anticipation. My husband calls me a B movie queen, but there is something about a movie, whether good or bad in its filming can actually entertain you as nothing else can. Television and movies are two of my favorite escapes and second only to novels and reading or writing my own tales for that matter.

In this Sci-Fi Channel movie a billionare businessman played by Sam Neill puts together an unusual research team to figure out why he is losing so many ships in the Bermuda Triangle. He is losing money and going through a really strange phase himself so he wants answers! It is hard to dismiss this as anything truly explainable, of course, since it IS the Bermuda Triangle after all.

The characters kept me interested in their lives as well as what they were going through in doing the research needed for the billionare. The movie was strange and bizar but not so bizar that you can say it was over-the-top, it was actually believable and ran on character and suspense rather than just special effects. On the whole it is on the higher scale of the B movie/made-for-tv fares we are sometimes given.

Lou Diamond Philips, however, stole the show as Meeno, a Greenpeace activist and boat builder/repairman who, on a Greenpeace mission to save a whale, ended up seeing a ship cracked in two like a toy and the men upon it lost at sea. Of course, his speedy inflatable went down and all the members on board were tossed into the sea and just vanished, except for him, of course. After a brief stay in the hospital, Meeno returns home to an elated son about the age of ten and his trusty dog. A little boy comes running out calling Meeno Daddy, but Meeno doesn't have a blue who this little boy is. "Who is this?" he asks his wife.

"This is Dillon, our youngest," she answers as patiently as she can. She doesn't mistrust Meeno, but wonders, by the look on her face, if just perhaps the doctors let him out of the hospital a wee bit too soon.

Meeno and Dillon begin to bond and he goes out one day to buy some toys for them to play with, all of them. When he gets back he is excitedly talking about how the three men of the family are going to have fun and how much Dillon is going to enjoy one particular toy just purchased. Meeno's wife looks at him and asks who this Dillon kid is. Meeno, in horror, runs to Dillon's room to discover the room is not for a child, but a study they have created to help him in his Greenpeace activities. Not good. Now the question becomes, how to get Dillon back.

While Meeno is struggling with the major possibility he is going insane and has lost a son somewhere in time, the team has discovered the Triangle is really a rift in Time-Space and it was caused by the military years before in the Philidelphia Experiment. I wouldn't have given the movie any credit until it was shown how things could be explained all the way back into legends. It was plausible and made me think. I like that.

Another of my favorite moments was when the team are look outside a window and Brown Shirts, you know, German bad buys, are rounding up people and, I believe, checking papers. The team tries to escape and are confronted by a jerk-off Brown Shirt who speaks plain ol' American English (just not Ameriken Anglish). In the ripple that just occurred, the good guys of World War II lost and the bad buys of Germany (not the German people, a big difference there) won. The Brown Shirt jerk off pulls a gun and is pointing it at them as reinforcements approach and another ripple. When the ripple passes over it is modern day America on a typical American street and the once-Brown Shirt-jerk off is holding his hands as if he has an imaginary gun. He is confused, but not as confused as the "reinforcements" who are just ordinary guys who are looking around wondering what the heck just happened. The team hurries off to see what else they can discover before another ripple can catch them.

As I said before, this movie is character driven and all of the characters can truly be believed and you can see something of yourself in them. But Lou Diamond Philips' portrayal of the Everyman was splendid. It is a shame we do not see him as much as we should (besides, he is dang good looking)!

If you catch this on a re-run I highly recommend it. If you have free rentals at the movie store, or want something to keep you going for a little while - again, I recommend it.

Sci-Fi Channel says this movie actually has a basis behind it:

The miniseries coincides with the 60th anniversary of the most infamous Bermuda Triangle mystery—the disappearance of Flight 19. On Dec. 5, 1945, five torpedo bombers disappeared after getting lost during a routine mission out of Fort Lauderdale, Fla. Then, a large twin-engine Mariner rescue plane, Flight 19, went out to find the missing aircraft, and it also disappeared. Even after the largest maritime search in history, no trace of the six planes or 27 crewmen was ever located.

On the Mountaingirl video scale I give it *****(out of 5 asteriks).

Fiction, Forest Walker by Craig Smith

Forest Walker
By Craig Smith
Copyright (c) 2005 by Craig Smith

Today was practice day.

Betro went zooming across the well-beaten track, speeding through the forest. Trees flashing past him, in a blur of green, brown and yellow. Betro then swerved around the corner, dashed across a bridge and came to a skidding halt. Producing a storm of dust that wafted away down the track. Betro never got bored with the practice track. It was always slightly different to the day before. The best for Betro was when; it had rained the morning or night before. There would be huge puddles to go splashing through, and skidding around a muddy corner was a whole lot more fun. He was pretty sure that his beast Slyther, a giant cat like creature, which was purple in color and had four huge paws, liked it as well. Besides the mud gave the cat an excuse to go play in the river afterwards.

If Slyther wasn’t with Betro, at the track or lazing about in town, she was at the river splashing around with some of the other beasts.

"What was my time?" asked Betro jumping off the back of his beast, trying to catch his breath. Even though Slyther did most of the work, it was still quite a workout for Betro.

"Your were a fraction better, then your all time best; but there was still some room for improvement," said Tootoro who had been sitting on a rotting tree stump, waiting for Betro to finish the course. Betro knew that lap times didn’t matter that much in the race. When it came to rider against rider and beast against beast but he felt that it was good to have a time anyway. That way when he was in the race he would know if he could do better or not.

"Wahoo! I beat my all time best?" asked Betro.

"Yes, by three seconds," said Tootoro not even having another look at his sand-timer. Tootoro was Betro’s best friend and trainer, if it wasn’t for him, Betro would most probably be in bed, dozing away, Betro liked to sleep and leave things to the last minute but Tootoro was always there to coax him along.

"I couldn’t have done it with out Slyther," said the blue skinned boy stroking his giant cat like creature. The big cat then turned towards the way they had just came, and let out a low growl. Betro knew this was a warning. Over the years the pair of them had learnt to watch out for each other’s backs.

When Slyther was a little kitten, some big bear of a beast trampled her. Her leg had been broken. At that point some of his friends had suggested that he end the ‘thing’s’ life and start over but Betro stuck with the cat and they both pulled through. Betro thought it will worth it. He would bet any money in the world that he had a tighter bond with his beast then any other rider in town.

Betro and Tootoro turned as they heard someone coming down the track, towards them. It could only be another racer.

"I thought we had the track to ourselves," said Betro, pulling Slyther off the track. His leather and seashell gloved hand pulling on the cat’s reins. His other gloved hand went up and brushed away his too long yellow hair. He was planing to get cut before the big race. The main reason why he had grown his hair long was because he felt that it made him look older then he really was, but it sure got in the way.

"Me too," said Tootoro getting up off his seat. He stretched his hands out towards the mid-afternoon sky. Tootoro was a paler blue then Betro. He spent hardly much time outside, and if they had any training to do Tootoro would normally wear a hat but the day was cool and partly overcast.

A racer and his beast then came rushing around the bend, and within moments they recognized that it was Dorgo and his creature Iguaga, which was a giant green lizard. The darkly dressed youth named Dorgo skidded to a halt, in front of Betro and Tootoro. Iguaga was baring its teeth, at Slyther. Iguaga and Slyther didn’t like each very much and had many encounters before, some resulting in small fights that had to be broken up with a lot of coaxing and shouting. But Slyther had grown bored of fighting her opponent and found other ways of tormenting the lizard like Iguaga. Like at that moment she was staring away pretending that Iguaga wasn’t there and when Dorgo turned his head away, she would pull a tongue. This vexed Iguaga immensely but was unable to do anything about it because Dorgo always had Iguaga on a short leash.

"You’re wasting your time you know that?" said Dorgo looking down at them, literally and figuratively speaking.

"You wish, Dorgo," said Betro, puffing out his chest, and staring darkly at Dorgo "Slyther and I are ready for you."

"We’ll see about that."

Betro, Slyther and Tootoro then spent the next few days preparing for the big race, spending almost every day training or going over the course. Tootoro also put both of them on high-energy diets. Betro and Slyther didn’t like the taste of the stuff Tootoro put before them but they didn’t complain. There were a lot of other people training for the race too and it was quite hard to find a place where you could train in peace.

The whole town was a buzz with the upcoming race. With many choosing their favorites, and many placing sizeable bets on them to win. And it was the general consensus that Dorgo was the favorite. He was the reining champion after all. Betro also had quite a few supporters backing him too. And there were several other contenders challenging for the championship and grand prize. It was the biggest ever. A brand new house and free food for a whole year. Betro was especially excited about this year’s race because it was the twenty-fifth anniversary since the first ever beast rider race. It was the big one everyone wanted to win. Just about everybody in town was excited, and just about all of them had someone in the race or knew someone in the race.

During the last few days before the race, the race organizers prepared the track, placing markers and barriers. The day of the race then came around, with more then half the town spread around the course of the track, which ran through forests, desert and swamp areas. There was even said to be some people who made the trek from out of town. It was a thing that didn’t happen very often, except for trade wagons. Some of the out-of-towners mentioned, that there was increased activity coming in the desert area, some of the people even said that they had been robbed, reportedly by the nomadic raiders. But these reports were ignored because nobody had seen any of the nomads for a long time. Decades had passed since their last raid, and most weren’t worried because the nomads had almost been wiped out. When they had last attacked the town. Betro had heard stories that the raids on the town had been getting worse and worse until it got so bad that the townspeople got fed up and decided to fight back and planed an ambush for the nomads. A lot of townsfolk lost their lives that day, but they thought it worth it to be rid of the nomads and their often-brutal raids.

The competitors were eagerly waiting by the starting line. All seventy-eight of them. The beasts growling at each other. Their owners were also, flinging more then a few insults around. The air was tense around the area. Betro was near the middle of the pack, his stomach in knots. Betro was worried for himself and Slyther; many competitors had been badly injured in previous events, some of the riders had even been killed or knocked off their mounts. His muscles were sore with the amount of tension that was running through his body. Betro was a bit surprised that he seemed to relax, after the trumpet had been blown to signal the start of the race. That was when the real scrambling started, with the beasts shoving and pushing their way forward. Now that the race had started he didn’t feel that bad anymore, it was just up to him and no one could get in the way to mess up his chances.

The wind whistled past his ears. Betro looked left and right, beasts and riders were clawing their way forwards.

The first stretch of the course was flat and wide. It was there to give the racers a chance to spread out a bit, before they hit the first narrow bend. Betro made his way up to the top ten, Slyther’s agile body ducking and diving past the others. They then hit the obstacle-course part of the track where they had to jump off wooden logs into big pools of water and mud; some of the riders didn’t land properly and were soon trampled by the others. Betro had Slyther had a close call on one of the jumps, when they jumped too early. Landed in the mud and lost a lot of traction.
"Move it!" shouted Betro. Flicking his reins.

A rider landed next to them; almost covering them head to toe with a wave of mud. Another beast then landed on Slyther’s back, claws first; Slyther roared and dashed forward. Slyther took a swipe at the offending beast after they had caught up with it.

"Hey watch it!" shouted the racer. Betro, hardly hearing the other’s voice, over the rush of the wind.

Betro didn’t reply. He gritted in his rebukes, laid down low and urged Slyther on even faster.

While Betro was doing this he caught a glimpse of Dorgo. His main rival was already at the next bend far ahead of everyone else.

"How does he do that?" Betro asked himself, ducking under the swing of a vicious club. Betro looked back at the rider who had taken a swing at him, it was the butcher’s son, the big bully of the town. Betro was shocked. He thought that the officials had clamped down on that sort of thing. The butcher’s son and another goon of rider then broke out in a fight, after they collided with each other at the bend. Betro luckily steered clear. He knew that their chances of getting to the end were now very slim. He would be surprised if both of them got back to the village alive.
The race was fought back forth this way, for about twenty minutes before they emerged from the forest and out into the desert area, which was featureless, except for the shifting dunes of sand. And Dorgo was nowhere to be seen. Betro had lost a few places and was now thirteenth or fourteenth, when he went over a dune with a few others. They almost collided with a few of the leaders who had stopped in front them. Betro wondered why they had stopped but he soon found out why, there were a whole lot of riders in front of them, standing in the little valley below. These riders were facing them and it didn’t look like that they wanted to race. Sitting on their beasts with swords in their hands. He could tell that they weren’t taking part in the race.

"The nomadic raiders!" whispered Betro but that wasn’t the most shocking thing because standing in front them was Dorgo. Betro’s mind reeled, what was happening? What was Dorgo up to? The opposing riders then started to howl and shout out, as if they were getting ready to charge. Dorgo then put up his hand and called for calm. The nomads stopped almost instantly. What hold did Dorgo have over these fighters? And what was his reason for this? Most of all Betro was worried about the race, would they be able to carry on? He doubted it. This brought up anger in Betro. The race was ruined and his chances of becoming famous or respected person in the town were dashed.

And then the pieces fell together in Betro’s mind; Dorgo had always been an outcast, bullied by the other children because of his darker blue skin and unusual features that were similar too those of the nomads that were around him. Betro knew that the race was over. These raiders were here to fight.

"What is the meaning of this? Who are you brutes?" asked Mace, one of the bolder villagers. He forced his bear like beast to the forefront. Mace had respect. He was an ex-champion and had been the mayor of the town for some years. This was the kind of respect Betro was after.

"These brutes are my people," said Dorgo. "And we will not suffer in silence anymore," said Dorgo.

"What does this have do with us or the race?" asked Mace. Betro felt sorry for Mace, this was his last race. The older man had vowed to retire, after this race, but now his memories would be blemished by this interruption.

"It has everything, to do with it. While you enjoy yourselves, my people suffer, reliving the day your town killed most of our people."

An older man in the gathering crowd of racers came forward. "I was there on that day and it was not our fault, your people raided our town, stole our live stock, killed our men and took away our women," said the older man almost spitting.

"Enough of your talk old man, we didn’t come here to discuss, we came here to fight," said Dorgo, looking up down the line of fearsome riders and beasts that made up the nomadic raider party. Betro looked at the beasts closely, some were truly fearsome, and four of them even rode around on the backs of scorpions. And the weapons! Betro hadn’t seen such ghastly things in his life, some had skewers on them while others sported horrible looking spikes. Betro couldn’t but think that the nomads had spent a lot of time preparing for this day.

"For years we have built up our strength and now we will use our new strength to kill you all, and take your town for our own." Dorgo then blew on a horn, which made the very air vibrate around them. The lightly clothed raiders then charged forward, their various weapons raised in the air.

The old man and Mace then raised their crude weapons and charged too, they weren’t prepared for battle, but this didn’t matter, they had their way of life to protect. Even though the use of weapons were banned most still carried them just incase but none of the racer’s weapons were as sharp or finely tuned as they raiders’ were. They weren’t going to give up their families and homes without a fight. Betro had subconsciously backed away from the front of the racers, unsure what to do, watching as some of the officials were cut down. The first ones to go. Betro didn’t know what was going on, who were these people? And why were they attacking us? A Nomadic Raider was a thing of myth, monsters that got you, if you wondered off on your own or didn’t do your homework. And why was Dorgo their leader? A boy who had been raised by the church, to love and care for things.

The one thing he did know was that he wasn’t going let these raiders destroy his people or take his town. Betro wasn’t particularly happy about them ruining the race either, he had spent months preparing, it was only his third race and he had felt that he had a good chance this time around. So he went back into the forest, got off Slyther and went searching for a heavy branch. It didn’t take him, too long to find one. He first tested it, it felt light, but it could still carry one a hell of a wallop. Betro then raced back towards the frontlines, passing a few the riders that were running away or rushing back to town warn the people there. And when he went back over the hill, he saw a full-scale battle raging, with beasts and riders, fighting each other viciously. He could see that Mace was fighting Dorgo and his lizard, Mace was fighting hard but it looked as though he was losing. So Betro made his way forward through the battle, avoiding getting tangled up with the other riders, as much as possible.

Mace was dead. An axe sticking out of his forehead. Betro hadn’t been fast enough. Mace’s beast was gone.

Betro attacked Dorgo. He hoped going for their leader would boost their chances. Maybe their resolve would break if their leader were taken out. He used his heavy branch to defend from the heavy blows of the nomad leader’s axe but it was Slyther and Igugua who were doing most of the fighting, ripping each other apart. Throwing their riders around. The four of them fought oblivious as to what was happening around them but they did hear the cries of the dying, piercing through the noise of growls, grunts and shouting.

They seemed to be evenly matched, with both of them only getting the upper hand for short periods of time.

"Why are you doing this?" asked Betro, holding tightly to his saddle. "You have lived in the village, with us all your life."

"I know. You and your people teased me the entire time," said Dorgo. "And now you will pay for the all the harm you have done to me. I had found the raiders in the forest during one of my earliest training sessions, that was, when I found my real family."

"I never teased you," Betro replied. "I might have ignored you, but I never teased you."

"Oh yeah, what about that time you and your friends, killed my pet bird," said Dorgo taking a violent swing at Betro.

"I never did such a thing, I heard about it but I never took part in it and if I did I would have been deeply ashamed of myself," said Betro. "Although I will say I’m sorry anyway."

"Not good enough," said Dorgo, killing a man, who had been trying to pull him off his beast. "You left my people to die."

"I did not, I wasn’t even born when the nomadic raiders last attacked the village."

"So? It was still your people who killed them."

This arguing and fighting went back and forth for close to twenty minutes. Betro could see his younger cousin Bolten; he was lying, only a dozen feet away, his head had been bashed in with a club. Betro shook with anger. This was only his first race; the boy had been so excited and had spent so much time preparing. Betro found that he had new strength, he charged forward and swung wildly, his club going right for Dorgo’s head but Dorgo was too fast and his axe came up just in time. His club got stuck to Dorgo’s axe. Betro held on tight. Slyhter shot off, while Betro clung on to the branch. Betro fell hard on to the ground. The wind knocked out of him. Dorgo swung around and came forward to attack Betro.

"Wait!" shouted Betro as he looked out at the battle scene.

"What is it?" spat Dorgo, only just managing to stay his hand.

"Our people, they are dead!" said Betro, looking out at the carnage that surrounded them. Dead riders and raiders were strewn everywhere, their beasts dead or gone. There were still a few others fighting, but there was only a handful.

"You mean, your people are dead," said Dorgo before he looked around. His face suddenly dropping as he saw that there were maybe only seven or eight other people still alive. Dorgo then dropped to the ground. "What have we done!"

"What have we done! You mean what have you done?" said Betro, who was torn up and filthy; tears fell from his eyes. A lot of his family and friends were dead.

Dorgo then rode off; his beast had a nasty limp, Slyther had slashed it during their fight. Dorgo started gathering his people up, getting ready to leave. Betro did the same, noticing that there were some townspeople who had rushed to their help amongst the slain. But there were a sill a few, who were still arriving from town. These people were shocked at the carnage but soon recovered and helped Betro and the others tend to the wounded. This took some time.

Betro then noticed that Dorgo had collapsed to the floor from exhaustion, Betro was tempted to leave him there but his conscious got the better of him and he waded over with some others and helped him up. At the time Betro wasn’t too sure why he did this. Did he feel sorry for Dorgo? The kid who had been a bullied by the other kids of the town or was it that he wanted justice or revenge?

Afterwards they returned to town, some of the injured riding the beasts. While others were carried or dragged. Dorgo slept right through the night and into the mid-afternoon before he woke up, moaning and groaning. But he was soon shouting when he realized where he was. The fact that he was strapped to a stretcher didn’t help either. Betro was soon by his side calming him down. Dorgo did so but he didn’t speak a word until he was released two days later, saying that he would never come back. He also hoped that the townspeople would rot in hell. Some of the people of the town wanted his head but Betro and a few others said that they must let him wander off on his own and see how he fares away from the food and shelter of the village.

Betro and the others were happy to see the back of him, with the amount of work they had to get done; there was no room for troublemakers. With most of the townsfolk gone there no more time for beast races or anything of that kind, the people had to focus on keeping themselves alive and this feat was made harder by the fact that most of the slain were the young men who ran the village. The next few weeks passed like this until Dorgo and the much smaller group of raiders showed up. The townsfolk were weary and tired, but they ready to fight. However they soon found out that they didn't have to. The raiders were there to make peace. They couldn’t survive out in the wilderness by themselves anymore. Hunger and desperation had overcome their hate and bitterness but the question on Betro’s mind, was for how long? And he was sure that some of townspeople had revenge on their minds. He some times thought about it, himself.

The End

Cold Sunshine and Computers

The past couple of days has been wonderful in the lazy department except for writing on a new novel and getting clean-up done on a few programs and the beginning of a new computer project for Church. Today has been an odd day because it appears I have come down with some sort of bug and have felt crappy for most of the day. Still, there is good news to report on this beautifully sunshiny, but cold, day.

FRIDAY there will be a piece of new fiction from a first time author. The title of the piece is "Forest Walker" - a wonderful science fiction story.

Next week we will have a book review - the only problem with that is I am not sure which book I will review first. There will also be a MOVIE REVIEW of The Triangle and hopefully NARNIA!

Plus, there will be POETRY and even some fiction, just not serialized fiction at this time because of the new novel-writing taking place.

I am hesitant to say this but, I think we finally have things back on track!

Fathoming Goodies

There is a rush when someone compliments me on something I have cooked or baked. It is a different rush from when someone compliments me on something I have written. The ones I get about food make me feel truly accomplished in something. Since Christmas is drawing closer with each day my thoughts are turning to baking - cookies and cakes and pies and breads and oh so much more! The urge, the need to cook is so overwhelming I am pretty sure I will make time out during the day for food - home cooked food. I like it when seasons make me more active in the kitchen, but not overly active. It is a good thing I believe.

Cold and Gray and Christmas-time

Today it has been very cold and the sky is filled with that teasing dark gray promising snow but all it has really done has rained or drizzled or just spat at some snow but nothing is really falling. Despite the absence of snow, the weather is helping to lure me into a full out Christmas mood. How can it not? I mean, it is cold and there are Christmas programs on TV and Christmas music on a couple of radio stations, and the bells of the Salvation Army people are ringing at nearly every store you visit.

A few people are complaining, of course, about the "commercialism" of Christmas. But first, let's look at all of the stores and all of the businesses that have now instructed their employees that they can no longer say "Merry Christmas" to customers or people who wish them the same. I can't help but look at these people like they are insane. First and foremost this is the celebration of Jesus Christ (you know Christmas?) and His birthday. This is a religious holiday no matter how much or how hard people are trying to take the religious significance out of it. Accept it. Deal with it. Enjoy handing out presents and singing beautiful hymns. Enjoy going to Church. Enjoy being with family and friends. Enjoy life, because that is what this season is all about. Life and love as exemplified by Jesus Christ. As for the "commercialism" it is the people who are putting themselves on soap boxes and want to change everyone's mind while they are patting themselves on the back and probably shopping on the sly that need to really look at what they are doing and let the religious aspect of the holiday shine forth in love and smiles and good wishes to all men, not just now, but always.

I Think This Is True

"The road to success is always under construction." My fortune cookie said.

Looking At Myself

I am quite surprised when I can actually see myself changing. Sometimes it seems as if I am the greatest project I have ever discovered. At times I stop working on myself and just let me simmer, let everything that is me just stew and meld into the next phase of who I am or who I am going to be. Last night I realized I have changed a little more.

It seems that no longer do I just look to myself for care, but also to B, to my friends, and to absolute strangers. The homeless and their cold this winter has been weighing on me heavily. It has become so large a burden that in order to get it away from me I have decided to start collecting blankets and get them out to Lexington's homeless. Can you imagine how cold they must be? It would be nice to think ALL the homeless of our cities and towns head south for the winter, but that just isn't true or realistic: We don't see so many homeless because a good number have migrated south, but there are some who still remain because this is their home and why would we want them to leave their home?

Not only am I slowly beginning to get the word out I need blankets, I will be contacting the police station on Monday so I can start getting some blankets out to those who really need them, those who can't make it into shelters.

Why am I thinking of the homeless? I am not sure. Maybe God has placed this on my heart to do now - after all, we are supposed to help those less fortunate, and it goes beyond just making a donation here and there. The doing of the thing is just as important as the caring. Isn't that what Jesus tried to tell us on more than one occasion? It didn't really hit home for me until this weight (it isn't a burden) came upon me about the homeless.

You know, maybe, just maybe I am figuring out how to be a Christian after all.

Dinner With The Bishop and Church Beforehand

Being an Orthodox Christian it isn't unusual to have a bishop show up for special events, especially now that we have an actual American bishop who is just in Toledo, Ohio. This man travels to over a hundred Churches in his area and last night Bishop M came to celebrate St. Andrew's Day with us. Saint Andrew is our parish's patron saint as well as the name of our Church. Usually we don't celebrate Saint Andrew's Day on the day because of conflicting schedules, but yesterday was the eve of Saint Andrew's Day and we actually got to celebrate it with the Bishop!

Bishop M is a soft spoken man. He has kind eyes and comes out into the congregation to give his homilies. Even though he is quiet and kind I don't believe I would want to push him to the other side he must have. I think it could actually prove frightening. After all, he is a Bishop of the Orthodox Church.

Last night half of the service, or a good portion of the service, was done in Arabic. I had not experienced that before. It was wonderful to hear. My ear picked up the cadence so quickly and I loved how the hymns sounded. The only bad thing, and I am almost ashamed to say it, was a visiting priest (an archpriest no less) who was back where I sit and each and every time I tried to pray seriously he would talk to his friend and hearing whisperings and the hissings of whisperings made it difficult to concentrate on what I was trying to pray about or to even pay attention to the service itself. It became SO bad that I actually thought of shushing the priest! But, what is the protocol for that? Was it allowed? If it had been anyone else I know I would have shushed them, but should I have gone ahead and done so to a priest? When service was over we went to a wonderful place called Equine Woods Country Club for dinner with the bishop.

It was a beautiful place, as I expected it would be since it was a country club after all. The bishop and priests had a table all to themselves in the very center of the other tables, and myself and B and some others found ourselves at a very interesting, and it turns out, pivotal table. We were the first ones after the Bishop and priests to get out food.

The tables were formal and it was beautiful to behold them. I loved the meal and it was quite warm and almost cozy in the dining hall we were in, which was different from what I truly expected. It was almost as if we had been having a very formal dinner in a friend's home. Christmas music wafted over the room and added the perfect touch to the conversation which ranged from humor to serious and somewhere in between.

As I was looking around the room it was plain there were not many people there from Saint Andrew's in number, but the ones who were there were people I knew, people I talked to every Sunday or whenever we happened to be together. I felt as if I had family at every table, not just acquaintances, but real family, people I could go to if I needed something, even if that something was a shoulder to lean on for just a short time.

Dinner with the bishop made me appreciate even more the Church family relationship I hadn't fully expected to develop, and I am thankful for it.

Interesting Piece of News

Fantasy Revealed has apparently caught the eye of an editor because I received an email that suggested finishing up the story and submitting it to a book publisher. Since I don't want to jinx anything I will leave the publisher anonymous. So, you won't be reading any more of the story here, but perhaps some time soon you will have a hard copy of it! Doesn't that just dust your turtles!? It does mine. Of course, this means a lot more work is going to have to be done on it, and Christmas is here almost, so things are really looking up and out all of a sudden. Now, for your reading pleasure, since I am finally feeling well, I will have to come up with something interesting. Anyone have any requests?

HAPPY THANKSGIVING!

"No one can really pull you up very high — you lose your grip on the rope. But on your own two feet you can climb mountains."

– Louis Brandeis

I am very thankful for the people around me, but these are words I need to remember for myself, especially now. It is difficult to balance how much you should lean on people or ask them to bear for you.

On A Tipsy Note

It is a little late, and I am a little tipsy. Not drunk. Just pleasantly buzzing. No more for me. Even though we haven't eaten dinner or gone to bed yet, I suppose it is officially Thanksgiving. How odd. It still doesn't feel like Thanksgiving. There isn't a sense of joy coursing through me and happy expectations of the day to come. My husband is off from work until Monday. This is good. This is about the best thing that could be happening. Another good thing is that I finally finished the Baldur's Gate video game. I feel accomplished in a geeky sort of way. But it still doesn't feel like a holiday to me. Not really. This makes me feel sad and, somehow, quite determined to enjoy myself. However, this year I don't think I will push it over-hard to be in the Thanksgiving mood, or the Christmas mood. I will let it happen and keep trying to feel glee about the season. I understand why the suicide rate goes up around the holidays: there is much to look forward to, but when something is missing, or someone they are a very difficult thing to take. No, I am not thinking about suicide, it is just - I can understand it. It may be because I am a little tipsy. It may just be that I understand. Hopefully this feeling, or lack there of, will pass relatively quickly and Christmas will be the joy it has always.

Not Just Another Thanksgiving Post, Sort Of

I have been racking my brain trying to think of something I am thankful for that you haven't already ready about. Yes, I am thankful for those things too - a roof over my head, food in my belly, friends, the love of my life in reality (and not just dreaming about it), family, friends I can love and most importantly trust, and to be alive. One thing that keeps running through my thoughts though, is that, well, I am very thankful for words and for anyone and everyone who reads this little blog.

Happy

Thanksgiving!

Everyone!

Tuesday

Today has been recovery day #2 for my back. Yes, my back. Yesterday morning at aproximately 4:23 AM my back decided life was not supposed to be pain free and went out. This means I spent most of yesterday in the bed and today I have just played video games and let myself recover. I actually needed it so I am feeling much better. Everything will proceed accordingly beginning tomorrow. I hope. It has been fun playing Baldur's Gate for most of the day. Sort of like reading when you have the flu and get to miss school.

Don't Ask, But This Is Appropriate

"Pain is a part of being alive, and we need to learn that. Pain does not last forever, nor is it necessarily unbeatable, and we need to be taught that."


– Harold Kushner

Pre-Thanksgiving 2005 Thoughts

Thanksgiving 2005 is fast approaching. It is truly the beginning of the holiday season. The count down to Christmas begins. It is the magical time of family and when you actually bring to mind just how much you truly appreciate your friends.

Just as we look forward to the present approaching jubilation, our minds - at least mine - are also drawn to the past ones and our memories explode: Family gathered around a table over-flowing with food to the extent people had a hard time finding room for their plates. Voices tinkling and ringing with laughter and stories both true and added to for the purpose of telling. My stomach could never hold as much as I wanted, but that doesn't mean I didn't try.

Back then I took the gatherings for granted because I expected them to always continue. It was a staple of my life. I did not truly comprehend how many wonderful memories were then being created.

For a while recently, these memories made me hurt because two of the people who made this time truly special had gone on to where I could not yet follow. This time made me quite aware they were not here and life, my life, had changed so savagely and permanently. The happy memories of the past were like burning acid to my very Soul. It didn't feel as if anything could ever be good again.

I honestly expected this year to be the same, filled with the same pain, and I was preparing, subconsciously perhaps, for the pain to come, and the tears. But this year, so far, is proving different.

Yes, I miss my Mommy and Daddy still. There are days when the awareness they are no longer on this plane with me tears open my heart all over again. Their absence still affects me and I have not gotten used to it, as some may suspect. I am dealing with it better. Proof of this is that this coming holiday season is not causing me pain. I cannot say I am looking forward to everything, nor am I desperate to make the season enjoyable for everyone else. And all those memories of the past? I smile at them now and I am finding myself encouraged to make more happy memories.

No, I am not used to the past truly being the past, but now I can let new, happy memories be made, and my life to go on.

Another Piece of Poetry

It seems I am hitting a poetry streak these days. Not one to hold in the inspiration, I am letting the pen, or in this case the pencil, do what it needs to do in conjunction with my brain. I hope you enjoy it.

No
By H.A. Handy
Copyright (c) 2005 by H.A. Handy

Counting words
Dreaming dreams of fancy
Escaping Here for Fantasies
Why does it have to be so much work?

Rejection slips
Writers' markets
Research in dusty rooms
Where is the glamor?

Wakeful nights
Wondering about plots
Quick notes in a fuzzy sleepy brain
Is this how it is supposed to be?

Would I change anything if I could?
Is it even possible?
Would life be as interesting?
No.

Poetry

A Dollar a Hope
By H.A. Handy
Copyright (c) 2005 by H.A. Handy

If I had a dollar
for every time I said "I hope"
nothing would be out of my reach
because I would be
as rich as rich could be
sipping champagne
ordering something from my personal chef
the very moment I thought I was hungry.

You would not have to fear
when the bills could be paid
or if there was food in the cupboards
or even if you could go to school
and study to your heart's content
knowing life's hardships were diminished.

Houses would be clean
life would move with greased precision
finally there would be peace for us
and for those we love --
if I had a dollar
for every time
I said
"I hope."

A Prayer of Single Persons

A PRAYER OF SINGLE PERSONS


O Blessed Lord, who hast set up for us an example of ideal purity, strengthen me, I beseech thee, when temptation besets me, and when strong passions seek to overwhelm me, that I may remain constant in virtue and innocent in thought, word, and deed, doing such things only as are well-pleasing unto thee; grant me growth in wisdom and understanding, that I may serve thee in holiness all the days of my life: through the intercessions of thine all-immaculate Mother and of all thy Saints, especially my patron Saint N. Amen.

Eddie Guerrero - Dead At Age 38

Eddie Guerrero, dead at age 38. God bless you Eddie. Memory eternal.

A friend of mine called me earlier tonight to ask me if I was watching Monday Night RAW. I was watching Surface. He then told me one of my favorite wrestling personalities, Eddie Guerrero was dead and RAW was having a special tribute to him. I switched to see what was going on.

According to information I found at WWE.com was that Eddie had been found dead in his motel room in Minneapolis on Sunday. The cause of death is currently unknown.

Entertainers touch us in some way. They become like friends we have never met. Sometimes we expel excess energy through them, which, I think, is what I do with wrestling. Eddie Guerrero was one of my favorites. Even when he was a bad guy you found yourself liking him and wondering why on earth he was a bad guy in the first place. I feel as if I have lost a high school friend I had gotten out of touch with.

Eddie Guerrero leaves behind a wife and three daughters, one of which is only three years old.

Flashing Blues and the Smell of Ozone

This past Sunday was an interesting day. Since I don't want to have to re-write everything go check it out on my LJ at

http://www.livejournal.com/users/mountainlaurel/336075.html

Luck vs Hard Work

"Luck? I don't know anything about luck. I've never banked on it and I'm afraid of people who do. Luck to me is something else: hard work — and realizing what is opportunity and what isn't."

– Lucille Ball

You know, this is kind of how I view luck. It sort of surprised me it came from Lucille Ball. She must have been one tough lady. I think I need to read a biography or three on her. My interest has just been officially pricked.

Words to the Wind

I couldn't go off to bed without relaying something interesting, nay even amusing that happened earlier this evening.

A storm came up quickly with a little thunder, a little rain, and a little wind. I say "little" because this was nothing like a hurricane in any size shape or form. As the storm came up and as I was in here debating on whether or not it was dangerous enough to warrant me to cease writing and turn the computer off the wind picked up this mournful pace and whispering whistle. The rain pounded outside and in my minds eye I could see the street and how it must look in the rain beneath the street lights when voices began approaching.

There were two distinct voices - a man and a woman - and one that was distant sounding and almost garbled (I couldn't tell if it was a man or a woman) and sounded fake. Laughter was in each voice. Finally the man clumped and splashed closer by the sounds of him and his voice verified he was probably just across the street.

"Come on GOD! Do it! Hit me! I dare ya! You don't have the balls to hit me!"

I stopped writing. I stopped moving. I just listened. He said it twice. Each time it was filled with cocky pride and almost hope God really would hit him, and also half afraid.

What would he have done if God had obliged him?

I think he was a little relieved nothing happened, and somewhat saddened. I would be.

CDC May Distribute 1918 Killer Flu

My Mom was born in 1918 and my Mammaw spoke in a different tone when she spoke about "the sickness" that swept the nation and her little part of it in 1918. She was pregnant and terrified for her baby and when the baby was born she was terrified for herself and the new baby (my Mom) and for the rest of her family. Now this very thing that killed so many people has been re-created. For what purpose? I mean, really, what purpose?

Researchers said they believed it would help them develop defenses against the threat of a future pandemic evolving from bird flu, which was found to have similar characteristics as the 1918 virus.

Is this the only reason millions of dollars was spent on re-creating this thing? I can see some good behind it, but not like it was the main reason the virus was re-created. How long did it take?

One of the more disturbing elements from the article (you can read the full article by clicking on the heading of this post) was this . . .

Dangerous biological agents are routinely shipped through commercial carriers like FedEx or DHL, following government packaging, safety and security guidelines.

It makes me wonder exactly what has been shipped along with my book orders.

Not a pleasant thought.

A Late Day's Beginnings

It is a little past one o'clock in the afternoon and I am just having my first cup of coffee for the day. Is this any indication my day has gotten off to a late start? My dear hubby B did not feel well this morning, so he did not go to work. My plan was to lay there for a little while until he fell into a good deep sleep and then slip out of the bed and start the day with the things I needed to do (you know, like write on the new novel, etc.). The next thing I know is B is gently shaking me awake and saying good "late" morning. It was 11:30!

Of course I didn't panic. I mean, I can write today at any time so I just went with the flow and talked and just had a good time being with B and we got the morning started off - it just isn't the normal sort of morning for me - except for perhaps on Saturdays - and I can definitely feel a difference.

I feel rested and refreshed, but when I look at the time I am quite bemused and almost confused! So much would normally have been done by now and I could settle into a good writing span and the scenes would flow quite well and the day would progress - if it was a normal day of course.

You can never plan for these sort of days I have come to realize. You just go with the flow.

So, here I am, flowing.

One of those Quiet Days

It has been a while since I have actually permitted myself to have a quiet day. I need them every so often, especially when getting over a bad spell of sickness. I need a day just to gather up who I am and what I am going to accomplish, be satisfied with myself and what is occurring around me, and just relax. So, today I have played games and just let my head and heart take a break from all of the fuss. It would be nice if we could just get to do this more often, and, yes, I do realize I am quite lucky to be able to have to have one of these days without risking losing a job or something else detrimental happening. The novel can wait, has waited, for several days, so one more won't hurt it any less. Hopefully, tomorrow, when I rev up and start all over, things will move just as smoothly as butter.

Sort of a Thought Mood Today

I am really trying to get back into the regimen of my writing scheme that has fluctuated horribly over the past few weeks. Luckily I can say I am beginning to see spots of change and I am hoping you all will as well.

Since I am being all serious in my head and such at the moment, why not check out the following. I thought it was pretty cool.

http://music.yahoo.com/musicvideos/genrehub.asp?genreID=7318647

Queen Christina Speaks!

"It is necessary to try to surpass oneself always; this occupation ought to last as long as life."

– Queen Christina

Novel Hooooooooooo!

The novel is progressing! Yesterday I actually got down a solid 2,477 words before I actually had to stop to do a wee bit of research.

Forward!

Yesterday I received a rejection for a story. It was not the normal, typical fill-in-the-blank rejection slips, it was an actually note, and signed at that! This wasn't the novel I sent out, it was a short story, one I still feel wonderfully about. So, out into the masses it is going to go again, I just quite haven't picked out the destination for it quite yet. Yes, I am encouraged!

Plus, today is November 1st, it is the beginning of NaNoWriMo and I am quite enjoying myself. I have taken the morning off just for myself and am now concentrating on writing this afternoon. The novel is, of course, the second "Turtle" novel and this one is where Turtle actually gets down and dirty and solving some murders in a scary sort of way. I hope the idea that is brewing and ready to steam is really as good as I feel, sense it is!

Forward ho! Y'all!

Because It's Halloween

Angeline’s Halloween
By H.A. Handy
Copyright (C) by H.A. Handy

Angeline stood quiet as a mouse just behind the front door. Her heart was hammering so hard she was sure he would be able to hear it on the other side. Please don’t let him hear me. Please don’t let him hear me. Thud thud thump went her heart. Angeline’s breath came out in an almost soft gasp which made her cup her hands over her nose and mouth and concentrate on her breathing for a moment. Somehow she managed to breathe more shallowly as her ears strained for any sound from outside.

Please don’t let him hear me. Please don’t let him hear me.

A shadow passed beneath the door. He was so close. He was so very close. Angeline pulled her feet back as far as she could lest he see a shadow of his own. Would he drop down to his hands and knees and try and look under the door through that tiny little crack? If he did, would he be able to see anything? Angeline’s heart pounded harder.

Let him go away. Please let him go away!

The boards creaked just outside the door and the shadow disappeared. He had gotten the others, but he wasn’t going to get her. She had seen all of the scary movies and she knew the mistakes the survivors made to end up to be the latest victims. Angeline was smart -- she wouldn’t make those same mistakes.

A shadow crossed at the window just to her right. It paused. Angeline stopped breathing. She closed her eyes. He won’t see me. He won’t see me. Go away. Please go away! As if he had heard some part of her mind, the shadow moved away from the window and the sound of retreating footsteps down the fire escape could be heard.

There was an urge to pull back the curtain and look outside but Angeline stopped it. Remember the movies. Remember the movies. Angeline stood where she was for ages. Silent. Still. Time dragged by until it seemed as if she had always been standing behind the door.

“Angeline...An-ge-line!” came a sing-song voice. “Come out, come out wherever you are?” It was Greg’s voice, not his voice. What if he had gotten to Greg and Greg was now helping him? Angeline listened as people began milling outside in the parking lot downstairs.

“You’ve won Angeline, come out!” he called.

“Yeah, come on Angeline, we’re going to be late for the party!” Monica called happily from the parking lot. Did they always say that in the movies? “Come on, Angeline! This costume is hot!” Angeline’s throat longed to call out and laugh and join in the fun, but, what if it hadn’t been an act, a simple game of pre-Halloween hide-and-seek for costumed college students? What if it turned out to be real in some way? What would she do then? The movies hadn’t really ever touched on that, but they did touch on deviousness and he was devious. He could have used the pre-party costumed hide-and-seek just for such an event – taking them all out.

“Come on, let’s go,” he said. “She’s in one of her moods again.” Car doors opened and closed and then an engine started. Angeline smiled. Had she indeed won? Were they all gone?

Slowly, carefully, Angeline hunched down and glanced out the thin curtained window to see the car filled with people who were almost her friends backing out of the driveway and smiled even brighter to herself. Maybe she had won after all, but she needed to make sure.

One of her moods? Angeline’s brow furrowed slightly.

Didn’t they really watch the movies and see how it was all played?

Angeline eased over to her closet and took out the axe she hadn’t had to use since last Halloween.

Well, it was time they learned.

One of the Coolest Places on the Web

This is truly one of the neatest places to go visit. So, go vist. Just click on the title and it will take you there - ThinkGeek.com.

A Cold Blue Funk

For the past several days I have been in a funk. A cold blue funk. I usually get this way when cold weather begins to happen it seems, it is just that this time it has been a horrible cold blue funk. Nothing I have attempted to do has actually been accomplished, although there are many plans for something, many things. Now I am heading out of that funk where I feel as if I am a failure at writing and the thought of just giving up and quitting telling stories has slowly begun to pass. When the weather is warm there is much hope in me, when the weather cools and the sky begins to gray there is not much hope inside to find a spark to keep going, to keep doing what I truly love and what truly makes me happy.

I could have posted many things these past few days but it would have been so dark and depressing I couldn't very well see what anyone would want to even read the News for! It possibly could fit in with Halloween, and I will try and look at it that way next year, since I will have the blog to help me remember what I did and didn't do.

Oodles of Love and Puddles

click to enlarge

Being the happy and very proud mama to a bouncing dog named JoJo, this just seemed SO appropriate for today. Upon seeing her daddy off this morning and giving me and our other, older dog Gabby much lovings, JoJo promptly found something to run and play with and so kept bouncing and play-growling, barking and having all the happy fun of youth's energy and life that could be wrung out of the moment until she just collapsed in a heap, her tail still wagging and her eyes still sparkling.

Yes, I understand the drool.

### ### ###

Today is Friday. I am happy to see the weekend arrive. This has not been a "bad" week. In fact, I am most grateful to have it headache free. I am looking forward, however, to having Kolbar around and hopefully getting the garbage taken out. I also need a break from writing even though I KNOW ideas and words will disturb me all weekend long until I am longing for Monday or a moment when I am to myself so I can deposit them upon paper or the computer.

Power Words From Leonard Cohen

Was listening to Leonard Cohen last night and found myself just sitting and listening. It seems when he sings that's what I do. Sit and listen. The words that come out of the radio or MP3 player or the computer are captivating and so true on so many different levels. The song that really struck down to my soul is "In the Tower of Song."

Tower Of Song

Well my friends are gone and my hair is grey
I ache in the places where I used to play
And I'm crazy for love but I'm not coming on
I'm just paying my rent every day
Oh in the Tower of Song


I said to Hank Williams: how lonely does it get?
Hank Williams hasn't answered yet
But I hear him coughing all night long
A hundred floors above me
In the Tower of Song


I was born like this, I had no choice
I was born with the gift of a golden voice
And twenty-seven angels from the Great Beyond
They tied me to this table right here
In the Tower of Song


So you can stick your little pins in that voodoo doll
I'm very sorry, baby, doesn't look like me at all
I'm standing by the window where the light is strong
Ah they don't let a woman kill you
Not in the Tower of Song


Now you can say that I've grown bitter but of this you may be sure
The rich have got their channels in the bedrooms of the poor
And there's a mighty judgment coming, but I may be wrong
You see, you hear these funny voices
In the Tower of Song


I see you standing on the other side
I don't know how the river got so wide
I loved you baby, way back when
And all the bridges are burning that we might have crossed
But I feel so close to everything that we lost
We'll never have to lose it again


Now I bid you farewell, I don't know when I'll be back
There moving us tomorrow to that tower down the track
But you'll be hearing from me baby, long after I'm gone
I'll be speaking to you sweetly
From a window in the Tower of Song
Yeah my friends are gone and my hair is grey
I ache in the places where I used to play
And I'm crazy for love but I'm not coming on
I'm just paying my rent every day
Oh in the Tower of Song

(L. Cohen) Stranger Music, Inc.

(c) 1996-2005 SONY BMG Music (Canada) Inc.

Fantasy Revealed, Part VIX

Fantasy Revealed
By H.A. Handy
Copyright 2005 (C) by H.A. Handy


(Part VIX)# # # # # # #



The table was a living tree whose large root rose up out of the ground to actually form it and our chairs were living vines and twigs that wound and bound themselves into that shape. Each chair was attached to the table in some form or fashion and were green and lovely, and quite comfortable. Vegetables, fruits, breads and cheeses filled the table itself to almost overflowing as my companions and I sat down. Elira sat at the head of the table and other elves served us with their flowing hair and robes giving them the allure of wisps.

There was a tall, almost wispy male who sat at Elira’s right hand. He had silver bracers at his wrists and a silver band around his long white-silver hair. He had not said anything the entire time we had been at the table and ate sparingly. To Elira’s left as an older elf, and he looked old, ancient in fact. He wore the same type of bands as the one on the right, except they were etched in detailed leaf and vine patterns. This turned out to be Elira’s father, Galan. The younger one on her right was Delentrol, her husband. All around us sat generals and the finest warriors and poets, according to Dremor, that Silver Wood had to offer. It should have made me feel special I suppose, but all it did was make me feel uncomfortable and very much a fraud.

Besides myself and Dremor, Fredrick was also present, more composed now than what he had been earlier. Kolbar also sat at the table, but there was a good space between himself and his elven table companions. All through the meal I could feel Kolbar’s eyes upon me which only added to my discomfort.

“I thank you on behalf of myself and my traveling companions,” Dremor said, raising his glass to Elira and the other elves who sat at the table. Elira inclined her head graciously and lifted her own goblet of purest gem and smiled.

“It is only our pleasure to help in times such as these,” she said. “Which way do you plan on taking from here?”

“That is up to the Keeper,” Dremor said. He stiffened slightly. So did I. “It is she who will direct our journey.”

Elira’s tinkling laugh wafted over the table, “And this is surprising news to our Keeper, I see.” I felt myself blush slightly as I nodded in agreement. “There is time and space here for you to rest long enough to decide which direction you need to go, Keeper,” she said.

“Thank you.” Part of me was relieved, and part of me was still terrified. These people, this world was depending on me, me who had no experience of being a hero or of even fully standing up for myself. Everything I had ever failed to do flowed through my mind at that moment and I could not imagine for the life of me why these people could trust me as they did! I had no earthly idea of what I was supposed to do or how I was supposed to do it! All I knew for certain was that they were depending on me and I could either give up or go on, and, at that point, I was not at all certain what I was going to do. Everything felt very over-whelming and heavy to me at that moment and the thought of having a day or two just to think, to let everything settle (if that could even be possible).

The meal ended, thankfully, not too long after and each of us were led to our quarters for the time being – all of them were in a large tree with vines limbs that were magically encouraged to grow into steps leading up to large boughs where more limbs were encouraged to form walls and roofs. There were no rails on the outside of the steps and I found myself keeping a hand on the tree itself as we ascended. Elira and the others, except for Fredrick (how tall it must have been to him!), did not pay attention to the winding stairs and the absence of a rail.

My room was really a small house nestled high in the tree. It was furnished with a table, a couple of chairs carved from wood it seemed, and a large, comfortable bed. Large orange gems lay upon several clusters of stones throughout the room. Heat radiated slightly from them. When Elira had excused herself with promises she would have someone return for me, she motioned for the others to follow her.

“I’ll be staying right here,” Kolbar said flatly. “The floor is good and solid and I AM a gentleman,” he said. Elira looked to Fredrick who shrugged, and then nodded. “Only for your protection, Keeper,” Kolbar added. There was a sparkle to his dark eyes that made me almost furious, and also amused me. Dremor, not at all happy about the situation nodded, bowed at the door and stepped outside. Fredrick followed and Elira smiled a soft, welcoming smile, and then backed out the door. A thick curtain fell down behind her leaving me totally alone with Kolbar.

“All of this is a bit much isn’t it,” he said, quite matter-of-factly. “Safe and secure as you can be in your world, you come here to uncertainty and possible death to assist a people you never even heard of before.”

“I’ve heard of you, but just in stories,” I said suddenly. Kolbar smiled down into the heating stones.

“I saw your face at the meal,” he continued. “You need space to rest and think, and let whatever is leading us tell you where we should go. Dremor is a good fellow. He is brave and kind, even if he is a little dense at times, and he would die to help you and help our lands, but sometimes he puts pressure on a person by merely being in the same room with them.” Kolbar chuckled softly. “I know from experience. Fredrick is a wizard and curious. He will have questions flowing out his ears as well as his mouth for you, which keeps you from hearing your own thoughts, much less the full content of his questions.” I found myself smiling. “He is a good enough chap as well, even if he is a wizard. He too would die to assist you and our land. Me,” he said with a heavy sigh, “I am keeping a promise I made to a very kind king. I would die for my land, and if you can save my land, I will die for you. Besides, there is something out of place about you, and I understand it. You are out of place, and, at the same time, right where you need to be, even if you don’t understand it at the moment.” Kolbar suddenly looked uncomfortable. “I will be right outside. If you need anything, just call me. No one will bother you as long as I am here.”

“Thank you,” I said, feeling quite small and very close to tears. Kolbar bowed and went through the heavy curtain door to leave me alone. Ella and Enyo both yawned and stretched. They looked at me hopefully, their tails wagging almost in tandem. I crawled up onto the bed and they followed. I had planned to just lay down and think for a moment, but ended up falling fast asleep.

No Matter What We Have Planned, Things Change

The illness I have been suffering from, I believe, is over, which means things may actually sort of get back to order here and other places.

Looking Out at the Sunshine

Today is Saturday. It is a day of rest. Both I and B need it. This past bout of sickness has worn both of us out even though I am the one who was ill. It really does take a lot out of a person to care for someone who is sick. I didn't realize how much it really took out of you until I began caring for my Mom before she died. It was really tough. Not only do you have the physical part to worry about such as medications and taking blood pressures at prescribed times and tons of other technical things to remember, but you also try and keep the spirits of the person who is sick upbeat, no matter what the inevitable outcome is.

You can never let yourself get down in front of them either. You can never let yourself get upset with them, too. What would it do to their morale if you did? So you bottle up all of the pain until you are alone for a few hours and you write it out (which is what I tried to do in my case) or you cry it out (which is something I did quite often). B is a strong man but sometimes I am simply amazed at what all he does for me without complaint. So, today, I have decided, is his day. Whatever he wants to do is fine with me. The sun is shining and it is a brilliantly warm autumn day. Currently he is playing Halo on the X-Box.

Yes, whatever he wishes today I will comply with because he deserves it, because I love him, because I am grateful, because it is good seeing him smile this way.

I'm Alive for the Most Part

Thank you, first and foremost, Cheyenne who has been keeping The News running for me since my downtime on horrible sickness; and thank you for all of those wonderful e-mails of "feel better" and "get well soon" i just found from all of you out there who read my little blog and enjoy it. I am still not totally well, but well enough to sit down and jot a few things before taking more medication and possibly lying down or kill a few brain cells by trying to find something good on TV this afternoon.

Fantasy Revealed is here and ready to go...almost. I re-read what I had and discovered a lot of problems, probably because I wrote it while becoming deathly ill and didn't notice the bents until today upon reading it over before posting. So, it should be up the first of next week because I should be on some type of a normal schedule of feeling good and not being ill any more (crosses fingers). Sorry, but I have been very ill and, well, it is going to take some time to recover fully, but writing should start back up next week as normal.

I Expect, Poetry

I Expect
by Shane Stewart
copyright 2005 Shane Stewart

I expect
That the sun will come out.
That it’s going to rain.
That summer will be hot,
And winter cold,
And that I’ll complain about both
At least once.

I expect
That tomorrow will be bad.
That the next day will be good.
That today will be mediocre,
And horrible,
And excellent in parts and times
Before it’s through.

I expect
That I’ll be alone.
That I’ll fall in love.
That someone I care for
And don’t dare imagine life without
Will be gone far too soon
For my mortal tastes.

And that
I’ll be kissed,
And maybe slapped,
Relished and avoided,
Again and again as days go by.
But above all things, I expect
That I’ll see you again.

The Beginnings and No More Headaches

The migraine of the past two weeks is gone as of this morning.

I woke up at 5:00 this morning because my JoJo wanted out and she told me and not B who was also sleeping soundly. When B came back to bed he asked me how I was feeling. For a moment I just lay there waiting for the inevitable hammering to begin, as usual, but it didn't. "I DON'T HAVE A HEADACHE!" was my cry and we celebrated with laughter and holding each other tight. It was a very good morning while we waited for the alarm clock to go off. Pleasant. In fact, it was the most pleasant morning than I have had for two or more weeks, so, yes, I relished every moment of it.

B went to work and left me in bed so I could get some much needed real sleep and rest. I needed it. When I finally crawled out of bed, JoJo decided to lay there for a few more minutes without me, I felt new. Everything seemed new and prosperous, wonderfully good despite the dreary outside and the cool temps of autumn. I did try to take the kitchen in hand but my legs started shaking horribly which made me quite startled: I am weak. This means I have been seriously ill. It is amazing how so much pain can make you not realize how sick you really are. Sometimes it can be a blessing, of course, and sometimes it isn't. I still have not decided if this instance was a blessing or a curse, so just decided to take one part of my life and order it a little better so I can actually say I have done something productive today.

So, the part of my life I chose was my writing life. Book Two of the Turtle series is ready to start. I signed it up for NaNoWriMo because, well, I need to get some things ordered and organized and some research done before I actually start putting words down on it, and I figured that will take most, if not all, of this month. So, I organized my NaNoWriMo for the novel, selected a journal I will be filling with notes and research material for the story, and went over a short story I am going to be submitting somewhere by the end of the week or the beginning of next week, I hope.

I have journaled in LJ and gone through much email and am actually seeing a difference in the on-line clutter as compared to what it was and how it is now. The clutter on my desk is totally different, of course, and I will have to attend to that very soon, but I still have time and this is good.

It is amazing how much time I have lost in the writing world because of the silly headaches. I don't like losing writing time. It makes me feel as if I am failing or have lost something I will never be able to gain again. I know, this is silly, but this is the way it makes me feel.

Now, on to more writing. FANTASY REVEALED will be up tomorrow.

Angst

I am sick and tired of being sick!

"Just don't give up on trying to do what you really want to do. Where there is love and inspiration, I don't think you can go wrong."

– Ella Fitzgerald

A New Month, A New Day, Same Headache

I am quite simply tired of this headache. I am tired to the bone of it! I want it to go away now. One good thing I can say is that the headache is not consistent now, it left me alone for almost a week, but has now returned to make the scalp sore and the eye twitch, but it isn't as bad as it has been. It sort of ebbs and flows. Sometimes it feels as if it has a high and low "tide" if you will.

Yes, I am tired of the headache from the infected bone behind my ear. Yep, tired of it I say.

Fantasy Revealed, VIII

Fantasy Revealed, Part VIII
By H.A. Handy
Copyright (c) 2005 by H.A. Handy

--VIII--

We were under the castle hill and just left of it. Fire was writhing from a tower and there were hundreds of men fighting on both sides as well as elves. The only dwarves I saw were short and thick and had the King’s colors upon them.

Horses lay dead here and there and the smell of blood was thick in the air. The moans and cries of wounded men were everywhere. I thought “men” because I didn’t have name for what mass of men were before me.

The king, in armor and raising Excalibur, shouted something I couldn’t understand and his forces poured from the castle and fortress. Peasant from below suddenly rushed in from behind to fight for their home and king. Cappa’s frightened mewing made me look for her. I didn’t see her at all for several seconds until Kolbar reappeared and in his vest, at his right vest, Cappa was tucked unceremoniously, and each time she tried to break for it, Kolbar’s large hand tucked her safely inside his vest again. I saw a trickle of red blood on his chest from where she had scratched him.

Kolbar whistled and horses came thundering from a thicket to our right. Kolbar climbed aboard one bareback and unbridled and motioned for Dremor, Fredrick and I to follow. Packs were slung unceremoniously over my saddle and Fredrick was seated in front of Dremor as our mad dash began away from Camelot, the ring and clash of metal on metal in our ears just before a blaring blast made our bones shudder inside our bodies.

“I need to go back! He has a wizard!” Fredrick screamed as he tried to get down from the galloping horse he was on. Dremor held him in place and reminded him the king knew what he was doing. I didn’t think Fredrick was as certain any more.

“Don’t look back!” Kolbar yelled from his place ahead of us. He bent low over the neck of his horse and the steed picked up speed. I leaned forward and to the right of the horse I was on and it too headed for Kolbar. It seemed our horses were rivals because they loved to run. Dremor, his horse encumbered with Fredrick but no packs, was lagging behind slightly, perhaps to help keep Fredrick seated where he was.

We rode like that until the sun was directly overhead. I had never known horses could run like that, and suspected plain earth horses from my time did not. Kolbar slid from the back of his mount and stretched. Cappa mewed weakly. I dismounted and went to retrieve her. She was damp from Kolbar’s perspiration and very unhappy. She didn’t want to be held, but I was afraid to let her go because if she ran away I was uncertain whether or not my guard would let me look for her until I found her.

With Cappa in my arms and Ella and Enyo roaming about close to me, I slowly came to see we were in the beginnings of a deep wood. In the distance, behind us, smoke rose from Camelot I presumed. How had the battle gone? Was King Arthur still alive? Sadness slowly crept through me, because I had not gotten to look through Camelot or meet more knights and see the truth behind the legend. Cappa mewed again and I stroked her damp fur lightly.

“Good, you have come. Here, let me assist you.” I jumped at the sound of the strange feminine voice who was addressing me and looked up to see a beautiful elven female with long silver hair that reached her feet swaying slightly in the breeze. She was taller than me by several inches, and, in fact, everything about her seemed silver: her eyes were a dark silver and her skin was very pale and had a silver glint to it. The flowing gown she wore was of silver and her hands, the ones that reached out to take Cappa from me, were long fingered and elegant. She looked truly angelic. I turned to say something to Dremor but he, Fredrick and Kolbar were also talking to several other silver elves. They did not act out of sorts so I tried to relax and pretend it was as normal as anything to be in the company of an angelic elven female. Finally I just gave up and gawked, which made the female before me smile and laugh such a tinkling laugh it sounded much like glass chimes in a soft breeze.

“My name is Elira. I am the Lady of Silver Wood.” She bowed low in her introduction, and I returned it as best I could. “You are the Keeper. Dremor said you would come to aide us.” Elira stroked Cappa and her fur became dry and fluffy, truly clean and beautiful. Cappa settled and began purring. I couldn’t help but feel sorry for my dear kitty, but she had come and I needed to care for her.

“I don’t know what help I can give, but I will try,” I said. I could feel Elira’s silver eyes upon me but was suddenly very uncertain about meeting them.

“Our world is different from yours isn’t it.” I nodded. “Usually it is at peace. It is sad for you to witness it not at its best.” Sadness swam through Elira’s voice which made me look up at her. Her eyes were gazing past me to the smoke of Camelot. “The castle still stands. There has been much death on both sides I fear.”

“You can see it?”

Elira smiled down at me, “Yes, it isn’t out of our line of sight.” Elira, Cappa still in her arms, turned slightly and I found myself following. “We have prepared a meal for you. It is the least we can do upon your journey, Keeper.”

Yep, It's Tuesday

Fantasy Revealed will be up tomorrow. Got to writing on it and didn't get finished in the deadline I set for myself, so look for it tomorrow when this section will be finished and posted.

On Keeping With A Continuing Theme
Today is the first day I have felt any where close to "good" in the physical sense in, oh...what?...two weeks almost? Any way, I felt good and made one of those really conscious decisions that now was as good a time as any to put the "changing the internal codes" into action. So, even though I was pretty weak, I did my exercises for the day and began using the Breaking Through the Wall workout journal I got specifically for keeping track of my progress.

I am really such a dork that having something to "write down" my progress in just makes me want to keep it up for some reason. Yeah, I'm really weird like that.

Fish
We lost our largest fish sometime during the night. I called him Goldie because he was the most beautiful golden color you could ever imagine. He was a coi (sp?) and really my favorite. Since B has been home I have been holding a cooking pot with our remain live fish, a beautiful goldfish of grand orange color (Orangehead by name) and making sure he didn't jump out of the cooking pot. Of course I'm not doing it now because I am typing, but you get the meaning.

Plans
Tomorrow I am on clean-up duty and will be doing that for a good chunk of the day before turning to writing and getting everything organized that needs organizing before company arrives and we end up heading out to the Church festival. I need to bake two cakes for the bake sale and am really looking forward to it (now) for some reason. *insert sheepish smile here*

My Discovery of Bettie Page

Saturday B and I were out heading to a Pow Wow in neighboring Richmond, KY when I saw this car that had these bumper stickers. The bumper stickers weren't of sayings, but of an image of a raven-haired beauty. I asked B who that was and he said, "Why it's Bettie Page."

"Who is Bettie Page?" I asked.

"THE pin-up queen of the 1950's and beyond," he said. Then he proceeded to tell me she had just disappeared and how she had really been mistreated by the modeling business and also that she was one of the more famous early nude pin-up dolls of the era. "There are books on her at Barnes and Noble, and I'm pretty sure you can garner some decent information off of the Internet, once you get passed all of the nude photos of course."

So, since I was feeling better today, I did look up Bettie Page and discovered some of the most interesting pictures I have ever seen. When the biographers have said she could be charming and demure, the very "girl next door" and then turn into a dominatrix they weren't lying!



I think it is her eyes and her face.

She wasn't afraid to show what something could possibly be like, even if it was fear or sorrow or even desire and playfulness.



As I have researched and read, I have also discovered she is still alive and in her 80's and doesn't want any photographs of her current self shown. She says simply, "Remember me as I was...."



Wow.

Seeing her, seeing how she really has a body and isn't one of those pencil thin chicks we women are supposed to emulate really has given me hope. She is beautiful in these pictures and I admit I find myself wanting to look like her, except with blond hair of course (or maybe red).



So, now I wonder ... What about Ms. Julie Newmar? Remember Catwoman before Eartha Kit?

"A man cannot be comfortable without his own approval."



– Mark Twain

What Is Going On

Hello all - I am sitting up today. According to the doctors I have an infected bone behind my right ear somewhere. I don't know where, but I do know it hurts and makes me dizzy and feel all sick to the stomach and just not a happy person to be around. I have antibiotics and I am taking them. I think by Monday I will be feeling a lot more like myself.

Check this out! Vin Diesel wrote a book!

http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/tg/detail/-/0786934980/103-9483989-1166220?v=glance

Cheyenne Again

The Editor is still laid up – stupid monkey lord with his stupid wrench. I don’t have a estimated time of recovery for her at this point, but any well wishes, hopeful prayers, and good mojo that can be spared and directed her way would be appreciated. Depending on how long recovery takes, you’ll probably see a couple more posts from me over the next few days.

I can feel your excitement. Really I can. It’s most underwhelming.

Today I leave you with a bit of fortune cookie wisdom, which, upon reflection, seems oddly appropriate – “We will not know the worth of the water ‘till the well is dry.”

Announcement - Wherein Cheyenne Gets Silly

And lo, it did come to pass, that the Editor, full of words and characters and overflowing with enjoyment, did attract the attention of the lord of all monkeys, fearsome, mighty, smelly Ooo-Ooo-Rhaa, who came down from the high forests on the slopes of Mount Bonobobo, where the rare and wondrous red banana grow, and took up his great wrench and smashed his finger, all the better to chuck it at our well loved Editor and strike her upon the head, laying her low while curses in the ancient and terrible language of the monkeys issued forth from Ooo-Ooo-Rhaa’s simian lips – for I say unto you, if you don’t cuss, it don’t count.

Ok, so she had a really bad headache yesterday and is resting more today to make sure it’s gone. This sounds more fun.

Changing the Inner Code

Today was a day of opposite happenings and introspection.

B is sick, or not feeling very well at the very best, so we have not gone anywhere today even though there are two festivals we could have gone to. Usually I am the one feeling under the weather and not letting us go anywhere, with B the one who does not feel well I am afraid I have felt rather let down and annoyed. I fully expect him to understand and accept when I am under the weather it is not my fault. It has been most difficult a task to accomplish, which has caused me to look inside at how I truly am and see about changing what is wrong with me.

First, let us look at the physical. 1) I am over-weight; 2) I am physically not as strong as I could be, or even should be; 3) I always see the house cleaning as a task I can always do later; and 4) sometimes I just give up, quit and let depressive sleep take me over. These things are all something I need to change, physically.

Now, let us look elsewhere. 1) I talk a lot about writing, but there are times when I simply just stop even though there are many stories to tell; 2) I am not always as chipper as I probably should be; 3) for years I have told myself I am not worth the life I have been given; and 4) sometimes I question why I am happy, and not in a good way.

There is more wrong with me, of course, but if I list everything I thought of I am going to be majorly depressed and not going to change anything. Four things per each category right now is enough.

So, I have looked long and hard at myself today while B has been sleeping off and on and have decided it is time to change them. How often have I said that, written that, or just thought it? Each time I have said, "This time is IT. I am going to DO it!" I never do. I always let something in the second category get me down. Honestly, I cannot afford to stop this time, and not just because of my own health, but B's.

See, he depends on me. When that big strong man comes down with something he wants a woman who can take care of him and of herself for as long as he is down. I need to give that to him. What is more important, I need to give that to myself.

I am really worth looking after my body. I did not understand what I was reading in the new work out book I have, but it is true. I have to believe I am worth living, worth changing. My body is the body God gave me and he does not give us junk. The man who may or may not be my trainer, Avery, said "It is up to us to keep it in good shape." I need to really look at myself, not with that bad critical eye, but with the good one.

Usually when I look in the mirror I can spot all of my flaws immediately. I am too heavy. I have a double chin. I do not stand as straight as I should. I fail to see my eyes are bright blue. I do not see the beautiful blond hair. I fail to acknowledge there is a ready, very pretty smile there. I do not let myself see the body I have beneath the fat and even attempt to bring it out as a project.

We always look at projects with an optimistic eye. OK, so the main character did not accomplish this task, but there is still room to work with him and get him to be where he needs to be. This is merely a challenge. Why is it so difficult for me to have this where my body is concerned, where I am concerned? Faulty programming.

Being a little bit of a geek (ok, maybe a lot of a geek), I know The News is not going to look good if I do not put time and effort into it. The hit counter is not going to go up readily unless there is something here for people to read. I know I have all of these problems with my physical body. Why do I not put the time and effort into making it better as I do with The News or any of my major writing projects? There is a "code" somewhere in my head that is faulty. I need to find that "code" and change it, make it "read" properly.

I admit it, part of me is terrified of what all of the changes will mean. Will I be the same person I have always been on the inside, or will things change so drastically for me it will be impossible for me to even recognize who I am? At the same time there is an excitement - an excitement of being the person I should have always been but let depression and uncertainty bury her so deep I am going to have to go spelunking to find her again and restore her to her proper place inside myself.

This is all beginning on Monday. Who knows what is going to happen from there on out. I will try and keep a record of it to share, along with some thoughts and feelings along the way. What is any journey without having someone to tell about it? Don't we all just love a good traveling story every now and again?