Spring Wants to Spring Very Badly

Today I have not felt my best. I have a cold. It is nice and fresh with a beginning date of about this time yesterday. Called the health department and checked with a doctor, as I do sometimes at Hubby's urging of "Are you sure you're ok?" and found out there is a nice new virus going around that I probably have and that it (hopefully) won't last very long. This is the WORST weekend to have a cold because there is simply too much going on and I need to be on the "better" end of the spectrum. So, in an attempt to make myself feel better earlier today, I went outside and sat on the ramp and watched the dogs as they chased birds and came running back to me as if to say, "Did ya see?! Did ya see what I did?!?"

After several minutes of this, the girls decided they had had enough and came to lie down next to me on the ramp heaving happy sighs. Although I live in a medium-sized city, there is something country peaceful about our backyard. It was quite evident today as we sat out there. Clouds rolled by overhead giving little glimpses of blue sky, the air was warm, and birds were taking their baths in a pot-hole just on the other side of the back gate. A light breeze came up every so often that made the bamboo rustle and sway and several limbs on a neighbor's tree. The pussywillow at the back gate is bloomed beautifully this year.

The world wants to jump, not just ease, into Spring this year, but something seems to be holding it back. March is almost over and there is no full blown Spring as of yet. We haven't even hit 60*F on a constant basis at all this month. In fact, we've only had two, count them two days of 60*F period this month!

I'm wanting it to be Spring, and then Summer. I want to let out that part of me that doesn't feel awake until it is Spring and Summer. This has he potential of being the beginning of good months for me and I want them NOW. Remember Varuka, the snoddy little girl from Willie Wonka (the old movie) who always wanted everything and her dad usually got it for her or promised it to her so she'd shut up? Well, I want Spring. I want Spring NOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWW!

Did it work? Is it Spring yet? .... Darn it!

Yesterday, Sweet Yesterday

Yesterday one of my sisters was in town for some doctors appointments, so I was able to grab a Wheels van (vans with wheelchair lifts) and headed out to my utmost favorite place to go - Barnes and Noble.

I love Barnes and Noble, as most of you already know. I love the books, the people who work there, the people who go there, and, of course, the wonderful Starbucks that is nestled so sweetly amidst it all. Nothing could possibly be better for me on a day-to-myself outing than Barnes and Noble, and yesterday's foray was even more special because I was going to be able to visit with my sister B. It didn't matter how long the visit was going to last, as long as I was able to see her and judge how she is doing for myself, seeing her would be simply splendiferous.

Needless to say, her doctors appointments ran long so I had the entire day to myself there at lovely Barnes and Noble. I roamed aisle after aisle making mental notes of the next books I would like to read. Strolling (and it really isn't that difficult to stroll in a wheelchair, it's all in the attitude) into the music department I made several purchases and enjoyed every single little moment of being there. Once the music was safely tucked away, I headed back to the Starbucks cafe', pulled out the journal just for writing, and began working on a short story I've been promising myself I was going to work on for ages.

Once I had the journal open and re-reading the part of the story so far written, it dawned on me B and her husband N might actually want to see me using the beautiful pen set he got for me at Christmas. Again I delved into my bag and pulled out the pen set which I keep almost ceremoniously in its box. Selected the nice heavy ballpoint pen and began working on the short story.

As the words began to fill the pages something began to happen. Yes, I know, the story was unfolding, but something else was happening. I began to FEEL like a writer and to take pride in what was coming out of the tip of the pen and thus from that Northern Lights section of me that dreams up stories.

The weight of the pen added depth to the moment and caused me to take time and think, to look at the words as they fell and to love them even more.

Little by little, time slid by unnoticed. People came and went around me. Several times I glanced up from the paper, but not once did I let the pen slip from my hand. Remarkably there were only pauses in writing on the story, never "breaks" as is the norm with me.

My Hubby arrived and I was still writing. Shortly afterwards my sister arrived and the journal and pens went back into my bag. Through the entire little visit we had I was trying to figure out how to tell them how using the pen made me feel, how it seemed to free part of me, make me more conscious of who I am and what I do. Sadly, I was never able to do it.

Now, the day after, I know deep down I will be using my pen set more. In fact, I'm not certain I will use any other type of pen, except in a pinch to write. Every writer must find their niche, their tools, and their place in the beautiful Northern Lights section of creativity. Surprisingly, quite by accident, I think I've found mine.

How do you say "thank you" for such a wonderful gift as the pen set? Maybe I should just get published, and when I accept the award for writing, relate the events? I'm sure I'll think of something and bask in the glow of yesterday, sweet yesterday.

Making Sure

The judge denied Terri Schiavo's parents the right to reinsert the feeding/hydration tube. To be quite honest, this came as a huge surprise, nay, a shock to me. Judges are supposed to make certain the rights of individuals are not infringed upon and their human rights are upheld and protected. Aren't they? Or do they simply not want to get involved in this particular set of ethics?

I don't blame them really, if you look at it. I mean, we as humans ourselves should have the common decency to keep one of our own alive. If you truly look at this case it is not a "right to die" case because this woman isn't dying. She is alive. She responds to loved ones as best as she can. Withholding sustenance from her is an act of murder. If she was on a respirator/ventilator and her brain was damaged to the point to where she was brain dead and could not breathe on her own, then I can accept the hard decision of "pulling the plug" and letting her body release her soul. What is happening with Terri Schiavo then?

The entire ordeal seems to be hinging on her condition "improving" it appears. Her condition is not going to improve. She is one of those unfortunate individuals who has had her life forever changed, but she still has a chance at living the best life she can with some medical assistance of a feeding tube. She responds to loved ones, just as my father did, and this speaks volume's for her as a living human being.

Killing her speaks volumes as well. It says we, as a race of intelligent creatures, created in the likeness of God, don't care and should not care about someone who has fallen from a healthy individual. What should come next then? If a child is found to have Down's Syndrome they should be exterminated because they are not perfect? And what of individuals such as myself who must rely upon my husband to have a good quality of life, to sometimes help me dress, to put my socks on me because I can't, am I in line for being murdered because I require assistance? And what of Superman Reeves? Should he have just been permitted to suffocate because he could not breathe on his own? Immediately the argument can be made that he could speak and say for himself. But, if you look at it deeply, there isn't a difference. He had a guardian in his wife. What if his wife had decided in a moment of his unconsciousness it was time to kill him, to withhold the air he needed to live? Would that have been considered putting him out of his misery by other human beings or as murder?

For myself, as a disabled individual, I am going to file documents, very carefully I must add, as to who should make decisions for me if I become incapacitated. I want to make certain someone who loves me, and loves me dearly will come and check me out to help decide what should or should not be done. It will not only be my husband, but it will also be one of my sisters. This decision with Terri Schiavo has so decreased my belief that human beings, as a race are intelligent and kind. In fact, it is quite opposite - they are, on the whole, cruel and rather quick to judge someone a problem and desire to get rid of them.

In fact, I urge everyone to make your decisions and make a claim for your own safety before they start bumping people off quickly. Don't laugh. Really. Should something happen to you the doctors, the world, will not give you a chance at life. A life God should have say over and not humanity. After all, humanity's track record with good decisions has not been that great. Look to yourselves people, look to your loved ones, protect yourself and them.

Striking Home

There has been perhaps some progress with Terri Shiavo's case because the case is being reviewed. It feels like a little relief and I hope the feeding tube is re-inserted. Starving is such a horrible way to die. In my life I have been hungry, not the kind of hungry where I've missed a meal and it would be nice to eat, but I've been hungry without food for a few days and it isn't an experience I want to have again. It was actually painful and all I could think of was food for a while, then I was thinking of anything except my empty stomach. Fatigue sat in and it became impossible to think. When I did finally eat after such a long period, the food came back up because my stomach wasn't sure what to do with it I believe. So, I went back to eating again, but slower, more carefully. Each bite of food was absolute wonderment to my senses. Luckily for me, I had water to eat.

Why didn't I eat? That's a long and painful story that I may relate one day, just not now. I did have water during this time, which kept me alive. I've never wanted anyone to be without food since this experience, however. The thought of what Terri Schiavo may be going through has been very upset. True, she isn't able to talk, but she is a human being, and even though she may not be able to communicate in some traditional manner, she still feels. Her body still feels. How sad all of this is. How truly sad it is. I hope and pray the feeding and hydration tube is replaced.

This Sunday, the entire situation touched my priest. Father spoke out the respect which should be due to the living icons of God because we were made in God's image. After service I asked him to write a small piece for this Blog and he agreed if I would write a piece for the Church bulletin concerning the same topic, just from a disabled individual's point of view. I agreed to write it, but I almost am afraid to open up and let what I am really thinking and feeling flow out onto the paper concerning this topic. Careful editing is going to be required I suspect.

God bless you Terri Shiavo.

Joss Whedon and Wonder Woman?

I'm a little worried about this one you all. Joss Whedon did well with Buffy but he also didn't end it when it should have been ended, but that's my personal opinion. However, this is WONDER WOMAN we're talking about. Dare he touch the female figure so many of us grew up with, admired, loved, and fought each battle with her? True, her comics are lacking a little in the story line right now, but, please, tell me he can do a good job and not really smash her to pieces. Please.

Whedon is still trying to work out the details of his script, including the setting and how to make Wonder Woman palatable to movie-going audiences that generally don't dig female superheroes . . . .

It is phrases like this one that make me want to shudder in not-too-happy anticipation.

Some of the people he is looking at such as Eliza Dushku and Charisma Carpenter isn't bad, but, of the two, Eliza Dushku could kick more ass in my opinion. Charisma doesn't seem like she can get over the "dumb girl" routine, but she could fool me, fool us all. Right now I'm voting for Dushku.

Please, Joss Whedon, treat WONDER WOMAN with respect and love. She was all we girls had way back when and many of us still adore and love her.



Eliza Dushku, the new WONDER WOMAN?

So, Starving Someone To Death Is Permissible and Acceptable Now?

When my Daddy was alive, he had a feeding tube and hydration tube. He suffered from what the doctors called Alzheimer's Disease, but he didn't always show signs of Alzheimer's. There were a couple of times when the doctor would speak to my oldest sister, who was our Daddy's guardian, if she wanted the feeding tube removed. She would then come to the rest of us girls and ask what we wanted done. We all stood fast and said we didn't want the feeding tube removed.

This is why I didn't want it removed -

1. He could still feel.
Daddy had good days and bad days even though he was in his own world. Some days he didn't smile so much, other days you could tell he was in discomfort, but he couldn't tell us how. If a nurse handled him too hard he would wince and feel pain. He could still feel.

2. He tried to talk to us.
It wasn't often, but he did try to communicate.

3. He was a human being and my Daddy.
To remove the feeding tube would have been to kill him in slow degrees by starvation. No human being, no creature, deserves that. This is the man who taught me how to cast a fishing rod, how to drive, how to shoot, how to live up to the responsibilities of the person I wanted to be. What respect did I have for him to remove the feeding tube and let him punish and suffer to the point of death?

Now, here is this woman, married, who is a living breathing human being, and she is going to be killed by slow starvation. THIS IS WRONG! I'm not afraid to say it point blank. THIS IS WRONG!

A marriage is sacred and this man has not lived in marriage with this woman for untold amount of years. Marriage really does mean a lifetime. It's a shame this had to happen to his wife, but why can't he honor her. Why not get the divorce? He has been acting as if she is dead for years! Common decency should actually point this out to everyone involved. Yet, it seems "common decency" is a thing of the past and all anyone can see is their own freedom in situations such as this. What are his children going to do when he gets old and in the way? Put him out of their misery? This is a wonderful example for them isn't it? You just get rid of people when they are in the way, you don't love them and try to take care of them until their time has come to an end. Honor has nothing to do in this case, or in similar cases. It is just plain selfishness.

Starving someone to death, starving an animal to death, is just WRONG!

Brain-Damaged Woman's Feeding Tube Removed

By MITCH STACY, Associated Press Writer

PINELLAS PARK, Fla. - Doctors removed Terri Schiavo's feeding tube Friday despite an extraordinary, last-minute push by Republicans on Capitol Hill to use the subpoena powers of Congress to save the severely brain-damaged woman.
AP Photo
AFP
Slideshow: Terri Schiavo Right-to-Die Case

Congress Subpoenas Doctors To Keep Schiavo Alive(AP Video)

Schiavo's family issued a statement on their Web site confirming that the tube had been disconnected. It is expected that it will take one to two weeks for Schiavo to die, provided no one intercedes and gets the tube reinserted.

The removal came amid a flurry of maneuvering by Schiavo's parents, state lawmakers and Congress to keep her alive. Committees in the Republican-controlled Congress issued subpoenas for Schiavo, her husband, and her caregivers demanding that they appear at hearings in the coming weeks.

But the judge presiding over the case later refused a request from House attorneys to delay the removal, which he had previously ordered to take place at 1 p.m. EST.

"I have had no cogent reason why the (congressional) committee should intervene," Circuit Judge George Greer told attorneys in a conference call, adding that last-minute action by Congress does not invalidate years of court rulings.

The tube's removal signals that an end may be near in a decade-long family feud between Schiavo's husband and her devoutly Roman Catholic parents, Bob and Mary Schindler. The parents have been trying to oust Michael Schiavo as their daughter's guardian and keep in place the tube that has kept her alive for more than 15 years.

The tube has twice been removed in the past, but was re-inserted within days in both cases.

Michael Schiavo says his wife told him she would not want to be kept alive artificially. Her parents dispute that, saying she could get better and that their daughter has laughed, cried, smiled and responded to their voices. Court-appointed physicians testified her brain damage was so severe that there was no hope she would ever have any cognitive abilities.
Several right-to-die cases across the nation have been fought in the courts in recent years, but few, if any, have been this drawn-out and bitter.

The case has garnered attention around the world and served as a rallying cry for conservative Christian groups and anti-abortion activists, who flooded members of Congress and Florida legislators with messages seeking to keep Schiavo alive.

Outside Schiavo's hospice, about 30 people keeping vigil dropped to their knees in prayer when word spread of the judge's ruling calling for removal of the tube.

"What can wash away our sins? Nothing but the blood of Jesus," they sang. Messages on protest signs included "Impeach Greer.com," a reference to the judge, and "Execution — It's Not Just for the Guilty Anymore."

House Majority Leader Tom DeLay, R-Texas, told reporters in Washington earlier Friday that removal of the tube amounted to "barbarism."

But Rep. Henry Waxman (news, bio, voting record) of California, senior Democrat on the Government Reform Committee, called the subpoenas a "flagrant abuse of power" and amounted to Congress dictating the medical care Terri Schiavo should receive.

"Congress is turning the Schiavo family's personal tragedy into a national political farce," Waxman said.

Schiavo suffered severe brain damage in 1990 when a chemical imbalance apparently brought on by an eating disorder caused her heart to stop beating for a few minutes. She can breathe on her own, but has relied on the feeding and hydration tube to keep her alive.

Both sides accused each other of being motivated by greed over a $1 million medical malpractice award from doctors who failed to diagnose the chemical imbalance.

The Schindlers also said that Michael Schiavo wants their daughter dead so he can marry his longtime girlfriend, with whom he has young children. They have begged him to divorce their daughter, and let them care for her.

The tangled case has encompassed at least 19 judges in at least six different courts.

In 2001, Schiavo went without food and water for two days before a judge ordered the tube reinserted when a new witness surfaced.

When the tube was removed in October 2003, her parents and two siblings frantically sought intervention from Gov Jeb. Bush to stop her slow starvation. The governor pushed through "Terri's Law," and six days later the tube was reinserted.

That set off a new round of legal battles which culminated in September 2004 with the Florida Supreme Court (news - web sites) ruling that Bush had overstepped his authority and declared the law unconstitutional.
The U.S. Supreme Court (news - web sites) has been unwilling to hear arguments in the case.

On Feb. 25, Greer gave Michael Schiavo permission to order the removal of the feeding tube at 1 p.m. Friday.

The family and lawmakers continued with their fight in recent weeks.
In Tallahassee, the Florida House on Thursday passed a bill to block the withholding of food and water from patients in a persistent vegetative state who did not leave specific instructions on their care. Hours later, however, the Senate defeated a different measure 21-16.

Blue Sky Thoughts

Today has been one of those odd days. One of those days where everything seems to fit into place and I can actually see it in some fashion or the other. Maybe it is because the sun is shining brightly, it is warm outside, and the air smells like Spring.

Because of all the warmth and sun I've gone outside with the dogs a couple of times (missed a couple of phone calls doing that) and have even made my way into the back yard itself for perusal of the ground and seeing where I would like to attempt to put some flowers and plants this year. I say "attempt" because I have never made it in either year I've planned it. This year, however, everything looks as if it is falling into place for me: I have the power wheelchair now, a good ramp that I can get into and out of the house in ease with, and there is space enough in the places I've always wanted to put some flowers where I can maneuver my wheelchair in a good modicum of peace and loads of safety. Now all that remains is to decide what I'm going to plant (not much this year - this is my "break in" year for seeing how to do things in the planting world again).

Feeling so close to Spring and Summer, my best seasons physically, and seeing just how close I am to actually planting things, has lifted my spirits in a way I truly cannot express. In a way it is sort of like getting a natural 20 on a much needed roll (at least some of you will understand it, for the rest of you, I will explain later). It all just feels so light to me and it has been a loooooonnnnggggg time since I've felt like this. Truly years and years. It feels, deep down, like something clicked into place inside my soul while I was actually outside in the yard. It wasn't out of place totally, just a little off-kilter and now it isn't. Now I can breathe and feel good and look forward to seasons without any regret. It is an odd sensation for me, yet one I feel so much right now I had to share.

The Witch Wood Demon, Part 7

The Witch Wood Demon, Part 7
By H.A. Handy
Copyright (c) 2005 by H.A. Handy


Angelica worked her feet slowly into her boots, which were a little difficult without socks. Her feet were also quite tender. The thought of going out into the snow again wasn't as good as it possibly could have been. The memory of her long walk was still quite fresh. Boots on, shawl wrapped around her shoulders, Angelica stepped out the back door. It screaked in protest, but opened and closed with an abnormally loud bang. Joshua paused in his wood chopping to turn and look at her. He smiled.

Joshua was quite impressive in his red flannel shirt, workman's jacket, and jeans. The thick boots looked well-worn and well-used. His breath came out in little white puffs. Protecting his head was a very worn and tatty tobagan.

"Granny sent you out to help me?" he said as she neared. Angelica smiled back and nodded. "You realize she's trying to play match maker?" Angelica shook her head. "Well, she is. She's afraid she's going to die and leave me alone here and I won't have the common decency to make my own choice of a wife, or the solitary life for that matter." The ax flew through the air and thwacked into the block of wood, splitting it easily.

"Does that bother you? Her match-making?" The ax thwacked again and more wood split.

"No, not really." Joshua bent down and came up with several good chunks of wood which he unceremoniously began loading into her arms. He smiled at her again and Angelica felt her face begin to warm slightly. "Granny does seem to be getting better taste in her age, though." Joshua turned back to chopping wood. More wood was added and Angelica began tottering toward the house. Just as she was reaching the door, there was Joshua unloading the wood from her arms, his eyes bright and merry.

"If Granny saw me letting you carry all of this wood in, she, well, she wouldn't be happy."

"That's right," came a voice from just inside the kitchen door. "I raised you better than than, Josh."

"Yes ma'am, you sure did!" he said as he held the door open with his back and arm for Angelica and then followed her inside quite closely.

The warmth hit Angelica like a ton of bricks. Her feet suddenly screamed at her for making them walk on hard wood instead of the snow. They began tingling as warmth slowly filled them. She was off her feet and in Joshua's arms before she realized she had been going down. Wood lay scattered everywhere. Tears slipped from her eyes as her feet throbbed. Edna was near. She instructed Joshua to get Angelica's feet warm while she "whipped up some breakfast."

Joshua carried her as easily as if she were a child into the living room and placed her back into her chair by the fire. His face was filled with concern. As he untied her boots, red flesh puffed out.

"Where are your socks?!"

"I don't know." Even though Joshua was very gentle, removing her boots was a painful process. Once they were off, several places had begun bleeding.

"You won't lose any toes, but you need to be bandaged. Hold on and I'll get some and wrap your feet." Joshua was on his feet and gone and back before Angelica could get comfortable in her chair, the shawl still wrapped around her shoulders.

"You like this one don't you, Joshua!" Joshua froze. It was Johnny, the exact duplicate of his own voice just outside. They could see him moving in front of the large picture window in the living room/parlour. Johnny was on the porch. Angelica felt very afraid. It was like a hard lump of cold ice resting in the pit of her stomach. "So, do I," Johnny said. Joshua settled himself at Angelica's feet and carefully began bandaging her feet. "This one is special. You feel it. We can see it, me and Edna." Edna appeared at the kitchen doorway and was gazing at the glass. Her face was extremely pale.

"Yes, that's right. I can see it, Edna, dear." Johnny moved to the other side of the large window. "Did you know she saw me for my morning visit? We even had a nice chat." Joshua had paused in his bandaging and Edna was standing motionless. They were all listening. "What does that make her, Edna? Good? Evil?" Johnny placed both hands upon the glass of the window. "There are choices, Edna. There are always choices." A low chuckle came from the other side of the glass. He was still chuckling as he seemingly evaporated into nothing.

Rule Change Lets C.I.A. Freely Send Suspects Abroad to Jails

Ok, I'm getting a little nervous about all of these "changes" that are coming out of the political arena. Yes, terrorism is horrible and should be stopped, but shouldn't it be some sort of unity against it and not this? I mean, this means, according to my understanding of it, the CIA can go into any country and put anyone they like in jail. In my imagination I can see people being put in prison because they might know someone who knows someone in an attempt to bring whoever the CIA is after out of hiding. It just seems like bad policy to me. Read the story and tell me what you think. Is this as bad an idea as it feels it is?

The Witch Wood Demon, Part 6

The Witch Wood Demon, Part 6
By H.A. Handy
Copyright (c) 2005 by H.A. Handy


Angelica froze. The words had seemed to come from inside her head as well as outside. Slowly, like someone in a movie, Angelica felt her body turn toward what she hoped was the owner of the familiar voice.

Johnny stood there just inside the doorway from the forayer leaning against one side of it nonchalantly. This time he was dressed in tight jeans, a white tee and cowboy boots. His head was clean shaven and his eyes were resting on Edna in the bed.

"This is my time, see. It isn't morning, it isn't day, it isn't night. It is a between time." Johnny's boot heels clicked on the hard wood floor as he neared the bed. Something moved next to the bedside, it was like water moving in front of a window. Johnny nodded. "I know the rules. I can't come any closer. I can't touch her." Johnny stood there. Still as stone. His hands flexed and his shoulders tightened. Was it really taking strength to hold himself back from touching Edna? Angelica watched, transfixed.

A small dark spot began to form at the base of Johnny's skull. Soon it had begun to ooze, or so it looked, and then Johnny was on his knees, screaming in what sounded like agony as the dark ooze began covering him. From the place where the ooze had begun an eye opened. Wherever the ooze was, eyes began to open. The eyeballs began to burrow into Johnny's flesh, making little sucking noises as they apparently attached themselves. Angelica's empty stomach wanted to revolt, but there was simply nothing to revolt with. A wave of nausea swept over her as Johnny backed away from Edna's bed, making sure to keep his back out of Edna's sight. When he had successfully cleared the doorway, Angelica heard the scuff of boot and then thundering feet as Johnny was running away. The door slammed causing all of them to jump, except for Caleb. Edna rose slowly. Her eyes were searching out the doorway, out the window. Joshua was on his feet, fists clenched.

"It's all right, Josh. Why don't you get some more wood for the fire and warm the house, I'll see to Caleb." Joshua stretched his muscular frame and headed through the doorway she had seen him go through the night before. "Angelica, help Josh please." Edna swung her legs out of bed. Edna was surprised to see her still dressed in jeans and a thermal shirt. Edna caught her eye and smiled. "It's a lot warmer than changing for bed, especially since I didn't know how often I was going to have to be up with you two." Edna slid her socked feet into the worn boots and stood. "Go on now. Help Josh. Young girls don't need to see Caleb while I'm checking him over." For a moment Angelica thought of telling Edna she wasn't a young girl and then decided against it. "Shoo!" Edna said, half exasperated and half amused it seemed. Angelica couldn't help but smile to herself as she slipped through the doorway and find herself in the kitchen. Another door led outside. Through the pane of the glass in it, Angelica could see Josh's large form easily swinging the ax. The rhythm of wood being chopped reached Angelica's ears and consciousness as she grabbed a shawl by the door and almost stepped out into the snow with her bare feet. Should she go back and get her boots? Would Edna be upset?

"Here girl," Edna said from the door. Angelica turned in time to duck her boots which were flying toward her head. They hit the door frame with a healthy THUD THUD!

"Um, thank you."

"You're welcome." Edna was already back in the parlor. Her words were remnants only of her presence.

Helping Your Dog

Here is something to help your dog. Many who are dog owners may already know some of this information, but some may not. It is always good to have refreshers on things.

I know God promises not to give me more than I can handle. I just wish He didn't trust me so much.


Mother Teresa

If a Cat Had a Diary Would It Be Like This?

Received this from my cousin in an email. I laughed good and hard, but it also made me think.


Cat Diary
CAT DIARY, 7 entriesDAY 752 - My captors continue to taunt me with bizarre little dangling objects. They dine lavishly on fresh meat, while I am forced to eat dry cereal. The only thing that keeps me going is the hope of escape, and the mild satisfaction I get from ruining the occasional piece of furniture. Tomorrow I may eat another houseplant.> > > >DAY 761 - Today my attempt to kill my captors by weaving around their feet while they were walking almost succeeded, must try this at the top of the stairs. In an attempt to disgust and repulse these vile oppressors, I once again induced myself to vomit on their favorite chair...must try this on their bed.> > > >DAY 762 - Slept all day so that I could annoy my captors with sleep depriving, incessant pleas for food at ungodly hours of the night.> > > >DAY 765 - Decapitated a mouse and brought them the headless body, in attempt to make them aware of what I am capable of, and to try to strike fear into their hearts. They only cooed and condescended about what a good little cat I was...Hmmm. Not working according to plan.> > > >DAY 768 - I am finally aware of how sadistic they are. For no good reason I was chosen for the water torture. This time however it included a burning foamy chemical called "shampoo." What sick minds could invent such a liquid. My only consolation is the piece of thumb still stuck between my teeth.> > > >DAY 771 - There was some sort of gathering of their accomplices. I was placed in solitary throughout the event. However, I could hear the noise and smell the foul odor of the glass tubes they call "beer." More importantly I overheard that my confinement was due to MY power of "allergies." Must learn what this is and how to use it to my advantage.> > > >DAY 774 - I am convinced the other captives are flunkies and maybe snitches. The dog is routinely released and seems more than happy to return. He is obviously a half-wit. The Bird on the other hand has got to be an informant. He has mastered their frightful tongue. (something akin to mole speak) and speaks with them regularly. I am certain he reports my every move. Due to his current placement in the metal room his safety is assured.But I can wait; it is only a matter of time.

Gigantic Lobster May Have Been 100 Years Old!

This is one whale of a lobster tale.

Click on the title to see the news article.

The World Wide Web

Today I was talking with Cheyenne a bit about being on the web so to speak. I mean, I know The Kentucky Mountain Girl News isn't really important to a lot of people on an average. Some people are interested though because the hit counter keeps going up, which is WONDERFUL! However, The News is important to me and it is important I do as good a job as possible.

All I have ever wanted, all my life, is for people to read what I've written and it is so hard to get things accepted out there in The Publication World, but I'm working on it. I have yet to submit something Out There this year, but this year has started with a bang and looks as if it isn't going to slow down any time soon. This just means I cut things out I absolutely don't need to do and concentrate on the writing process as much as possible. Used to, this would depress me beyond belief. Not because it was work or was hard and I had to really schedule things in order to do what I need to do, but because of the uncertainty of sending off my work and having to wait for an answer as to whether or not it was accepted. I always geared myself to prepare for it being rejected.

Now, the thought of sending something off doesn't depress me. Why? Because of The Web. I mean, here I am, this little woman in her house, sitting in a wheelchair and writing things and submitting them to readers out there. I don't know who you are. (Although, it would be nice for some of you to at least sign the guest book.) Still, I know my words are being read by someone and it gives me a sense of responsibility I have not experienced before. In fact, I am very careful about what I publish on The News and try and take as much responsibility for what I say as possible.

This really didn't come home, be totally real, until I realized I had some articles I probably won't post for a while, if ever, because, although they are very interesting to me, they may affect someone out there very negatively. Being negative isn't the purpose of The News.

Cheyenne has a Blog of his own and I said today, "Keep writing. Keep putting things out there because, face it, you're on The World Wide Web and millions of people have the possibility of reading your work now."

"Don't tell me that," he said, "because if I start thinking about it I'll get nervous and take it down."

My response was, "Why? This should be YEAH! for you." And that's the way I really look at it.

Writing and having my words read by people, possibly making a difference, being outspoken, and entertaining with my words has been all I have ever wanted to do. Since The News is here I have a confidence I never knew I had before: If I can write for an audience I don't see, and they appear to like what I'm writing, then surely it is possible for me to submit stories and poems and damn the rejection slips, full steam ahead for me.

I guess the short of this thing is - thank you. Thank you for reading this little Blog and helping me get back the confidence I thought was lost to me forever.

The Witch Wood Demon, Part 5

The Witch Wood Demon, Part 5
By H.A. Handy
Copyright (c) 2005 by H.A. Handy

Warm.

I'm warm.

I'm dead.

Got to be.

The warm blackness surrounded her. Time no longer existed. There were no more worries or pain out there for her. She could rest for eternity, and she was ready for it.

A long, low gurling snore disturbed it.

Suddenly, Angelica felt herself fill with joy, and a little sadness, she was alive. She tried an experimental move and found she was wrapped up tight in something and warmth was filling her front, which, in turn, helped warm her back. As she came awake more, the blackness was replaced by a faint orangeness. If she opened her eyes she would be awake. Not yet. Not just yet. Just a few more moments, breath, of this peace. If she stirred, Angelica sensed, the rest of the house would begin to stir with her. It was morning. Something inside said it was morning.

Slowly, carefully, Angelica opened her eyes. She was facing the fireplace which was still going well. As carefully as a cat, she hoped, Angelica slipped from her to sit sit up.

Faint light was coming in through the windows, giving the place a nightmarish quality. It was early morning. Very few birds were chirping outside. The man, Caleb, was on the couch. He was clean and covered with a thick red cover. He looked worse for wear, but his chest still rose and fell, albeit a little more rhythmically now. It was odd for her to come awake and be concerned for the life of another. It felt good. Right.

Edna was on an antique small bed that was probably a hundred years older than Edna by the looks of it. Her hair was undone and it covered her pillow with silver. It was beautiful. Edna's face was quiet, gentle. Beautiful. Joshua was in a chair by Angelica's feet by the fire. His head was tipped back, his mouth open in full repose. It was from him the snoring was coming from.

Angelica came slowly to her feet, which, she discovered, had different socks on them and were nice and warm.

The bed. Angelica turned back to look at Enda. It was one of Edna's prized possessions. A gift from her grandmother.

How did she know that? But it was. It was a gift from Edna's grandmother the eve of Edna's wedding. How two people could fit into the small bed was amazing, but they had.

You're in my world now, Angelica.

Not A Good Writing Day

Sometimes the little blinking cursor on the screen makes me want to scream.

The Witch Wood Demon, Part 4

The Witch Wood Demon, Part 4
By H.A. Handy
Copyright (c) 2005 by H.A. Handy

The house Angelica found herself at was a single story rambling house set precisely into a lovely valley. It looked old and comfortable. The road was about two hundred yards from the front gate which the horse stopped at.

"Are you awake, girl?"

"Yes ma'am," Angelica heard herself reply.

"Fetch the gate if you don't mind sparing an old woman the trouble of getting off and walking the horse to the barn." Angelica couldn't help but smile at the words. It had been a long time since she had been asked to fetch anything. A place in her heart just seemed to open up as she slid awkwardly from the horse. Luckily the stirrup was close to provide her a hand grab before she embarrassed herself and ended up with a face full of snow.

The gate was an old fence gate, big, long, heavy and once red as all of them had been. A stubborn splotch of red paint still clung to the top of the very center of the uppermost rail. Angelica slid the latch and opened the gate. The horse, Abner, moved forward, seemingly without being bidden or directed, and headed toward the house.

"Josh? Joshua! You here?" Edna called from the back of the horse as Angelica walked beside it.

"Right here, Granny!" came a voice from inside, and a duplicate of the man/demon-thing came out the front door and struggling a thick wool-lined denim jacket over very large muscles. Joshua wasn't wearing glasses and his eyes were the most beautiful hazel Angelica had ever seen. On closer examination, he was perhaps a little younger than the demon-thing, at least he wasn't as cold and hard, because the smile that came to his face was shy and bright.

"I've got a fire going in the living room. The 'lectric lines are down." Joshua lifted Edna down from the back of the horse gingerly. "You should've let me go, Granny. These things are gettin' hard for you."

She honestly could not remember the trip to the house because she had fallen asleep leaning against the strong, bony back of the old woman as the horse bounced her, surprisingly, into slumber.

"He's my grandson. Johnny's grandson," Edna said proudly. "His mother died in childbirth so, he's been with me every since he took his first breath."

Edna led the way onto the porch and into the fire lights glow of the living room. A couple of kerosene lanterns were lit throughout the house and several candles, giving the house a soft glow from the glare of all the white from outside. Edna shuffled easily out of her thin coat and thick gloves. Joshua had the man on the couch and his boots off and covered with a couple of thick quilts. Joshua vanished for a couple of minutes while Edna guided Angelica to a heavily stuffed chair beside the fire.

"So, what's going to happen?" Angelica heard herself ask from far away. She wasn't even sure why she had asked it in the first place, really. The silence and the warmth of the fire were somehow dangerous.

"We'll talk about that stuff when you rest a while. Here, outta the coat now." Edna slipped Angelica's coat off and threw it beside the door delftly. Joshua appeared as if on cue with two more quilts, one of which went around Angelica's shoulders. "You get her warm, Josh, I'll see to Caleb."

"No, no, that's all right...." Angelica's protest began, and then ended as her feet were promptly propped onto a rest and her boots were removed, as well as the wet socks. Somewhere in the back of her mind, Angelica hoped her feet didn't smell. If they did, Joshua didn't let on because his warm, calloused hands, began massaging her feet with utmost gentleness. At first it was very painful, the warmth that was beginning to flow back into her feet, but then, Angelica relaxed. Joshua seemed to rub her feet for an eternity before he covered them with the quilt again.

"I'll make some cocoa and some sandwiches, I bet you're starved." Angelica smiled at how different the words were compared to the deep throaty of them. Taking her smile as an affirmative, Joshua stood, smiled down at her and then vanished through a door where she began hearing sounds of wood being split out back.

They have an old wood cook stove! Angelica's heart leapt high at the thought of seeing one of those after so long! Uncle Greg had had one of them at the old place up on Junction Hill - he called it his hunting cabin. He made over that place as if it was a palace! In some ways, it was, because there he had taught her hunting, fishing, tracking, and told her all kinds of stories and taught her the old timey songs. It was wonderful, a palace of the summer. Sometimes when things went really bad at work Angelica would close her eyes and remember the cabin and hear the lush richness of birdsong in summer and she knew she could get through one more case, one more problem, just one more....

Hmmmmm

When we ask for advice, we are usually looking for an accomplice.
Charles Varlet Marquis de La Grange

Sometimes that's exactly what we're doing - getting an accomplice. Haven't you had those times where you feel like you know the right thing to do, but you "want to make sure" and therefore go and ask someone's advice, and the someone you ask is a someone you know very well and they tell you exactly what you've been thinking you should do? It's as if they give us permission to do exactly what we know we should've been doing in the first place. Yeah, we end up getting an accomplice.

Of course, there are those times when we want permission to do something we really shouldn't be doing, too. Isn't that ironic? We ask for advice/permission/acceptance to do the very things we know we oughtn't as well as aught?

Life is mixed up is all I can say. Thank goodness God gave many common sense. (Even then we get side-tracked though don't we."

Hadn't Really Thought Of This But It's True

Often God has to shut a door in our face so that He can subsequently open the door through which He wants us to go.
Catherine Marshall

Taxes

Hubby and I have just finished with our taxes. Sad to say, we aren't getting back much this year. Why? Because his income has gone up less than $1500. You want to know the really scary part - our household income is still less than $25,000 per annum!

With all Bush has done with "repairing" the nation, it seems the average people are the ones suffering most. "Getting ahead" and "making ends meet" are not terms the rich seem at all familiar with. Why do they even need to think about making ends meet when they have money to blow on buying horses and planes? Still, how many rich are there living next door to you? None live on my street with me. Everyone I know is barely getting by as is.

If President Bush keeps "repairing" the nation, we may have to leave the country just to be able to afford to live. Isn't that ironic? America is supposed to be the place where you can come and live the American dream of success. Except, it doesn't seem to be quite working any more.

Fiction by Eric S. Brown

Parental guidance suggested. Sexual situations involved.

Emily
By Eric S. Brown
Copyright (c) 2005 by Eric S. Brown




I saw them again today. Her in our green jeep and him in his gray van, parked side by side at the car wash. They were leaning out their windows talking and making plans. To meet like that is so much safer than ever using the phone. They believe I don't know about their affair but I am on to them. It's been going on for months now. When she leaves at night with her excuses, I smile and pretend to be clueless as to where she's actually going. I ask her when she'll be back and tell her to have a safe trip. Emily hugs me and closes the door behind her as she leaves to lie in his arms.



She'll leave again tonight, I know. Her excuses won't matter. I'll know like always exactly where to find her and Frank. Frank is a very predictable guy once you get to know him and I've worked side by side with him for the last seven years. He'll take her to the inn just off exit 106 on I-26 but tonight I will there too. The rituals are complete and I can feel the changes inside starting even as I drive home. When the moon rises, my eyes will burn red and my flesh will become that of a demon.



Oh, I could have confronted them, had her leave, and lost everything in the divorce which would have surely followed. I could have plotted their murder like a normal man and went to jail afterwards or maybe even gotten off on a plea of temporary insanity but this way is so much more fun.



You see, my grandfather was a warlock of some renown. He was burnt at the stake and all that after they cut off his head. They didn't burn his books though. The books were passed down to me as part of my family history on my twenty-first birthday and sat gathering dust in our attic for years as I turned thirty just weeks ago. No one knew the spells and magic inside their pages of human skin were real. I certainly didn't believe until my life crumbled and I got desperate. When I first found about them, the books leapt into my mind as if they were calling out to me. I tried a few simple spells at first and was shocked to discover they worked. It drove me on deeper into their pages and gave me my answer, my means of vengeance. Using their magic, I will become a demon straight out of Greek myth, a male version of a Fury and their blood will taste sweet upon my lips as I tear them limb from limb and die myself as the sun rises and burns me to ash. It will be well worth the price.



After the sun has set and she is gone for an hour, my clothes shred away from me as new muscles bulge and leather wings spread to embrace the night sky. The change is quick but feels like hellfire consuming my skin then suddenly I am aware. The world is new to me and I see everything, feel everything, but most especially my rage, my hatred for the crimes for betrayal by my wife and friend. I take flight from our backyard and cover the distance to the inn in mere heartbeats. I swoop down at the inn, crashing through their window on the third floor. The room stinks of sweat, sex, and a fresh fear.



Emily is screaming and trying to cover herself as I move towards Frank. Frank has always been paranoid so the gun on the night table comes as no surprise. He yanks it up and pops off round after round into my new body. I shrug them off as though they were nothing and reach out, crushing the gun and his hand alike in my taloned hand. Franks opens his mouth to cry out from the pain but the talons of my other hand slash open his throat, tearing his windpipe apart. I lift his falling body effortlessly and toss it through the window to the street below.



Emily watches it all too terrified to run. I yank the covers from her naked form and descend on her like a ravenous beast before she dies from her wounds underneath my spent body now satisfied. Finally I remove her still heart from her chest and sit enjoying it like an apple between my teeth as I wait for the sun to rise.

THE END

Eric S. Brown has appeared in The News before. He has a new book coming out. Will provide his bio at a later date.

Look!

Please sign the guest book if you don't want to leave comments. I would really like to know what ya'll think.

A Quick Aside

YES, there is fiction, but my computer has just decided it doesn't want to cooperate in pasting said fiction. Since there is somewhere I have to be in the next couple of hours, this means I do not have enough time to "type" everything into the computer right now. Needless to say, it will be done today or first thing tomorrow morning. I also have the 4th part of THE WITCH WOOD DEMON ready for posting tomorrow, which takes much stress off of yours truly. So, I guess you would call this technical difficulties.

On a lighter note - I have been going surf-shopping recently. This is what I like to call it - instead of "window shopping" I'm Net window shopping, therefore, surf-shopping. I really do need a few items, but some things I've found just fill the geek in me with too much happiness. Like this for example. Nice pricey tag, but uber cool to me! Told Cheyenne about this and Hubby and found they agreed. There is also this to keep my geeky side quite thoughtful and curious. And there is more, MUCH more, but these are some of the really cool stuff that makes me want to drool.

Stressed?

OK, many of you who have been reading for a while know the background of the condition of my nerves. For those of you who don't, a quick recap. See, in just a little over a year I lost my Mom, my Dad, my best friend of 20 years, my cat of 12-13 years, so things went quickly down hill as far as my nerves are concerned. They were so bad for a while I was having chest pains and my body and I were convinced I was having a heart-attack, but I really wasn't. So, am on some daily medication for my nerves and a little something extra for when my chest hurts. I haven't had to take the "little something extra" for quite a while because I've been handing things quite well and am actually getting out of the dull-drums quite happily (and with much relief). . . . That is until today. Today I had to take something, but, in all honesty, I don't know why my body reacted the way it did.

My older sister, "Jade" (for now), called to tell me one of our cousins had passed away. He was suffering from cancer and was in so much pain. I prayed for him, but wasn't really close to him. It was sad to know he had passed on, but it was also good in a way he wasn't punishing any more. Somehow, after I hung up the phone with her, my chest started hurting horribly and I had to take my little something extra and go lie down for a little while. This, of course, knocked me out of the rest of my day. It was quite annoying to say the least.

I love Jade, dearly. I do. But there is something about us that makes me all nervous. I don't know if I am just waiting for even more bad news than what she gives me or if it just reminds me of when she called to tell me Daddy was gone. Honestly, I don't believe it to be the latter.

One thing, for sure, is I can't make her understand how losing Mommy and Daddy has affected me and my life. She says, "She was my Mommy, too." Yes, I know, and I'm not trying to make her feel bad, but she needs to understand not every relationship is the same.

OK, time for me to lie down some more.

Fiction tomorrow.

It Has Arrived

This is it. Today is Valentine's Day. This used to be a day I would dread and wish for romance, a day when it would show me just how lonely I truly felt. Now, I don't feel that way. I feel very romanced and loved, although it did take a while. Beginning last year I had major revelations about my life and those sharing it with me, and came to realize just how much I was truly blessed with Love. Not just the movie-type stuff, but the REAL stuff - real love, true love. Seeing that, knowing it deep down inside, made me take a good hard look at everyone and everything around me, and everything became much better. Things are not quite the same this Valentine's Day as last year, but they are still good, and I am still very much romanced. This year, however, I am doing the romancing. I have a good dinner planned, a new nightie to show off, and I am actually really happy to be where I am.

God Bless Saint Valentine who suffered and died so all could have a Christian marriage in his time and life.

The Day of Hearts Approaches

Monday is Valentine's Day and a lot of the people I know are celebrating it today, tomorrow, and in some cases yesterday. I have been trying to celebrate Valentine's Day with him in bits and pieces leading toward something really neat and cool (hopefully) on the day itself. So far haven't achieved one little mischievous thing! Hubby just doesn't want to get overly into it because it isn't Valentine's Day yet! SO, am leaning towards the major break-out on Monday itself complete with dinner, something nice to wear, etc.. I believe he will like it.

Happiness in a Moment

For a moment the world stops and Time itself can appear to stand still. Sometimes this odd limbo occurs because of severe depression - in that scenario the limbo lasts for days, weeks, or months and isn't pleasant. Sometimes the limbo occurs because of a particular event or feeling - in this scenario the feeling lasts perhaps a moment, a blink of an eye, and everything is even more pleasant than it was. I like these moments, and, of course, they happen rarely. The most recent one, for me, was talking to Cheyenne about God today.

It was, for a moment, one friend sharing with another friend how you truly feel and think about something. Usually people just don't get it, but when they do, it is one of those special time-warp-moments when everything is just perfect and you feel as if you might actually be doing something right in the great overview of Living. I hope so at least.

The Witch Wood Demon, Part 3

"I don't care if the name you give me is real or not. Only you know your real name." He was smiling at her, the sunglasses showing her back her own reflection. "So, what name do I use for you? I would call you Beautiful but that's taken already and I won't un-take it." Something in his voice changed slightly, which made Angelica look at him. His head was down and his brow was furrowed as if he was remembering something almost distasteful.

"Do demons love?" Angelica asked suddenly.

"No," came the answer, "but men do, and I was once . . . different."

"You were once human?" Tom nodded his head slowly. His handsome jaw was set firmly. "And you became a demon?"

"I had to pay a price for something I asked for." His head came up slowly and he smiled into the distance. "There is a cliff not very far away, we can just push him over the edge and when you get to town you can say you lost control of it. They will only find your footprints any way." He looked at her again and smiled that smile again. She didn't know why, but his smile made her shoulders ache.

"What did you have to pay a price for?" she asked, looking ahead of her again.

"That is none of your business, besides, it was a long time ago."

"How long ago?"

"Before you were born."

"Are you hundreds of years old?"

"Part of me is almost ageless," he said with some sadness.

"And part of him is about 75 years old," said a third voice. She froze in place, afraid to look around, mostly because that was what Tom had done.

Angelica watched what-ever-he-was look up slowly, cautiously. He dropped the cables and straightened to this full height and removed the sunglasses he had been wearing. His eyes were a warm brown, intelligent, and filled with turmoil, or so it seemed. Angelica followed his gaze and saw an old woman wrapped in a quilt and heavy clothes sitting astride a horse of all things! A gasp escaped from her before she could control herself.

"Hello, Johnny," the woman said softly. Her wrinkled face split into a bright smile.

"Hello, Beautiful," he said as the old woman slipped easily from her saddle and led it forward. It wasn't until the horse had reached them Angelica saw it was pulling a make-shift sled of it's own.

"Johnny, you still know how to make me smile." The old woman was shorter than Angelica by a couple of inches and looked to be nothing more than wrinkles and possibly bone, but Angelica couldn't see because of all of the wrapping and winterizing the woman had done. To Angelica she smiled, "I see you are prepared in your own right. No need for me to help you lug this fella onto the sled I have. I'll just hitch yours to Abner here and we'll get him to the house where we can look after him properly."

"How did you know this time, Edna?"

"A little bird told me." The woman chuckled as she unhitched the sled she had and took the jumper cables and tired them to the harness of the horse. "The road is closed going to town," she told Angelica. "But my house isn't far. You can rest up there and wait for the roads to clear."

"I know where you live, Edna." Edna raised to her full height with a slight groan and looked up into the handsome face.

"You should, Johnny. You built it."

Haikus by Michael Lohr

A Painting In Woad
Copyright (c) 2005 by Michael Lohr

blue on blue spectrum
radiance of her beauty
now lucid dreaming

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The Secrets of Shambhala
Copyright (c) 2005 by Michael Lohr

love, good food, good friends
learning to like yourself first
others will follow

Author's Note:The secrets to life, no matter your pathway, is love someone, be loved in return and smile.

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Copyright (c) 2005 by Michael Lohr
Walk the wilderness
Godspark, the echo within
Touching the soul tree

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Copyright (c) 2005 Michael Lohr
Like deer in head lights
Crushed beneath the Dharmic wheel
mortal mindlessness

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Copyright (c) 2005 by Michael Lohr
Unfounded Anger
Much like Oscar Wilde’s nightmares
Collect much rainfall

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Copyright (c) 2005 by Michael Lohr
Yeshua’s Children
The Sang Raal of Magdalen
Buddha smiles softly

Michael Lohr is a professional journalist. His work has appeared in such diverse magazines as Rolling Stone, The Economist, Southern Living, Men's Journal, ESPN Magazine, Outside Magazine, Caribbean Travel & Life, Canoe Journal, Canoe & Kayaking, Outdoor Life, and Blue Ridge Country to namea few. Genre-wise, he has been published in Brutarian Quaterly, Cemetary Dance, Marsdust, Albedo One, Interzone, The Third Alternative, Midnight Street et al. His webpage can be found at

http://www.internet.is/music/writer/michael_lohr.htm

Errors in Speech

Putting one's foot in one's mouth is quite a simple task, yet there are some people who almost make an art of it. It is as if they never know when to be quiet. Then they see their mistake, or more than likely, see it on the other person's face, and try to correct their error, and end up putting both feet and at least one hand in there as well! What is a polite way of saying, "I'm sorry, but you need to be quiet?" Or, "I don't believe that was the right thing to say?"

Sometimes it would be so nice to be blunt. Don't you think? Or is it just me?

Listening vs Hearing

The real art of conversation is not only to say the right thing in the right place, but to leave unsaid the wrong thing at the tempting moment.

Dorothy Nevill

Fiction by Michael Lohr

SHAKEDOWN IN MONROE COUNTY, OHIO
By Michael Lohr
Copyright (c) 2005 by Michael Lohr


AP Newswire:
Woodsfield, Ohio.

Deputy Sheriff Curtis T. Minnifield reported that ‘Saxon ‘Wiggly Biscuits’ Jones’ of New Martinsville, West Virginia had been caught speeding and driving with reckless endangerment along the riverfront in the Powhatan Point area. Deputy Minnifield stated that Mr. Herrick was speeding and driving erratically along State Route 7. Deputy Minnifield was quoted as saying, “he was weaving from lane to lane and hit several small animals while attempting to flee. I made my pursuit and called in reinforcements from the City of Powhatan and the City of Clarington as well as the two Regional State of Ohio Patrol offices based in Bellaire and Marietta. I also alerted our fellow Peace Officers in the State of West Virginia that one of their own had busted out and was reeking havoc on this portion of southeastern Ohio.” Additional law officials quickly responded to the scene and Monroe County Sheriff Timothy P. Warbles contacted the U.S. Department of Homeland Security just in case this situation had terrorist implications.

Deputy Minnifield made the initial contact with the suspect as Mr. Jones slowed to an uncontrolled stop after hitting a parked school bus and driving over two stop signs on St. Rt. 7 just north of Clarington. “Thank God that school bus was empty or this situation would have become far worse than it already was,” said Clarington Police Chief Wade “Booger” Smith, whose squad car was approaching the suspect’s vehicle from the southbound lane. Upon receiving the State of Ohio’s desperate plea for help, Homeland Security Head Richard Boogaloo ordered members of the Terrorist Task Force from the FBI Training Facility in Quantico, Virginia to disembark immediately for Monroe County, Ohio and to quell the situation.

Deputy Minnifield, being the brave officer that he is, approached the suspect’s red pickup truck with his revolver pulled as a safety measure. Deputy Minnifield reported that as he came closer to the suspect’s vehicle the sound of Jimmy Buffet music could be heard blaring from the truck cab. By this time Police Chief Smith had stopped his squad car and was approaching the suspect’s vehicle on foot. “I saw Deputy Minnifield approaching from the rear as I approached from the front. Loud music could be heard and the scent of rotting grass was in the air. A sure sign of marijuana.” Deputy Minnifield later reported that he also smelled the scent of rotten grass and said that as he approached the truck bed the scent became overwhelming. “We were concerned for our safety as the suspect had already ran over seventeen cats and dogs, eight goats and one gopher while attempting to flee the scene.”

The two officers kept the suspect at bay until State Patrol backups and the FBI arrived. When Mr. Jones was pulled from the vehicle he gave little resistance but was babbling incoherently about the state of Florida and a bitch that done did him wrong.

President Bush and State of Ohio Governor Taft awarded Deputy Minnifield the Presidential Medal of Honor, the State of Ohio Valor and Duty Award and a coupon for a free blowjob at the Cadillac Dude Ranch in Las Vegas, Nevada. God Bless America and stay safe.

END

Michael Lohr is a professional journalist. His work has appeared in such diverse magazines as Rolling Stone, The Economist, Southern Living, Men's Journal, ESPN Magazine, Outside Magazine, Caribbean Travel & Life, Canoe Journal, Canoe & Kayaking, Outdoor Life, and Blue Ridge Country to namea few. Genre-wise, he has been published in Brutarian Quaterly, Cemetary Dance, Marsdust, Albedo One, Interzone, The Third Alternative, Midnight Street et al. His webpage can be found at

http://www.internet.is/music/writer/michael_lohr.htm

Can't See, No Glasses

No joke. Everything is very blury. No reading. No writing. No typing. Thank God for all of the typing classes way back when and all of my current practice. THE WITCH WOOD DEMON is indeed on its way, but I must be able to SEE in order to actually accomplish something. This must be a pretty good story or start with all of the problems I've been having getting the third part out to you all!

Haikus by Michael Lohr

Awakening
Copyright (c) 2005 by Michael Lohr

movements of the soul
spiritual revolution
common threads of truth

Author's Note: Regardless of one's spiritual bent, we are all made of stardust. We are all brothers and sisters, woven together with the same common threads of truth.

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Unfinished Portrait
Copyright (c) 2005 by Michael Lohr

a steaming hot cup
milky way swirls in my tea
subtle day dreaming

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Pavlov's Itch
Copyright (c) 2005 by Michael Lohr

we placate our id
as we watch the gods make love
and volley the stars

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Copyright (c) 2005 by Michael Lohr

Walk the wilderness
Godspark, the echo within
Touching the soul tree

###

Michael Lohr is a professional journalist. His work has appeared in such diverse magazines as Rolling Stone, The Economist, Southern Living, Men's Journal, ESPN Magazine, Outside Magazine, Caribbean Travel & Life, Canoe Journal, Canoe & Kayaking, Outdoor Life, and Blue Ridge Country to namea few. Genre-wise, he has been published in Brutarian Quaterly, Cemetary Dance, Marsdust, Albedo One, Interzone, The Third Alternative, Midnight Street et al. His webpage can be found at

http://www.internet.is/music/writer/michael_lohr.htm



Note: If you click on the title it will take you straight to his webpage.

Present and Upcoming

On the 21st I felt sort of draggy and then THE FLU hit hard . . . again. Now I am over it and things are rolling ahead, albeit just a little more jerkily than I personally would prefer.

In UPCOMING episodes of The News we could have some poetry and fiction publications from another talented writer on Wednesdays. (We'll know for certain once I receive the writer's answering email.) And THE WITCH WOOD DEMON is coming your way on Thursdays and possibly a Friday to get it nice and wrapped up. Once "the demon" has been secured, there is another piece coming at you on Thursdays from yours truly. It too will be serialized.

Also, there will be a face lift for The News since I no longer feel "black" and depressed any longer. What will it be? That is a question you and I will find out together Dear Readers!

A Bit Annoyed and Science News

Typed in the 3rd installment of The Witch Wood Demon and it looked OK. When I check everything to there is nothing there and the code is all gobldee-gook so will re-type everything in as soon as possible, but must admit have a ton of other writing and typing to do today so the 3rd installment may be late tonight.

A Bit of Science News

http://news.yahoo.com/news?tmpl=story&u=/ap/20050121/ap_on_sc/titan_mission_1

This was really sort of strange and really science fiction-esque, but REAL!

Official Rescheduling Notice

There are a couple of changes going to be heading out in the next few days and weeks here at The News. It isn't anything major, but wanted everyone to know what is going to be happening.

The News is still open for submissions of poetry, fiction, and articles anyone would like to submit. PLEASE make sure the submissions are in the body of an email and not an attachment.

Wednesdays are for posting of fiction from out there of someone other than myself.

Thursdays are for serialized stories or my own fiction and poetry. If nothing fiction or poetic is occurring, then it will just be a normal post.

See, nothing earth-shattering is happening, just an official determination.

Something of Note

I have been reading a sight called Strange Horizons for some time now but have failed to mention it here in The News. It is a place of fiction, poetry, and articles for the fan of fiction in the genres of nearly everything really.

http://www.strangehorizons.com/

If you haven't read it, I strong urge you to check it out. If you have read it, please, let me know what you think about it.

Martin Luther King, Jr Day

It is much too important to miss the acknowledgement of this day, especially at the price it cost this man. By his actions many people in the United States have freedoms and opportunities they would not normally have gotten, including the handicapped, not just the black community.

To find out more, go to http://www.thekingcenter.org/

House Blessing

Every year in the Orthodox faith, the priest comes to bless the house. It is a time of renewal and hope for the family and for the house itself because the house is what becomes a home. This year the house blessing was something I was really looking forward to. It was an event which marked, to me, a change in my outlook on this and helped shed a more positive light on the unfolding new year.

For the first time ever I served the priest coffee and cookies after he had finished blessing the house. Usually Hubby has had to do it for some reason or other, but this time, today, it was if I had stepped into an ages old role and it was a place of honor and respect. It was there in Hubby's eyes, and there was love and happiness in Father's as he accepted the coffee and talked with us a little before heading out to bless another parish member's house. (During the month of January Father travels a great deal to do house blessings, resting only on Sundays after service, and sometimes he doesn't get to rest even then.)

It was odd sitting in my chair and serving coffee to Father and Hubby, as well as cookies. I was experiencing everything and observing it as well. Usually when this dual perception has occurred it has been something bad. Not this time.

I feel as if some new mantle has settled about my shoulders. It is something of great beauty, sometimes weighty, and not always soft, yet it is a fabric of great strength. My one hope about it is that I wear it well in the coming hours, days, weeks, months, and years ahead.

The Witch Wood Demon, Part 2 (reprise)

The road ahead looked straight without any curves to worry about, but there was a nice big drop off to the right that would send the car hooded man straight into John's Creek. It wasn't very deep this time of year, of course, but the water would be cold and Angelica wasn't certain he, or she, could take a ride down the cliff and be able to survive it. If she tried to keep the make-shift sled from sliding too fast down the little hill Angelica was certain she would get run over, which would, again, do neither of them any good.

Snow began to drift down lazily again from the gray-white overcast sky. It was quiet in the midst of the snow. Not a single sound of human occupation could be heard. Birds sang and chortled merrily high in the trees. It was beautiful, yet dangerous. Angelica had never thought of her childhood home as ever being dangerous before. Would it have been better to leave the man behind and trek out to get help? Had it been a mistake to try and bring him along with her? Was she going to inadvertently going to end up killing him while trying to save his life? The doubts began to bombard her from every side, every angle. Angelica had always considered herself a confident person, but now she wasn't. She was the least confident she had ever been in her entire life.

"It's quite heavy to have the burden of another life weighing on you isn't it." Angelica jumped and let out a small squeal at the sound of the voice. A man was standing to her left, leaning lazily against a tree. His voice was deep, sexy, almost gravely with desire and glee. He had on a thick fur coat and he was wearing dark sunglasses. Angelica didn't say anything. She couldn't run and leave the man on the hood behind. I need to give him a name, Angelica thought suddenly. Focus! she told herself. This could be bad.

"Why don't you call him Bob?" the stranger said, ambling over to her smoothly. The absence of the sound of snow crunching under his feet as he walked toward her was frighteningly acute. "Bob is always a good non-descript name to call someone you don't know." Had she spoken out loud?

"No, the man answered. You didn't speak out loud." Angelica closed her eyes and counted to twenty. She was a lot more tired than what she had thought she was. When she opened her eyes, though, he was standing directly in front of her. He should have been level with her eyes considering the slope, but he wasn't. In fact, his feet weren't touching the snow covered pavement of the road at all. He smiled a strikingly handsome smile. "Isn't it beautiful here?" he said, looking around with the smile still on his face. Angelica nodded automatically.

"OK, you're a figment of my imagination because I'm so tired," she said suddenly.

"Why don't you just ask me?" he whispered, leaning forward slightly. Angelica could smell the clean smell of a male body before her, lightly scented with a perfume she had never smelled before. It was almost intoxicating.

"Ask you what?"

"Am I real or not." He was still leaning close, just above her. His chest and shoulders were broad and, Angelica imagined, rippled with muscles.

"Are you?"

"Am I what?" The man flashed a flirtatious smile down upon her, and Angelica couldn't help but blush at the intensity in his eyes.

"Are you real or my imagination?"

"Yes."

"Yes, what?"

"You decide," he said with a charming smile. The man reached out and stroked her cheek. His hand was warm, so very warm. Angelica realized, almost with a start, just how cold she really was. Then his fingers found her earlobe and pinched it hard so that she cried out in pain and struck his hand away. The hood that had been holding in all of her dark brown hair slid back, letting her hair escape.

"You're beautiful!" he said. He looked almost shocked.

"And you are a very dangerous part of my imagination. I'm sorry, but I can't talk now. I have to keep moving."

"So, you don't believe your senses?" A small laugh rumbled out from the center of his chest. Angelica watched the man walk on air to the side of the road which was packed with snow, and back again. There were no footprints in the snow. Once more in front of her he touched her cheek again, softly, delicately, and again there was warmth. When he withdrew his hand from her face, she regretted losing the warmth of his touch. "Can a figment make you warm?"

"I have a very good imagination," Angelica said and moved to the rear of the car hood and, like with a tobagan, gave it a shove and jumped onto the part of it where the man . . . Bob's legs were. Bob moaned softly. Angelica balanced herself off of his injured legs as best she could, but she was certain it hurt.

"I'm sorry," she told him as the car hood sled went zooming down the hill. Angelica didn't look back. She didn't want to see what was there, or who was there, or if no one was there.

The ride down the hill was swift. Once the sled came precariously close to the edge and then changed direction quickly back onto the road, doing a slow, graceful circle, straightening out a little, then doing another slow circle. It bounced against the side of the mountain once, which made the man cry out, but his eyes never opened. As another circle made itself, Angelica hazarded a look back at the summit of the hill which was a good distance away now, but she could still make out the image of the man in his fur coat.

The sled came to a jolting halt. The trip had caused the car hood to stop facing the hill, and not away from it. Angelica turned to see what had stopped their progress and was startled to see the man standing there, one foot on the car hood as if he had stopped it. Angelica glanced back at the hill. No one was there.

Slowly, Angelica moved from the car hood.

"Haven't you heard the stories about me?" the man asked.

"Stories?"

"I'm the Witch Wood Demon," he said softly, lowering his voice as if to keep others from hearing his confession. "I lie in wait for travelers and lead them to their doom. I drive them insane with their own fears. Or I just kill them." Angelica had never heard a voice turn so deadly cold before.

"OK," Angelica said with a slow nod. "I'll go with that for the time being." A look of surprise flitted over the handsome face of the man before her. "I don't want to call you Mr. Witch-Wood-Demon all the way to town, so what should I call you? Bob after all, is taken." A booming laughed escaped him and he eyed her with something of amusement and almost-respect.

"Call me what you like," he said finally. "I'm open to any name you wish to call me. Except something religious, of course, that causes me a bit of a . . . rash." Again he smiled, this time at something that was almost a joke, or so it seemed to Angelica.

Angelica retrieved the battery cables and began tugging the "sled" around in the right direction. Her shoulders and back ached. She was surely going over the edge with exhaustion, but at least this distraction would help keep her mind off of how tired she was, and how cold. Angelica carefully tucked her hair back inside the hood of her coat and pulled it up over her head. She should have brought a tobagon with her, but she hadn't. She also hadn't figured on having to trek into Wilmington on foot either. Once she was headed back in the right direction, Angelica dropped to her knees beside at Bob's head. He was breathing shallowly. As long as he was breathing there was a chance for him.

"Don't worry. It isn't far now," she said. Surprisingly, the words came out in a hopeful tone. Angelica's spirits lifted slightly.

"How do you know?" asked the man now standing beside her.

"Know what?"

"That it isn't far." Angelica leaned into the road and felt the cables become taught. It took several rocking starts before the car-hood sled began moving again.

"I don't suppose you can help?" Angelica began concentrating on walking, one foot in front of the other.

"You mean help you try and save this man's pitiful life? Do you know what he does? He gets his wife's welfare check and spends it on drugs and booze and beats her and his children just for the hell of it. Does it really sound like he needs to live? I'm sure his family wouldn't mind seeing him bite the bullet. It might just be a relief to them."

"I don't know anything about this man. This could be a second chance for him."

"Your optimism is almost refreshing."

"So?"

"It has been a long time since I've come across someone like you."

"Are you going to help me or not. If you're a figment of my imagination you can't, but if you're real you can." He looked at her, obviously amused. One large hand cupped her's and slid the cable from it. Angelica moved aside as he took the other one. He pulled the car hood and man easily, as easily as if he were pulling an empty child's sled in fact.

"I'm not going to help you for long, but, you amuse me, and I would like to carry on our conversation. It has been a while since I have been amused. Most people run from me in terror, before smacking a tree or going into the creek. I've a nice total of one hundred and fifty-four so far in car wrecks and twenty-seven suicides."

"And the insanities?"

"Too numerous to count!" Angelica took some careful steps just to make sure the sled was really moving. What if she had fallen asleep and this was a dream? What if she were lying in the snow somewhere dying of hypothermia? Why would her imagination have her talking to a demon and not an angel?

"So, have you come up with a name for me yet?" Angelica smiled. After a few seconds of quiet contemplation she nodded.

"I think I will call you Tom."

"Tom? That's very generic isn't it! How often do you talk to demons?" This time Angelica chuckled. She was so very tired the entire situation was becoming funny.

"You have a beautiful smile," Tom said softly.

"Thank you."

"And may I have the pleasure of knowing your name?"

Something began to stir in the back of her mind like rusty cogs that hadn't been used in a very long time. She was sure telling a demon your name was a bad thing. Uncle Greg had told her all of the old legends and stories and each time there had been a lesson of some sort. He had been a very superstitious man and tried to share his knowledge with her. But what if you lied to the demon and gave him a false name? Could he do anything to you if he called you by some other name?

This Just In . . .

Jefferson Airplane drummer dead of cancer, he was 66.

http://story.news.yahoo.com/news?tmpl=story&cid=495&ncid=762&e=7&u=/ap/20050113/ap_en_mu/obit_dryden

It is really sad to see some of the people who made my growing up years so much fun and spoke to me through their music.

Part 2

The second part of the story will be up in just a few minutes. This came in over the wire just now and wanted to share it.

Annoyance

Life got in the way of writing today. Will up-date the second part of The Witch Wood Demon on Thursday. It's worth the wait, I promise!

Howard Stern Can't Say "Satellite Radio"

"If a Stern talks on a satellite and only paid subscribers hear the noise, does anyone else care? "

Check out the rest of the article. It's quite humorous. I also think it just may be very correct.

http://radio.about.com/od/sternindecency/a/aa010605a.htm

Mmmmmm Journalszzzzzz........

I believe I am becoming addicted to journals. I have only one major journal on-line, and, although I don't really consider The News a journal (at least not a personal journal) I suppose it is . . . of sorts. But, the hard-backed kind . . . well, yeah, I'm addicted to them and writing in them.

See, I would call it a "collection" but the problem there is I use them. I have a journal for the current book I'm working on, a like-themed journal for when it is filled in order to continue the story; two black re-fillable journals (with refills) for stories and articles and little snippets of things I have ideas for, and my very private paper journal. Oh, and those two black journals? Well, see, one is for fiction and one is just for snippets, notes, etc.. Make sense? It does to me at least.

I was really beginning to worry about myself and all of these journals I lug around with me everywhere until I actually sat down, through all of this horrid sickness, sore throat, etc., and decided, actually decided I'm a writer, and I write more and better in journals than I do on the computer. And, Neil Gaiman is right: You can take a pad and a pen with you no matter where you go. So, I am addicted to journals and, well, I like it. Luckily every journal purchased has a purpose, and I'm fulfilling their use by actually doing what I had planned on with them.

The computer is no way out of the picture, of course. I use it for research and note-keeping, and I simply have to have some place to put everything I write in all of those journals. Life is good with paper, pen, and computer, isn't it?

*happy smile*

*cough, cough, cough*

Question . . . .

Does anyone have any good Blogs they would like a nice little review of? I thought it would be nice to mention a few Blogs along the way throughout the week and pass along good reading to others out there in the world who may not have run across your, or your friend's, or your mom's, or even just someone's Blog you read. Yes, I know there are sites for this, but some people simply don't go to those sights and it would be nice to share. Wouldn't it?

Just comment with a link and we'll all go and visit.

Let's All Sing Along

http://news.yahoo.com/news?tmpl=story&u=/ap/20050106/ap_en_mu/music_best_sellers2004

Music seems to always be going at this house, especially when I am feeling good and the words are flowing exceptionally well. I have to admit, I have likewise purchased much more music through Napster than going to the mall or some place else to purchase CDs and such. It is just easier, plus I can arrange the songs as I like. I'm glad to have helped the industry as much as I have.

Code Books

One of the bestest presents I received this year for Christmas was web page design books and HTML/CSS guides. It appears as if I have turned into a geek. Strangely, this form of geekdom does not make me feel uneasy or unsettled. I feel actually quite proud and as if I have accomplished something. Now that yours truly is feeling better, I may actually turn my attention to the code books and see what all I can do!

*insert cackle of computer geekdom HERE*

The Witch Wood Demon, by H.A. Handy

The Witch Wood Demon
By H.A. Handy

Copyrighted material. Do not reprint without express permission from the author.

A strand of dark brown hair flew out from inside Angelica's coat hood and taunted her around her eyes. She couldn't put it back because there was a small rise in the road and it was taking all her strength to pull the card hood, and the man on it, over it.

Everything around them was quiet, blanketed by the snow and cold. The man hadn't made any sounds for the past several minutes. Just as soon as they were over the rise, Angelica promised herself, she would check on him and make sure he was still alive.

She didn't look up, she didn't keep her eyes from the snow ahead of her. One foot plowing into the snow on the road after the other was all she could concentrate on. That and not letting go of the jumper cables she was currently using as ropes to pull the car hood with it's heavy load. When they reached slick spots where there was more ice than snow it was far easier to pull, but up the rise with all of the snow and occasional icy patches, it felt as if she had been straining and trudging for centuries.

At the top of the rise, Angelica stopped. The car hood was pulling back on her hard, so she went on a couple more feet before her legs collapsed and she ended up face first in the snow just starting over the little rise. The car hood was perched precariously on the very top. If she remembered correctly, there weren't any more little hills between here and Wilmington's outskirts.

On hands and knees, Angelica crawled around to the hood and uncovered the man's face. The huge gash on his forehead had stopped bleeding. Actually it had frozen. He was breathing in shallow fits, but still breathing. That was good. The stench of alcohol came off him in waves, making her empty stomach want to empty itself even further, if that was possible. "Not here, not yet," she told herself. "Not much farther though." That was true wasn't it? It really wasn't that much farther to town?

Angelica had traveled these roads pretty much all her teenage years and every summer when she was in college. She knew them like the back of her hand. Since Uncle Greg had died she hadn't really been back to Wilmington, Virginia that much. There were always some excuse to keep her away. It was surprising to realize it had actually been three years since she had returned. Still, as she turned off the highway and on to the back spur, everything looked as if it hadn't changed at all since she was in high school.

The mountain roads had been just as curvy, and there was snow everywhere, since it was December. Wilmington always seemed to have snow. No matter if the rest of the world was ninety degrees Fahrenheit, Wilmington would always have snow, and a lot of it, for Christmas and New Year's, right up until February. It was just something everyone had come to accept, and expect.

Angelica had been driving carefully, her truck loaded with all it's necessities for winter driving when the car came around a curve on her side, lost control and crashed into her. He was drunk as a skunk and yelling he was dead. Both legs were broken so there was no walking for him, and he also seemed to have a couple of broken ribs. Hopefully he wouldn't have a collapsed lung by the time she got him to Wilmington.

The hood of his car had flown off, it looked to have been tied down with a bungie. She got him onto that and started trudging. She couldn't leave him there. He would have been frozen stiff by the time someone had been able to get back to him. Besides, you didn't leave a neighbor in trouble. Isn't that what Uncle Greg had always said?

Something moved in the trees up on the hill to Angelica's right. Sitting still, Angelica slowed her breath. Her eyes and ears alert. Nothing moved again.

"Rest period is now over class," Angelica said to the man, who was unconscious and uncaring. "We will continue now." Angelica went around to the double set of jumper calbes and picked them up again. The grade on this side of the rise was just a little steeper than she expected it to be. Nervously she glanced back at her passenger. Exactly how was this portion of their trek going to play out?

To be continued....

Behind

A bit behind due to a nasty, nasty bug. Feel like death warmed over. Hubby has it now, too. Before the end of the week you will have the first part of the story. Am quite excited about it. Back to bed now.

A New Poem

Shelter/Storm
By Shane Stewart
copyright(c) 2005 Shane Stewart


If you are the shelter, then I am the storm.
Neither of us of great importance
Without the other.
I am what you sheild against,
While you are what I buffet.
Yet never have you pushed me back,
And gentle do my rains fall.

We are not of much use apart, are we?
You without I lack somehting,
While I without you is simply sad.
This is how we have always been,
Good alone, for certain,
But never quite as good
As we are together.

Will I ever be the shelter, and you the storm?
I dare not say. I dare not know.
It would be less fun that way,
Less important.
Like reading the last page of a book,
Or watching the end of a movie
Before you see how it all begins.

Odd how one so needs the other. Storm and shelter.
Shelter and storm. Storm keeps the shelter
Strong and ready, clean and quick.
Shelter keeps the storm going,
Keeps the wind blowing,
Rain falling, sky crashing,
Keeps the storm from consuming itself.

Always found together they are. Always will be.
Always should be.
One without and one within.
One the storm and one the shelter.
One needs the other and the other needs one.
Storm for Shelter to be strong for,
Shelter for Storm to feel safe with.

Happy New Year! May all of your dreams come true (the good ones only) this year!