hell and heaven part 3
see parts 1 and 2
fiction
edward w pritchard
Owen's patriarch status emerged as soon as he felt his niece Violet enter the forbidden passage way behind the barn. Owen tore the large stem off the green pumpkin and lit it for illumination as he lowered his large body carefully down into the descending passage, and looking back over he shoulder; he took a last glance at the moon in the sky before he was traveling solely into artificial light.
Owen was no longer an individual for he had taken on the persona and understanding and experiences of his entire now dead clan and family. As soon as his wife's niece Violet rolled the green pumpkin off the ancient passage way away from the farm his awareness had simultaneously merged with her actions as she descended the long dark passageway into ancient temptation.
Racial memories of passages in the social evolution of communities are forgotten by humans once the new ways are practiced by a major of the folk. In Owen's and his niece Violet's case however, their family still maintained the ancient memories of the transition from an agricultural society to a mode of living based on commerce and trade. The original transition was difficult, and the morals of the women were the most effected by the sudden transition from a settled community of farmers to the mobile risk taking habits necessary for trade and commerce. One societies virtues become the sins of the new society following one of these invisible transitions[ and vice versa]. An Agricultural existence's stern code required to be practiced by women, of early marriage, loyalty and fidelity, and sobriety in all morals did not ideally suit the community; once growth, progress, and social evolution required the transition to an industrial and trading society. Violet and Owen's family still carried the conflict deep in their subconscious and Violet's violating the families moral dictates had triggered the ancient racial memories.
In Owen's case, he was going to save his niece Violet from sin and sexual excess for the ancient passageway behind the barn that Violet now traversed somewhere ahead of Owen as he descended the dark passage lead to the the sea ports and bacchanalia and precocity.
As he traveled by the light and odor of the burning stem of the gourd, Owen ceased to be himself, having taken on out of necessity the sentiment of invincible power and a singleness of purpose that would be required if he was to endure the ordeal he faced in the coming days ahead. Although he was now capable of heroic action, Owen likewise was now capable of a limitless brutality when necessary to accomplish the secret preordained goals that he no longer was able to consciously judge.
end part 2
source idea thanks to Will Durant and Gustave LeBon
Monday, May 31, 2010
Sunday, May 30, 2010
straw dogs that talk back
straw dogs that talk back
fiction
edward w pritchard
Nobody cares the end of straw dogs. Somebody must burn them and Mei made her living in the destruction of straw dogs after their use had been served. Straw dogs in ancient Chinese lore were treated with respectful deference prior to their use as an offering and then summarily destroyed.
Jobs were difficult to find and life was expensive and a lone woman must be ruthless to survive. Mei learned the skill from her Father and guarded the secret of how to burn and destroy the straw dogs carefully for the technique of destruction could be learned and taught in a few minutes.
Mei came in alone to gather the straw dogs. She grabbed them carefully and circled their bodies with her arms and then closed the arms together for the straw dogs had straw that was razor sharp to human touch and the tips of the straw was sharp like the point of a surgeon's scalpel. As she walked with the straw dogs to the fire to be throw in to be burned and destroyed Mei often would gently touch her lips to the straw dog just before she threw it into the fire. Never yet, but maybe someday, Mei hoped to hear a straw dog talk to her as she carried it to the fire, so she always listened intently as she walked toward the bright crackling fire.
fiction
edward w pritchard
Nobody cares the end of straw dogs. Somebody must burn them and Mei made her living in the destruction of straw dogs after their use had been served. Straw dogs in ancient Chinese lore were treated with respectful deference prior to their use as an offering and then summarily destroyed.
Jobs were difficult to find and life was expensive and a lone woman must be ruthless to survive. Mei learned the skill from her Father and guarded the secret of how to burn and destroy the straw dogs carefully for the technique of destruction could be learned and taught in a few minutes.
Mei came in alone to gather the straw dogs. She grabbed them carefully and circled their bodies with her arms and then closed the arms together for the straw dogs had straw that was razor sharp to human touch and the tips of the straw was sharp like the point of a surgeon's scalpel. As she walked with the straw dogs to the fire to be throw in to be burned and destroyed Mei often would gently touch her lips to the straw dog just before she threw it into the fire. Never yet, but maybe someday, Mei hoped to hear a straw dog talk to her as she carried it to the fire, so she always listened intently as she walked toward the bright crackling fire.
Friday, May 28, 2010
savings and investment
savings and investment
fiction
edward w pritchard
Roberto knew in his heart and head that the money he had planted in the small plot along the corner fence of his yard would never grow.
After digging and tilling and raking however; Roberto nevertheless got up every morning at 5AM and watered and inspected the coins he had planted some time ago. He tended to the task rain or shine, sick or well, and besides the exercise and well being it gave him, he often hoped and planned what he would do with the money after it grew from coins into specie and currency.
Sometimes when Roberto was away from his small plot of planted coins he would momentarily become anxious for the safety of the coins themselves for he often saw large birds of prey soaring overhead near his back yard plot of coins and he sometimes thought he saw the large birds of prey eying his nest egg.
Every morning at 5AM Roberto got up and tended to the small plot of coins he had planted along the corner fence in the rear of his yard.
fiction
edward w pritchard
Roberto knew in his heart and head that the money he had planted in the small plot along the corner fence of his yard would never grow.
After digging and tilling and raking however; Roberto nevertheless got up every morning at 5AM and watered and inspected the coins he had planted some time ago. He tended to the task rain or shine, sick or well, and besides the exercise and well being it gave him, he often hoped and planned what he would do with the money after it grew from coins into specie and currency.
Sometimes when Roberto was away from his small plot of planted coins he would momentarily become anxious for the safety of the coins themselves for he often saw large birds of prey soaring overhead near his back yard plot of coins and he sometimes thought he saw the large birds of prey eying his nest egg.
Every morning at 5AM Roberto got up and tended to the small plot of coins he had planted along the corner fence in the rear of his yard.
Thursday, May 27, 2010
the revolution starts in America
the revolution starts in America
fiction
edward w pritchard
After a long shift of loading trucks Rencel Jones was walking to his car at 2AM and both of the palms of his hands simultaneously burst into flames. The pain was not intense but Rencel knew that something significant had happened. He alone knew that the fire had occurred without any external encouragement.
Rencel began to tell the story and made the connection that he was walking under a full moon and intensely thinking about the inequity of him struggling to make ends meet working till 2AM as his bosses slept and received the lion's share of his labors.
As Rencel began to spread the word of his revelation workers similarly placed as himself were supplied with fire proof gloves by management at no cost to themselves thereafter by company owners throughout the country. In the end however the actions were of no avail because something significant had happened to Rencel Jones.
fiction
edward w pritchard
After a long shift of loading trucks Rencel Jones was walking to his car at 2AM and both of the palms of his hands simultaneously burst into flames. The pain was not intense but Rencel knew that something significant had happened. He alone knew that the fire had occurred without any external encouragement.
Rencel began to tell the story and made the connection that he was walking under a full moon and intensely thinking about the inequity of him struggling to make ends meet working till 2AM as his bosses slept and received the lion's share of his labors.
As Rencel began to spread the word of his revelation workers similarly placed as himself were supplied with fire proof gloves by management at no cost to themselves thereafter by company owners throughout the country. In the end however the actions were of no avail because something significant had happened to Rencel Jones.
obtaining competency
obtaining competency
fiction
edward w pritchard
I made a small fortune as a bad barber to the boy bands in America in the 1960's. Eventually however, I got better at cutting hair and obtained competency in that art and was unable to consistently give a bad haircut and my following diminished and I had to enter another field of endeavor. Until I did become a competent Barber, I was sought after as one of the only craftsmen in the hair cutting field who could consistently day after day give a bad haircut.
fiction
edward w pritchard
I made a small fortune as a bad barber to the boy bands in America in the 1960's. Eventually however, I got better at cutting hair and obtained competency in that art and was unable to consistently give a bad haircut and my following diminished and I had to enter another field of endeavor. Until I did become a competent Barber, I was sought after as one of the only craftsmen in the hair cutting field who could consistently day after day give a bad haircut.
Sunday, February 28, 2010
Some Sensations Are Genetic
Some Sensations Are Genetic was originally published Feb 28,2010, this adds more to story
Fiction
Edward W Pritchard
The woman woke to the feel of delicate cat paws high up on her back, just below the shoulder blades. It was a large cat, not a tiger or panther, but midsized, like a lynx or bob cat and she felt the sensation of the instant before the weight of the springing cat caused her to fall forward and stumble or fall. The paws also had claws, sharp and potentially lethal but not extended yet and for now not drawn. The woman tensed her back as she roused from sleep expecting something further to happen.
As she had done every early morning for several days, when the sensation occurred, she quickly rolled on to her side and the impression of the cat paws went away. She again thought, now calmly, that she had experienced a distant memory of herself being killed by an animal. Each morning for several days she had had this same eerie experience, of waking to the first touch of a pouncing cat striking mid-way up her back with it's first exploratory touch, before digging into her vital organs beneath her skin.
Her boyfriend had suggested more sleep when she discussed her problem with him, which she had tried the last two nights but the exact same sensation had continued and later this morning she was skipping work, and going to see her Family doctor about it. Her Doctor was man of common sense and she felt better knowing she would be talking with him about the disturbance.
About a month later the woman was going to see a psychiatrist about the problem with the cat paws. Every morning since the first meeting with her Doctor she had had the same awaking experience. She had seen her Doctor three times and had also taken several tests at an out patient laboratory, including an MRI. Yesterday just a few hours before her fourth 11:00 AM meeting with her Family doctor, his office, had called her and canceled the appointment and told her to report to another Doctor, today at 10:00 AM a woman psychiatrist from China who also was a surgeon.
Three weeks and three visits to the psychiatrist later, the psychiatrist had personally called and told the woman that she had
referred her to a neurosurgeon. The Psychiatrist also told her by phone, that she, the psychiatrist, was now having early morning awakenings, and had had them since very late the first night, following the first meeting with her new patient. The lady Psychiatrist every early morning woke to the sensation of herself freezing to death. She had become so disturbed by the feel of freezing that she thought it best if she not see the woman anymore. She also advised the woman that, the family Doctor, who had initially made the referral of the woman, to the psychiatrist, and this was in confidence please, well she continued somewhat nervously, the Family Doctor had began having awaking, again after the first meeting with the woman. The Family Doctor's sensation was of a short thick, roman style sword being plunged into his neck where the neck connected to the shoulder blades. The Family Doctor was not particularly disturbed, the psychiatrist had said, because it reminded him of an account of the death of Julius Caesar in the Senate
he had read as a boy and he, the Family Doctor thought it was a case of mass hysteria of some sort, due to the power of suggestion. The lady psychiatrist was inclined to disagree she had told the woman, because she said she had counseled thousands of client's, and heard many very disturbing stories, but this was the first time she had personally been drawn into someone's delusions. In any event the lady psychiatrist was referring the lady to a colleague who was a neurosurgeon, and a psychiatrist, and was considered an expert in the field psycho-somatic illnesses, having published on the subject.
The Neurosurgeon had called the woman two days after their first meeting. The first night after the consult the neurosurgeon had awoke to himself falling a moderate distance onto a ledge of rocks, He was sure it was a distant memory of a prior death, especially after he had it the second night and had experienced the sensation a full minute before rolling onto his side. He told the Woman that he couldn't see her anymore, not because of his own fears but because of what had happened to his wife, The neurosurgeon had mentioned his first awaking to his wife, after he had woke up very agitated, and the Doctor told his wife briefly about the new woman patient and the connection between their awakenings. This morning, the Doctor's second awakening and the wife's first occurred and the wife had woken to the sensation of herself gasping for air, laying on the ground, and trying to avoid a hot cloud of bad air and gas that was coming toward her. A few hours ago, the Doctors wife had refused to go to her job as a school teacher because she was afraid she would infect her students.
In desperation the initial Woman, with the Cat Paw sensation, had refused to see any more Doctors, and instead went to see the local Parish Priest. She had been raised a Catholic but hadn't attended Mass in a long time. The Priest agreed to see her, after reading a very brief written summary from her of what had happened but agreed to talk to her only in the confessional. He agreed to pray for her and told her for the time being to sleep on her side and not discuss the problem with anyone else. He said he would advise her further in a few days.
end part 1
Posted by edward pritchard at 8:21 PM 0 comments
Labels: sensations survive death
part 2
Father Dominion had heard the confession of Mya the original woman who began the cycle of the early morning awaking dreams. Father's Dominion awaking dreams occurred only once and then he began to hear the voice of his now dead Mother in his head constantly throughout his waking hours. The Mother's voice was sharp and critical and caused him to startled and the hair on his neck would stand on end each time he heard the voice.
Father Dominion's first dream, after he heard the confession of Mya who had the awakening sensation of cat paws high up on her back, was of his Mother stabbing a former lover of hers in the neck and throat with whale bone jewelry pin over and over as the man she was with lay on her in sexual passion.
After the first dream Father Dominion had no more awakening dreams but because of the harshness and repetitiveness of the Mother's voice that he heard throughout each day, he became unable to do his work at the local Parrish. The dioceses gave him a small house to live in and a small annuity to live on. To drown out the voice in his head Father Dominion took to playing certain pieces of classical music very very loud over and over which soothed his suffering.
end part 2
Some Sensations Are Genetic
Some Sensations Are Genetic was originally published Feb 28,2010, this adds more to story
Fiction
Edward W Pritchard
The woman woke to the feel of delicate cat paws high up on her back, just below the shoulder blades. It was a large cat, not a tiger or panther, but midsized, like a lynx or bob cat and she felt the sensation of the instant before the weight of the springing cat caused her to fall forward and stumble or fall. The paws also had claws, sharp and potentially lethal but not extended yet and for now not drawn. The woman tensed her back as she roused from sleep expecting something further to happen.
As she had done every early morning for several days, when the sensation occurred, she quickly rolled on to her side and the impression of the cat paws went away. She again thought, now calmly, that she had experienced a distant memory of herself being killed by an animal. Each morning for several days she had had this same eerie experience, of waking to the first touch of a pouncing cat striking mid-way up her back with it's first exploratory touch, before digging into her vital organs beneath her skin.
Her boyfriend had suggested more sleep when she discussed her problem with him, which she had tried the last two nights but the exact same sensation had continued and later this morning she was skipping work, and going to see her Family doctor about it. Her Doctor was man of common sense and she felt better knowing she would be talking with him about the disturbance.
About a month later the woman was going to see a psychiatrist about the problem with the cat paws. Every morning since the first meeting with her Doctor she had had the same awaking experience. She had seen her Doctor three times and had also taken several tests at an out patient laboratory, including an MRI. Yesterday just a few hours before her fourth 11:00 AM meeting with her Family doctor, his office, had called her and canceled the appointment and told her to report to another Doctor, today at 10:00 AM a woman psychiatrist from China who also was a surgeon.
Three weeks and three visits to the psychiatrist later, the psychiatrist had personally called and told the woman that she had
referred her to a neurosurgeon. The Psychiatrist also told her by phone, that she, the psychiatrist, was now having early morning awakenings, and had had them since very late the first night, following the first meeting with her new patient. The lady Psychiatrist every early morning woke to the sensation of herself freezing to death. She had become so disturbed by the feel of freezing that she thought it best if she not see the woman anymore. She also advised the woman that, the family Doctor, who had initially made the referral of the woman, to the psychiatrist, and this was in confidence please, well she continued somewhat nervously, the Family Doctor had began having awaking, again after the first meeting with the woman. The Family Doctor's sensation was of a short thick, roman style sword being plunged into his neck where the neck connected to the shoulder blades. The Family Doctor was not particularly disturbed, the psychiatrist had said, because it reminded him of an account of the death of Julius Caesar in the Senate
he had read as a boy and he, the Family Doctor thought it was a case of mass hysteria of some sort, due to the power of suggestion. The lady psychiatrist was inclined to disagree she had told the woman, because she said she had counseled thousands of client's, and heard many very disturbing stories, but this was the first time she had personally been drawn into someone's delusions. In any event the lady psychiatrist was referring the lady to a colleague who was a neurosurgeon, and a psychiatrist, and was considered an expert in the field psycho-somatic illnesses, having published on the subject.
The Neurosurgeon had called the woman two days after their first meeting. The first night after the consult the neurosurgeon had awoke to himself falling a moderate distance onto a ledge of rocks, He was sure it was a distant memory of a prior death, especially after he had it the second night and had experienced the sensation a full minute before rolling onto his side. He told the Woman that he couldn't see her anymore, not because of his own fears but because of what had happened to his wife, The neurosurgeon had mentioned his first awaking to his wife, after he had woke up very agitated, and the Doctor told his wife briefly about the new woman patient and the connection between their awakenings. This morning, the Doctor's second awakening and the wife's first occurred and the wife had woken to the sensation of herself gasping for air, laying on the ground, and trying to avoid a hot cloud of bad air and gas that was coming toward her. A few hours ago, the Doctors wife had refused to go to her job as a school teacher because she was afraid she would infect her students.
In desperation the initial Woman, with the Cat Paw sensation, had refused to see any more Doctors, and instead went to see the local Parish Priest. She had been raised a Catholic but hadn't attended Mass in a long time. The Priest agreed to see her, after reading a very brief written summary from her of what had happened but agreed to talk to her only in the confessional. He agreed to pray for her and told her for the time being to sleep on her side and not discuss the problem with anyone else. He said he would advise her further in a few days.
end part 1
Posted by edward pritchard at 8:21 PM 0 comments
Labels: sensations survive death
part 2
Father Dominion had heard the confession of Mya the original woman who began the cycle of the early morning awaking dreams. Father's Dominion awaking dreams occurred only once and then he began to hear the voice of his now dead Mother in his head constantly throughout his waking hours. The Mother's voice was sharp and critical and caused him to startled and the hair on his neck would stand on end each time he heard the voice.
Father Dominion's first dream, after he heard the confession of Mya who had the awakening sensation of cat paws high up on her back, was of his Mother stabbing a former lover of hers in the neck and throat with whale bone jewelry pin over and over as the man she was with lay on her in sexual passion.
After the first dream Father Dominion had no more awakening dreams but because of the harshness and repetitiveness of the Mother's voice that he heard throughout each day, he became unable to do his work at the local Parrish. The dioceses gave him a small house to live in and a small annuity to live on. To drown out the voice in his head Father Dominion took to playing certain pieces of classical music very very loud over and over which soothed his suffering.
end part 2
hell and heaven part 2
hell and heaven part 2
fiction
edward w pritchard
The family was very strict with the women. They had lived on the farm in New England for several hundred years and they still held the women of the family to the morality of the 1750's. Under no circumstances were the women in the family to leave the vicinity of the farm and never were the women to explore the berry patch behind the barn.
Violet was young and came from far away and was spending the summer with relatives on the farm in New England. The families attitude toward women sickened her and their regulations made her anxious to break the ancient rules of decorum and behavior.
Violet ventured behind the barn and found the ancient green pumpkin growing in a circle as large across as the town clock on a high tower in an ancient Swiss medieval town. The rotting pumpkin was very old and solid to the touch but when she pushed on the top of the green gourd the entire vegetable rolled and moved forward with a clump, revealing a deep sloping descending passage way; dark but beckoning. As Violet began to descend the long twisting passage under the farm property, Violet inhaled the pungent damp air of the far away sea coast.
Violet began to perspire as she walked down into the tunnel and her face displayed a flush and her shirt clung to her body as she dripped with moisture. Violet was not afraid as she walked and she seemed to remember walking down this path before. An anticipation and curiosity besieged her as she walked into the depths of the earth leaving relatives and the farm high up behind her.
end part 2
fiction
edward w pritchard
The family was very strict with the women. They had lived on the farm in New England for several hundred years and they still held the women of the family to the morality of the 1750's. Under no circumstances were the women in the family to leave the vicinity of the farm and never were the women to explore the berry patch behind the barn.
Violet was young and came from far away and was spending the summer with relatives on the farm in New England. The families attitude toward women sickened her and their regulations made her anxious to break the ancient rules of decorum and behavior.
Violet ventured behind the barn and found the ancient green pumpkin growing in a circle as large across as the town clock on a high tower in an ancient Swiss medieval town. The rotting pumpkin was very old and solid to the touch but when she pushed on the top of the green gourd the entire vegetable rolled and moved forward with a clump, revealing a deep sloping descending passage way; dark but beckoning. As Violet began to descend the long twisting passage under the farm property, Violet inhaled the pungent damp air of the far away sea coast.
Violet began to perspire as she walked down into the tunnel and her face displayed a flush and her shirt clung to her body as she dripped with moisture. Violet was not afraid as she walked and she seemed to remember walking down this path before. An anticipation and curiosity besieged her as she walked into the depths of the earth leaving relatives and the farm high up behind her.
end part 2
Sunday, May 23, 2010
hell and heaven part 1
hell and heaven part 1
fiction
edward w pritchard
She had the face of Leonardo's unfinished angel and wanted more than this little town could offer. She sold herself and her innocence
An aged decrepit strip mall half empty, parking lot unploughed with snow, vacant windows uncleaned, trash cans over flowing and a dearth of legitimate customers at the stores still in business.
Offices down a dark hall way. Coldson Brothers Media productions, the local entry into the adult entertainment film world, rented a modest suite of rooms serving as hallways to the inner sanctum containing camera equipment, lighting focused toward a couch and a over sized chair. Up to $65 dollars an hour, two hours guaranteed minimum, no experience necessary. Bring face photo and proof of age and signed release.
Hustle, bustle; follow instructions, interested or not. Two hours- and it's over.
Barely now legal, all girl, new faces, new to business, as seen in the magazines, five year plan, then retire, inside of back cover, web site, move to California, special interests, hire a lawyer, dirty business, take care of yourself, no promises, now what?
Hell, recriminations, sleeplessness, loneliness, not the same, un-ring a bell, guilt, wandering, restlessness, what if,
end part 1
fiction
edward w pritchard
She had the face of Leonardo's unfinished angel and wanted more than this little town could offer. She sold herself and her innocence
An aged decrepit strip mall half empty, parking lot unploughed with snow, vacant windows uncleaned, trash cans over flowing and a dearth of legitimate customers at the stores still in business.
Offices down a dark hall way. Coldson Brothers Media productions, the local entry into the adult entertainment film world, rented a modest suite of rooms serving as hallways to the inner sanctum containing camera equipment, lighting focused toward a couch and a over sized chair. Up to $65 dollars an hour, two hours guaranteed minimum, no experience necessary. Bring face photo and proof of age and signed release.
Hustle, bustle; follow instructions, interested or not. Two hours- and it's over.
Barely now legal, all girl, new faces, new to business, as seen in the magazines, five year plan, then retire, inside of back cover, web site, move to California, special interests, hire a lawyer, dirty business, take care of yourself, no promises, now what?
Hell, recriminations, sleeplessness, loneliness, not the same, un-ring a bell, guilt, wandering, restlessness, what if,
end part 1
Saturday, May 22, 2010
one spin of the slot machine
one spin of the slot machine
fiction
edward w pritchard
I was just a baby and I didn't understand that I had only one spin of the slot machine. It didn't really matter anyway because I could only bet with what others who lived before me accumulated and were my relatives had passed on to me. I didn't grasp well yet, as a child and since I had enough, at least for me, I didn't push and shove and take to get to the front of the line to prepare to place my bet so that later I could be envied appreciated and maybe known and remembered for a few years.
The stars are vast and it is inconceivable to me that anyone can jot a few arcane equations down on paper or a computer and then declare that they know and understand and proclaim God is dead, never existed, and the Universe is expanding in a predictable manner; that is unless there are multiple universes, in which case we exist in a million or trillion places and times at once. However it works, everyone knows that 70 or 80 earth years are all that matter at least in our time and place to us. Of course we are top of the food chain, that's that they say.
In a single spin of the slot machine anything can happen it's true. Who programmed the slot machine and who built the casino and what other parts are there to the gambling areas that I haven't been to I don't know. Probabilities are in the hundreds of millions and I am one of six billion. I am not able to maintain the thought process beyond my next meal enough to see what that means to me.
i can hear the slot machine buzzing as it waits to finish my spin, then what? What does that mean for me?
fiction
edward w pritchard
I was just a baby and I didn't understand that I had only one spin of the slot machine. It didn't really matter anyway because I could only bet with what others who lived before me accumulated and were my relatives had passed on to me. I didn't grasp well yet, as a child and since I had enough, at least for me, I didn't push and shove and take to get to the front of the line to prepare to place my bet so that later I could be envied appreciated and maybe known and remembered for a few years.
The stars are vast and it is inconceivable to me that anyone can jot a few arcane equations down on paper or a computer and then declare that they know and understand and proclaim God is dead, never existed, and the Universe is expanding in a predictable manner; that is unless there are multiple universes, in which case we exist in a million or trillion places and times at once. However it works, everyone knows that 70 or 80 earth years are all that matter at least in our time and place to us. Of course we are top of the food chain, that's that they say.
In a single spin of the slot machine anything can happen it's true. Who programmed the slot machine and who built the casino and what other parts are there to the gambling areas that I haven't been to I don't know. Probabilities are in the hundreds of millions and I am one of six billion. I am not able to maintain the thought process beyond my next meal enough to see what that means to me.
i can hear the slot machine buzzing as it waits to finish my spin, then what? What does that mean for me?
over there at the state university
over there at the state university
fiction
edward w pritchard
Over there at the State University they started having a lot of meetings about maintaining the status quo because things were going quite well and things were going successfully financially. Hiring of faculty was up, and enrollments were bulging, and endowments for building was helping the entire community. Students loans were surging like never before and the University was spreading across and dominating the downtown and the community.
The President of the University sometimes needed a break from all the hub bub and sometimes would lose the battery charger to both his phones on Thursday, so he could crash for a day or two on Friday afternoon or Saturday. He still had to check the e-mails in case one of the benefactors called but if he pulled it off this weekend he would apologize to his wife, then put on an old shirt and read a little of what he wanted to read early Sunday and then sneak off shopping for a few gourmet foods on Sunday. He enjoyed those few minutes shopping for things he didn't really need but were his preference and always he concluded his time alone by reading something original and not conventional before he returned to the fold on Monday. He was the leader, but the University was running itself now and the University had a will to power and position to expand and it controlled him like everything else around it and the University president knew better than to try to change it's philosophy or methods, but for today he was in charge.
The students sometimes would all disappear from campus on Sunday morning and one nursing student would go over to the Children's hospital where she interned a few quarters ago and drop off surprises for the really sick children. The girl was pretty but today she wouldn't stop to talk to the handsome Doctor's or socialize as she walked across campus and wouldn't check her blackberry to review her social calendar. If it was lightly raining, the nursing student would stop near the Church that was co-affiliated with the University and listen to the choir which was able to rise above the liturgy of the University services.
At the fraternity, one or two guys, who hadn't drunk too much and weren't hung over on Sunday would get up early early Sunday morning and fix a sink over at the food bank where one or two of them had worked so the people there could do their work Monday and Tuesday of next week. After that they would throw old pieces of roofing materials into the municipal dumpsters that they had loaded into their truck from some work they had done for the food bank a few weeks ago and then they would joyously run down fraternity row carrying an old discarded mattress from the food bank and throw it into their fraternity's dumpster with the house letters painted on the side.
A few students, would go into to the Library Sunday morning and rather than read the Wall street journal or Barron's might grab Francis Bacon's essays and go off in quiet corner and spend an hour or two just reading what they wanted.
If the light rain continued at the University Sunday some of the football players would walk over to pizza place for an early lunch on Sunday morning about ten am and if one of the handicapped assistant part-time teachers was being made fun of in her car near the pizza shop one of the defensive tackles who was trying to watch his weight might only have to glace at the four guys who were judging the limping girl carrying too many canvas bags of stuff to change those four guys and keep them from saying something cruel to the limping assistant un-tenured temporary teacher and not spoil her weekend or pierce her heart with their comments.
Sunday mornings are a good time around the University. Everybody doesn't think alike and there are no budget meetings or meetings about how to reward the successful business guys who didn't go to college but want to give something back but don't quite understand what a liberal education is all about. The community around the University appreciates the Colleges on Sunday for the people run things for a few hours before it's back to exponential growth on Monday and the continuation of the war against the on-line Universities. Practicality and the school of hand knocks rule tomorrow but Sunday morning the President of the University reads what he wants and thinks originally let the subject be what it may.
The University does a lot of good things and is a growth engine in our economy. It needs to stand up so the right wing guys don't take over. Sunday mornings are a good time to start. Sunday mornings are the time when we are ourselves. We listen to the music we want, read what we want, and don't have to kiss and kow tow to business interests which insidiously control everything in an dynamic low growth community.
Sometimes on Sunday mornings at the school of music someone who likes to play piano will play Chopin and will play some etudes even if they don't ever perform professionally just because they want to be challenged. At the school of business, on Sunday mornings someone will read John Locke's writings on sensation that have nothing to do with the insurance business or how to successfully run a growing telemarketing company.
A light rain on Sunday mornings drives a lot of people inside and independent thinkers and creative people can come and go as they want for a few hours. When they move about the community it's a good thing, even if they walk with a limp, because the people in their houses are exposed to the un-institutionalized thinkers and writers in the area.
fiction
edward w pritchard
Over there at the State University they started having a lot of meetings about maintaining the status quo because things were going quite well and things were going successfully financially. Hiring of faculty was up, and enrollments were bulging, and endowments for building was helping the entire community. Students loans were surging like never before and the University was spreading across and dominating the downtown and the community.
The President of the University sometimes needed a break from all the hub bub and sometimes would lose the battery charger to both his phones on Thursday, so he could crash for a day or two on Friday afternoon or Saturday. He still had to check the e-mails in case one of the benefactors called but if he pulled it off this weekend he would apologize to his wife, then put on an old shirt and read a little of what he wanted to read early Sunday and then sneak off shopping for a few gourmet foods on Sunday. He enjoyed those few minutes shopping for things he didn't really need but were his preference and always he concluded his time alone by reading something original and not conventional before he returned to the fold on Monday. He was the leader, but the University was running itself now and the University had a will to power and position to expand and it controlled him like everything else around it and the University president knew better than to try to change it's philosophy or methods, but for today he was in charge.
The students sometimes would all disappear from campus on Sunday morning and one nursing student would go over to the Children's hospital where she interned a few quarters ago and drop off surprises for the really sick children. The girl was pretty but today she wouldn't stop to talk to the handsome Doctor's or socialize as she walked across campus and wouldn't check her blackberry to review her social calendar. If it was lightly raining, the nursing student would stop near the Church that was co-affiliated with the University and listen to the choir which was able to rise above the liturgy of the University services.
At the fraternity, one or two guys, who hadn't drunk too much and weren't hung over on Sunday would get up early early Sunday morning and fix a sink over at the food bank where one or two of them had worked so the people there could do their work Monday and Tuesday of next week. After that they would throw old pieces of roofing materials into the municipal dumpsters that they had loaded into their truck from some work they had done for the food bank a few weeks ago and then they would joyously run down fraternity row carrying an old discarded mattress from the food bank and throw it into their fraternity's dumpster with the house letters painted on the side.
A few students, would go into to the Library Sunday morning and rather than read the Wall street journal or Barron's might grab Francis Bacon's essays and go off in quiet corner and spend an hour or two just reading what they wanted.
If the light rain continued at the University Sunday some of the football players would walk over to pizza place for an early lunch on Sunday morning about ten am and if one of the handicapped assistant part-time teachers was being made fun of in her car near the pizza shop one of the defensive tackles who was trying to watch his weight might only have to glace at the four guys who were judging the limping girl carrying too many canvas bags of stuff to change those four guys and keep them from saying something cruel to the limping assistant un-tenured temporary teacher and not spoil her weekend or pierce her heart with their comments.
Sunday mornings are a good time around the University. Everybody doesn't think alike and there are no budget meetings or meetings about how to reward the successful business guys who didn't go to college but want to give something back but don't quite understand what a liberal education is all about. The community around the University appreciates the Colleges on Sunday for the people run things for a few hours before it's back to exponential growth on Monday and the continuation of the war against the on-line Universities. Practicality and the school of hand knocks rule tomorrow but Sunday morning the President of the University reads what he wants and thinks originally let the subject be what it may.
The University does a lot of good things and is a growth engine in our economy. It needs to stand up so the right wing guys don't take over. Sunday mornings are a good time to start. Sunday mornings are the time when we are ourselves. We listen to the music we want, read what we want, and don't have to kiss and kow tow to business interests which insidiously control everything in an dynamic low growth community.
Sometimes on Sunday mornings at the school of music someone who likes to play piano will play Chopin and will play some etudes even if they don't ever perform professionally just because they want to be challenged. At the school of business, on Sunday mornings someone will read John Locke's writings on sensation that have nothing to do with the insurance business or how to successfully run a growing telemarketing company.
A light rain on Sunday mornings drives a lot of people inside and independent thinkers and creative people can come and go as they want for a few hours. When they move about the community it's a good thing, even if they walk with a limp, because the people in their houses are exposed to the un-institutionalized thinkers and writers in the area.
Thursday, May 20, 2010
buy it, sell it, keep it, treasure it
buy it, sell it, keep it, treasure it
fiction
edward w pritchard
Millie accumulated enough things that after her death the three of us spent seven complete weekends hauling things to the goodwill and the trash; and that's after all the sought after items were moved to new locations.
All I wanted was the green chest of drawers that Grandma Myers had got from her Father's side of the family. My brother and I haven't spoken to each other because his wife and I both want that fine piece of furniture. My Mother isn't helping because she feels my brother should get chest of drawers because he is older.
How does that make sense? My Brother is older than me, true. But, Aunt Millie is dead now and when Grandma Myers gave her the chest of drawers originally my brother and I were both not born yet. Grandma Myer's father's side of the family got that chest of drawers a long time ago, before anyone thought of my brother or me.
The fact that my brother is four years older than me, or his wife is a scheming bitch who wants everything shouldn't have anything to do with who gets the green chest of drawers in my way of thinking. I want it because it will look good in the screened in porch and we can keep pictures and old family albums in it.
fiction
edward w pritchard
Millie accumulated enough things that after her death the three of us spent seven complete weekends hauling things to the goodwill and the trash; and that's after all the sought after items were moved to new locations.
All I wanted was the green chest of drawers that Grandma Myers had got from her Father's side of the family. My brother and I haven't spoken to each other because his wife and I both want that fine piece of furniture. My Mother isn't helping because she feels my brother should get chest of drawers because he is older.
How does that make sense? My Brother is older than me, true. But, Aunt Millie is dead now and when Grandma Myers gave her the chest of drawers originally my brother and I were both not born yet. Grandma Myer's father's side of the family got that chest of drawers a long time ago, before anyone thought of my brother or me.
The fact that my brother is four years older than me, or his wife is a scheming bitch who wants everything shouldn't have anything to do with who gets the green chest of drawers in my way of thinking. I want it because it will look good in the screened in porch and we can keep pictures and old family albums in it.
Thursday, May 13, 2010
getting to first base
getting to first base
fiction
edward w pritchard
The new umpire at first base was very pretty but was older than the players and most thought of her as a Mother. Often one of the players would choose not to run on to second on a hit into the gap in left or right field so they could stand at first with the lady umpire for the Cleveland Indians and tell them their problems with their wives and girlfriends as they waited for the next batter to drive them on towards home plate.
The new lady umpire was famous because of media attention over her reaction to the Redsox's pitching staff. When she found out that some of those pitcher's had deliberately hit a batter in retaliation for one's of their teammates being hit she had called a meeting there at first base on National television with the entire Red Sox defensive team. Media had a field day with that one. " Mom threatens Sox pitching staff,- stop the brush back throws or head for the showers-"
The umpire was named Sally and sometimes she was labeled Tornado Sally by the Media to promote the sport of baseball which was out of favor a little with the National audiences.
Sally was never out of favor with the Latino players. They were polite and respectful and they relished her advice. When standing at first they would jump on and off first base up to fifteen times to keep the pitcher throwing over on the pick off play to keep their conversation going with Sally. When giving advice Sally wouldn't be rushed-she had to hear the whole story-- and all the details-- before she would formulate her advice of the heart. It slowed down the game of baseball but the fans and announcers loved it and it attracted a lot of female fans and ratings soared.
Talk began to circulate among the owners about moving Sally to behind the plate to give her more National exposure.
End part one
fiction
edward w pritchard
The new umpire at first base was very pretty but was older than the players and most thought of her as a Mother. Often one of the players would choose not to run on to second on a hit into the gap in left or right field so they could stand at first with the lady umpire for the Cleveland Indians and tell them their problems with their wives and girlfriends as they waited for the next batter to drive them on towards home plate.
The new lady umpire was famous because of media attention over her reaction to the Redsox's pitching staff. When she found out that some of those pitcher's had deliberately hit a batter in retaliation for one's of their teammates being hit she had called a meeting there at first base on National television with the entire Red Sox defensive team. Media had a field day with that one. " Mom threatens Sox pitching staff,- stop the brush back throws or head for the showers-"
The umpire was named Sally and sometimes she was labeled Tornado Sally by the Media to promote the sport of baseball which was out of favor a little with the National audiences.
Sally was never out of favor with the Latino players. They were polite and respectful and they relished her advice. When standing at first they would jump on and off first base up to fifteen times to keep the pitcher throwing over on the pick off play to keep their conversation going with Sally. When giving advice Sally wouldn't be rushed-she had to hear the whole story-- and all the details-- before she would formulate her advice of the heart. It slowed down the game of baseball but the fans and announcers loved it and it attracted a lot of female fans and ratings soared.
Talk began to circulate among the owners about moving Sally to behind the plate to give her more National exposure.
End part one
Friday, May 7, 2010
LT stumbles
LT stumbles
for Lawrence Taylor, peace and solace
fiction
edward w pritchard
LT your eyes look sad. If you would have been at our favorite pub we would line up to buy you a light beer.
You were supposed to keep running, straight over top of the quarterback. Fling him ten yards backwards and dance and romp.
Biceps like beer kegs and a grip of steel to clutch claw and grasp with.
LT you shouldn't have got old. Even your friends can't abide to look into your eyes now. That's what they do with used up linebackers I guess. Clipped without a flag from us all.
for Lawrence Taylor, peace and solace
fiction
edward w pritchard
LT your eyes look sad. If you would have been at our favorite pub we would line up to buy you a light beer.
You were supposed to keep running, straight over top of the quarterback. Fling him ten yards backwards and dance and romp.
Biceps like beer kegs and a grip of steel to clutch claw and grasp with.
LT you shouldn't have got old. Even your friends can't abide to look into your eyes now. That's what they do with used up linebackers I guess. Clipped without a flag from us all.
Thursday, May 6, 2010
marzipan for breakfast
marzipan for breakfast
fiction
edward w pritchard
After union in the harem the sultan always sent marzipan with his compliments. Last nights anticipation and deliverance is gone and bright light fills the halls and he sits off reading his books and she has tea and marzipan.
Life's a cosmic joke for us. A Doctor carefully attending to his duties in the middle of the operation realizes it's his own arm he cuts into to repair the hand.
Life's purpose evades me: why did we go to formal dinners and then worry about our manners and protocol. Why not just sip your glass of capers and milk and enjoy your book. Search for Roxanna or build a Taj Mahal.
Life has meaning. Fame is always beyond reach, and success an illusion; read your book, feel the warm sun, and remember the Turkish delight.
end
fiction
edward w pritchard
After union in the harem the sultan always sent marzipan with his compliments. Last nights anticipation and deliverance is gone and bright light fills the halls and he sits off reading his books and she has tea and marzipan.
Life's a cosmic joke for us. A Doctor carefully attending to his duties in the middle of the operation realizes it's his own arm he cuts into to repair the hand.
Life's purpose evades me: why did we go to formal dinners and then worry about our manners and protocol. Why not just sip your glass of capers and milk and enjoy your book. Search for Roxanna or build a Taj Mahal.
Life has meaning. Fame is always beyond reach, and success an illusion; read your book, feel the warm sun, and remember the Turkish delight.
end
business and commerce
business and commerce
fiction
edward w pritchard
Business thou art a fickle whore. Lifting thou skirt thou flaunts thy treasures and then delivers the goods to others. The promised profit and prize never is realized. Thy deseveth thy reputation fallen wanton temptress.
Lead me away from thou. I will learn and not fall for your promises of wealth and power. No more stocks, no more residuals, no more commissions and no more ad placement payments.
Your high handed platitudes bore me and your stacked deck cannot beguile me.
The life of the intellect for me. I'll pay thy toll later but I will stay far from your temples of prosperity.
end
fiction
edward w pritchard
Business thou art a fickle whore. Lifting thou skirt thou flaunts thy treasures and then delivers the goods to others. The promised profit and prize never is realized. Thy deseveth thy reputation fallen wanton temptress.
Lead me away from thou. I will learn and not fall for your promises of wealth and power. No more stocks, no more residuals, no more commissions and no more ad placement payments.
Your high handed platitudes bore me and your stacked deck cannot beguile me.
The life of the intellect for me. I'll pay thy toll later but I will stay far from your temples of prosperity.
end
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
the death of the Indian fighter
the death of the Indian fighter
fiction
edward w pritchard
see commentary on the Kent state shootings -feb blog for author's commentary on Indians and Wounded knee
Billie Teagarden had at 17 followed orders and pursued and followed and shot American Indians at Wounded Knee South Dakota on December 30. 1890. Only Billie knew how many women and children he had shot. Billie was just a common soldier who followed orders so he had received no special accommodation for his actions that day.
Fifty years later after he retired from the railroad Billie Teagarden began to have recurrent violent dreams about Wounded Knee. Neither he nor his Doctors knew why nor was anyone able to fix the guilt complex causing the dreams.
At age 68, Billie took a job as a janitor at an Indian school about 50 miles from the original Pine Ridge reservation where the original slaughter had occurred. In time in addition to being the part time janitor Billie assisted with teaching the students, functioning as an aid to the head teacher, a young woman of about thirty.
One day five young white men entered the school and terrorized the teacher and classroom of young Indian children. Billie Teagarden rushed to the teachers assistance from his janitor duties and was held at gun point with the students and teacher.
Over the next five years, occurring as the same time as World War Two, Billie stalked and killed each of the five men who had been involved in the original incident at the Indian reservation school. Shortly after he killed the last of the five assailants Billie Teagarden shot and killed himself. The deaths of the five assailants was never solved and because of the back drop of World War two Billie Teagarden's death was barely noted or observed.
fiction
edward w pritchard
see commentary on the Kent state shootings -feb blog for author's commentary on Indians and Wounded knee
Billie Teagarden had at 17 followed orders and pursued and followed and shot American Indians at Wounded Knee South Dakota on December 30. 1890. Only Billie knew how many women and children he had shot. Billie was just a common soldier who followed orders so he had received no special accommodation for his actions that day.
Fifty years later after he retired from the railroad Billie Teagarden began to have recurrent violent dreams about Wounded Knee. Neither he nor his Doctors knew why nor was anyone able to fix the guilt complex causing the dreams.
At age 68, Billie took a job as a janitor at an Indian school about 50 miles from the original Pine Ridge reservation where the original slaughter had occurred. In time in addition to being the part time janitor Billie assisted with teaching the students, functioning as an aid to the head teacher, a young woman of about thirty.
One day five young white men entered the school and terrorized the teacher and classroom of young Indian children. Billie Teagarden rushed to the teachers assistance from his janitor duties and was held at gun point with the students and teacher.
Over the next five years, occurring as the same time as World War Two, Billie stalked and killed each of the five men who had been involved in the original incident at the Indian reservation school. Shortly after he killed the last of the five assailants Billie Teagarden shot and killed himself. The deaths of the five assailants was never solved and because of the back drop of World War two Billie Teagarden's death was barely noted or observed.
the cage boxer's dummy
the cage boxer's dummy
fiction
edward w pritchard
The cage boxers were unable to find sparing partners. You can't practice to be a cage fighter half go. No-one wants to get the hell kicked out of themselves so no one applied for the opening at the gym for cage fighting sparing partner.
Bo- fly Robertson was a Black piano player who couldn't read music, a heavy drinker and a one time prize fighter. At sixty years old he was down and out and applied for the sparing partner job at the cage fighting gym. He could use the 37.50 per round being offered for sparing.
The eleven young men who trained at Barnes' gym were against Bo-Fly getting the job. He was old, short winded, had a bad left wrist and couldn't throw a straight right cross anymore. He got the job because no one else applied.
Bo-fly was a gentle sort. He mostly drank cheap wine and people usually took advantage of him.
The cage fighters all worked full time and dreamed of fame from winning the area cage fighting championship. They needed their new sparing partner to challenge them to excellence. They wanted viciousness from their sparing partner.
Bo-fly didn't bounce when he fought and didn't move forward or back. He stood in the middle of the ring and waited for the fight to come to him. He kept his wrists high and tight and peered between his little fingers at his opponents eyes. He smiled at the beginning of each round.
The cage fighters bounced and spun and rushed and retreated as they fought for they were young and fast. Most everything on their bodies worked well.
At the first bout Bo-fly was given a 20 ounce pair of gloves to use. His opponents used 12 oz gloves. The first thing the three cage fighters learned today was not to spin, not to ever have their back face Bo-fly. Bo-fly hit high out of professional politeness missing the kidneys and neck, but solidly just below the shoulders if anyone turned their back to him while sparing today. He had been instructed to hit hard if he was to be paid and he needed the money.
Cage fighters often kick aggressively and wildly. Bo-fly would drop his fist if someone kicked and meet their leg on the inside of the leading thigh just above the knee. Cage fighters stopped leading with their legs today.
Young cage fighters are fierce and aggressive and often charge and swing and come in and go for the knock out. Bo-Fly covered up and let them hit and hit and then would beat about the body until the cage fighters couldn't raise their arms and then would hit the biceps until the cage fighters couldn't defend themselves anymore.
Several cage fighters decided not to pursue their cage fighting careers after sparing with 60 year old broken down Bo-fly. Bo-fly didn't spar for sport or honor or anger he spared for the money and he was a formidable fighter.
The cage fighters decided that if Bo-fly spars he must now wear 24 or 28 ounce gloves.
end
fiction
edward w pritchard
The cage boxers were unable to find sparing partners. You can't practice to be a cage fighter half go. No-one wants to get the hell kicked out of themselves so no one applied for the opening at the gym for cage fighting sparing partner.
Bo- fly Robertson was a Black piano player who couldn't read music, a heavy drinker and a one time prize fighter. At sixty years old he was down and out and applied for the sparing partner job at the cage fighting gym. He could use the 37.50 per round being offered for sparing.
The eleven young men who trained at Barnes' gym were against Bo-Fly getting the job. He was old, short winded, had a bad left wrist and couldn't throw a straight right cross anymore. He got the job because no one else applied.
Bo-fly was a gentle sort. He mostly drank cheap wine and people usually took advantage of him.
The cage fighters all worked full time and dreamed of fame from winning the area cage fighting championship. They needed their new sparing partner to challenge them to excellence. They wanted viciousness from their sparing partner.
Bo-fly didn't bounce when he fought and didn't move forward or back. He stood in the middle of the ring and waited for the fight to come to him. He kept his wrists high and tight and peered between his little fingers at his opponents eyes. He smiled at the beginning of each round.
The cage fighters bounced and spun and rushed and retreated as they fought for they were young and fast. Most everything on their bodies worked well.
At the first bout Bo-fly was given a 20 ounce pair of gloves to use. His opponents used 12 oz gloves. The first thing the three cage fighters learned today was not to spin, not to ever have their back face Bo-fly. Bo-fly hit high out of professional politeness missing the kidneys and neck, but solidly just below the shoulders if anyone turned their back to him while sparing today. He had been instructed to hit hard if he was to be paid and he needed the money.
Cage fighters often kick aggressively and wildly. Bo-fly would drop his fist if someone kicked and meet their leg on the inside of the leading thigh just above the knee. Cage fighters stopped leading with their legs today.
Young cage fighters are fierce and aggressive and often charge and swing and come in and go for the knock out. Bo-Fly covered up and let them hit and hit and then would beat about the body until the cage fighters couldn't raise their arms and then would hit the biceps until the cage fighters couldn't defend themselves anymore.
Several cage fighters decided not to pursue their cage fighting careers after sparing with 60 year old broken down Bo-fly. Bo-fly didn't spar for sport or honor or anger he spared for the money and he was a formidable fighter.
The cage fighters decided that if Bo-fly spars he must now wear 24 or 28 ounce gloves.
end
even a confused broad deserves solace and comfort
even a confused broad deserves solace and comfort
God help Lindsay Lohan
fiction
edward w pritchard
Nature had blessed her with the prerequisites for fame as a beauty and nature had bestowed those blessings at an early age. Fame extracted the usual percentage and by twenty years old she was maybe beyond repair psychologically. Beyond repair if she continued to function under the microscope of the menacing and morbid public gaze.
There was still money to be made for reporting on her, writing about her and picturing her. A cottage industry followed her as she fell from grace. Her every sin was posterized,her every failing was snicked at, and she was watched voyeuristically as she stumbled to her doom. Many a financial crisis was averted among camera people by snapping and exposing a picture of her as she exited a car, or more prosaically as she threw up on someones shoes after two solid nights of debauchery. She was doing the usual rake's progress in hyper mode and by age 21 there wasn't much she hadn't stumbled into, fallen down at, or fouled up at.
Her productivity plummeted. Even the most desperate low budget film director couldn't touch her. Their business partners had had enough of her stage hysterics.
Still the pictures of her demise were valuable.
Eventually sadly to report she died. The funeral rekindled interest in her exponentially. Not just in America, but in Asia, and throughout the world.
Unpublished pictures of her became worth $50,000 each.
After a few days of her death, no old pictures were to be found. Everything was previously copyrighted and a copyrighted picture couldn't be obtained for less than $500,000.
Of course ghoulishly her body was dug up again, under the guise of a second autopsy. Her body was displayed like a shot dead American outlaw on a wood upright angled display of two by fours. She was in a white dress and had flowers in her hair.
Enough--- even a confused broad deserves some solace and comfort. Please pray for Lindsay and don't take voyeuristic satisfaction in her sad photos. Where would you be if your sins were on the international news. God help Lindsay.
God help Lindsay Lohan
fiction
edward w pritchard
Nature had blessed her with the prerequisites for fame as a beauty and nature had bestowed those blessings at an early age. Fame extracted the usual percentage and by twenty years old she was maybe beyond repair psychologically. Beyond repair if she continued to function under the microscope of the menacing and morbid public gaze.
There was still money to be made for reporting on her, writing about her and picturing her. A cottage industry followed her as she fell from grace. Her every sin was posterized,her every failing was snicked at, and she was watched voyeuristically as she stumbled to her doom. Many a financial crisis was averted among camera people by snapping and exposing a picture of her as she exited a car, or more prosaically as she threw up on someones shoes after two solid nights of debauchery. She was doing the usual rake's progress in hyper mode and by age 21 there wasn't much she hadn't stumbled into, fallen down at, or fouled up at.
Her productivity plummeted. Even the most desperate low budget film director couldn't touch her. Their business partners had had enough of her stage hysterics.
Still the pictures of her demise were valuable.
Eventually sadly to report she died. The funeral rekindled interest in her exponentially. Not just in America, but in Asia, and throughout the world.
Unpublished pictures of her became worth $50,000 each.
After a few days of her death, no old pictures were to be found. Everything was previously copyrighted and a copyrighted picture couldn't be obtained for less than $500,000.
Of course ghoulishly her body was dug up again, under the guise of a second autopsy. Her body was displayed like a shot dead American outlaw on a wood upright angled display of two by fours. She was in a white dress and had flowers in her hair.
Enough--- even a confused broad deserves some solace and comfort. Please pray for Lindsay and don't take voyeuristic satisfaction in her sad photos. Where would you be if your sins were on the international news. God help Lindsay.
the fallen leader-part 2
the fallen leader-part 2
fiction
edward w pritchard
see part 1
scratched his calf muscle, and drifted off to sleep. His last thought was he would not be rich in America, like he had been at home, but he would be comfortable. He wouldn't have to work, he now had several hundred thousand dollars in an American bank account. Maybe he would write a book, or just sit at a swimming pool and drink, early retirement American style.
Surprisingly, Thu was the only person of his party on this plane. Or, maybe not surprising for America was a big place, and there were hundreds of flights daily. The US state department would mix up the flights so his companions would dissolve and the network Thu had developed in twenty five years together in politics would disappear.
There were lines when he landed and Thu learned he was to be given a brief physical by US customs at the New York airport. After that he would transfer to a flight to Ohio. Thu didn't find his contact and decided to resign himself that he was no longer priviledged so to speak.
Two hours later a much red faced and agitated Thu took a few brief breaths and tried to think calmly. He was on a plane back to his County non-stop and as soon as he landed he would be unceremoniously killed. He had been recognized when he boarded this plane home.
The Americans were so inefficient. There had been no-one to help when the bored Doctor at the airport had found on him a minor skin disease, impatago, on the left calf of his leg. He was refused permission to enter the US airport.
Thu had called his contact in America but got his answering machine twice before he was put on another plane home by American homeland security. He was going back to his homeland and his death. Thu who was analytical tried to decide if his contact had sold him out. The money in the American Bank would be tempting.
Thu did not believe in metaphysical explanations. He didn't contemplate if Karma or chance had intervened in his life. He was more inclined to think the Americans were just bumblers.
fiction
edward w pritchard
see part 1
scratched his calf muscle, and drifted off to sleep. His last thought was he would not be rich in America, like he had been at home, but he would be comfortable. He wouldn't have to work, he now had several hundred thousand dollars in an American bank account. Maybe he would write a book, or just sit at a swimming pool and drink, early retirement American style.
Surprisingly, Thu was the only person of his party on this plane. Or, maybe not surprising for America was a big place, and there were hundreds of flights daily. The US state department would mix up the flights so his companions would dissolve and the network Thu had developed in twenty five years together in politics would disappear.
There were lines when he landed and Thu learned he was to be given a brief physical by US customs at the New York airport. After that he would transfer to a flight to Ohio. Thu didn't find his contact and decided to resign himself that he was no longer priviledged so to speak.
Two hours later a much red faced and agitated Thu took a few brief breaths and tried to think calmly. He was on a plane back to his County non-stop and as soon as he landed he would be unceremoniously killed. He had been recognized when he boarded this plane home.
The Americans were so inefficient. There had been no-one to help when the bored Doctor at the airport had found on him a minor skin disease, impatago, on the left calf of his leg. He was refused permission to enter the US airport.
Thu had called his contact in America but got his answering machine twice before he was put on another plane home by American homeland security. He was going back to his homeland and his death. Thu who was analytical tried to decide if his contact had sold him out. The money in the American Bank would be tempting.
Thu did not believe in metaphysical explanations. He didn't contemplate if Karma or chance had intervened in his life. He was more inclined to think the Americans were just bumblers.
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
the fallen leader
the fallen leader
part 1
fiction
edward w pritchard
The back of his leg had began to itch when he was on the plane, but that was of little concern to Thu after the whirl of events of the last three days.
Thu was a high ranking official of the fallen party that had just fled his Country to America. The Americans had lost the prolonged skirmish in his Country and the final exit for Thu and the 500 or so officials was chaotic and terrifying. No one knew for sure who had gotten away; and the exit had involved machine gun fire, car chases and helicopter rides.
Now Thu was safely over the Oceans on a 747 headed for his new life in America. He began to relax. The American State department had arranged for him to start a new life in America, in New Worthington Ohio, and Thu was only four or five hours from American soil.
Thu closed his eyes,
end part 1
part 1
fiction
edward w pritchard
The back of his leg had began to itch when he was on the plane, but that was of little concern to Thu after the whirl of events of the last three days.
Thu was a high ranking official of the fallen party that had just fled his Country to America. The Americans had lost the prolonged skirmish in his Country and the final exit for Thu and the 500 or so officials was chaotic and terrifying. No one knew for sure who had gotten away; and the exit had involved machine gun fire, car chases and helicopter rides.
Now Thu was safely over the Oceans on a 747 headed for his new life in America. He began to relax. The American State department had arranged for him to start a new life in America, in New Worthington Ohio, and Thu was only four or five hours from American soil.
Thu closed his eyes,
end part 1
Sunday, May 2, 2010
a man about the kitchen
a man about the kitchen
fiction
edward w pritchard
Feminism has come and is now passe. Diversity has moved on to other more challenging battles.
A man in the kitchen is still a no no. Women want the right to write and tell their own story, earn their own living and pursue their own sins; but only the most enlightened will allow a man in the kitchen. A man in the kitchen is subject to criticism, ridicule, and anger.
The French Chef excepted a man in the kitchen is suspect. Relegated to chili or exiled to the yard to a heavy meat concentration of barbecue. The more modern and innovative vegan recipes and haute cuisines are considered beyond a man.
Woman rule the kitchen with an iron hand. It's not about food it's about power. A man can watch the kids, sit at endless soccer games and attend school conferences but not be in the sacred kitchen. That's the woman's domain. Choosing words carefully, drawn sword like, a woman attempts to define the situation and empower herself and emasculate the bumbling male. Man may not enter the hearth, it is un-natural.
A man in the kitchen is considered shrill. A bitch of sorts. Hysterical. Ludicrous for wanting to enter a woman's world. The matriarchal world defines the limits of a man's venturing into her kitchen. Woman forces man to conform to society's expectations and follow the same tired script and stay out of the kitchen.
A man is not entitled to a place for his tools and things in the kitchen. To suggest otherwise is heresy. Man is considered too inept to even put things in the dishwasher. Popular culture enforces these tired stereotypes.
There are too many boundaries on men when it comes to entering the kitchen. Male friendship or comradary in the kitchen is imbibed with innuendo. Man must keep his place, the garage, the study, or worse, the barbecue pit or tail gate party.
When a man does enter the kitchen successfully such as early 19th century cooks they are labeled freaks, interlopers, shrews. Women control the media concerning who may be in the kitchen and their stories and histories ridicule, mock, condemn, or the ultimate in the anti-male/kitchen stereotypes; men are ignored.
Several men of recent history, the last 149 years have boldly ventured into the kitchen. They made their own life, cooked for themselves, wrote about it in a room of their own, and even made a living from being in the kitchen. Ignoring the iron willed women who condemn their efforts for equal opportunity in the kitchen and outside the home these pacemakers are an inspiration to us all. Not wishing to overturn they cook and fry, and they merely cry out and wish to be heard. To have the food smelled and tasted and to be no longer banned from the kitchen the last battleground in the war between the sexes is their modest desire. Equal opportunity in the kitchen is a war fought by men so they may define who they are and make their rules; and then write and preach about it so other men may follow their path.
Men let's get angry, unite, in brotherhood, the time is ripe- the kitchen awaits- boldly venture forth, sans apron, elbows held high, clutching our sacred light beer, meet us in the kitchen, take control of your destiny.
end
fiction
edward w pritchard
Feminism has come and is now passe. Diversity has moved on to other more challenging battles.
A man in the kitchen is still a no no. Women want the right to write and tell their own story, earn their own living and pursue their own sins; but only the most enlightened will allow a man in the kitchen. A man in the kitchen is subject to criticism, ridicule, and anger.
The French Chef excepted a man in the kitchen is suspect. Relegated to chili or exiled to the yard to a heavy meat concentration of barbecue. The more modern and innovative vegan recipes and haute cuisines are considered beyond a man.
Woman rule the kitchen with an iron hand. It's not about food it's about power. A man can watch the kids, sit at endless soccer games and attend school conferences but not be in the sacred kitchen. That's the woman's domain. Choosing words carefully, drawn sword like, a woman attempts to define the situation and empower herself and emasculate the bumbling male. Man may not enter the hearth, it is un-natural.
A man in the kitchen is considered shrill. A bitch of sorts. Hysterical. Ludicrous for wanting to enter a woman's world. The matriarchal world defines the limits of a man's venturing into her kitchen. Woman forces man to conform to society's expectations and follow the same tired script and stay out of the kitchen.
A man is not entitled to a place for his tools and things in the kitchen. To suggest otherwise is heresy. Man is considered too inept to even put things in the dishwasher. Popular culture enforces these tired stereotypes.
There are too many boundaries on men when it comes to entering the kitchen. Male friendship or comradary in the kitchen is imbibed with innuendo. Man must keep his place, the garage, the study, or worse, the barbecue pit or tail gate party.
When a man does enter the kitchen successfully such as early 19th century cooks they are labeled freaks, interlopers, shrews. Women control the media concerning who may be in the kitchen and their stories and histories ridicule, mock, condemn, or the ultimate in the anti-male/kitchen stereotypes; men are ignored.
Several men of recent history, the last 149 years have boldly ventured into the kitchen. They made their own life, cooked for themselves, wrote about it in a room of their own, and even made a living from being in the kitchen. Ignoring the iron willed women who condemn their efforts for equal opportunity in the kitchen and outside the home these pacemakers are an inspiration to us all. Not wishing to overturn they cook and fry, and they merely cry out and wish to be heard. To have the food smelled and tasted and to be no longer banned from the kitchen the last battleground in the war between the sexes is their modest desire. Equal opportunity in the kitchen is a war fought by men so they may define who they are and make their rules; and then write and preach about it so other men may follow their path.
Men let's get angry, unite, in brotherhood, the time is ripe- the kitchen awaits- boldly venture forth, sans apron, elbows held high, clutching our sacred light beer, meet us in the kitchen, take control of your destiny.
end
feng shui and church buildings
feng shu and church buildings
fiction
edward w pritchard
Once a building is used for one sort of purpose, it is always thereafter influenced by that original use.
Down toward Canton, Ohio a growing congregation of Baptists decided that because of the recession and all the vacant buildings everywhere to not build the new building they had been saving for for a dozen years. Instead they bought an old grocery store long since vacant. The feng shui of the grocery store began to immediately show itself in the services at the church.
The minister would be in the middle of a long long sermon and everybody would suddenly smell ham.
If the choir was singing and someone hit a bad note everyone in the congregation would want rolaids or tums.
In an effort to incorporate the building's feng shui into the church the minister's wife suggested that the church build on the grocery store motif.
Several changes were made to the normal church service to blend a church and a grocery store together. Most important was that real grocery carts were used to haul sinners to the alter for confession. Nobody likes to walk down to the front of the church and be stared at while they go to confess their sins; so many people never take that first step. However, a careening shopping cart ride down the aisles is another matter. Nearly two hundred people on a normal night would line up to confess and get the ride down the sloping aisles to the alter. After a heart felt confession they would then be pushed back to their seats.
The collection plate was eliminated. Instead a check out counter and cash register was put in and before anyone could leave they had to get a bill and pay their balance due. If anyone forgot their bible they would be sold one and would have to pay retail for the new one each week until they remembered their own bible. The church is the only place where a used book, a bible, is worth more than a new unused one.
Despite the changes membership is growing and growing at the new Baptist Church, and it is one of the strongest in the Baptist dioceses. With so many vacant buildings in our area and so much discouragement from the bad economy and vacant buildings, developing more churches and filling them new members might be one way to improve morale locally.
Most people go to the grocery store a lot more often than attend services at their church. Any changes to the church service that would increase attendance might be a good idea.
fiction
edward w pritchard
Once a building is used for one sort of purpose, it is always thereafter influenced by that original use.
Down toward Canton, Ohio a growing congregation of Baptists decided that because of the recession and all the vacant buildings everywhere to not build the new building they had been saving for for a dozen years. Instead they bought an old grocery store long since vacant. The feng shui of the grocery store began to immediately show itself in the services at the church.
The minister would be in the middle of a long long sermon and everybody would suddenly smell ham.
If the choir was singing and someone hit a bad note everyone in the congregation would want rolaids or tums.
In an effort to incorporate the building's feng shui into the church the minister's wife suggested that the church build on the grocery store motif.
Several changes were made to the normal church service to blend a church and a grocery store together. Most important was that real grocery carts were used to haul sinners to the alter for confession. Nobody likes to walk down to the front of the church and be stared at while they go to confess their sins; so many people never take that first step. However, a careening shopping cart ride down the aisles is another matter. Nearly two hundred people on a normal night would line up to confess and get the ride down the sloping aisles to the alter. After a heart felt confession they would then be pushed back to their seats.
The collection plate was eliminated. Instead a check out counter and cash register was put in and before anyone could leave they had to get a bill and pay their balance due. If anyone forgot their bible they would be sold one and would have to pay retail for the new one each week until they remembered their own bible. The church is the only place where a used book, a bible, is worth more than a new unused one.
Despite the changes membership is growing and growing at the new Baptist Church, and it is one of the strongest in the Baptist dioceses. With so many vacant buildings in our area and so much discouragement from the bad economy and vacant buildings, developing more churches and filling them new members might be one way to improve morale locally.
Most people go to the grocery store a lot more often than attend services at their church. Any changes to the church service that would increase attendance might be a good idea.
lousy jobs are abundant
lousy jobs are abundant
fiction
edward w pritchard
Why don't waitresses flip out at work. They have no prospects, no benefits and no security. Somehow they never go on a shooting spree. Do all of them have rich husbands these days?
Fast food workers are always busy. Making someone else money. If they look sideways they get a warning and if they ever say anything they are not scheduled anymore. Maybe they need a union. Maybe they are all in college, piling up and leveraging student loans to pursue a better life.
How many fast food workers and waitresses are there? Everyone else in our Country goes either to fast food or is served food by a waitress. If everyone who sympathizes with their plight would help them just once or twice they would be treated more fairly. Maybe everyone else is too busy to notice.
Rubber workers got shot and killed when striking in our town in the 1930's when demanding better pay and benefits. When they were initially assessing their situation I bet they were a lot better off than waitresses and fast food workers.
Most of us are just getting by. Here's how we could help waitresses and fast food workers:
Gwen worked part time at the national chain bookstore. She worried because she had no benefits, no health insurance or retirement. She hoped someday to get into the library system but they only hired part time any more. No benefits and it was hard to get scheduled, because of declining tax revenues locally. Gwen liked to go out on Saturday night and go to a nice rival bookstore and then have a nice dinner. It was her splurge for the week. She always tipped the waitress because they didn't even get paid minimum wage. Gwen didn't tip at the the rival bookstore because they did brain work, and that was compensation in itself.
Gwen should talk to others and they should skip the bookstore and the restaurant and tell everyone exactly why and things might get better for waitresses, fast food workers and customer service people, and people who work at bookstores and people who work at drug stores and people who are cashiers and people who do telemarketing, cut hair and all people in those kind of jobs.
How can everyone be doing well if so many people aren't? Surely that many people can't be happy in those kind of jobs working temporary and part time. Maybe that's has something to do with all the declining tax revenues. I wonder if eventually everyone else who has planned wisely and made the grade will be effected?
If so many people aren't making a full time wage how can everybody be good, just peachy, living the good life, planning that big vacation, looking at the new car. Prosperity is just round the old corner.
Once I built a railroad [ strike railroad] [use] network now it's done; Brother can you spare me a dime.
Once I built a high speed network now it's done, brother can you spare me a dime-[$1.50].
fiction
edward w pritchard
Why don't waitresses flip out at work. They have no prospects, no benefits and no security. Somehow they never go on a shooting spree. Do all of them have rich husbands these days?
Fast food workers are always busy. Making someone else money. If they look sideways they get a warning and if they ever say anything they are not scheduled anymore. Maybe they need a union. Maybe they are all in college, piling up and leveraging student loans to pursue a better life.
How many fast food workers and waitresses are there? Everyone else in our Country goes either to fast food or is served food by a waitress. If everyone who sympathizes with their plight would help them just once or twice they would be treated more fairly. Maybe everyone else is too busy to notice.
Rubber workers got shot and killed when striking in our town in the 1930's when demanding better pay and benefits. When they were initially assessing their situation I bet they were a lot better off than waitresses and fast food workers.
Most of us are just getting by. Here's how we could help waitresses and fast food workers:
Gwen worked part time at the national chain bookstore. She worried because she had no benefits, no health insurance or retirement. She hoped someday to get into the library system but they only hired part time any more. No benefits and it was hard to get scheduled, because of declining tax revenues locally. Gwen liked to go out on Saturday night and go to a nice rival bookstore and then have a nice dinner. It was her splurge for the week. She always tipped the waitress because they didn't even get paid minimum wage. Gwen didn't tip at the the rival bookstore because they did brain work, and that was compensation in itself.
Gwen should talk to others and they should skip the bookstore and the restaurant and tell everyone exactly why and things might get better for waitresses, fast food workers and customer service people, and people who work at bookstores and people who work at drug stores and people who are cashiers and people who do telemarketing, cut hair and all people in those kind of jobs.
How can everyone be doing well if so many people aren't? Surely that many people can't be happy in those kind of jobs working temporary and part time. Maybe that's has something to do with all the declining tax revenues. I wonder if eventually everyone else who has planned wisely and made the grade will be effected?
If so many people aren't making a full time wage how can everybody be good, just peachy, living the good life, planning that big vacation, looking at the new car. Prosperity is just round the old corner.
Once I built a railroad [ strike railroad] [use] network now it's done; Brother can you spare me a dime.
Once I built a high speed network now it's done, brother can you spare me a dime-[$1.50].
Saturday, May 1, 2010
Guerrilla warfare
Guerrilla warfare
fiction
edward w pritchard
When faced with a stronger entrenched enemy guerrilla warfare calls for brief encounters with an objective of destruction of property that must be repaired, wounds rather than deaths to enemy soldiers and anything causing damage to morale among one's enemies- Mao and others [paraphrased]
On the old road south out of Akron there has stood an old building used for planned parenting activities. They don't do the abortions there but they interview clients and then refer them to another location. The building is very old and rundown and has been that way a long time.
One Saturday morning about 30 supporters of the mission statement of that planned parenting organization where out in force cleaning the lot, painting the building and working cohesively to upgrade the image and appearance of the property.
Two days later about two AM someone had taken paint and done about four thousand dollars worth of damage to the building. As luck would have the non-profit running the business had a five thousand deductible so the damages were not covered by insurance. Over the next three months there were 3 more incidents of vandalism each valued at $300 or so of damage.
At length the new director of the planned parenthood realized why his predecessor had not fixed up the building or kept up it's appearance. The new director decided to leave the last two acts of vandalism un-corected. He left the graffiti on the building.
After that the anti-abortion advocates picked another target for their activities.
end
fiction
edward w pritchard
When faced with a stronger entrenched enemy guerrilla warfare calls for brief encounters with an objective of destruction of property that must be repaired, wounds rather than deaths to enemy soldiers and anything causing damage to morale among one's enemies- Mao and others [paraphrased]
On the old road south out of Akron there has stood an old building used for planned parenting activities. They don't do the abortions there but they interview clients and then refer them to another location. The building is very old and rundown and has been that way a long time.
One Saturday morning about 30 supporters of the mission statement of that planned parenting organization where out in force cleaning the lot, painting the building and working cohesively to upgrade the image and appearance of the property.
Two days later about two AM someone had taken paint and done about four thousand dollars worth of damage to the building. As luck would have the non-profit running the business had a five thousand deductible so the damages were not covered by insurance. Over the next three months there were 3 more incidents of vandalism each valued at $300 or so of damage.
At length the new director of the planned parenthood realized why his predecessor had not fixed up the building or kept up it's appearance. The new director decided to leave the last two acts of vandalism un-corected. He left the graffiti on the building.
After that the anti-abortion advocates picked another target for their activities.
end
time passes/things change
time passes/things change
fiction
edward w pritchard
When I first learned to drive my car had a lot of problems but it had a nice radio. I didn't have money at home for records or albums so the radio was always important to me for I discovered 50's music and I was strongly influenced by the music of my teenage years growing up in America in the 1960's.
Sometimes while driving I would while spinning through the radio dial find one of about a dozen of my favorite songs. They were always coming from a station about 500 miles away and could only be heard while making careening left turns. For forty five seconds or so, until the static ate the music, life would be perfect.
Now nearly fourty years later the laptop computer my kids got me for my birthday has about every song from those years built into it's memory for my children are very capable and creative. With a click of a mouse I can hear any style of music I like or I can listen at my convenience to any one of those twelve original favorite songs or anything since that has taken it's place.
Not to be nostalgic but something is lost by having too many choices.
end
fiction
edward w pritchard
When I first learned to drive my car had a lot of problems but it had a nice radio. I didn't have money at home for records or albums so the radio was always important to me for I discovered 50's music and I was strongly influenced by the music of my teenage years growing up in America in the 1960's.
Sometimes while driving I would while spinning through the radio dial find one of about a dozen of my favorite songs. They were always coming from a station about 500 miles away and could only be heard while making careening left turns. For forty five seconds or so, until the static ate the music, life would be perfect.
Now nearly fourty years later the laptop computer my kids got me for my birthday has about every song from those years built into it's memory for my children are very capable and creative. With a click of a mouse I can hear any style of music I like or I can listen at my convenience to any one of those twelve original favorite songs or anything since that has taken it's place.
Not to be nostalgic but something is lost by having too many choices.
end
Kentucky derby day
Kentucky derby day
fiction
edward w pritchard
Bob and Betty had met for the first time at a party for the Kentucky Derby. There were both in their forties and divorced and both were in their own ways suspicious and cautious concerning romance.
Bob was big, broad shouldered and not overly tall, and also quiet and his friends had brought him to the party to get him out into the world. Betty was an expert on horses and had came to the party because she enjoyed anything concerning horses.
A local chiropractor had arranged the party and had wanted to share his wealth and success with the community. Dr. Mullins, the chiropractor introduced Bob and Betty and Betty helped Bob pick horses and Bob's friend Tul who was a little drunk had sat Betty on Bob's lap as a joke. At the end of the party Bob had kissed Betty as he walked her to her car.
Thirty three years later Betty and Bob were driving to the race track on Kentucky derby day. Betty wanted to celebrate their meeting anniversary. Both had on their best clothes. Betty had made reservations at the race track up near Cleveland and they had good seats up in the private dining area and she had paid twenty five dollars extra so they could sit at the windows.
Betty had baked cod and Bob had alfredo noodles. Betty picked the horses. Betty won a prize for having four of the top six finishers in the simulcast Kentucky derby line-up.
When Betty got up to get her prize, Nancy who was a nurse, and with her husband Carl, a car dealer, whispered to Carl that she thought that old man, sitting at the prize winner's table, had Alzheimer's disease.
Bob wasn't sure who the woman he was with going down the stairs at the race track was but, he wasn't going to let her carry the heavy box [ containing her prize]. After he put the box in her car he even got in when she asked him to.
Betty drove Bob home, happy she had won a TV as a door prize.
fiction
edward w pritchard
Bob and Betty had met for the first time at a party for the Kentucky Derby. There were both in their forties and divorced and both were in their own ways suspicious and cautious concerning romance.
Bob was big, broad shouldered and not overly tall, and also quiet and his friends had brought him to the party to get him out into the world. Betty was an expert on horses and had came to the party because she enjoyed anything concerning horses.
A local chiropractor had arranged the party and had wanted to share his wealth and success with the community. Dr. Mullins, the chiropractor introduced Bob and Betty and Betty helped Bob pick horses and Bob's friend Tul who was a little drunk had sat Betty on Bob's lap as a joke. At the end of the party Bob had kissed Betty as he walked her to her car.
Thirty three years later Betty and Bob were driving to the race track on Kentucky derby day. Betty wanted to celebrate their meeting anniversary. Both had on their best clothes. Betty had made reservations at the race track up near Cleveland and they had good seats up in the private dining area and she had paid twenty five dollars extra so they could sit at the windows.
Betty had baked cod and Bob had alfredo noodles. Betty picked the horses. Betty won a prize for having four of the top six finishers in the simulcast Kentucky derby line-up.
When Betty got up to get her prize, Nancy who was a nurse, and with her husband Carl, a car dealer, whispered to Carl that she thought that old man, sitting at the prize winner's table, had Alzheimer's disease.
Bob wasn't sure who the woman he was with going down the stairs at the race track was but, he wasn't going to let her carry the heavy box [ containing her prize]. After he put the box in her car he even got in when she asked him to.
Betty drove Bob home, happy she had won a TV as a door prize.
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