a little romance doesn't cost anything and its good for the soul
fiction
edward w Pritchard
Sometimes mixed among the bills and threats of judgments a little romance enters your life. A little romance can make an old timer check his email and make one look with fresh eyes on someone they have known for a long time. A little romance doesn't cost anything and it's good for the soul. A little romance can't be planned, it has to happen unexpectedly but it does have to be started and be nurtured. A little romance is like a small fire on a wet windy mountainous terrain on a dark night.
A little romance can be one sided. A little romance can make you look foolish and unsophisticated. Still a little romance is worth the risk, it's one thing that can make one smile when you are by yourself and that can urge you to sing when you have no voice.
Thursday, October 31, 2013
second chances/ part 2
seconds chances/ part 2
fiction
Edward w Pritchard
Second chances are a one legged man dancing backwards on his good leg. The least little bump or knock will upset the enterprise.
Time has passed since the end of the enterprise between two lovers. Now some circumstance has allowed a second chance. Partners approach second chances nervously with trepidation. Chance has dealt against them once already. A brutal ending occurred, time lapsed and tentatively a new start commenced. Hope blossoms anew, time is fresh, all can be original again if both wish it to be. Neither partner can trust the other or anyone else and neither knows what the others motivations and objectives are. Still a small start occurs. Potentiality moves cautiously toward execution.
Second chances are a one legged man dancing backwards on his good leg and his blind folded partner leading the dance on a slippery floor covered in broken shards of glass. Dancing couples must trust each other, experience destroyed trust. Second chances are a solo dance with the odds of finishing the performance stacked against you. Still we listen for the music to commence and anxiously await the touch of our lost partner. May the performance begin anew.
Better yet, make the second time enterprise an intellectual infatuation; without the spills and chills that come with real life, experience and real partners.
Why can't we fulfill our expectations? First chance, second chance nothing measures up to expectations. Why a blindfolded dance on a slippery dance floor? So much we wish for smoothness and lack of disruption.
I listen for the music to start the dance but I am standing alone. If music be the food of love ... The song is gone but an echo of forgotten notes remains. Hang onto receding music. The tune is gone. What is there to listen for?
fiction
Edward w Pritchard
Second chances are a one legged man dancing backwards on his good leg. The least little bump or knock will upset the enterprise.
Time has passed since the end of the enterprise between two lovers. Now some circumstance has allowed a second chance. Partners approach second chances nervously with trepidation. Chance has dealt against them once already. A brutal ending occurred, time lapsed and tentatively a new start commenced. Hope blossoms anew, time is fresh, all can be original again if both wish it to be. Neither partner can trust the other or anyone else and neither knows what the others motivations and objectives are. Still a small start occurs. Potentiality moves cautiously toward execution.
Second chances are a one legged man dancing backwards on his good leg and his blind folded partner leading the dance on a slippery floor covered in broken shards of glass. Dancing couples must trust each other, experience destroyed trust. Second chances are a solo dance with the odds of finishing the performance stacked against you. Still we listen for the music to commence and anxiously await the touch of our lost partner. May the performance begin anew.
Better yet, make the second time enterprise an intellectual infatuation; without the spills and chills that come with real life, experience and real partners.
Why can't we fulfill our expectations? First chance, second chance nothing measures up to expectations. Why a blindfolded dance on a slippery dance floor? So much we wish for smoothness and lack of disruption.
I listen for the music to start the dance but I am standing alone. If music be the food of love ... The song is gone but an echo of forgotten notes remains. Hang onto receding music. The tune is gone. What is there to listen for?
self inflicted love
self inflicted love
fiction
Edward w Pritchard
Without much time I plunged an arrow into my inside right thigh. Two weeks to experience passionate love again. Of my beloved two times to behold and two weeks for me to wallow in love like a dizzy school girl. Cupid's arrow burned like fire as old feelings inflamed and engulfed me. Into my feelings I sunk deeply.
Now the sad smile of reason returns. What changes return to wreck happiness? Too complicated a web of cause and effects antidotes brief bliss.
fiction
Edward w Pritchard
Without much time I plunged an arrow into my inside right thigh. Two weeks to experience passionate love again. Of my beloved two times to behold and two weeks for me to wallow in love like a dizzy school girl. Cupid's arrow burned like fire as old feelings inflamed and engulfed me. Into my feelings I sunk deeply.
Now the sad smile of reason returns. What changes return to wreck happiness? Too complicated a web of cause and effects antidotes brief bliss.
Wednesday, October 30, 2013
materialism grounds the good witch of the North
Materialism grounds the good witch of the North
fiction
Edward w Pritchard
In my bubble I floated along. So happy. High above reality. Studying times past, ancestors and genealogy. Winds aloft gently pushed my opaque bubble North and South shimmering in the warm sunshine. Surveying my kingdom I drifted.
Slowly, slowly my bubble returned to earth. What caused it? Cause or effect? With a soft thud the bubble broke as it landed. The world new and promising became hostile again.
Materialism grounds the Good Witch of the North. To the poppy fields we go to recharge; sunken in our own chosen cocaine's.
fiction
Edward w Pritchard
In my bubble I floated along. So happy. High above reality. Studying times past, ancestors and genealogy. Winds aloft gently pushed my opaque bubble North and South shimmering in the warm sunshine. Surveying my kingdom I drifted.
Slowly, slowly my bubble returned to earth. What caused it? Cause or effect? With a soft thud the bubble broke as it landed. The world new and promising became hostile again.
Materialism grounds the Good Witch of the North. To the poppy fields we go to recharge; sunken in our own chosen cocaine's.
my muse doesn't say much anymore
advice to old men / part 2
advice to old men / part 2
These young women can be oh so nice to look upon. All the parts are so properly arranged. Still their manners can be inappropriate at times. Forget the part about them not knowing how to be ladylike anymore. Molly, I am talking about texting while you are on a date. At least it's a date to me when you are together with me.
Molly, girl don't text when I am with you. Unless your kids are sick or you have some other Florence Nightingale type duty leave your cell phone and portable whatever put away. It makes me mistrust that you are prospecting for later. An unspeakable thing to do or have to suggest. Maybe it's just generational insecurities showing with my age but I expect someones undivided attention.
Its rare and precious to have an hour or two with someone who appreciates your company. Molly, don't text when you are with me.
These young women can be oh so nice to look upon. All the parts are so properly arranged. Still their manners can be inappropriate at times. Forget the part about them not knowing how to be ladylike anymore. Molly, I am talking about texting while you are on a date. At least it's a date to me when you are together with me.
Molly, girl don't text when I am with you. Unless your kids are sick or you have some other Florence Nightingale type duty leave your cell phone and portable whatever put away. It makes me mistrust that you are prospecting for later. An unspeakable thing to do or have to suggest. Maybe it's just generational insecurities showing with my age but I expect someones undivided attention.
Its rare and precious to have an hour or two with someone who appreciates your company. Molly, don't text when you are with me.
advice to old men
advice to old men
fiction
edward w Pritchard
If you have neglected planting your seedlings and bulbs in the Spring there is still time to do it in the Fall. Trick is to find the right time to plant in the Fall and the right plant to work with. It's easy in the Spring to tend to gardening, follow the general guidelines and nature takes care of the rest; beautiful colorful flowers will bloom later. Any day or time is the right time in the Spring to tend to gardening duties.
In the Fall days can be cool and nights cold. Soil temperatures vary and plants can be difficult to germinate. Fear not however, Nature provides clues as to when is the ideal time to plant in the Fall.
One day after many cold nights a million lady bugs will appear. Hundreds will hang on your chest and shoulders as you work about the yard. Delicate beautiful gentle ladybugs will appear everywhere.
That is a man's signal to plant in his garden even if he has neglected his gardening duties in the Spring or his spring crop has failed.
As the ladybugs drift about use appropriate instruments to dig shallow holes and place bulbs and seeds in the warm moist grounds for planting. Come Spring a cornucopia of colorful flowers will brighten your days and soothe your balmy nights.
fiction
edward w Pritchard
If you have neglected planting your seedlings and bulbs in the Spring there is still time to do it in the Fall. Trick is to find the right time to plant in the Fall and the right plant to work with. It's easy in the Spring to tend to gardening, follow the general guidelines and nature takes care of the rest; beautiful colorful flowers will bloom later. Any day or time is the right time in the Spring to tend to gardening duties.
In the Fall days can be cool and nights cold. Soil temperatures vary and plants can be difficult to germinate. Fear not however, Nature provides clues as to when is the ideal time to plant in the Fall.
One day after many cold nights a million lady bugs will appear. Hundreds will hang on your chest and shoulders as you work about the yard. Delicate beautiful gentle ladybugs will appear everywhere.
That is a man's signal to plant in his garden even if he has neglected his gardening duties in the Spring or his spring crop has failed.
As the ladybugs drift about use appropriate instruments to dig shallow holes and place bulbs and seeds in the warm moist grounds for planting. Come Spring a cornucopia of colorful flowers will brighten your days and soothe your balmy nights.
a remembered sorority girl is always beautiful
a remembered sorority girl is always beautiful
fiction
edward w Pritchard
A large commotion was going on at the hotel swimming pool. Alone after midnight working at the front desk I went out to investigate and saw and heard three girls partially dressed running toward the next hotel over, the fancy Hilton, next door to the one I worked at. Our pool was closed it being mid October but not drained I found out and a young girl had just fallen in. Her friends had left her to return to the Hilton next door where they were staying. It was supposed to be a quiet Sunday night after a minor holiday for me working the night shift as the night book keeper there at the desk.
The girl was out of the cold water, walking about freezing and didn't want to go back with her friends next door at the Hilton who had been mean to her, she said. She wanted to stay in the front with me for a while. I gave her a couple of blankets and threw her clothes into the hotel housekeeping dryers and brought her some hot tea from the restaurant. I had keys to everything and was in charge. She was about half drunk. She was very pretty which was why I was being interested. She tried to pull me on top over herself once when I first gave her some blankets and pillows. Working, and being a partial gentlemen I had resisted my urges and treated her like a customer in distress.
She slept a couple of hours and I found her some fancy Greek salads and pastries from a previous party out of the Hotel freezers. I brought her dry clothes to her and let her take a shower in one of our empty rooms and gave her a sample toiletry pack. She returned to the front desk to talk to me. She went to Kent State the next college over from where I went. She was older than me by a few years and was a nursing student, an RN and was interesting to talk to. About six AM when the morning cook arrived she walked back to the Hilton to go back to the Sorority home with her friends. The cook, the old Greek guy, gave me a couple winks and told the girls in the bar later about my evening. One of the girls there was upset with me.
About three years later I was working as a furniture mover in a fancy high rise apartment on a Saturday morning. We were on an easy half day job. I was a little hung over and still in college. The sorority girl who had fell in the pool saw me. She was in the lobby with her boyfriend who looked like an NFL linebacker. He was about six-six two hundred sixty pounds of muscle. She gave me a kiss on my cheek and a remarkable smile. She looked better than before. My boss, the furniture truck owner, a likable red neck guy who dropped out of school in tenth grade told a lot of stories about that kiss of my cheek when we stopped at local bars after work. Remembering back, drawing her picture from the recesses of my mind it's funny how a remembered sorority girl is always beautiful.
fiction
edward w Pritchard
A large commotion was going on at the hotel swimming pool. Alone after midnight working at the front desk I went out to investigate and saw and heard three girls partially dressed running toward the next hotel over, the fancy Hilton, next door to the one I worked at. Our pool was closed it being mid October but not drained I found out and a young girl had just fallen in. Her friends had left her to return to the Hilton next door where they were staying. It was supposed to be a quiet Sunday night after a minor holiday for me working the night shift as the night book keeper there at the desk.
The girl was out of the cold water, walking about freezing and didn't want to go back with her friends next door at the Hilton who had been mean to her, she said. She wanted to stay in the front with me for a while. I gave her a couple of blankets and threw her clothes into the hotel housekeeping dryers and brought her some hot tea from the restaurant. I had keys to everything and was in charge. She was about half drunk. She was very pretty which was why I was being interested. She tried to pull me on top over herself once when I first gave her some blankets and pillows. Working, and being a partial gentlemen I had resisted my urges and treated her like a customer in distress.
She slept a couple of hours and I found her some fancy Greek salads and pastries from a previous party out of the Hotel freezers. I brought her dry clothes to her and let her take a shower in one of our empty rooms and gave her a sample toiletry pack. She returned to the front desk to talk to me. She went to Kent State the next college over from where I went. She was older than me by a few years and was a nursing student, an RN and was interesting to talk to. About six AM when the morning cook arrived she walked back to the Hilton to go back to the Sorority home with her friends. The cook, the old Greek guy, gave me a couple winks and told the girls in the bar later about my evening. One of the girls there was upset with me.
About three years later I was working as a furniture mover in a fancy high rise apartment on a Saturday morning. We were on an easy half day job. I was a little hung over and still in college. The sorority girl who had fell in the pool saw me. She was in the lobby with her boyfriend who looked like an NFL linebacker. He was about six-six two hundred sixty pounds of muscle. She gave me a kiss on my cheek and a remarkable smile. She looked better than before. My boss, the furniture truck owner, a likable red neck guy who dropped out of school in tenth grade told a lot of stories about that kiss of my cheek when we stopped at local bars after work. Remembering back, drawing her picture from the recesses of my mind it's funny how a remembered sorority girl is always beautiful.
On the road to Nineveh/ part 2
On the Road to Nineveh/ part 2
fiction
Edward w Pritchard
Jonah, repentant, three days alive in the belly of the whale beings slowly digested by stomach acids.
Obedience to God taught in total in three days. Alive, in a whale' stomach what thoughts would a man have in such circumstances? Regret, anger, curiosity, desolation, the birth of existentialism? Would he pray? Secret conversations known only to him and his God?
A violent sudden answer. After three days vomited from the beast to the shore near Nineveh. Obedience, direct and guide my steps. What could be worse than three days alive in the belly of the whale cursed by your God for disobedience?
Action. Stumble forward. Nineveh most powerful City on earth, to Judge and condemn.
end
fiction
Edward w Pritchard
Jonah, repentant, three days alive in the belly of the whale beings slowly digested by stomach acids.
Obedience to God taught in total in three days. Alive, in a whale' stomach what thoughts would a man have in such circumstances? Regret, anger, curiosity, desolation, the birth of existentialism? Would he pray? Secret conversations known only to him and his God?
A violent sudden answer. After three days vomited from the beast to the shore near Nineveh. Obedience, direct and guide my steps. What could be worse than three days alive in the belly of the whale cursed by your God for disobedience?
Action. Stumble forward. Nineveh most powerful City on earth, to Judge and condemn.
end
Grand house, a small library indeed/draft 1
Grand house, a small library indeed
fiction
edward w pritchard
Working seven to three shift at a hotel is mind numbing. As the night auditor, working overnights I worked alone and the only customers most of the time were odd balls. At night a normal customer wanted to check in quickly and get on with their life. The odd balls if they wanted to hang around and talk to the hotel employees were at least very interesting.
This morning I was covering for a pretty girl on my night off. In the morning people visited the hotel desk like a tourist would visit the Vatican, with ceremony and a person visiting a hotel at nine am spent a long time talking, asking questions and opinions of the desk clerk. " Was the Holiday Inn in Tampa, Florida left hand assessable?"
I took three calls from the General managers wife on the switch board while he was at breakfast with the hotel owner in the fancy hotel restaurant. On the third call I had enough and reminded my bosses boss that employee were not supposed to get personal phone calls at work. Night auditors, at least good ones are hard to find and the General Manager had a good laugh with me. His wife was keeping close tabs on him. It was a very Freudian thing for him to say, he was about the handsomest man in the hotel business around our town, General hotel managers always are. He said they were remodeling their house and I would see what was going on later, when I got married someday.
Two weeks later the General Manager stopped by the Hotel where I worked at five AM on a royal visit. Unless there was trouble no one ever checked up on night auditors who were all curmudgeons and were best left alone. The General manager wanted me to do him a favor. He wanted me to help his wife find and buy books for the new library they were building. I had a reputation of being a book worm and of always reading. Once my boss here, now fired, had wanted me to not read so much at night, after my work was done at three am in the down time. It's hard to say no to your bosses boss and this guy was very charming, so I agreed to review their library.
About a week later after working all night on a Wednesday morning I stopped at the General managers House. It was there in Fairlawn Heights where all the rich people lived. I had never been to this house but I had been to the area once picking up my date at one of these mansions in high school.
The General Manager's wife was very pretty and showed me the whole remodeling project. The workers were making a tremendous mess in the fancy house. Three children under six were not yet in school and were about. The children were ordinary looking despite the beauty of their parents. The General managers wife was doing two or three things at once and answering the phone also.
The book shelves were roughed in but not stained or finished and could hold about two thousand books. She had placed their book collections on the shelves ceremoniously early. About thirty books. She took a notebook labeled " project notes" and ask me for a list of books to buy. The General Manager is the bosses boss so I played it straight. I started with the Bible, Shakespeare , then Emerson, Flaubert, I went on for a long time and she wrote them all down. She knew how to spell them all I remember.
It's about forty years later now. What I wouldn't give now to have a woman I like working on a project with me joining about in the background.
.
fiction
edward w pritchard
Working seven to three shift at a hotel is mind numbing. As the night auditor, working overnights I worked alone and the only customers most of the time were odd balls. At night a normal customer wanted to check in quickly and get on with their life. The odd balls if they wanted to hang around and talk to the hotel employees were at least very interesting.
This morning I was covering for a pretty girl on my night off. In the morning people visited the hotel desk like a tourist would visit the Vatican, with ceremony and a person visiting a hotel at nine am spent a long time talking, asking questions and opinions of the desk clerk. " Was the Holiday Inn in Tampa, Florida left hand assessable?"
I took three calls from the General managers wife on the switch board while he was at breakfast with the hotel owner in the fancy hotel restaurant. On the third call I had enough and reminded my bosses boss that employee were not supposed to get personal phone calls at work. Night auditors, at least good ones are hard to find and the General Manager had a good laugh with me. His wife was keeping close tabs on him. It was a very Freudian thing for him to say, he was about the handsomest man in the hotel business around our town, General hotel managers always are. He said they were remodeling their house and I would see what was going on later, when I got married someday.
Two weeks later the General Manager stopped by the Hotel where I worked at five AM on a royal visit. Unless there was trouble no one ever checked up on night auditors who were all curmudgeons and were best left alone. The General manager wanted me to do him a favor. He wanted me to help his wife find and buy books for the new library they were building. I had a reputation of being a book worm and of always reading. Once my boss here, now fired, had wanted me to not read so much at night, after my work was done at three am in the down time. It's hard to say no to your bosses boss and this guy was very charming, so I agreed to review their library.
About a week later after working all night on a Wednesday morning I stopped at the General managers House. It was there in Fairlawn Heights where all the rich people lived. I had never been to this house but I had been to the area once picking up my date at one of these mansions in high school.
The General Manager's wife was very pretty and showed me the whole remodeling project. The workers were making a tremendous mess in the fancy house. Three children under six were not yet in school and were about. The children were ordinary looking despite the beauty of their parents. The General managers wife was doing two or three things at once and answering the phone also.
The book shelves were roughed in but not stained or finished and could hold about two thousand books. She had placed their book collections on the shelves ceremoniously early. About thirty books. She took a notebook labeled " project notes" and ask me for a list of books to buy. The General Manager is the bosses boss so I played it straight. I started with the Bible, Shakespeare , then Emerson, Flaubert, I went on for a long time and she wrote them all down. She knew how to spell them all I remember.
It's about forty years later now. What I wouldn't give now to have a woman I like working on a project with me joining about in the background.
.
horse and buggy thinking part 5/ draft 1
horse and buggy thinking/ part 5/ draft 1
fiction
edward w Pritchard
Sometimes it's possible to be the only person in the world to know something with absolute certainty.
I am the only person who knows without a doubt that the girl in Pakistan, Aara is not my Grand daughter. Her Grand Mother, Afareen and I were not intimate enough on our two dates way back when to produce a baby. We sat together in an old red over stuffed chair on our first date, listened to music and shared Chinese food together, and a few days later we were interrupted by Hassad and his friends at the beginning of our second evening together before things properly started.
I decided to help the girl in Pakistan, Aara never the less and it looked like the best way to do that was to lie to the American General who had contacted me from Kabal, Afganistan.
I wanted to see that the girl, Aara who had become a unique special individual to me through my research, and whose future became important to me, was properly educated and had a chance to blossom as an young woman and have a decent quality of life. I wanted to treat Aara like I had treated my own only daughter here in America when my daughter was a young girl. Although I had never met twelve year old Aara and never would visit far away in Pakistan I wanted to treat her like a grand father would given the chance.
The American General knew a lot more about the situation than I thought he would and when we talked on the phone the General treated me like a Dutch Uncle would. He educated me and he was sympathetic to what I wanted to do. As a lawyer here in Streetsboro, Ohio I have deposed hundreds of clients and defendants but I still remembered what one of my professors had told us back in Law School. Ask the first question and shut up. That's what I did and the conversation went where I wanted it to go.
The General told me about the facts of life thousands of miles from the United States and he told me how I could help one girl to have a better life if I wanted to. The General also ask me a couple of philosophical questions that have distressed me. I am struggling now to decide if I want to sign an affidavit saying Aara may be my Grand daughter and by doing so have the US government and military take an interest in her well being far away in Pakistan on my behalf.
end part 5
fiction
edward w Pritchard
Sometimes it's possible to be the only person in the world to know something with absolute certainty.
I am the only person who knows without a doubt that the girl in Pakistan, Aara is not my Grand daughter. Her Grand Mother, Afareen and I were not intimate enough on our two dates way back when to produce a baby. We sat together in an old red over stuffed chair on our first date, listened to music and shared Chinese food together, and a few days later we were interrupted by Hassad and his friends at the beginning of our second evening together before things properly started.
I decided to help the girl in Pakistan, Aara never the less and it looked like the best way to do that was to lie to the American General who had contacted me from Kabal, Afganistan.
I wanted to see that the girl, Aara who had become a unique special individual to me through my research, and whose future became important to me, was properly educated and had a chance to blossom as an young woman and have a decent quality of life. I wanted to treat Aara like I had treated my own only daughter here in America when my daughter was a young girl. Although I had never met twelve year old Aara and never would visit far away in Pakistan I wanted to treat her like a grand father would given the chance.
The American General knew a lot more about the situation than I thought he would and when we talked on the phone the General treated me like a Dutch Uncle would. He educated me and he was sympathetic to what I wanted to do. As a lawyer here in Streetsboro, Ohio I have deposed hundreds of clients and defendants but I still remembered what one of my professors had told us back in Law School. Ask the first question and shut up. That's what I did and the conversation went where I wanted it to go.
The General told me about the facts of life thousands of miles from the United States and he told me how I could help one girl to have a better life if I wanted to. The General also ask me a couple of philosophical questions that have distressed me. I am struggling now to decide if I want to sign an affidavit saying Aara may be my Grand daughter and by doing so have the US government and military take an interest in her well being far away in Pakistan on my behalf.
end part 5
Tuesday, October 29, 2013
on the road to Nineveh
on the road to Nineveh
Jonah goes to Nineveh: Jonah=Us
Jonah second guesses God's will; Jonah=us
fiction
edward w Pritchard
On the road to Nineveh by a circuitous route. Three days in cramped second class quarters after being tossed into stormy seas by sailors of circumstance.
I try to obey God's orders but they don't just make sense. Nineveh; 120,000 against one. Ifs God's so powerful, commanding nature and whales and what have yous, why does he need me to speak for him? Am I really hearing him at all?
I must look a ghastly sight. Three days digested acids in the belly of the whale of waiting. Ghostly white and hollow to espy, repentance genuine; to Nineveh.
Walk about in sackcloth waiving my arms like a madman. Hide under the vine of truth, a fine red wine, end up later nailed to the cross for three days.
Nineveh, what say you now?
Jonah goes to Nineveh: Jonah=Us
Jonah second guesses God's will; Jonah=us
to sea
to sea
fiction
edward w Pritchard
Twice times tumbled,
backward,
rotating as I fell,
from broken cliffs of shores place placid
into teary waves and salty brine
of seas future.
Falling and smacking, surfaced on frigid churned waters,
sea birds soar, plunged in shouting waves
squawking "courage".
Stinging eyes open
Search dim sky.
Exhausted arms, finished shoulders
drag toward unseen refuge,
distant hollow islands, forgotten.
fiction
edward w Pritchard
Twice times tumbled,
backward,
rotating as I fell,
from broken cliffs of shores place placid
into teary waves and salty brine
of seas future.
Falling and smacking, surfaced on frigid churned waters,
sea birds soar, plunged in shouting waves
squawking "courage".
Stinging eyes open
Search dim sky.
Exhausted arms, finished shoulders
drag toward unseen refuge,
distant hollow islands, forgotten.
Monday, October 28, 2013
horse and buggy thinking/ part 4
horse and buggy thinking part 4
fiction
Edward w Pritchard
This report may not be duplicated/ confidential
Detective's report/ draft notes/ Donald Howard
London, England
to Strettsboro, Ohio
Attorney Isley
October 16, 2013.
first update
Here is more on the girl, Aara.
Aara is good at languages, [ originally reported as language] speaks some French, and Greek and is proficient in English
Aara won two prizes at school this year for spelling
This years teacher feels Aara should be doing high school work but no advanced placement is allowed at this school
Aara's Mother says Aara would stay up till midnight reading if she would let her. Mother is teaching Aara to sew, of which Aara learns quickly, Aara likes to cook and likes to cook Chinese style dishes.
end part 4
fiction
Edward w Pritchard
This report may not be duplicated/ confidential
Detective's report/ draft notes/ Donald Howard
London, England
to Strettsboro, Ohio
Attorney Isley
October 16, 2013.
first update
Here is more on the girl, Aara.
Aara is good at languages, [ originally reported as language] speaks some French, and Greek and is proficient in English
Aara won two prizes at school this year for spelling
This years teacher feels Aara should be doing high school work but no advanced placement is allowed at this school
Aara's Mother says Aara would stay up till midnight reading if she would let her. Mother is teaching Aara to sew, of which Aara learns quickly, Aara likes to cook and likes to cook Chinese style dishes.
end part 4
horse and buggy thinking part 3
horse and buggy thinking part 3
fiction
Edward w Pritchard
This report may not be duplicated/ confidential
Detective's report/ draft notes/ Donald Howard
London, England
to Strettsboro, Ohio
Attorney Isley
October 2013
Please forgive my informality as you were in a rush to see the information I enclose what I have. We need more time to discuss the education system for young girls in Pakistan. Maybe two weeks. Here is what I have to date on the girl, Aara.
The girl is healthy and typical for age of 12 except she is smaller than usual. The young girl is of much above average IQ and is considered beautiful. Her looks are not typical for a girl of Pakistan. She looks Kurdish or European.
The girl is nicknamed " little sticks", Aara picks up small sticks often after school for use in a family fire. Wood is difficult to obtain as it has been used for fuel where Aara's family lives for thousands of years. The father raises Yaks and sells items related to yaks to support the family. Family life is typical, girl appears appropriately cared for.
Aara's ex school teacher was interviewed. Aara was the most successful student in the class and school and was introduced to algebra and geometry at a young age because the teacher fears she will be taken out of school soon as are most girls of her age here. Aara is gifted in language and music and enjoys reading. Aara is shy but not at school. Aara has received straight A's in all subjects for several years. Her behavior is good but she was in two fights last year, one with a boy who was teasing her friend. If the teacher had to leave the room she usually puts Aara in charge. Aara enjoys talking with adults and is curious about Turkey, Great Britain and China. Aara once wrote a paper about Kafka which required a meeting with the Principal, the Principal did not understand the story, which was quite good said the teacher.
Aara would like to continue school and be a Doctor, lawyer [ in Turkey] or a beautician here in Pakistan. She would like to visit the Buddhist shrines in India. She and her family are Moslem.
end
update in 5 days
fiction
Edward w Pritchard
This report may not be duplicated/ confidential
Detective's report/ draft notes/ Donald Howard
London, England
to Strettsboro, Ohio
Attorney Isley
October 2013
Please forgive my informality as you were in a rush to see the information I enclose what I have. We need more time to discuss the education system for young girls in Pakistan. Maybe two weeks. Here is what I have to date on the girl, Aara.
The girl is healthy and typical for age of 12 except she is smaller than usual. The young girl is of much above average IQ and is considered beautiful. Her looks are not typical for a girl of Pakistan. She looks Kurdish or European.
The girl is nicknamed " little sticks", Aara picks up small sticks often after school for use in a family fire. Wood is difficult to obtain as it has been used for fuel where Aara's family lives for thousands of years. The father raises Yaks and sells items related to yaks to support the family. Family life is typical, girl appears appropriately cared for.
Aara's ex school teacher was interviewed. Aara was the most successful student in the class and school and was introduced to algebra and geometry at a young age because the teacher fears she will be taken out of school soon as are most girls of her age here. Aara is gifted in language and music and enjoys reading. Aara is shy but not at school. Aara has received straight A's in all subjects for several years. Her behavior is good but she was in two fights last year, one with a boy who was teasing her friend. If the teacher had to leave the room she usually puts Aara in charge. Aara enjoys talking with adults and is curious about Turkey, Great Britain and China. Aara once wrote a paper about Kafka which required a meeting with the Principal, the Principal did not understand the story, which was quite good said the teacher.
Aara would like to continue school and be a Doctor, lawyer [ in Turkey] or a beautician here in Pakistan. She would like to visit the Buddhist shrines in India. She and her family are Moslem.
end
update in 5 days
horses and buggy thinking part 2 /draft 1
Horse and buggy thinking part 2/draft 1
fiction
edward w pritchard
see part 1 horse and buggy thinking posted below for reference
part 2
start
Only once has someone threatened to kill me; as I now answer my cell phone it's him, Hassad calling. That was forty years ago. Hassad is calling from Paris, France; only once before did I speak to someone outside of America, I was fishing in the Canadian woods and my ex-wife called me to tell me my son had quit his job suddenly.
Hassad saw the story I wrote about the Amish girl not being properly educated. It is similar to what is happening in parts of the Islamic world and Hassad wanted to ask me about my opinion.
I met Hassad through Rex my Peurto Rican room mate in college. Rex and his Peurto Rican friends had an apartment for ten years together at the College where I went and Rex was graduating and the apartment was being offered me for a much under market rent by default for the term of the remaining lease. Rex was ten years older than me and more than anything he hated to see me sit around the apartment on weekends when I wasn't working. I had just missed getting married to my high school sweetheart and I didn't want to chance it again for a while. I wanted to read, study, think and learn. Rex was in a foreign students club and I went with old Rex and about ten foreign students of all nationalities to a local bar one Friday night. I met Hassad when he placed a blond sorority girl on my lap. A month later I gave Hassad a ride home from the student center in a bad rain storm and met his sister, Afareen. The sister and Hassad were from Iran, came from a very wealthy family, and his sister spoke ten or eleven languages and like Hassad and most Iranian people was very beautiful, in fact, I think the handsomest people in the world. Later that week the sister, Afareen , and her friend from Sudan stopped at the hotel where I worked and Afareen gave me a very expensive small box of chocolate.
About a month after that Afareen was at my apartment. We were alone, it was Saturday night about 10pm. Afareen had been here before. There was a knock at the door. It was Hassad, three men were with him, all looked Iranian or like that to me. Hassad was here to take Afareen home. It was a dangerous situation because Hassad was determined and I had a simmering temper that was difficult to detect if I was cornered. Afareen left and I never saw her again. Hassad threatened to kill me if I ever contacted Afareen again. Two days later Afareen's friend from college, the very tall very black girl from Sudan walked into one of my history classes and told me before the bell that Afareen was back in Iran to study and that she was engaged to marry in a few months. I never heard from or saw Afareen again until today talking to Hassad. Hassad told me Afareen had passed away in 1988, and that she had two children.
Hassad told me that it was very likely that I had a grand daughter living in Pakistan and she was being denied schooling because of the fact that she was a girl in a fundamentalist Moslem country. As an additional piece of information, the young girl who was twelve was named Aara and was very intelligent. Hassad said that he was calling me because the only way to help his sister's grand daughter was through the assistance and influence of the US military. If I was the girl's blood grand father it was possible that using his contacts, Hassad could help his relative.
end part 2
end part 2
fiction
edward w Pritchard
part 1
horse and buggy thinking
My wife and I had been married a long time so I was surprised when she confided in me about a problem she was having. In fact she was crying one evening in our kitchen when I came home from work and told me about a patient of hers Sarah Miller who would have to quit school soon after graduating from the eighth grade.
My wife was a psychologist and although I sometimes forgot such things she had been raised as a Mennonite in her youth. That's how my wife came to counsel a young Amish girl named Sarah Miller, who as was customary with the Amish here in Central Ohio where we lived, would stop her formal schooling at age 13 after graduating from the eighth grade. Following graduation from eighth grade the young girl would complete her education at home with her Mother learning to cook, clean, wash clothes, and eventually raise children as a good Amish member of the Community.
Sarah Miller's teacher who was a Mennonite had taken the drastic step of bringing the girl to see my wife because the teacher felt it would be a debasement of human dignity to not further educate Sarah who had an IQ of approximately 175. The girl's parents who were old school Amish had not been consulted about their daughter's teacher taking Sarah to see a psychologist because the teacher knew from working with the Amish that as a rule there were no exceptions in their minds to their policy of not educating students beyond eighth grade if the youth in question was to be a member of the traditional Amish community.
The teacher knew she was probably violating the law by bringing Sarah Miller to see my wife, Dr. Robinson without the parents permission but the teacher felt she must do something drastic to help the girl.
My wife ask me as a lawyer to look into the Ohio case law on not completely or properly educating gifted students, and to advise her on if she should see the young girl for a second time a week from tomorrow at the next scheduled appointment. My wife also confided in me something she had never told me in our twenty years of marriage that she had faced a similar predicament herself at age 14 and she had been having trouble the last few days in reliving an incident and decision she herself had made as a teenage girl.
end part 1
fiction
edward w pritchard
see part 1 horse and buggy thinking posted below for reference
part 2
start
Only once has someone threatened to kill me; as I now answer my cell phone it's him, Hassad calling. That was forty years ago. Hassad is calling from Paris, France; only once before did I speak to someone outside of America, I was fishing in the Canadian woods and my ex-wife called me to tell me my son had quit his job suddenly.
Hassad saw the story I wrote about the Amish girl not being properly educated. It is similar to what is happening in parts of the Islamic world and Hassad wanted to ask me about my opinion.
I met Hassad through Rex my Peurto Rican room mate in college. Rex and his Peurto Rican friends had an apartment for ten years together at the College where I went and Rex was graduating and the apartment was being offered me for a much under market rent by default for the term of the remaining lease. Rex was ten years older than me and more than anything he hated to see me sit around the apartment on weekends when I wasn't working. I had just missed getting married to my high school sweetheart and I didn't want to chance it again for a while. I wanted to read, study, think and learn. Rex was in a foreign students club and I went with old Rex and about ten foreign students of all nationalities to a local bar one Friday night. I met Hassad when he placed a blond sorority girl on my lap. A month later I gave Hassad a ride home from the student center in a bad rain storm and met his sister, Afareen. The sister and Hassad were from Iran, came from a very wealthy family, and his sister spoke ten or eleven languages and like Hassad and most Iranian people was very beautiful, in fact, I think the handsomest people in the world. Later that week the sister, Afareen , and her friend from Sudan stopped at the hotel where I worked and Afareen gave me a very expensive small box of chocolate.
About a month after that Afareen was at my apartment. We were alone, it was Saturday night about 10pm. Afareen had been here before. There was a knock at the door. It was Hassad, three men were with him, all looked Iranian or like that to me. Hassad was here to take Afareen home. It was a dangerous situation because Hassad was determined and I had a simmering temper that was difficult to detect if I was cornered. Afareen left and I never saw her again. Hassad threatened to kill me if I ever contacted Afareen again. Two days later Afareen's friend from college, the very tall very black girl from Sudan walked into one of my history classes and told me before the bell that Afareen was back in Iran to study and that she was engaged to marry in a few months. I never heard from or saw Afareen again until today talking to Hassad. Hassad told me Afareen had passed away in 1988, and that she had two children.
Hassad told me that it was very likely that I had a grand daughter living in Pakistan and she was being denied schooling because of the fact that she was a girl in a fundamentalist Moslem country. As an additional piece of information, the young girl who was twelve was named Aara and was very intelligent. Hassad said that he was calling me because the only way to help his sister's grand daughter was through the assistance and influence of the US military. If I was the girl's blood grand father it was possible that using his contacts, Hassad could help his relative.
end part 2
end part 2
fiction
edward w Pritchard
part 1
horse and buggy thinking
My wife and I had been married a long time so I was surprised when she confided in me about a problem she was having. In fact she was crying one evening in our kitchen when I came home from work and told me about a patient of hers Sarah Miller who would have to quit school soon after graduating from the eighth grade.
My wife was a psychologist and although I sometimes forgot such things she had been raised as a Mennonite in her youth. That's how my wife came to counsel a young Amish girl named Sarah Miller, who as was customary with the Amish here in Central Ohio where we lived, would stop her formal schooling at age 13 after graduating from the eighth grade. Following graduation from eighth grade the young girl would complete her education at home with her Mother learning to cook, clean, wash clothes, and eventually raise children as a good Amish member of the Community.
Sarah Miller's teacher who was a Mennonite had taken the drastic step of bringing the girl to see my wife because the teacher felt it would be a debasement of human dignity to not further educate Sarah who had an IQ of approximately 175. The girl's parents who were old school Amish had not been consulted about their daughter's teacher taking Sarah to see a psychologist because the teacher knew from working with the Amish that as a rule there were no exceptions in their minds to their policy of not educating students beyond eighth grade if the youth in question was to be a member of the traditional Amish community.
The teacher knew she was probably violating the law by bringing Sarah Miller to see my wife, Dr. Robinson without the parents permission but the teacher felt she must do something drastic to help the girl.
My wife ask me as a lawyer to look into the Ohio case law on not completely or properly educating gifted students, and to advise her on if she should see the young girl for a second time a week from tomorrow at the next scheduled appointment. My wife also confided in me something she had never told me in our twenty years of marriage that she had faced a similar predicament herself at age 14 and she had been having trouble the last few days in reliving an incident and decision she herself had made as a teenage girl.
end part 1
camp fire in the day time
camp fire in the day time
fiction
edward w Pritchard
I built a camp fire in the day time and I raked up the horse manure around the barn under a blue clear sky on a Monday morning. Finally I was adjusting to being old and having some heart problems. Raking around the barn is heavy work, the manure mixes with the stones and the soil is thick from being chopped up by horses hooves after wet cold weather. While you rake you use a wheel barrow to carry away the piles and find and fill in holes about the ranch.
Traffic dies down on the road in front of the house about 9am. For a while the horses follow you around but then they go about their business and you are alone with your thoughts.
I was thinking if I ever have a special friend again I will always take her side right or wrong and keep her close. The sky is bright but the air is cold. When you work you wear yellow leather gloves that originally were bought to be stylish but now serve well to help tend to the horse's needs. My daughter doesn't approve of leather, it's her ranch, but is she glad when the horses are properly cared for. I miss her too, she is far away.
Later is time for some lunch. That's something to look forward to. Sometimes I drive into to town and buy a cheap book at the goodwill and the two dollar noodles at the Chinese place. When I come back I stir up the camp fire and admire the work I did about the barn. Usually I walk around and check all the fences. I saw on google-yahoo that you can get the time and sunrise and sunset for seven million precise locations now days. It's nice sometimes to have a camp fire in the day time.
fiction
edward w Pritchard
I built a camp fire in the day time and I raked up the horse manure around the barn under a blue clear sky on a Monday morning. Finally I was adjusting to being old and having some heart problems. Raking around the barn is heavy work, the manure mixes with the stones and the soil is thick from being chopped up by horses hooves after wet cold weather. While you rake you use a wheel barrow to carry away the piles and find and fill in holes about the ranch.
Traffic dies down on the road in front of the house about 9am. For a while the horses follow you around but then they go about their business and you are alone with your thoughts.
I was thinking if I ever have a special friend again I will always take her side right or wrong and keep her close. The sky is bright but the air is cold. When you work you wear yellow leather gloves that originally were bought to be stylish but now serve well to help tend to the horse's needs. My daughter doesn't approve of leather, it's her ranch, but is she glad when the horses are properly cared for. I miss her too, she is far away.
Later is time for some lunch. That's something to look forward to. Sometimes I drive into to town and buy a cheap book at the goodwill and the two dollar noodles at the Chinese place. When I come back I stir up the camp fire and admire the work I did about the barn. Usually I walk around and check all the fences. I saw on google-yahoo that you can get the time and sunrise and sunset for seven million precise locations now days. It's nice sometimes to have a camp fire in the day time.
Sunday, October 27, 2013
people take news differently / part 2
people take news differently/ part 2
Junior high teachers
fiction
edward w Pritchard
Take news, use words.
Mrs. Loudin pulled down each cut out construct picture of the geometrical shapes off the rear bulletin board, carefully removed all the staples and smoothed down the edges of each picture and placed them in a manila folder labeled " the ten most common geometrical 3D images"; Mrs. Loudin then alphabetically filed the manila folder labeled 3D images in the shortest green filing cabinets at the rear of our classroom. Mrs. Loudin used the same cream colored paper for background as she began the new montage of pictures.
We had a worksheet on State capitals we were working on in our social Studies Class today. It had been six days since Byron Williams was shot at the convenience store on Lover's lane. Mrs. Loudin stapled each news article about Byron's death from the Beacon Journal on the new bulletin board. I watched her as I read about State capitals. There were a few tasteful pictures of Byron's Mother and his classmates at the funeral in the newspaper stories and Mrs. Loudin used a yardstick to make sure the pictures were aligned parallel to the floor and ceiling and at proper angles and distances from the sides of the bulletin board and the other newspaper articles.
It took Mrs. Loudin about fifteen minutes to finish the collage about the death of Byron Williams. Just before she finished the project Mrs. Loudin turned to all of our class and said " I prayed for Byron this weekend." I think that's when I first began to become a Christian.
Junior high teachers
fiction
edward w Pritchard
Take news, use words.
Mrs. Loudin pulled down each cut out construct picture of the geometrical shapes off the rear bulletin board, carefully removed all the staples and smoothed down the edges of each picture and placed them in a manila folder labeled " the ten most common geometrical 3D images"; Mrs. Loudin then alphabetically filed the manila folder labeled 3D images in the shortest green filing cabinets at the rear of our classroom. Mrs. Loudin used the same cream colored paper for background as she began the new montage of pictures.
We had a worksheet on State capitals we were working on in our social Studies Class today. It had been six days since Byron Williams was shot at the convenience store on Lover's lane. Mrs. Loudin stapled each news article about Byron's death from the Beacon Journal on the new bulletin board. I watched her as I read about State capitals. There were a few tasteful pictures of Byron's Mother and his classmates at the funeral in the newspaper stories and Mrs. Loudin used a yardstick to make sure the pictures were aligned parallel to the floor and ceiling and at proper angles and distances from the sides of the bulletin board and the other newspaper articles.
It took Mrs. Loudin about fifteen minutes to finish the collage about the death of Byron Williams. Just before she finished the project Mrs. Loudin turned to all of our class and said " I prayed for Byron this weekend." I think that's when I first began to become a Christian.
Saturday, October 26, 2013
take news, use words
take news, use words
fiction
edward w pritchard
People take news differently. Momma folded up. Starting with her fingers. Fingers rolls into hands, hands into wrists, like a praying mantis, momma rolled up wrists into arms, arms and legs rolled into her body like a centipede. In that shell Momma stayed from then on. Roy walked to the fence. Roy looked to the right and put his hands on the wood fence. Splinters grabbed Roy's hands, splinters full of resin, resin burned Roy's fingers and hands. Roy's hands burned from resin.
Momma said " oh my god ". Actresses on stage all say those words differently. Momma folded up and said "oh my god". Roy said nothing. Roy whistled once and tried to pull down the fence. Later Roy said "tend to the chores".
I ran to the barn. I hid in the hay. I'll move far away later.
end
fiction
edward w pritchard
People take news differently. Momma folded up. Starting with her fingers. Fingers rolls into hands, hands into wrists, like a praying mantis, momma rolled up wrists into arms, arms and legs rolled into her body like a centipede. In that shell Momma stayed from then on. Roy walked to the fence. Roy looked to the right and put his hands on the wood fence. Splinters grabbed Roy's hands, splinters full of resin, resin burned Roy's fingers and hands. Roy's hands burned from resin.
Momma said " oh my god ". Actresses on stage all say those words differently. Momma folded up and said "oh my god". Roy said nothing. Roy whistled once and tried to pull down the fence. Later Roy said "tend to the chores".
I ran to the barn. I hid in the hay. I'll move far away later.
end
the dark side of a bright sunny Monday morning
the dark side of a bright sunny Monday morning
fiction
edward w Pritchard
How bad I wanted to keep driving I never said before. To Florida or Canada, but no, I had no grand sense of motivation or adventure so I was parking in a married woman's drive way on a bright sunny Monday morning. Does one knock or just walk in? Front door, back or side?
After twelve hours of work Friday, Saturday and Sunday night at the front desk of a hotel one is done in. Working till 10 AM Monday is just wrong, one's equilibrium is busted and one's spirit is crushed.
As usual for me it began with a crying woman. I knew her from before and when her husband was caught in another affair she stopped at my all night comfort station but I had to work until 10AM Monday and now I was dry tired and dizzy depressed. I had no work till Wednesday night at 11PM and it was so sunny and blue skied and oh how I wanted to sleep till three and then lay at the beach.
She was cleaning her house. Obsessively. She would clean it before and after. Don't ask, don't ask, do I want cereal? There are four boxes. They have a clip to keep them fresh, I remember that from before. Who wants milk on one's cereal after working for twelve hours?
I didn't get down the front steps before the sweeper started to run.
end
fiction
edward w Pritchard
How bad I wanted to keep driving I never said before. To Florida or Canada, but no, I had no grand sense of motivation or adventure so I was parking in a married woman's drive way on a bright sunny Monday morning. Does one knock or just walk in? Front door, back or side?
After twelve hours of work Friday, Saturday and Sunday night at the front desk of a hotel one is done in. Working till 10 AM Monday is just wrong, one's equilibrium is busted and one's spirit is crushed.
As usual for me it began with a crying woman. I knew her from before and when her husband was caught in another affair she stopped at my all night comfort station but I had to work until 10AM Monday and now I was dry tired and dizzy depressed. I had no work till Wednesday night at 11PM and it was so sunny and blue skied and oh how I wanted to sleep till three and then lay at the beach.
She was cleaning her house. Obsessively. She would clean it before and after. Don't ask, don't ask, do I want cereal? There are four boxes. They have a clip to keep them fresh, I remember that from before. Who wants milk on one's cereal after working for twelve hours?
I didn't get down the front steps before the sweeper started to run.
end
Handicapped: another teen with angst and anger draft 2
Handicapped; another Teen with Anger and Angst/draft 2
repost with edits
fiction
edward w pritchard
My fourth and youngest son, Darell was thrown out of private school for the second time when in desperation we scheduled an appointment with a psychologist specializing in patients with disabilities.
My wife and I had raised three fine boys, who thank God, were all excellent students and motivated achievers and competent athletes who I often coached. All three older boys dated appropriately and timely, and all three are now married with fine homes and stable careers. Of Course, My wife and I in our ignorance attributed our three older sons successes to our stable home and our accomplished parenting skills.
My youngest son Darell has been a handful. Seven years younger, than his closest brother, he always seemed like a separate family to me. As he reached his teens at times I dreaded coming home from work because of Darell. Each evening there was another long conversation with my wife of all that had gone wrong today in school, or about tomorrows conference at school , or who Darell had been fighting with today or yesterday. He started smoking a 11, drinking at thirteen, and taking various soft drugs and pills at 14. Darrell was more trouble than my other three sons put together, no ten times more trouble and it was only out of duty that I was able to carry on with him. His behavior was effecting my ability to sleep at night and his expulsion from the expensive private school for fighting was the last straw.
The Psychologist that we took Darell to had a disability himself, and had a busy, thriving practice. The psychologist didn't think Darell's being in a wheelchair had much to do with his problems, nor did he think Darell's behavior had anything to do with my wife's or my parenting skills or lack there of. The Doctor believed that most of us had a certain brain chemistry and that determined our behavior. He felt that Darell's behavior would "improve" and get closer to our families value system as he got older, or maybe not, but in the meantime he suggested that we enroll Darell in a wheelchair basketball league for teenagers. The doctor had referred other handicapped teens to similar programs with good results.
Within two weeks Darell had been kicked off the local high school wheel chair basketball team for fighting and arguing with the refs and coaches. After a lot of debate, and with the psychologists help, Darell was put on the adult competitive team at the local University.
The adult wheelchair basketball league is very intense. The team members are eclectic and for the most part they are men who play basketball, take it very seriously, and just happen to also be in a wheelchair. I went to the first practice with Darell and the team was practicing for mid season regional wheelchair playoffs at the local University that weekend. The practice was charged with motivation and determination. Most of the players worked full time and then came to the gym about 6:30PM and practice lasted until 8:30 or 9:00. There was a player coach in a wheel chair himself, who was an ex vet wounded in one of our countries recent wars and he was very strict with the team, although the team was pretty much self disciplined.
In practice the team ran the usual lay-up drills, outside shooting, practiced free throws and worked a lot on plays for the coming playoffs. Of course, everyone on the team was in a wheelchair, but some of the players came in a traditional style wheelchair, and then used a special "speed" wheelchair during practice or games. Darell was welcomed but although he was 10 to 15 years younger than most of the players they mostly paid him little notice. Several of the players had tattoos, one or two had blue hair and that sort of thing, and there were a few tough type guys who worked out and had big arms. Many of the players were loud and aggressive.
There was no scrimmage that night and Darell did OK. Although Darell wasn't near as good as most of the players he made a good back-up. The first 5 starting players contained a few who were over weight and easily winded but they all five played very hard. Darell along with three or four of the second stringers rotated in and out of the drills when someone got too tired to contribute or needed a short rest. That night, Darell was put in as first replacement by the player coach to test his abilities.
When we left after practice one of the wheelchair players was having a big fight with his girlfriend about something in the hall near the door and there was a lot of swearing and crying and she ran off in a huff and the guy sort of shrugged at Darell and winked at me and said "Women". I noticed Darell take it all in.
My wife said that Darell had been anxious to play in the upcoming game all week, but at the playoff game that Friday night, Darell sat out until just before half time. It was a close game, tightly officiated, and the officials were unlike all of the players on both teams, not in wheel chairs; and there was a lot of pushing and shoving during the game. It was a little startling how aggressive both teams played. However, both teams were very disciplined, ran a lot of plays and there was a lot of hustle by all the players. Several times our player coach would call a time out and wheel up to one of his players and shake his finger at him and often two or three players would chastise someone who wasn't trying or started to argue with the ref.
Darell got put in with about a minute to go in the first half and immediately stole a pass from an older man of about 45 on the other team who he was guarding and Darell took off ahead of everybody down the floor and just before he shot another guy fouled Darell badly while he was shooting. Darell was awarded two free shots by the ref. However, rather than go to the foul line, Darell charged the guy who fouled him jumped into his lap and started pummeling the guy. Order was restored, Darell was ejected from the game, and a technical was called. Here's something I never saw before; the two foul shots awarded to Darell were nullified because he was fighting during that same play.
It was a very close game and with our team losing the two shots, and our opponents getting two technical foul shots and then the ball back, the half ended with them up two points, partly because of the situation with Darell.
My wife and I were upstairs rather than on the first floor bleachers like most everyone else so we were probably the only fans who saw what the players did to our son Darell at half time.
They surrounded Darell with their wheel chairs in a tight circle.
Five or six of Darell's teammates grabbed along both his arms and squeezed very hard to control him while the coach read him the riot act for a minute. Surprisingly, to me Darell took the hazing well, but I had to stop watching. After the circle around Darell broke up and the coach tore into a few other players, I wanted to go down and talk to Darell, but my wife stopped me. We found out that Darell was expelled for the rest of the game and wouldn't be back in, so we went outside for a few minutes, had a coke and when we came back the game had been going on again for 15 minutes or so.
Darell was on the sidelines and was intently watching the game when I came back. Darell followed the game closely from the bench and seemed to be "in" to the game. I noticed he was cheering a little and I watched him high five a couple of guys when things went well. Near the end of the game, Darell also wheeled out the starters water and towels at short timeouts, and then with the other subs, Darell joined the team in their circle at the huddles on the side for longer timeouts.
We ended up losing by five points but there is another game tomorrow night because it is double elimination in these playoffs.
On the way out the guy who was arguing with his girlfriend the other night was leaving with her and with a little girl of about 6. Darell's teammate rolled up to him and gently slapped him on the shoulder, winked at me again, and said to Darell "don't forget to duck "newbie".
In the car Darell was kind of silent but seemed a little less sullen than usual and the only thing my son would say about the game was to make sure we could drive him back here to the University tomorrow night.
repost with edits
fiction
edward w pritchard
My fourth and youngest son, Darell was thrown out of private school for the second time when in desperation we scheduled an appointment with a psychologist specializing in patients with disabilities.
My wife and I had raised three fine boys, who thank God, were all excellent students and motivated achievers and competent athletes who I often coached. All three older boys dated appropriately and timely, and all three are now married with fine homes and stable careers. Of Course, My wife and I in our ignorance attributed our three older sons successes to our stable home and our accomplished parenting skills.
My youngest son Darell has been a handful. Seven years younger, than his closest brother, he always seemed like a separate family to me. As he reached his teens at times I dreaded coming home from work because of Darell. Each evening there was another long conversation with my wife of all that had gone wrong today in school, or about tomorrows conference at school , or who Darell had been fighting with today or yesterday. He started smoking a 11, drinking at thirteen, and taking various soft drugs and pills at 14. Darrell was more trouble than my other three sons put together, no ten times more trouble and it was only out of duty that I was able to carry on with him. His behavior was effecting my ability to sleep at night and his expulsion from the expensive private school for fighting was the last straw.
The Psychologist that we took Darell to had a disability himself, and had a busy, thriving practice. The psychologist didn't think Darell's being in a wheelchair had much to do with his problems, nor did he think Darell's behavior had anything to do with my wife's or my parenting skills or lack there of. The Doctor believed that most of us had a certain brain chemistry and that determined our behavior. He felt that Darell's behavior would "improve" and get closer to our families value system as he got older, or maybe not, but in the meantime he suggested that we enroll Darell in a wheelchair basketball league for teenagers. The doctor had referred other handicapped teens to similar programs with good results.
Within two weeks Darell had been kicked off the local high school wheel chair basketball team for fighting and arguing with the refs and coaches. After a lot of debate, and with the psychologists help, Darell was put on the adult competitive team at the local University.
The adult wheelchair basketball league is very intense. The team members are eclectic and for the most part they are men who play basketball, take it very seriously, and just happen to also be in a wheelchair. I went to the first practice with Darell and the team was practicing for mid season regional wheelchair playoffs at the local University that weekend. The practice was charged with motivation and determination. Most of the players worked full time and then came to the gym about 6:30PM and practice lasted until 8:30 or 9:00. There was a player coach in a wheel chair himself, who was an ex vet wounded in one of our countries recent wars and he was very strict with the team, although the team was pretty much self disciplined.
In practice the team ran the usual lay-up drills, outside shooting, practiced free throws and worked a lot on plays for the coming playoffs. Of course, everyone on the team was in a wheelchair, but some of the players came in a traditional style wheelchair, and then used a special "speed" wheelchair during practice or games. Darell was welcomed but although he was 10 to 15 years younger than most of the players they mostly paid him little notice. Several of the players had tattoos, one or two had blue hair and that sort of thing, and there were a few tough type guys who worked out and had big arms. Many of the players were loud and aggressive.
There was no scrimmage that night and Darell did OK. Although Darell wasn't near as good as most of the players he made a good back-up. The first 5 starting players contained a few who were over weight and easily winded but they all five played very hard. Darell along with three or four of the second stringers rotated in and out of the drills when someone got too tired to contribute or needed a short rest. That night, Darell was put in as first replacement by the player coach to test his abilities.
When we left after practice one of the wheelchair players was having a big fight with his girlfriend about something in the hall near the door and there was a lot of swearing and crying and she ran off in a huff and the guy sort of shrugged at Darell and winked at me and said "Women". I noticed Darell take it all in.
My wife said that Darell had been anxious to play in the upcoming game all week, but at the playoff game that Friday night, Darell sat out until just before half time. It was a close game, tightly officiated, and the officials were unlike all of the players on both teams, not in wheel chairs; and there was a lot of pushing and shoving during the game. It was a little startling how aggressive both teams played. However, both teams were very disciplined, ran a lot of plays and there was a lot of hustle by all the players. Several times our player coach would call a time out and wheel up to one of his players and shake his finger at him and often two or three players would chastise someone who wasn't trying or started to argue with the ref.
Darell got put in with about a minute to go in the first half and immediately stole a pass from an older man of about 45 on the other team who he was guarding and Darell took off ahead of everybody down the floor and just before he shot another guy fouled Darell badly while he was shooting. Darell was awarded two free shots by the ref. However, rather than go to the foul line, Darell charged the guy who fouled him jumped into his lap and started pummeling the guy. Order was restored, Darell was ejected from the game, and a technical was called. Here's something I never saw before; the two foul shots awarded to Darell were nullified because he was fighting during that same play.
It was a very close game and with our team losing the two shots, and our opponents getting two technical foul shots and then the ball back, the half ended with them up two points, partly because of the situation with Darell.
My wife and I were upstairs rather than on the first floor bleachers like most everyone else so we were probably the only fans who saw what the players did to our son Darell at half time.
They surrounded Darell with their wheel chairs in a tight circle.
Five or six of Darell's teammates grabbed along both his arms and squeezed very hard to control him while the coach read him the riot act for a minute. Surprisingly, to me Darell took the hazing well, but I had to stop watching. After the circle around Darell broke up and the coach tore into a few other players, I wanted to go down and talk to Darell, but my wife stopped me. We found out that Darell was expelled for the rest of the game and wouldn't be back in, so we went outside for a few minutes, had a coke and when we came back the game had been going on again for 15 minutes or so.
Darell was on the sidelines and was intently watching the game when I came back. Darell followed the game closely from the bench and seemed to be "in" to the game. I noticed he was cheering a little and I watched him high five a couple of guys when things went well. Near the end of the game, Darell also wheeled out the starters water and towels at short timeouts, and then with the other subs, Darell joined the team in their circle at the huddles on the side for longer timeouts.
We ended up losing by five points but there is another game tomorrow night because it is double elimination in these playoffs.
On the way out the guy who was arguing with his girlfriend the other night was leaving with her and with a little girl of about 6. Darell's teammate rolled up to him and gently slapped him on the shoulder, winked at me again, and said to Darell "don't forget to duck "newbie".
In the car Darell was kind of silent but seemed a little less sullen than usual and the only thing my son would say about the game was to make sure we could drive him back here to the University tomorrow night.
who makes opinion/ part 2/ draft 1
who makes opinion/ part 2/ draft 1
fiction
edward w Pritchard
It started there in the hospital bed with a craving, a super craving, not super sized but a craving for a Mc Donald's fish sandwich. Fries of course, coke would be nice too.
Morey was on the edge of death everyday every minute; on the edge of death in a high tech experimental hospital bed surrounded by Doctors and nurses. Morey was on the edge of death and developed a super sized craving for some real food, fresh privacy involving a few minutes alone at a seat at Mc Donald's, and life without medicine for fifteen minutes. Morey put his craving in writing and Morey posted his craving to his blog to the Internet. Within hours he had over one million hits to his blog account and thousands of new followers.
Next day Morey told America what he thought about medical testing in the morning and in the afternoon wrote about Hires root beer and vanilla ice cream in a tall thin glass with a long spoon with a slight taper and a spork at the bowl. That long night alone in his hospital bed Morey spent hours and hours reading comments to his cravings for ice cream he had posted on his blog. After midnight, there in the Cleveland clinic the prettiest nurse on shift stopped up to meet Morey and read a few of the comments aloud to him when he got dizzy from reading. The Doctor from India discussed medicine in America with Morey after resident's AM rounds and left Morey his email.
The third day of his blogging Morey asked for something from his new public. Not food, but a good movie to watch on line. Two million hits. After voting and fighting debate Morey watched " Twelve Monkey's" with Bruce Willis. Group think had picked the perfect movie for a man to watch who had tubes and wires weighing down his arms and legs and who hadn't been out of bed in a month. Several of his doctors stayed a while to watch that unusual movie with Morey.
Who makes opinion? Morey Days reminds people of the sensory pleasures in life. In a life of limited aspirations, limited freedom and limited interactions Morey connected to the world and found a new way to satiate his senses. Morey began a love affair with writing, pounding out his heart on his blog, brutally honest in his cravings and fears Morey communicated with new unknown friends and neighbors keystroke by keystroke entry by entry.
Tonight is Saturday night. Morey is craving German food, potato pancakes, chicken schnitzel and red cabbage. Do they still sell Schlitz beer? What type of music goes with German food these days and what should the waitress be wearing and what should she be like?
fiction
edward w Pritchard
It started there in the hospital bed with a craving, a super craving, not super sized but a craving for a Mc Donald's fish sandwich. Fries of course, coke would be nice too.
Morey was on the edge of death everyday every minute; on the edge of death in a high tech experimental hospital bed surrounded by Doctors and nurses. Morey was on the edge of death and developed a super sized craving for some real food, fresh privacy involving a few minutes alone at a seat at Mc Donald's, and life without medicine for fifteen minutes. Morey put his craving in writing and Morey posted his craving to his blog to the Internet. Within hours he had over one million hits to his blog account and thousands of new followers.
Next day Morey told America what he thought about medical testing in the morning and in the afternoon wrote about Hires root beer and vanilla ice cream in a tall thin glass with a long spoon with a slight taper and a spork at the bowl. That long night alone in his hospital bed Morey spent hours and hours reading comments to his cravings for ice cream he had posted on his blog. After midnight, there in the Cleveland clinic the prettiest nurse on shift stopped up to meet Morey and read a few of the comments aloud to him when he got dizzy from reading. The Doctor from India discussed medicine in America with Morey after resident's AM rounds and left Morey his email.
The third day of his blogging Morey asked for something from his new public. Not food, but a good movie to watch on line. Two million hits. After voting and fighting debate Morey watched " Twelve Monkey's" with Bruce Willis. Group think had picked the perfect movie for a man to watch who had tubes and wires weighing down his arms and legs and who hadn't been out of bed in a month. Several of his doctors stayed a while to watch that unusual movie with Morey.
Who makes opinion? Morey Days reminds people of the sensory pleasures in life. In a life of limited aspirations, limited freedom and limited interactions Morey connected to the world and found a new way to satiate his senses. Morey began a love affair with writing, pounding out his heart on his blog, brutally honest in his cravings and fears Morey communicated with new unknown friends and neighbors keystroke by keystroke entry by entry.
Tonight is Saturday night. Morey is craving German food, potato pancakes, chicken schnitzel and red cabbage. Do they still sell Schlitz beer? What type of music goes with German food these days and what should the waitress be wearing and what should she be like?
Friday, October 25, 2013
Georgia O'Keeffe paints a face
Georgia O' O'Keeffe paints a face
fiction
edward w Pritchard
The rich white lady often stopped here at the reservation when she was looking for directions to find flowers to paint. Out there in the dessert, in the heat of New Mexico, she would set up her easel and spend hours and hours capturing the shades of pink and yellow of blooming dessert flowers. She kept the easel and paints in the back of her big car and drove around by herself. The men here on the Resz, that's what the men called the reservation, liked the crazy white lady and warned her not to travel around by herself but Georgia just smiled, she said she was too old to be afraid anymore.
The women here in the village, that's what the women called the reservation, would bring Miss O' Keeffe cold sweet tea to drink and show her their pots and vases that they had made and painted from clay and sometimes Georgia bought things.
I was a little girl then, back on the reservation, that's what I called my home. While I was sitting in the sun one morning Miss O'Keeffe stopped everything and spent two hours painting a picture of my face and shoulders. Later a couple of weeks she brought the picture back and gave it to my Mother. People said that picture was worth more than our entire village. My Mother wouldn't sell that picture though. She said it was special and I should always keep and treasure that picture that was worth more than money. She said there were a thousand pink, red and yellow flower blooming in my face in that painting.
end
fiction
edward w Pritchard
The rich white lady often stopped here at the reservation when she was looking for directions to find flowers to paint. Out there in the dessert, in the heat of New Mexico, she would set up her easel and spend hours and hours capturing the shades of pink and yellow of blooming dessert flowers. She kept the easel and paints in the back of her big car and drove around by herself. The men here on the Resz, that's what the men called the reservation, liked the crazy white lady and warned her not to travel around by herself but Georgia just smiled, she said she was too old to be afraid anymore.
The women here in the village, that's what the women called the reservation, would bring Miss O' Keeffe cold sweet tea to drink and show her their pots and vases that they had made and painted from clay and sometimes Georgia bought things.
I was a little girl then, back on the reservation, that's what I called my home. While I was sitting in the sun one morning Miss O'Keeffe stopped everything and spent two hours painting a picture of my face and shoulders. Later a couple of weeks she brought the picture back and gave it to my Mother. People said that picture was worth more than our entire village. My Mother wouldn't sell that picture though. She said it was special and I should always keep and treasure that picture that was worth more than money. She said there were a thousand pink, red and yellow flower blooming in my face in that painting.
end
Which President had the worst Wife?
Which President had the worst Wife?
fiction
edward w Pritchard
Which President had the worst wife?
Abe Lincoln? When he was writing and reading the Gettysburg address was he secretly worrying that Mary would jump from a balcony with a rope tied to her wrist? Or, did Mary just have premonitions about balconies? Lincoln chased and courted Mary Todd at length to catch her. Was she disturbed or did she just have a hard unlucky life? Abraham had his issues too, perhaps a good match after all.
Bill Clinton? It can be difficult to have a wife who is that much more intelligent than you. Forget the college grades, I mean real life stuff.
What about all the pretty women who married an ambitious man to get ahead in life after he wooed her? Capable women who were saddled with the yoke of the burden of femininity in less progressive times, like the 18th, 19th, 20th or 21th centuries.
Which President had the worst wife; nay, which first lady was married to the worst President?
fiction
edward w Pritchard
Which President had the worst wife?
Abe Lincoln? When he was writing and reading the Gettysburg address was he secretly worrying that Mary would jump from a balcony with a rope tied to her wrist? Or, did Mary just have premonitions about balconies? Lincoln chased and courted Mary Todd at length to catch her. Was she disturbed or did she just have a hard unlucky life? Abraham had his issues too, perhaps a good match after all.
Bill Clinton? It can be difficult to have a wife who is that much more intelligent than you. Forget the college grades, I mean real life stuff.
What about all the pretty women who married an ambitious man to get ahead in life after he wooed her? Capable women who were saddled with the yoke of the burden of femininity in less progressive times, like the 18th, 19th, 20th or 21th centuries.
Which President had the worst wife; nay, which first lady was married to the worst President?
Thursday, October 24, 2013
my trip to Rachel's
my trip to Rachel's
fiction
edward w Pritchard
A trip for me began with a stop at the Mennonite Charity thrift shop for a used suitcase. Four dollars for a distressed leather brown case and two dollars for two sweaters and a pair of pants to put in the stylish suitcase. Style is more than a man"s clothes, it is something intangible, a man's sensibility en total as he walks in to see an old lover with a nearly new sweater and trouthers carrying a second sweater for later in a one of a kind battered about brown valise.
Should one kiss the hand of a former lover on sight or wait till dinner on one's knees begging for a second chance? To Rachel I fly, by train actually, in response to her letter; Rachel must see me, she doesn't say she still loves me but she needs me, a new start. Opportunity lives anew.
Life is a fascade. I polished the valise with special saddle soap until it gleams in the moonlight, I will carry it as I wait for the train. I think I will be reading the Bible when Rachel meets me at the station. Yes the Bible, now, Issiah or St Matthew?
Will the Moon be in a full sky there at the platform when Rachel and I reacquaint? Some things in the affairs of Love must be left to chance. Perhaps there will be a hall of mirrors there at the station and a huge chiming brass clock high over the ancient train station in Danbury, Virginia when Rachel meets me at the station.
It's been years since I beheld Rachel's smile and a decade since I heard her laugh.
Beethoven or Chopin at Dinner? Piano or violin?
fiction
edward w Pritchard
A trip for me began with a stop at the Mennonite Charity thrift shop for a used suitcase. Four dollars for a distressed leather brown case and two dollars for two sweaters and a pair of pants to put in the stylish suitcase. Style is more than a man"s clothes, it is something intangible, a man's sensibility en total as he walks in to see an old lover with a nearly new sweater and trouthers carrying a second sweater for later in a one of a kind battered about brown valise.
Should one kiss the hand of a former lover on sight or wait till dinner on one's knees begging for a second chance? To Rachel I fly, by train actually, in response to her letter; Rachel must see me, she doesn't say she still loves me but she needs me, a new start. Opportunity lives anew.
Life is a fascade. I polished the valise with special saddle soap until it gleams in the moonlight, I will carry it as I wait for the train. I think I will be reading the Bible when Rachel meets me at the station. Yes the Bible, now, Issiah or St Matthew?
Will the Moon be in a full sky there at the platform when Rachel and I reacquaint? Some things in the affairs of Love must be left to chance. Perhaps there will be a hall of mirrors there at the station and a huge chiming brass clock high over the ancient train station in Danbury, Virginia when Rachel meets me at the station.
It's been years since I beheld Rachel's smile and a decade since I heard her laugh.
Beethoven or Chopin at Dinner? Piano or violin?
who makes opinion/ part one
who makes opinion/ part one
fiction
edward w Pritchard
Nobody notices or much cares about an invalid laying there in a hospital bed month after month. The cost is astronomical now days, ten million dollars a year if the Hospital can collect. Morey had a unique illness and it was critical to keep him in Critical care at the Cleveland Clinic to be around the best of the best specialists and technology to keep him alive. Morey's Dad paid the bills, and Morey's Dad could afford it he was one of those early social networking billionaires so he could afford to pay the round the clock hospital care for fifty or so more years before he had to economize. Morey didn't have fifty years, he had only a few weeks or months like his Mother who had the same illness and lasted two weeks in Hospice there at the same Hospital. Morey's Dad came to see his only son every day and vowed Morey would always have the best care available.
Morey was a sad sight, ten or more tubes and special experimental machines and wires sticking out of him. Pills and vials of medicine everywhere and nurses and technicians came in his room every two to five minutes 24 hours per day.
One can only watch so much wheel of fortune laying there in his hospital bed. One can't read when one is constantly dizzy from taking medication.
Morey became Morey Days and he influenced mass behavior like no one ever has done before from a hospital bed or from the towers of Madison avenue. Morey became the man who makes public opinion using his blog to dictate taste and preference to masses of American youth.
end part one
fiction
edward w Pritchard
Nobody notices or much cares about an invalid laying there in a hospital bed month after month. The cost is astronomical now days, ten million dollars a year if the Hospital can collect. Morey had a unique illness and it was critical to keep him in Critical care at the Cleveland Clinic to be around the best of the best specialists and technology to keep him alive. Morey's Dad paid the bills, and Morey's Dad could afford it he was one of those early social networking billionaires so he could afford to pay the round the clock hospital care for fifty or so more years before he had to economize. Morey didn't have fifty years, he had only a few weeks or months like his Mother who had the same illness and lasted two weeks in Hospice there at the same Hospital. Morey's Dad came to see his only son every day and vowed Morey would always have the best care available.
Morey was a sad sight, ten or more tubes and special experimental machines and wires sticking out of him. Pills and vials of medicine everywhere and nurses and technicians came in his room every two to five minutes 24 hours per day.
One can only watch so much wheel of fortune laying there in his hospital bed. One can't read when one is constantly dizzy from taking medication.
Morey became Morey Days and he influenced mass behavior like no one ever has done before from a hospital bed or from the towers of Madison avenue. Morey became the man who makes public opinion using his blog to dictate taste and preference to masses of American youth.
end part one
Wednesday, October 23, 2013
A tribute to Louis L' Amour/ part 3
A tribute to Louis L' Amour/ part 3
several secret references to Louis L' amour created characters and situations in Sackett's; are done as tribute to Louis L' Amour
fiction
edward w pritchard
Like most men my age who has rode the trails or crossed the old West North to East I have a few enemies. The man with the red blotches on his face, John Wesley Hardin, everyone in the State of Indiana, the Smith brothers[ from Kansas] and a few others I suppose. Every time I walk into a room at a diner, or ride down a street on my horse in a new town I have to imperceptibly scan every face for motive and political affiliation. Try doin that while lookin for that special girl at the same time and you will be on your way to being a real cowboy. I wanted to talk about special girls; I have had no more than a dozen, course a special girl can make a man lose his judgment and when a man out here in the West loses his judgment he might just as well lay down in his coffin for that where he is headed in the end.
Sometimes a woman can lose respect for a man if he is one who doesn't hit her and if he is kind to the children. She can secretly think him weak. When she is in trouble and requires assistance she will shame a man by turning to another for help. Then a man won't be able to look her in the eye and will turn to brooding and become dangerous. That's what happened to me, Goldstake over, um, um well I forget her name but she was very special I tell you. Course that was a long time ago, now days one woman is pretty much the same as the next to me except my daughter, my granddaughter, her, that's private, and a few others who I never call on or talk to. Well it was over a woman that I got involved in a mess of troubles. My special woman was in trouble and hadn't ask me to help and I was plum ashamed and I became very dangerous. Course I butted in uninvited, we always do.
It was in that state of mind, brooding and dangerous that I set out on my request [sic] for revenge. I rode through some of the most beautiful Country under the Sun following the Ohio river higher and higher into Death Valley. I fought Apache's in New York and bandits at Boston stadium.
I came back a changed man. But then the real trouble started for me for that's when I met Dukata, the real woman of my dreams and I fell hard and ended up making a fool of myself and disgracing the Packett ancient family name. Packettere is our name, a respected name that goes back over 600 generations to the times when the Welsh defeated the Romans Centurions there at the battle of the Verdun in world war one.
Well Louis L' Amour has filled up another book about my adventures so I will have to "tell" you-ins
later about me and Dukata, the girl of my dreams, at least she was for a few weeks. Look for the next installment of Packett volume 339 available in solid gold plate for ten thousand dollars, you can't afford to not own it.
Happy trails to you until we meet again, don't fence me in, Johnny Yuma was a rebel he rode through the West.
end part 4
.
several secret references to Louis L' amour created characters and situations in Sackett's; are done as tribute to Louis L' Amour
fiction
edward w pritchard
Like most men my age who has rode the trails or crossed the old West North to East I have a few enemies. The man with the red blotches on his face, John Wesley Hardin, everyone in the State of Indiana, the Smith brothers[ from Kansas] and a few others I suppose. Every time I walk into a room at a diner, or ride down a street on my horse in a new town I have to imperceptibly scan every face for motive and political affiliation. Try doin that while lookin for that special girl at the same time and you will be on your way to being a real cowboy. I wanted to talk about special girls; I have had no more than a dozen, course a special girl can make a man lose his judgment and when a man out here in the West loses his judgment he might just as well lay down in his coffin for that where he is headed in the end.
Sometimes a woman can lose respect for a man if he is one who doesn't hit her and if he is kind to the children. She can secretly think him weak. When she is in trouble and requires assistance she will shame a man by turning to another for help. Then a man won't be able to look her in the eye and will turn to brooding and become dangerous. That's what happened to me, Goldstake over, um, um well I forget her name but she was very special I tell you. Course that was a long time ago, now days one woman is pretty much the same as the next to me except my daughter, my granddaughter, her, that's private, and a few others who I never call on or talk to. Well it was over a woman that I got involved in a mess of troubles. My special woman was in trouble and hadn't ask me to help and I was plum ashamed and I became very dangerous. Course I butted in uninvited, we always do.
It was in that state of mind, brooding and dangerous that I set out on my request [sic] for revenge. I rode through some of the most beautiful Country under the Sun following the Ohio river higher and higher into Death Valley. I fought Apache's in New York and bandits at Boston stadium.
I came back a changed man. But then the real trouble started for me for that's when I met Dukata, the real woman of my dreams and I fell hard and ended up making a fool of myself and disgracing the Packett ancient family name. Packettere is our name, a respected name that goes back over 600 generations to the times when the Welsh defeated the Romans Centurions there at the battle of the Verdun in world war one.
Well Louis L' Amour has filled up another book about my adventures so I will have to "tell" you-ins
later about me and Dukata, the girl of my dreams, at least she was for a few weeks. Look for the next installment of Packett volume 339 available in solid gold plate for ten thousand dollars, you can't afford to not own it.
Happy trails to you until we meet again, don't fence me in, Johnny Yuma was a rebel he rode through the West.
end part 4
.
a tribute to Louis L' Amour, the Packetts / part 1 and 2
a tribute to Louis L' Amour, the Packetts/ part 1
fiction
edward w pritchard
repost with edits
I am the runt of the Packett Clan. We are pioneer stock and I am Goldstake, oldest of the four brothers and one wee little sister.
My youngest brother Toll is three maybe four inches taller than me and the other two sons of Ma and Pa Packett, Ornrey and Tie die are just a might shorter than my youngest brother but a shad taller than myanrn. [ me]. It gave me an inferiority contest [sic] there at home.
We are Welsh stock. We sing and we pray when we are scared, which is never, unless one of the children is sick or the dog is missing.
My main fault, I can't keep money and can't forget women especially one's who are dead and one's who wants to be permanently rid of me. Despite that I am a good man to have about in a quarrel and quarrels are always just at the end of my hips and thighs.
Strong men and women are needed to carve out a foothold in this hostile Country. We Packett's built a ranch by the sweat of our hands and then we studied Blackstone's Law commentary [ see the Sackett's, sub title -Sackett page 30], and then we found gold. Course gold will ruin a man, especially if he has all he needs.
The future? It's not for me but the bright eyed children, part Indian part Welsh. The past? I am the past; America's beginnings.
Now, Why now, I work hard every day of my life, just staying alive. [ Louis L' Amour- Sam Elliot in the Quick and the Dead]. side note - that Kate Capshaw ain't half bad.
Speaking of noticing women, ladies all us men are just a wolf pack, course we run alone; some of us will a smile at you and some will just give you that look, my Pa gave that look to my Ma and that's where I and me brothers and sister came from. Anyway you women should watch what you wear and how you look back, we notice that, like I noticed that Kate Chapshaw standing under that waterfall in the freezing cold water. Me on my horse and her with those blues eyes crying in the rain of that water fall.
end part 2
fiction
edward w pritchard
repost with edits
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
goldstake cherries
Goldstake Cherries
fiction
edward w Pritchard
Goldstake Cherries was a gigantic man. 11feet 9 inches, tall, 748 pounds in his stockings and boots and he usually wore two pair of socks.
Still Goldstake was a little nervous as two full grown grizzly bears stood across from him staring him down.
His old Ma-wrn {ma] had told him, and it said in the good book, don't fight with two grizzlies at once if you can charm um [ them].
So Goldstake quickly grabbed up a skillet and whipped up some of his grand-dad's secret pancakes, fried up about 108 of um and him and them thar bears came to an understandin over an umpromtu breakfast of pan cakes an rye whiskey.
Hours later Goldstake Cherries rode the paint colored, rainbow striped, half badger/half horse thru the expanse of rock less desert, in a windstorm looking for Bartholomule the gent who had pawed his girl Iris, no one slapped his girl on the behind and lived. So Goldstake drove over the badlands for 74 days, up and down the foothills, with only morning mountain dew for water, until on the 74th day, despite being in a hot waterless desert, it began to snow, and there ahead was Bart, the Armadillo he rode was plum tucker out, and Bart was walking along, and in doing so he had his back to Goldstake. Goldstake approached from the North, so the rays of the sun, that golden orb, would be in Bart's eyes when he struck, because in this dessert the Sun rose and set North to south.
Packing a snowball from the desert floor, Goldstake wound up and hit Bart on the left outside of his left thigh with the missile. The crack of the impact was heard fifteen miles away in an Indian village, so that tribe wasn't surprised to see a gigantic white man walk into camp carrying a badger, a tuckered out armadillo, an injured man, and two large 100 pound sacks of flour, and a side of beef. Goldstake left the Indians the flour and beef to get through the snow storm in the heat of the waterless desert, and incidentally harvested a heap of good will for the future from those Injins, and then headed South for the nearest town to drop Bart off to stand trial for sexual harassment, because Goldstakes out of mercy had decided not to kill the injured man.
Later, Goldstake spent a spell reading the good book, thanking the lord that all had worked as planned and then returned to his 975,000 acres farm to get in the jelly bean crop before winter struck in earnest down here in the desert badlands.
fiction
edward w Pritchard
Goldstake Cherries was a gigantic man. 11feet 9 inches, tall, 748 pounds in his stockings and boots and he usually wore two pair of socks.
Still Goldstake was a little nervous as two full grown grizzly bears stood across from him staring him down.
His old Ma-wrn {ma] had told him, and it said in the good book, don't fight with two grizzlies at once if you can charm um [ them].
So Goldstake quickly grabbed up a skillet and whipped up some of his grand-dad's secret pancakes, fried up about 108 of um and him and them thar bears came to an understandin over an umpromtu breakfast of pan cakes an rye whiskey.
Hours later Goldstake Cherries rode the paint colored, rainbow striped, half badger/half horse thru the expanse of rock less desert, in a windstorm looking for Bartholomule the gent who had pawed his girl Iris, no one slapped his girl on the behind and lived. So Goldstake drove over the badlands for 74 days, up and down the foothills, with only morning mountain dew for water, until on the 74th day, despite being in a hot waterless desert, it began to snow, and there ahead was Bart, the Armadillo he rode was plum tucker out, and Bart was walking along, and in doing so he had his back to Goldstake. Goldstake approached from the North, so the rays of the sun, that golden orb, would be in Bart's eyes when he struck, because in this dessert the Sun rose and set North to south.
Packing a snowball from the desert floor, Goldstake wound up and hit Bart on the left outside of his left thigh with the missile. The crack of the impact was heard fifteen miles away in an Indian village, so that tribe wasn't surprised to see a gigantic white man walk into camp carrying a badger, a tuckered out armadillo, an injured man, and two large 100 pound sacks of flour, and a side of beef. Goldstake left the Indians the flour and beef to get through the snow storm in the heat of the waterless desert, and incidentally harvested a heap of good will for the future from those Injins, and then headed South for the nearest town to drop Bart off to stand trial for sexual harassment, because Goldstakes out of mercy had decided not to kill the injured man.
Later, Goldstake spent a spell reading the good book, thanking the lord that all had worked as planned and then returned to his 975,000 acres farm to get in the jelly bean crop before winter struck in earnest down here in the desert badlands.
I am the runt of the Packett Clan. We are pioneer stock and I am Goldstake, oldest of the four brothers and one wee little sister.
My youngest brother Toll is three maybe four inches taller than me and the other two sons of Ma and Pa Packett, Ornrey and Tie die are just a might shorter than my youngest brother but a shad taller than myanrn. [ me]. It gave me an inferiority contest [sic] there at home.
We are Welsh stock. We sing and we pray when we are scared, which is never, unless one of the children is sick or the dog is missing.
My main fault, I can't keep money and can't forget women especially one's who are dead and one's who wants to be permanently rid of me. Despite that I am a good man to have about in a quarrel and quarrels are always just at the end of my hips and thighs.
Strong men and women are needed to carve out a foothold in this hostile Country. We Packett's built a ranch by the sweat of our hands and then we studied Blackstone's Law commentary [ see the Sackett's, sub title -Sackett page 30], and then we found gold. Course gold will ruin a man, especially if he has all he needs.
The future? It's not for me but the bright eyed children, part Indian part Welsh. The past? I am the past; America's beginnings.
Now, Why now, I work hard every day of my life, just staying alive. [ Louis L' Amour- Sam Elliot in the Quick and the Dead]. side note - that Kate Capshaw ain't half bad.
Speaking of noticing women, ladies all us men are just a wolf pack, course we run alone; some of us will a smile at you and some will just give you that look, my Pa gave that look to my Ma and that's where I and me brothers and sister came from. Anyway you women should watch what you wear and how you look back, we notice that, like I noticed that Kate Chapshaw standing under that waterfall in the freezing cold water. Me on my horse and her with those blues eyes crying in the rain of that water fall.
end part 2
Active hunters hate walleye fish
Active hunters hate walleye fish
daily pages on a slow day = uncreative writer
fiction
edward w pritchard
Very few non fisherman fish for Walleyes. It's unusual for a social club attended by humans, such as the moose [ lodge] or cub [scouts], to be named after walleye fish. Yet walleye are a delicious and nutritious food source. While few humans alive today know the name of the walleye fish in the original languages of the ancient native Americans the walleye has a long history but it is one that is little known or seldom thought about.
The word walleye is a derogatory name to call a person. Walleye refers to the eyes facing extremely outward [ such as eyes towards a wall]. Yet a brief search of causes of fights among denizens of this area has found no direct connection between street fights and calling someone a walleye.
Many Canadian cities claim to be the walleye capital of the world. A few others claim to be the pickerel capital of the world. Pickerel is a sobriquet for walleye often used affectionately.
Why do hunters hate walleye fish? It is extremely difficult to shoot walleyes with a rifle. Walleyes are often caught at night using minnows. Minnows do not work well as a bullet substitute.
end
daily pages on a slow day = uncreative writer
fiction
edward w pritchard
Very few non fisherman fish for Walleyes. It's unusual for a social club attended by humans, such as the moose [ lodge] or cub [scouts], to be named after walleye fish. Yet walleye are a delicious and nutritious food source. While few humans alive today know the name of the walleye fish in the original languages of the ancient native Americans the walleye has a long history but it is one that is little known or seldom thought about.
The word walleye is a derogatory name to call a person. Walleye refers to the eyes facing extremely outward [ such as eyes towards a wall]. Yet a brief search of causes of fights among denizens of this area has found no direct connection between street fights and calling someone a walleye.
Many Canadian cities claim to be the walleye capital of the world. A few others claim to be the pickerel capital of the world. Pickerel is a sobriquet for walleye often used affectionately.
Why do hunters hate walleye fish? It is extremely difficult to shoot walleyes with a rifle. Walleyes are often caught at night using minnows. Minnows do not work well as a bullet substitute.
end
Tuesday, October 22, 2013
confronting the nuissance of elderly American citizens this Holiday season
confronting the nuisance of elderly American citizens this Holiday season
fiction
edward w Pritchard
repost/ satire/ edit
Memo
Dealing with the Deserving Elderly
Confidential- 2013
for Youth magazine- holidays issue 2013
Everyone knows that the elderly are a problem to our Country's economy today. One has only go to the grocery store to observe the elderly slowly clogging along, taking up an entire aisle, consuming little, and buying less to agree. Worse is when elderly persons power walk at the Malls, often before official opening time.
But what's to be done with them, with the nuisance of elderly American citizens today?
The elderly cling to an outdated value system that they no longer follow and refuse to realize how things are here and now. We the young do not hate them, but we must live now and the elderly are not pulling their weight and not adhering to their own sacred ideals that they preached in the past, when they declared that if one is not working to consume one is worthless. We say to the elderly here and now that Saving money is not consumption, nor is scrimping, or making due, or turning off the electricity at 9:00 pm or setting the heat low on purpose, or driving an old car so as not to buy a new one. The elderly have violated the sacred material dictum's they gave to the world.
So the elderly must be judged.
Here is our proposal:
To monitor and control the behavior of elderly Americans the following special rules will apply to all Americans over age 44 this Holiday seasons.
effective Nov 1, 2013:
1. The elderly will be encouraged to live together in special apartments preferably in specific Southern States.
2. They elderly must maintain a certain amount of consumption daily, the amount to be announced on Oct 29th, 2013, so as to prevent hoarding.
3. Any and all passive income the elderly have will be taxed at the highest rate.
4. The elderly must not doddle around and through stores, unless spending a certain minimum.
5 The elderly must never wear sunglasses, shorts, or tell any stories about when they were in their glory days.
6, The elderly may go to the gym and may sit around and drink coffee, may frequent the weight room, use the stationary bikes, and do group aerobics among their own kind. However, the elderly may not talk, and never may wink
7. The elderly may not discuss social security, medicare part a or b, or hospital testing in public. Wealthy elderly citizens are exempted from this order [ # 7] only but no elderly person may offer commentary on current events.
8 The elderly must always be quiet on holidays at all parties, and social gatherings.
9. For clarification, elderly will be defined as over 44, and near death as those over 53 [ like the actuarial tables ending at 99 previously], ie 53 is the new 99.
10. Elderly persons may not drive about in sporty cars and each car containing elderly citizens on the roads during prime hours, ie. 8AM to 6Pm must contain three or more elderly citizens.
11. No elderly citizens may sell peanuts or Spanish olives during the Christmas holidays.
end
fiction
edward w Pritchard
repost/ satire/ edit
Memo
Dealing with the Deserving Elderly
Confidential- 2013
for Youth magazine- holidays issue 2013
Everyone knows that the elderly are a problem to our Country's economy today. One has only go to the grocery store to observe the elderly slowly clogging along, taking up an entire aisle, consuming little, and buying less to agree. Worse is when elderly persons power walk at the Malls, often before official opening time.
But what's to be done with them, with the nuisance of elderly American citizens today?
The elderly cling to an outdated value system that they no longer follow and refuse to realize how things are here and now. We the young do not hate them, but we must live now and the elderly are not pulling their weight and not adhering to their own sacred ideals that they preached in the past, when they declared that if one is not working to consume one is worthless. We say to the elderly here and now that Saving money is not consumption, nor is scrimping, or making due, or turning off the electricity at 9:00 pm or setting the heat low on purpose, or driving an old car so as not to buy a new one. The elderly have violated the sacred material dictum's they gave to the world.
So the elderly must be judged.
Here is our proposal:
To monitor and control the behavior of elderly Americans the following special rules will apply to all Americans over age 44 this Holiday seasons.
effective Nov 1, 2013:
1. The elderly will be encouraged to live together in special apartments preferably in specific Southern States.
2. They elderly must maintain a certain amount of consumption daily, the amount to be announced on Oct 29th, 2013, so as to prevent hoarding.
3. Any and all passive income the elderly have will be taxed at the highest rate.
4. The elderly must not doddle around and through stores, unless spending a certain minimum.
5 The elderly must never wear sunglasses, shorts, or tell any stories about when they were in their glory days.
6, The elderly may go to the gym and may sit around and drink coffee, may frequent the weight room, use the stationary bikes, and do group aerobics among their own kind. However, the elderly may not talk, and never may wink
7. The elderly may not discuss social security, medicare part a or b, or hospital testing in public. Wealthy elderly citizens are exempted from this order [ # 7] only but no elderly person may offer commentary on current events.
8 The elderly must always be quiet on holidays at all parties, and social gatherings.
9. For clarification, elderly will be defined as over 44, and near death as those over 53 [ like the actuarial tables ending at 99 previously], ie 53 is the new 99.
10. Elderly persons may not drive about in sporty cars and each car containing elderly citizens on the roads during prime hours, ie. 8AM to 6Pm must contain three or more elderly citizens.
11. No elderly citizens may sell peanuts or Spanish olives during the Christmas holidays.
end
preview of coming stories; Last man standing part 2
preview of coming stories; Last man standing part 2
fiction
edward w pritchard
Lucifer- reviews first 5 parts of the stories of last man standing; then speaks, "well, it's interesting, keep editing I suppose".
ed- "any suggestions on "Last Man standing"
Lucifer- "well I once stood by Michelangelo while he was working on a large block of stone sculpting and he said that all the figures he wished to bring to life in marble were already intact in the stone itself."
ed- [playing the straight man] "and what did you say?"
Lucifer- why I said to him, " well take them out one at a time then,"
"do you understand?"
ed-"I think so"
Lucifer-"just keep working, refine your material and technique"
ed- the author, "I'll work some more on editing the five stories called " the Last Man standing"
Lucifer- "and while your at it why not knock a few more chips of marble off all you stories."
ed- that I understand, I accept your criticism
end
fiction
edward w pritchard
Lucifer- reviews first 5 parts of the stories of last man standing; then speaks, "well, it's interesting, keep editing I suppose".
ed- "any suggestions on "Last Man standing"
Lucifer- "well I once stood by Michelangelo while he was working on a large block of stone sculpting and he said that all the figures he wished to bring to life in marble were already intact in the stone itself."
ed- [playing the straight man] "and what did you say?"
Lucifer- why I said to him, " well take them out one at a time then,"
"do you understand?"
ed-"I think so"
Lucifer-"just keep working, refine your material and technique"
ed- the author, "I'll work some more on editing the five stories called " the Last Man standing"
Lucifer- "and while your at it why not knock a few more chips of marble off all you stories."
ed- that I understand, I accept your criticism
end
Last man standing / part 5/ draft 1
Last man standing / part 5
fiction
edward w pritchard
"The last man standing must step over the corpses of his fallen friends"
ed pritchard " Last man standing" 2013
see parts 1 to 4
Note- Shackleton stories are a compilation of facts, and more than some amount of fiction -author
Nord was found dead in his sleep, now it is just me and him, Me, Southey and him, Laufter. Laufter drug Nord's body alone to the crevice for burial, the same as he had done for the dead Frank West. I am too sick to help. I am afraid I will be next to die. Unless Shackleton returns in a few days I shall be dead soon.
Before he died Nord told me that he had proof that Laufter was the Devil. I don't believe in such nonsense but Nord made an interesting case. It was nothing I hadn't thought of myself, although of course not in a religious context. A man who is never cold, never hungry and never tired in a survival situation naturally causes suspicion and strange musings.
Laufter listened to what I had to say that I heard from Nord. Then Laufter did something that surprised me, floored me so to speak. Lafter said Nord was correct. Laufter said he had come here to obtain my soul, me as the last man standing. Laufter says he is the devil.
I know Laufter is just trying to motivate me to live, to survive until Shackleton returns. He is playing head games with me. Anything to keep me going, to keep me grasping for life.
I answered Laufter that instead of giving him my soul in trade for my survival I will hit him with the oar laying there under our boat. He answers, "that's unlikely, I can't stand up, I am weak and dizzy, and besides he says you are no killer."
Laufter says if I will just consent to the transfer of my soul to him verbally it will be a contract and I will survive this desperate survival situation and have a long successful life after this, far from Antarctica.
Me and Laufter. I have made no decision on his proposal. He sits at that end of the upturned boat and I sit at this end, my end. I sleep lightly now and wait and wait for Shackleton's return. I wait for Shackleton to rescue me.
end part 5
fiction
edward w pritchard
"The last man standing must step over the corpses of his fallen friends"
ed pritchard " Last man standing" 2013
see parts 1 to 4
Note- Shackleton stories are a compilation of facts, and more than some amount of fiction -author
Nord was found dead in his sleep, now it is just me and him, Me, Southey and him, Laufter. Laufter drug Nord's body alone to the crevice for burial, the same as he had done for the dead Frank West. I am too sick to help. I am afraid I will be next to die. Unless Shackleton returns in a few days I shall be dead soon.
Before he died Nord told me that he had proof that Laufter was the Devil. I don't believe in such nonsense but Nord made an interesting case. It was nothing I hadn't thought of myself, although of course not in a religious context. A man who is never cold, never hungry and never tired in a survival situation naturally causes suspicion and strange musings.
Laufter listened to what I had to say that I heard from Nord. Then Laufter did something that surprised me, floored me so to speak. Lafter said Nord was correct. Laufter said he had come here to obtain my soul, me as the last man standing. Laufter says he is the devil.
I know Laufter is just trying to motivate me to live, to survive until Shackleton returns. He is playing head games with me. Anything to keep me going, to keep me grasping for life.
I answered Laufter that instead of giving him my soul in trade for my survival I will hit him with the oar laying there under our boat. He answers, "that's unlikely, I can't stand up, I am weak and dizzy, and besides he says you are no killer."
Laufter says if I will just consent to the transfer of my soul to him verbally it will be a contract and I will survive this desperate survival situation and have a long successful life after this, far from Antarctica.
Me and Laufter. I have made no decision on his proposal. He sits at that end of the upturned boat and I sit at this end, my end. I sleep lightly now and wait and wait for Shackleton's return. I wait for Shackleton to rescue me.
end part 5
Last Man standing / part 4/draft 1
Last Man standing/ part 4/ draft 1
fiction
edward w pritchard
" Our Hell is where we find ourselves"
ed pritchard, the Cynics apothecary- 2013
see part 1, 2 and 3- Last man standing
Note- Shackleton stories are a compilation of facts, and more than some amount of fiction -author
part 4
West is dead. Frank West who was temporary leader has given up the ghost. He succumbed to the cold, the poor water, the futility of life and he shriveled up and he died. He wasted away and died of spirit, died of soul, and died of hip and thigh. Now there are three. Myself, Ed Laufter and Nord, the sailor.
Nord is going crazy, from the isolation I suppose. He believes Laufter is evil, I can't understand his bemoanings to figure out why Laufter is supposed to be evil; but as much as Nord believes that Shackleton is good and will triumph and rescue us here in Antarctica, Nord believes that Laufter is evil and has plans to doom us all. I mentioned Nord's accusations to Laufter and he doesn't take it serious or personal. "We are all under a tremendous amount of stress, ravings are common in such situations" he says. Laufter recommends that Nord assume the duties as our cook, constantly keeping the fire going will distract Nord from his fears and will help him to survive. We must improvise as necessary to save a life.
In my opinion no man on our crew, of the original five men left here under the boat to wait for rescue or of the men who went with Shackleton to find the whaling station have done more to try to keep us alive than Ed Laufter. His motives I don't know nor do I care, he works constantly to improve our situation and unlike Shackleton he is here with us, everyday in this place sharing our sorrows.
Thinking about it, about Laufter, it is strange. Laufter never shows if he is cold, never shows if he is tired and seldom complains about anything. It's odd I suppose. Still he more than once has helped me to survive here and given me reason to get back to my home.
A few years ago Shackleton was obsessed with which explorer had went furthest South. Meanwhile Amundsen found the pole and Robert Scott lost himself and four men to death exploring Antarctica. I can understand Shackleton's original obsessions but why is he still that way now? After the Pole was conquered. And, why did I follow him here?
end part 4
fiction
edward w pritchard
" Our Hell is where we find ourselves"
ed pritchard, the Cynics apothecary- 2013
see part 1, 2 and 3- Last man standing
Note- Shackleton stories are a compilation of facts, and more than some amount of fiction -author
part 4
West is dead. Frank West who was temporary leader has given up the ghost. He succumbed to the cold, the poor water, the futility of life and he shriveled up and he died. He wasted away and died of spirit, died of soul, and died of hip and thigh. Now there are three. Myself, Ed Laufter and Nord, the sailor.
Nord is going crazy, from the isolation I suppose. He believes Laufter is evil, I can't understand his bemoanings to figure out why Laufter is supposed to be evil; but as much as Nord believes that Shackleton is good and will triumph and rescue us here in Antarctica, Nord believes that Laufter is evil and has plans to doom us all. I mentioned Nord's accusations to Laufter and he doesn't take it serious or personal. "We are all under a tremendous amount of stress, ravings are common in such situations" he says. Laufter recommends that Nord assume the duties as our cook, constantly keeping the fire going will distract Nord from his fears and will help him to survive. We must improvise as necessary to save a life.
In my opinion no man on our crew, of the original five men left here under the boat to wait for rescue or of the men who went with Shackleton to find the whaling station have done more to try to keep us alive than Ed Laufter. His motives I don't know nor do I care, he works constantly to improve our situation and unlike Shackleton he is here with us, everyday in this place sharing our sorrows.
Thinking about it, about Laufter, it is strange. Laufter never shows if he is cold, never shows if he is tired and seldom complains about anything. It's odd I suppose. Still he more than once has helped me to survive here and given me reason to get back to my home.
A few years ago Shackleton was obsessed with which explorer had went furthest South. Meanwhile Amundsen found the pole and Robert Scott lost himself and four men to death exploring Antarctica. I can understand Shackleton's original obsessions but why is he still that way now? After the Pole was conquered. And, why did I follow him here?
end part 4
Last man standing / part 3/ draft 1
Last man standing / part 3/ draft 1
see part 1 and 2
Note- Shackleton stories are a compilation of facts, and more than some amount of fiction -author
" Earnest Shackleton is a good example of a man who was supremely confident and used planning and goal setting to produce several magnificent fiascoes."
The Cynics apothecary
ed pritchard- 2013
It was all smiles in the beginning, even Shackleton who didn't smile much. When the "Endurance" got stuck in the ice we played soccer while we waited for warmer weather to unthaw the ship. We are still waiting nearly a year later but ice has destroyed our ship. We sang songs as a group while we waited for the ice to thaw and the ship to be free. Now we huddle under a boat trapped on a mushy shrinking island of floating ice while we wait for boss, [Shacketon] to return from Wilhelmina Bay where whalers hunt to rescue his last four men. At first, we sang cheerfully pulling the boat we now sleep under, we were the mush dogs, the real mush dogs were eaten or ran off or lay down and died to escape the cold. The horses too, all gone after much fuss; who would bring a horse to such a hostile place as Antarctica? Where are us four men now? We wait, and we wait, and we wait, for rescue at a place called Patience camp where we die one by one.
Frank West
1915
"The ice flow we are stuck on is getting dangerously thin and the wind drives us East and then the currents drive us west, we end up nowhere."-- I hate penguin meat, it does not taste like chicken."
Swenson, a common sailor
"The men have never lost faith"
Shackleton-1902, 1908, 1915, and 1922
" If any place on earth is the end of the earth it's Elephant Island, Antarctica."
ed Laufter, American
1915
"It took 126 days for us to be rescued from Elephant Island, I lost use my fingers, partial use of my hands, and my feet sometimes cannot tell if they are touching the ground. If there is Hell, it is Antarctica."
last man standing[ sic anonymous]
1916
end part 3
see part 1 and 2
Note- Shackleton stories are a compilation of facts, and more than some amount of fiction -author
" Earnest Shackleton is a good example of a man who was supremely confident and used planning and goal setting to produce several magnificent fiascoes."
The Cynics apothecary
ed pritchard- 2013
It was all smiles in the beginning, even Shackleton who didn't smile much. When the "Endurance" got stuck in the ice we played soccer while we waited for warmer weather to unthaw the ship. We are still waiting nearly a year later but ice has destroyed our ship. We sang songs as a group while we waited for the ice to thaw and the ship to be free. Now we huddle under a boat trapped on a mushy shrinking island of floating ice while we wait for boss, [Shacketon] to return from Wilhelmina Bay where whalers hunt to rescue his last four men. At first, we sang cheerfully pulling the boat we now sleep under, we were the mush dogs, the real mush dogs were eaten or ran off or lay down and died to escape the cold. The horses too, all gone after much fuss; who would bring a horse to such a hostile place as Antarctica? Where are us four men now? We wait, and we wait, and we wait, for rescue at a place called Patience camp where we die one by one.
Frank West
1915
"The ice flow we are stuck on is getting dangerously thin and the wind drives us East and then the currents drive us west, we end up nowhere."-- I hate penguin meat, it does not taste like chicken."
Swenson, a common sailor
"The men have never lost faith"
Shackleton-1902, 1908, 1915, and 1922
" If any place on earth is the end of the earth it's Elephant Island, Antarctica."
ed Laufter, American
1915
"It took 126 days for us to be rescued from Elephant Island, I lost use my fingers, partial use of my hands, and my feet sometimes cannot tell if they are touching the ground. If there is Hell, it is Antarctica."
last man standing[ sic anonymous]
1916
end part 3
Last man standing/ part 2/draft 1
Last man standing/ part 2/draft 1
fiction
edward w Pritchard
see part 1, story will continue in part 3 also
" Enjoy today, the day the lord has granted; for tomorrow may be worse."
the cynic's apothecary- ed pritchard - 2013
Note- Shackleton stories are a compilation of facts, and more than some amount of fiction -author
Duty log
acting Captain
Winston West
We had a death among the men today. Swenson the big Norwegian. He was the strongest of us, physically; when we moved the boat we sleep under Swenson took one end and the other four of us the other. Now he's gone, it wasn't the cold or hunger that took him, I think it was melancholy. Laufter the American says Melancholy is normal in our situation. I have become more and more dependent on Laufter since I have been ill myself. More on that later.
Two of the men had a fist fight on the way to bury Swenson, [sic he was thrown over a cliff filled with ice]. I won't mention their names individually and I have decided no discipline or punishment is called for because of the uniqueness of our situation.
Water continues to be a problem. Laufter says he believes salt water has seeped into the water we use and is causing a form of urinary fatigue. Laufter is not a physician but he knows a lot of things about many subjects; should I succumb to the conditions here I wish Laufter to be in charge. Concerning the issue of urinary fatigue, Laufter recommends for hygienic purposes we walk at least 200 paces from the boat we sleep under to pass water. Laufter maintains a positive attitude despite our situation and he works very hard to keep the men cheerful and optimistic. As an example he keeps us to a routine and schedule. When the men complain about it, that it is futile, or absurd in our situation to keep a schedule Laufter uses humor to defuse our hostility. Men- "complaining why keep a tight schedule here?" Laufter- "there was a farmer back in Kentucky[ sic- an American State] and he was getting old and senile and often forgot what he was to do today. So his wife had him start writing a list each morning of what he was to do. It worked well and both were happier. One day the wife said to her husband why don't you ever want to be intimate with me in conjugal relations? And the husband, the old farmer said- "it wasn't on the list." Those type of stories always cheered us up.
I suffer from the cold worse than the men I am afraid. The air here is bitter and it's seeps the life out of one's soul. Sleeping on the ground even in a good sleeping bag doesn't help. Sleeping under the boat is warmer but causes the melancholy I am afraid. Some of the men here dream of beautiful women; I dream of warm summer days passed sitting on a lawn chair watching the swaying trees and flowers bloom in a bouquet of colors.
We hope for Shackleton's return. God save us all.
end part 2 .
fiction
edward w Pritchard
see part 1, story will continue in part 3 also
" Enjoy today, the day the lord has granted; for tomorrow may be worse."
the cynic's apothecary- ed pritchard - 2013
Note- Shackleton stories are a compilation of facts, and more than some amount of fiction -author
Duty log
acting Captain
Winston West
We had a death among the men today. Swenson the big Norwegian. He was the strongest of us, physically; when we moved the boat we sleep under Swenson took one end and the other four of us the other. Now he's gone, it wasn't the cold or hunger that took him, I think it was melancholy. Laufter the American says Melancholy is normal in our situation. I have become more and more dependent on Laufter since I have been ill myself. More on that later.
Two of the men had a fist fight on the way to bury Swenson, [sic he was thrown over a cliff filled with ice]. I won't mention their names individually and I have decided no discipline or punishment is called for because of the uniqueness of our situation.
Water continues to be a problem. Laufter says he believes salt water has seeped into the water we use and is causing a form of urinary fatigue. Laufter is not a physician but he knows a lot of things about many subjects; should I succumb to the conditions here I wish Laufter to be in charge. Concerning the issue of urinary fatigue, Laufter recommends for hygienic purposes we walk at least 200 paces from the boat we sleep under to pass water. Laufter maintains a positive attitude despite our situation and he works very hard to keep the men cheerful and optimistic. As an example he keeps us to a routine and schedule. When the men complain about it, that it is futile, or absurd in our situation to keep a schedule Laufter uses humor to defuse our hostility. Men- "complaining why keep a tight schedule here?" Laufter- "there was a farmer back in Kentucky[ sic- an American State] and he was getting old and senile and often forgot what he was to do today. So his wife had him start writing a list each morning of what he was to do. It worked well and both were happier. One day the wife said to her husband why don't you ever want to be intimate with me in conjugal relations? And the husband, the old farmer said- "it wasn't on the list." Those type of stories always cheered us up.
I suffer from the cold worse than the men I am afraid. The air here is bitter and it's seeps the life out of one's soul. Sleeping on the ground even in a good sleeping bag doesn't help. Sleeping under the boat is warmer but causes the melancholy I am afraid. Some of the men here dream of beautiful women; I dream of warm summer days passed sitting on a lawn chair watching the swaying trees and flowers bloom in a bouquet of colors.
We hope for Shackleton's return. God save us all.
end part 2 .
Last Man standing/ draft 1
Last Man standing/ draft 1
fiction
edward w pritchard
" If the devil buys you a drink, it's up to you to tip the bartender "
ed pritchard, " Last man Standing" 2013
Note- Shackleton stories are a compilation of facts, and more than some amount of fiction -author
When a small group of men are desperate, when a small group of men are freezing and starving to death, when a small group of men are hopeless, insignificant details become important; details like should the strongest man of the group, your friend who died first from the hostile environment of being stranded in the cold of Antarctica, died from living for weeks and weeks under a small row boat, details like should your friend who is dead be dragged by a rope tied to his head or his feet become so important that exhausted men will physically fight over their opinions. Dragged headfirst or feet first? How should your friend be dragged over the snow and ice to a crevasse? Should the dead man, Swenson, be dragged by a rope by his head which would cause his blond hair to bounce along the stiff frozen ground or unceremoniously by his feet, his feet which have pained the dead friend with frost bite and possible amputation for several weeks. How should your dead mate be dragged to be thrown into a crevasse to lay for thousands of years dead and forgotten in Antarctica?.
There are now four of us left of Shackleton's crew living under a boat waiting for rescue. The big Norwegian from Minn- e- so- ta is dead, first to go and now that the we are disposed of Swenson at the crevasse we must return to our routine, the routine we have followed for eleven weeks, a routine that involves spending hour upon hour under a dark wet row boat, laying upon the frozen ground in a clammy sleeping bag. Lunch is at one, perhaps the chef has prepared some stale penguin milk with a little spoiled seal blubber floating on the top. After lunch maybe a stimulating game of checkers, laying there under the dark boat or a story read aloud from Nord who once had a orators voice, but now coughs more than a little, from the wet cold no doubt. It gets deathly cold here in Antarctica this time of year; we have all heard it can get cold in Antarctica, now I know it is a true fact.
"How did your grandfather spend the year 1915, during the great World War, little Johnny? Why he laid under a boat in Antarctica and froze to death."
end part 1
fiction
edward w pritchard
" If the devil buys you a drink, it's up to you to tip the bartender "
ed pritchard, " Last man Standing" 2013
Note- Shackleton stories are a compilation of facts, and more than some amount of fiction -author
When a small group of men are desperate, when a small group of men are freezing and starving to death, when a small group of men are hopeless, insignificant details become important; details like should the strongest man of the group, your friend who died first from the hostile environment of being stranded in the cold of Antarctica, died from living for weeks and weeks under a small row boat, details like should your friend who is dead be dragged by a rope tied to his head or his feet become so important that exhausted men will physically fight over their opinions. Dragged headfirst or feet first? How should your friend be dragged over the snow and ice to a crevasse? Should the dead man, Swenson, be dragged by a rope by his head which would cause his blond hair to bounce along the stiff frozen ground or unceremoniously by his feet, his feet which have pained the dead friend with frost bite and possible amputation for several weeks. How should your dead mate be dragged to be thrown into a crevasse to lay for thousands of years dead and forgotten in Antarctica?.
There are now four of us left of Shackleton's crew living under a boat waiting for rescue. The big Norwegian from Minn- e- so- ta is dead, first to go and now that the we are disposed of Swenson at the crevasse we must return to our routine, the routine we have followed for eleven weeks, a routine that involves spending hour upon hour under a dark wet row boat, laying upon the frozen ground in a clammy sleeping bag. Lunch is at one, perhaps the chef has prepared some stale penguin milk with a little spoiled seal blubber floating on the top. After lunch maybe a stimulating game of checkers, laying there under the dark boat or a story read aloud from Nord who once had a orators voice, but now coughs more than a little, from the wet cold no doubt. It gets deathly cold here in Antarctica this time of year; we have all heard it can get cold in Antarctica, now I know it is a true fact.
"How did your grandfather spend the year 1915, during the great World War, little Johnny? Why he laid under a boat in Antarctica and froze to death."
end part 1
Monday, October 21, 2013
The Lady lawyer; story 2 remarkable persons
the Lady lawyer; story 2 remarkable persons
Not quite the State Prison
The Lady Lawyer
fiction
edward w pritchard
Any woman looks good to the inmates of Lucas correctional institute and the pretty lady lawyer in her navy blue dress suit, high heels and short blond hair; having trouble walking on the slick floors of the entrance hall would attract more than a few catcalls.
The lawyer was scrambling because first afternoon visitation was ending in less than an hour, before final meal; at a medium security prison facility in our State the rules were elaborate, even for Counsel. The lawyer was late because she had stopped to buy her new client a book. Just on a whim, in part because it had been a long day, first her children and driving some of them to school, then five or six in office appointments and 20 or more long phone calls and now at 5:00 an hour meeting with her new client and then an hour drive home. Thank goodness her client wasn't in maximum security over at the State Prison, which is a two hour drive each was.
Good for her client too, not to be at State, at least for now because there was something gentle about her client, barely more than a teenager, which is what lead to her buying him the book.
It was an appointed case. The Judge on the case had been a woman and it wasn't that long after the Judge a pioneer woman lawyer in this part of the State had balanced family, job, husband herself and assigned the new woman lawyer a relatively simple way to make a few thousand dollars representing her client on a murder appeal. The fees were set to $5,000 but maybe a little more could be approved by the Judge who gave you the appointment, and it was usually after a visit or two depending on the Lawyer, just a writing assignment and all good lawyers any more are all good writers. This woman lawyer enjoyed research and writing and would put more time into the case than normal which is why tomorrow she had 6 appointments and 20 phone calls jockeying for a few minutes of her time.
Her client would be upset that the other inmates and some of the guards were disrespectful of his lawyer coming into the facility. The client always called his client her Mrs. E.. and had a way of lowering his eyes as he talked that reminded her of her three year old son. The client to her didn't seem much older than a boy. Today she had to definitively tell him that there were no issues of law, and unless a miracle happened he would be in here in prison for Murder for 20 to 30 years if things went right. If he did not accrue more time for fighting, or any of 20 other offenses committed in prison that could add time to a sentence of an 18 year old serving 30 years for murder. This visit might have been skipped by most of her male colleagues, rightly so; because there was really nothing good to report, the information gathering was done and her time should be spent on research and writing. Although the cases paid a minimum hourly rate it would take 30 or 40 hours to complete the writing assignment, which is what an appeal on an open and shut murder case was. This lady lawyer didn't really mind because she always worked the case as it needed, fees came later, and they just kept rolling in somehow,
Her client stood up as she entered the holding cell and was maybe a foot taller than her and looked like he had lost a little weight. The first thing she told him, talking like her grandmother, was you have to eat. The voice she used to tell him to eat more was like an actress but she was sincere and her client knew it and it relaxed him and let them get to business at hand. She had outlined notes in her planner of what she would say but she liked this young man and with her memory didn't need them and she knew the case well.
The client didn't interrupt his Lawyer as she reviewed his case and told him his likely term in prison; in fact the client took the bad news almost with out comment. After the lawyer finished, and she had asked him to please ask her some questions, the young man shyly said "so I will be here in prison for at least 25 years?" She just said yes.
She took out the trigonometry book she had bought him at the book store on the way down, and they spent the rest of their time today working on a few problems. She was very rusty, although she had once thought about being an engineer like her Father. The client had been working on problems since their last visit and had three of four sheets of note book paper very neatly covered with problems. They worked for over an hour and eventually the guard who was also like her client a black man nicely shooed out the lawyer. The only thing remarkable about the rest of the Attorney/client meeting was the client broke his pencil when he was doing sums and the Attorney broke up her pen and pencil set her sister had sent her last Christmas and gave her new client the expensive mechanical pencil and the guard who had shooed out the Lady Attorney had years later referred a couple of cases to that pretty white lady lawyer.
end
Not quite the State Prison
The Lady Lawyer
fiction
edward w pritchard
Any woman looks good to the inmates of Lucas correctional institute and the pretty lady lawyer in her navy blue dress suit, high heels and short blond hair; having trouble walking on the slick floors of the entrance hall would attract more than a few catcalls.
The lawyer was scrambling because first afternoon visitation was ending in less than an hour, before final meal; at a medium security prison facility in our State the rules were elaborate, even for Counsel. The lawyer was late because she had stopped to buy her new client a book. Just on a whim, in part because it had been a long day, first her children and driving some of them to school, then five or six in office appointments and 20 or more long phone calls and now at 5:00 an hour meeting with her new client and then an hour drive home. Thank goodness her client wasn't in maximum security over at the State Prison, which is a two hour drive each was.
Good for her client too, not to be at State, at least for now because there was something gentle about her client, barely more than a teenager, which is what lead to her buying him the book.
It was an appointed case. The Judge on the case had been a woman and it wasn't that long after the Judge a pioneer woman lawyer in this part of the State had balanced family, job, husband herself and assigned the new woman lawyer a relatively simple way to make a few thousand dollars representing her client on a murder appeal. The fees were set to $5,000 but maybe a little more could be approved by the Judge who gave you the appointment, and it was usually after a visit or two depending on the Lawyer, just a writing assignment and all good lawyers any more are all good writers. This woman lawyer enjoyed research and writing and would put more time into the case than normal which is why tomorrow she had 6 appointments and 20 phone calls jockeying for a few minutes of her time.
Her client would be upset that the other inmates and some of the guards were disrespectful of his lawyer coming into the facility. The client always called his client her Mrs. E.. and had a way of lowering his eyes as he talked that reminded her of her three year old son. The client to her didn't seem much older than a boy. Today she had to definitively tell him that there were no issues of law, and unless a miracle happened he would be in here in prison for Murder for 20 to 30 years if things went right. If he did not accrue more time for fighting, or any of 20 other offenses committed in prison that could add time to a sentence of an 18 year old serving 30 years for murder. This visit might have been skipped by most of her male colleagues, rightly so; because there was really nothing good to report, the information gathering was done and her time should be spent on research and writing. Although the cases paid a minimum hourly rate it would take 30 or 40 hours to complete the writing assignment, which is what an appeal on an open and shut murder case was. This lady lawyer didn't really mind because she always worked the case as it needed, fees came later, and they just kept rolling in somehow,
Her client stood up as she entered the holding cell and was maybe a foot taller than her and looked like he had lost a little weight. The first thing she told him, talking like her grandmother, was you have to eat. The voice she used to tell him to eat more was like an actress but she was sincere and her client knew it and it relaxed him and let them get to business at hand. She had outlined notes in her planner of what she would say but she liked this young man and with her memory didn't need them and she knew the case well.
The client didn't interrupt his Lawyer as she reviewed his case and told him his likely term in prison; in fact the client took the bad news almost with out comment. After the lawyer finished, and she had asked him to please ask her some questions, the young man shyly said "so I will be here in prison for at least 25 years?" She just said yes.
She took out the trigonometry book she had bought him at the book store on the way down, and they spent the rest of their time today working on a few problems. She was very rusty, although she had once thought about being an engineer like her Father. The client had been working on problems since their last visit and had three of four sheets of note book paper very neatly covered with problems. They worked for over an hour and eventually the guard who was also like her client a black man nicely shooed out the lawyer. The only thing remarkable about the rest of the Attorney/client meeting was the client broke his pencil when he was doing sums and the Attorney broke up her pen and pencil set her sister had sent her last Christmas and gave her new client the expensive mechanical pencil and the guard who had shooed out the Lady Attorney had years later referred a couple of cases to that pretty white lady lawyer.
end
get on with life
get on with life
repost
Reflected Memory/edit 2
fiction
edward w Pritchard
Business began to drop off rapidly at the main train station in Milan, Italy after ghosts began to appear in the gray marble wall on the large wide stair case leading to the main concourse. Railway and foot traffic remained busy because of the strategic location of the rail way station in Milan, but when people began to see terrifying apparitions, related income sources at the station such as sales of newspapers, coffee, tea, gum, and candy all but stopped because of the commotion caused by the sightings. However, it wasn't until a British Insurance Company received a claim for business interruption insurance by a large American fast food company that decisive efforts were undertaken to locate, understand and remove the ghosts that were upsetting the customers and business in the main train station in Milan.
As soon as the assigned insurance Adjuster walked down the stairs in the train station he himself saw and understood the ghost phenomena. The adjuster knew where the ghosts were coming from.
To the world the adjuster would appear as an over-weight, balding, and rather uninteresting middle aged business man. But, the adjuster had once been young, and the apple of someones eye who he had since lost.
As soon as the adjuster looked at the marble wall, where the people reported seeing terrifying reflections and apparitions, the adjustor saw the reflection of a beautiful young girl in a red dress and immediately understood the ghost problem in Milan. For the adjusters worst fear, his horror, was to be reminded of that distant heartache of his lost love, and seeing his young love again in the wall, in spite of his long efforts to forget her, was the adjustors terrifying reality that he saw reflected in the gray marble wall.
Now the adjuster could tackle the source of the business interruption insurance claim head-on. Everyone must see the apparition that was most terrifying to them. It wasn't exactly that no-one saw a ghost that wasn't really themselves, but that they saw their own repressed fears reflected in the wall of the train station in Milan appear as ghosts specific to their fears.
As he began to work-out a solution to the problem of the ghosts in the railroads station in Milan, the adjuster willed himself not to think of the girl in the red dress who had been gone so many long years, and focused on the business at hand of how to deny the Insurance claim and then move on with his life.
repost
Reflected Memory/edit 2
fiction
edward w Pritchard
Business began to drop off rapidly at the main train station in Milan, Italy after ghosts began to appear in the gray marble wall on the large wide stair case leading to the main concourse. Railway and foot traffic remained busy because of the strategic location of the rail way station in Milan, but when people began to see terrifying apparitions, related income sources at the station such as sales of newspapers, coffee, tea, gum, and candy all but stopped because of the commotion caused by the sightings. However, it wasn't until a British Insurance Company received a claim for business interruption insurance by a large American fast food company that decisive efforts were undertaken to locate, understand and remove the ghosts that were upsetting the customers and business in the main train station in Milan.
As soon as the assigned insurance Adjuster walked down the stairs in the train station he himself saw and understood the ghost phenomena. The adjuster knew where the ghosts were coming from.
To the world the adjuster would appear as an over-weight, balding, and rather uninteresting middle aged business man. But, the adjuster had once been young, and the apple of someones eye who he had since lost.
As soon as the adjuster looked at the marble wall, where the people reported seeing terrifying reflections and apparitions, the adjustor saw the reflection of a beautiful young girl in a red dress and immediately understood the ghost problem in Milan. For the adjusters worst fear, his horror, was to be reminded of that distant heartache of his lost love, and seeing his young love again in the wall, in spite of his long efforts to forget her, was the adjustors terrifying reality that he saw reflected in the gray marble wall.
Now the adjuster could tackle the source of the business interruption insurance claim head-on. Everyone must see the apparition that was most terrifying to them. It wasn't exactly that no-one saw a ghost that wasn't really themselves, but that they saw their own repressed fears reflected in the wall of the train station in Milan appear as ghosts specific to their fears.
As he began to work-out a solution to the problem of the ghosts in the railroads station in Milan, the adjuster willed himself not to think of the girl in the red dress who had been gone so many long years, and focused on the business at hand of how to deny the Insurance claim and then move on with his life.
Sunday, October 20, 2013
last man standing; preview of coming stories
last man standing; preview of coming stories
fiction
edward w pritchard
Devil- Hello Ed
author- you called me by my first name. What may I call you?
Devil- I am pleased with the story you plan to write about myself, you may call me Lucifer
author - that's a cool name, what does it mean
Devil- look it up, we haven't much time and I wanted to check to see if you are ok
author- i am fine, the whole time I was a substitute teacher and taught school I never saw a Mother call her kid Lucifer, although I saw a lot of hypen-nated odd names, Le bron, Le martinique
Devil- Don't talk about Le Bron, write about me,
Now you went to Wal mart , you bought shoe laces, well tomorrow the "Wall Street Journal" on page one in a blurb should note that consumer spending is stabilizing
author I got medicine too
Lucifer- I am proud of you, I am glad to see you are trying to take care of yourself,
author- why are you concerned about me?
Lucifer- I want you to get the story about me done, I like your idea; also I always get nervous when you write about getting your hand nailed to a cross, about Catholic saints and about him, -him, -Jesus
author- my hand was nailed to a car door not a cross in the story about Anne Rice
Lucifer- tell me about the story you are working on about me
author- it's about a group of farmers and people from way out in the Country who dress in black and have a service to the Devil while standing before an upside down cross in a corn field or maybe a pumpkin field and then after services go do a lot of Bourgeois stuff like go to soccer, or the mall or a Mexican restaurant on Sunday afternoon
Lucifer, no no not that one, I have read enough of your stories with diminutive Amish women with their breasts showing, I mean the Shackleton story.
author- that's "Last man standing" about the Devil, Lucifer is with the crew of Shackleton in Antarctica that freezes to death and the Devil is the last man standing. The crew sleep under two row boats while they freeze to death and starve waiting for rescue. They eat the horses and then eat the dogs and only the last few men realize the the crewman who never gets cold, never gets hungry, never gets discouraged, is the Devil.
Devil- I love it, take your time, research properly, I can't wait to read it.
author - why don't you like Jesus?
Lucifer - never mind let's talk about you. It was ok at Wal Mart when that girl with the fluffy thick brown hair lifted up her shirt to show you her waist line, why did it make you nervous
ed- I thought she was barely 18
Lucifer she was 22, don't worry so much, the other girl, the one who sold you the prescription was quite attractive
ed- yes she was
Lucifer- it's ok to ....
Lucifer -continuing- now one unpleasant subject- about the story about St Therese
ed- I plan on comparing St Therese, the Nun and saint to my sister who died at birth, I think I will have my dead sister talk to me like you are doing here
Lucifer- go on
ed- it's going to be about philosophy
Lucifer- losing interest, well I must be going, take care of yourself ed, just whistle when the story about me and Shackleton is finished, I look forward to reading it.
end
fiction
edward w pritchard
Devil- Hello Ed
author- you called me by my first name. What may I call you?
Devil- I am pleased with the story you plan to write about myself, you may call me Lucifer
author - that's a cool name, what does it mean
Devil- look it up, we haven't much time and I wanted to check to see if you are ok
author- i am fine, the whole time I was a substitute teacher and taught school I never saw a Mother call her kid Lucifer, although I saw a lot of hypen-nated odd names, Le bron, Le martinique
Devil- Don't talk about Le Bron, write about me,
Now you went to Wal mart , you bought shoe laces, well tomorrow the "Wall Street Journal" on page one in a blurb should note that consumer spending is stabilizing
author I got medicine too
Lucifer- I am proud of you, I am glad to see you are trying to take care of yourself,
author- why are you concerned about me?
Lucifer- I want you to get the story about me done, I like your idea; also I always get nervous when you write about getting your hand nailed to a cross, about Catholic saints and about him, -him, -Jesus
author- my hand was nailed to a car door not a cross in the story about Anne Rice
Lucifer- tell me about the story you are working on about me
author- it's about a group of farmers and people from way out in the Country who dress in black and have a service to the Devil while standing before an upside down cross in a corn field or maybe a pumpkin field and then after services go do a lot of Bourgeois stuff like go to soccer, or the mall or a Mexican restaurant on Sunday afternoon
Lucifer, no no not that one, I have read enough of your stories with diminutive Amish women with their breasts showing, I mean the Shackleton story.
author- that's "Last man standing" about the Devil, Lucifer is with the crew of Shackleton in Antarctica that freezes to death and the Devil is the last man standing. The crew sleep under two row boats while they freeze to death and starve waiting for rescue. They eat the horses and then eat the dogs and only the last few men realize the the crewman who never gets cold, never gets hungry, never gets discouraged, is the Devil.
Devil- I love it, take your time, research properly, I can't wait to read it.
author - why don't you like Jesus?
Lucifer - never mind let's talk about you. It was ok at Wal Mart when that girl with the fluffy thick brown hair lifted up her shirt to show you her waist line, why did it make you nervous
ed- I thought she was barely 18
Lucifer she was 22, don't worry so much, the other girl, the one who sold you the prescription was quite attractive
ed- yes she was
Lucifer- it's ok to ....
Lucifer -continuing- now one unpleasant subject- about the story about St Therese
ed- I plan on comparing St Therese, the Nun and saint to my sister who died at birth, I think I will have my dead sister talk to me like you are doing here
Lucifer- go on
ed- it's going to be about philosophy
Lucifer- losing interest, well I must be going, take care of yourself ed, just whistle when the story about me and Shackleton is finished, I look forward to reading it.
end
Jesus gives direction; the apostate/ part 2
Jesus gives Direction; the apostate/ part 2
fiction
edward w pritchard
see apostate 08/13/2013/ part 1
Sunday morning:
It's been so long since I thought of Jesus. Before I left, before the world changed, before now, before the world grew complicated and hostile to be in.
I was one of the first few followers of Jesus of Nazareth. Before all the hype of the religion, before the trial, before the Cross. My talent was I could plan and arrange things. Everyday things and I was a good guy to have about with a lot of heavy thinkers and prophets, someone has to know how to negotiate with people who make bread and sell fish. It's nearly impossible to buy wine or even water in many of the place I walked with Jesus. Back before, I walked with Jesus. I wasn't a disciple, I wasn't hand chosen to teach, before, I arranged practical everyday things for Jesus and those who followed him about Judea; our world was smaller then and there was a special warm to everything as we walked far and high through desserts, mountains, and along the sea shores.
Remember, of course I remember. A woman was traveling alone and she ask for directions. There were thirty of us still walking after six hours of travel in the heat and dust and a woman ask for directions and Jesus smiled at her and answered. Jesus knew this area we were in well, he had lived near here as a boy. Jesus spoke several languages but he spoke to the woman in Aramaic.
Aramaic is a beautiful language to hear. The language of story, the language of simple everyday things but also suited to deep thinking and the meaning of grand ideas.
The woman was traveling alone. Not wise. Jesus didn't admonish her for that or let anyone else censure her or Judge her for traveling alone. Jesus just gave her directions for where she wanted to go.
Everyone hates the Romans hereabouts but when they first came to our Homeland one good thing they did was to make written maps. Before, the Romans there were no Maps, and the Woman carried a Roman map that she clutched and she was trying to use a Roman map to find her way. She wanted to go across the Mountains that spine this area. The Mountains near here have ancient names and they touch the sky sometimes but as a practical man I know these mountains are difficult to navigate and treacherous to travel in.
Jesus thought before he gave the woman directions. I looked at his eyes for then I knew Jesus. Looking into his eyes I could see Jesus but I saw a hawk soaring high above those Mountains looking for paths and roads and small clear pools of water and scouting out dangers and finding fruit trees, and olives and figs. Jesus gave the woman directions of how to navigate those ancient Mountains. Jesus did not warn her about bandits or poison water or hostile snakes. Jesus gives direction.
It's many years later now and Jesus is gone. Jesus' voice in my ears in Aramaic still I hear sitting here today remembering when Jesus of Nazareth gave a woman directions as we traveled with the Disciples to spread the word of God's kingdom.
end part 2
fiction
edward w pritchard
see apostate 08/13/2013/ part 1
Sunday morning:
It's been so long since I thought of Jesus. Before I left, before the world changed, before now, before the world grew complicated and hostile to be in.
I was one of the first few followers of Jesus of Nazareth. Before all the hype of the religion, before the trial, before the Cross. My talent was I could plan and arrange things. Everyday things and I was a good guy to have about with a lot of heavy thinkers and prophets, someone has to know how to negotiate with people who make bread and sell fish. It's nearly impossible to buy wine or even water in many of the place I walked with Jesus. Back before, I walked with Jesus. I wasn't a disciple, I wasn't hand chosen to teach, before, I arranged practical everyday things for Jesus and those who followed him about Judea; our world was smaller then and there was a special warm to everything as we walked far and high through desserts, mountains, and along the sea shores.
Remember, of course I remember. A woman was traveling alone and she ask for directions. There were thirty of us still walking after six hours of travel in the heat and dust and a woman ask for directions and Jesus smiled at her and answered. Jesus knew this area we were in well, he had lived near here as a boy. Jesus spoke several languages but he spoke to the woman in Aramaic.
Aramaic is a beautiful language to hear. The language of story, the language of simple everyday things but also suited to deep thinking and the meaning of grand ideas.
The woman was traveling alone. Not wise. Jesus didn't admonish her for that or let anyone else censure her or Judge her for traveling alone. Jesus just gave her directions for where she wanted to go.
Everyone hates the Romans hereabouts but when they first came to our Homeland one good thing they did was to make written maps. Before, the Romans there were no Maps, and the Woman carried a Roman map that she clutched and she was trying to use a Roman map to find her way. She wanted to go across the Mountains that spine this area. The Mountains near here have ancient names and they touch the sky sometimes but as a practical man I know these mountains are difficult to navigate and treacherous to travel in.
Jesus thought before he gave the woman directions. I looked at his eyes for then I knew Jesus. Looking into his eyes I could see Jesus but I saw a hawk soaring high above those Mountains looking for paths and roads and small clear pools of water and scouting out dangers and finding fruit trees, and olives and figs. Jesus gave the woman directions of how to navigate those ancient Mountains. Jesus did not warn her about bandits or poison water or hostile snakes. Jesus gives direction.
It's many years later now and Jesus is gone. Jesus' voice in my ears in Aramaic still I hear sitting here today remembering when Jesus of Nazareth gave a woman directions as we traveled with the Disciples to spread the word of God's kingdom.
end part 2
Saturday, October 19, 2013
take wing, make prayer
take wing, make prayer
fiction
edward w pritchard
Take wing, make prayer and carry me back to the second floor walk up apartment to the bedroom that overlooked the roof of the screened in porch. It was so hot in that bed room even late, late at night. From the bed across the roof of that screened in porch we saw a billion miles out into space, stars and moons and closer to home satellites and space stations racing across the sky. Talk of then, whisper of us, that's what was, us and forever, long long ago, cool breezes brought warm rattling rains after midnight and night lasted longer than now or ever before. Pass the wine and fancy crackers lying there in bed and tell me about your childhood. Take wing and make prayer and carry me back to that second floor bedroom. I'd listen so so carefully to remember everything you said. Things don't last long, everything changes. What would I give to be there with you for a few hours. Uncomplicated hours, without the need for strategic behavior or understanding someone's feelings and motives.
That drafty old apartment is gone now, where we parked your car is a parking lot and I don't drive by there anymore. Youth is gone too. Memory endures, being so hot that someone used the pillow for a fan and drinking wine laying down flat and seeing past the stars and holding someone so tight, afraid to be alone again someday. Going to sleep late late at night and waking up next to someone warm and special.
fiction
edward w pritchard
Take wing, make prayer and carry me back to the second floor walk up apartment to the bedroom that overlooked the roof of the screened in porch. It was so hot in that bed room even late, late at night. From the bed across the roof of that screened in porch we saw a billion miles out into space, stars and moons and closer to home satellites and space stations racing across the sky. Talk of then, whisper of us, that's what was, us and forever, long long ago, cool breezes brought warm rattling rains after midnight and night lasted longer than now or ever before. Pass the wine and fancy crackers lying there in bed and tell me about your childhood. Take wing and make prayer and carry me back to that second floor bedroom. I'd listen so so carefully to remember everything you said. Things don't last long, everything changes. What would I give to be there with you for a few hours. Uncomplicated hours, without the need for strategic behavior or understanding someone's feelings and motives.
That drafty old apartment is gone now, where we parked your car is a parking lot and I don't drive by there anymore. Youth is gone too. Memory endures, being so hot that someone used the pillow for a fan and drinking wine laying down flat and seeing past the stars and holding someone so tight, afraid to be alone again someday. Going to sleep late late at night and waking up next to someone warm and special.
Will Anne Rice go to Hell/part 4
Will Anne Rice go to Hell/part 4
fiction
edward w Pritchard
see part 2
Driver - " have been to Hell"
me- How?
driver; St Theresa - "Being one day in prayer God arranged for me to see the place I might have been sent to had I not changed my life."
me - "What was Hell like?"
St Theresa- "No words can give the least consideration of the suffering there, it's beyond comprehension"
me -"Did you suffer there"
St Theresa-"In my soul I felt a devouring fire, and my body was prey to intolerable pains"
me "Is that all"
St Theresa-"No, I realized the prospect that should I be in Hell the pains would be unending and alleviated"
me- "Was that the worst of Hell?"
St Theresa-"No, My souls was in torment at the thought of endless separation from God "
me-"Have you visited Anne Rice?"
St Theresa-"She will not open her heart to what I have to say"
end part 4
fiction
edward w Pritchard
see part 2
Driver - " have been to Hell"
me- How?
driver; St Theresa - "Being one day in prayer God arranged for me to see the place I might have been sent to had I not changed my life."
me - "What was Hell like?"
St Theresa- "No words can give the least consideration of the suffering there, it's beyond comprehension"
me -"Did you suffer there"
St Theresa-"In my soul I felt a devouring fire, and my body was prey to intolerable pains"
me "Is that all"
St Theresa-"No, I realized the prospect that should I be in Hell the pains would be unending and alleviated"
me- "Was that the worst of Hell?"
St Theresa-"No, My souls was in torment at the thought of endless separation from God "
me-"Have you visited Anne Rice?"
St Theresa-"She will not open her heart to what I have to say"
end part 4
poverty, mistress of the misfortunate
poverty, mistress of the misfortunate
fiction
edward w Pritchard
Poverty is a fat girl in a dirty torn stained tee shirt with a tattoo on her ass. She sleeps till 1 pm and then eats off a paper plate and drinks from a leaky Styrofoam cup. She never cooks or cleans and next week she is hoping to hear about getting a telemarketing job 56 miles west of here, up north in the snow belt. The first two weeks of training for her telemarketing job will be without pay and then is minimum or commission whichever is worse.
Poverty doesn't build character and it doesn't make you appreciate what you have. She comes to you because you have character shortcomings and she stays and stays. She never picks up her clothes and she doesn't understand how a washing machine works. Poverty masks one's humanity and condemns one to silence and solitude. Poverty has no immense pity as she slowly reveals the face of anguish of her victims. Poverty has no spirituality about herself and spends afternoons watching reruns of the wheel of fortune on the neighbors black and white television.
The best way to avoid the clutches of poverty is to have money. Living without money is absurd and awfully inconvenient. Sometimes if you are lucky Poverty will pack up and leave your flat there in the project and move in with a guy with a motorcycle or two and three children under five that his ex won't take care of.
fiction
edward w Pritchard
Poverty is a fat girl in a dirty torn stained tee shirt with a tattoo on her ass. She sleeps till 1 pm and then eats off a paper plate and drinks from a leaky Styrofoam cup. She never cooks or cleans and next week she is hoping to hear about getting a telemarketing job 56 miles west of here, up north in the snow belt. The first two weeks of training for her telemarketing job will be without pay and then is minimum or commission whichever is worse.
Poverty doesn't build character and it doesn't make you appreciate what you have. She comes to you because you have character shortcomings and she stays and stays. She never picks up her clothes and she doesn't understand how a washing machine works. Poverty masks one's humanity and condemns one to silence and solitude. Poverty has no immense pity as she slowly reveals the face of anguish of her victims. Poverty has no spirituality about herself and spends afternoons watching reruns of the wheel of fortune on the neighbors black and white television.
The best way to avoid the clutches of poverty is to have money. Living without money is absurd and awfully inconvenient. Sometimes if you are lucky Poverty will pack up and leave your flat there in the project and move in with a guy with a motorcycle or two and three children under five that his ex won't take care of.
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