tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-121340222024-03-07T20:08:56.964-06:00cheese is moldy milkUmmm... what do you mean "Why is my underwear on your head?"Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06247567992274342429noreply@blogger.comBlogger401125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12134022.post-33659793766545235722012-06-13T17:20:00.002-05:002012-06-13T17:20:28.163-05:00Miles and YearsWhen I was young, I thought I would be a lawyer one day. It wasn't really a driving passion though. It was something I thought would be neat and that I would be good at. I'm pretty sure The Paper Chase was my inspiration, but it could have just as easily been the fact that lawyers wore nice suits and made a lot of money.<br />
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Nancy had the drive and desire to become a lawyer. Her parents let her have a phone in her room. It had a number that was just hers. The last four numbers spelled out ATTY - short for attorney. It wasn't an accident either.<br />
<br />
I met Nancy at youth symphony practice. I played bass. She played violin. That reveals a lot about both of us. Regardless, we got to know each other a bit and I started to actually look forward to going to rehearsals at California Lutheran College once a week.We practiced, got better, gave a concert, and that was that. I lived in Thousand Oaks and she lived in Simi Valley. Less than an inch appart on the map I used to look at in my room, but a world away without a car or a license.<br />
<br />
Then we met again at a summer theatre program. We were doing Finian's Rainbow.. I was doing sound - setting up and running the microphones. She was in the orchestra.<br />
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I finally got up the nerve and asked her out. She said yes,<br />
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It was summer - the kind of summer that can only exist in southern California when you're sixteen. I finally had my driver's license. I'm sure it took some pleading every time I used my parent's car, but I don't really remember.<br />
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I do remember going to Nancy's house one time that summer. We went swimming. Somehow, we ended up facing each other over a small blow-up raft, trying to accidentally lean closer to each other. Our legs dangled and slowly kicked in the water under us. The feel of our legs brushing together under the raft is as clear today as it was then. We kissed across the raft, but to be honest, it's the feel of our legs touching in the warm water of the pool that I remember most.<br />
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The world got a little bigger that summer and smaller. I discovered that life is big and the world is small. I never became a lawyer. Nancy did. She went to Princeton, became an attorney, and then became a wife and mother.<br />
<br />
It's summer again, but now I'm in Wisconsin - miles and years away from that southern California summer.. And now I think that maybe life is not big enough and the world is enormous. <br />
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<br />Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06247567992274342429noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12134022.post-60511270269466321092011-09-16T18:08:00.000-05:002011-09-16T18:14:08.586-05:00Devi lasciarla andare.<p style="text-indent: 0.46in; margin-bottom: 0in;"><i>Quando mi sona svegliato ero triste.</i></p> <p style="text-indent: 0.46in; margin-bottom: 0in;">When I woke up I was sad.</p> <p style="text-indent: 0.46in; margin-bottom: 0in;">The sun was shining, but I was seeing it through a different window. For a moment, I listened for the sound of you humming a favorite song but heard only silence. There was no smell of strong coffee to greet me.</p> <p style="text-indent: 0.46in; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span lang="it-IT"><i>Fuori, la strada è tranquilla.</i></span></p> <p style="text-indent: 0.46in; margin-bottom: 0in;">I open the window and look out at the square. The tourists of August are gone. No children are playing. They are back in la scuola in the new part of town. </p> <p style="text-indent: 0.46in; margin-bottom: 0in;">A small breeze rustles the poster pinned to the message board on the other side of the square. It is for a marionette show that has already taken place.</p> <p style="text-indent: 0.46in; margin-bottom: 0in;">The tables are out in front of il ristorante although there is no one to fill them. I consider going down for coffee and a pastry, but can't bear the thought of the pained smile Giacomo will put on for me.</p> <p style="text-indent: 0.46in; margin-bottom: 0in;"><a name="result_box"></a> <span lang="it-IT"><i>Lei è andata. Devi lasciarla andare.</i></span> </p> <p style="text-indent: 0.46in; margin-bottom: 0in;">They tell me to move on, to put you in the past. How can I tell them it's impossible? Without you there is no future for me. Without you, I am a violin with no strings. I'm a hollow shell that can't make any music.</p> <p style="text-indent: 0.46in; margin-bottom: 0in;">I fill the stove top espresso pot with water and coffee, light the gas burner and wait for the thick, brown liquid to sputter up. The pot fills and I realize I'm still staring at it even after it is done. I shake my head and fill my tazzina. There are only a few packets of the raw sugar you love left, so I drink the coffee black. </p> <p style="text-indent: 0.46in; margin-bottom: 0in;">I dress and go down the stairs to the street. I walk down the hill from the old town towards the new, from our dream to their reality.</p> <p style="text-indent: 0.46in; margin-bottom: 0in;"><a name="result_box1"></a> <span lang="it-IT"><i>Non capiscono. Mi hai dato la vita. Mi hai fatto sentire.</i></span> </p> <p style="text-indent: 0.46in; margin-bottom: 0in;">Ahead I see the busy viale. I stop and turn down the side street that leads to the beach. I know it will make me late, but I'm not ready. I need more time.</p> <p style="text-indent: 0.46in; margin-bottom: 0in;">It takes me fifteen minutes to walk to the water. The beach is nearly empty. Only a few people are laying on the sand, on our beach. </p> <p style="text-indent: 0.46in; margin-bottom: 0in;">For a minute, I can imagine you lying on the Moroccan blanket reading a romance novel. I'm on my side looking at you. You are on your stomach and a strand of your long, brown hair slips down. You brush it back, glance at me and laugh. </p> <p style="text-indent: 0.46in; margin-bottom: 0in;"><a name="result_box3"></a> “<span lang="it-IT">Non mi danno i tuoi occhi camera da letto è vecchio lech.”</span></p> <p style="text-indent: 0.46in; margin-bottom: 0in;"><a name="result_box4"></a> “<span lang="it-IT">Non essere così bella allora,” I say.</span></p> <p style="text-indent: 0.46in; margin-bottom: 0in;"><a name="result_box2"></a> “<span lang="it-IT">Vai rinfrescarsi in acqua. Fammi leggere il mio libro.”</span></p> <p style="text-indent: 0.46in; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span lang="it-IT">You just smile and read as I trace the curve of your back.</span></p> <p style="text-indent: 0.46in; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span lang="it-IT">I'm thinking of this when a soccer ball bounces near me. I turn and see three young men looking in my direction.</span></p> <p style="text-indent: 0.46in; margin-bottom: 0in;"><a name="result_box5"></a> “<span lang="it-IT">Mister!” one of them yells. “Calci indietro!”</span></p> <p style="text-indent: 0.46in; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span lang="it-IT">I look at the ball and kick it back to them.</span></p> <p style="text-indent: 0.46in; margin-bottom: 0in;">“<span lang="it-IT">Gracie!” they yell and turn back down the beach, kicking the ball as they go.</span></p> <p style="text-indent: 0.46in; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span lang="it-IT">I can't put it off any longer. I turn away from our beach and walk back toward town. </span> </p> <p style="text-indent: 0.46in; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span lang="it-IT">Too soon, I'm at the ospedale. I walk into the lobby. The nurse at the desk barely notices me. I take the elevator up and get out. I walk down the long hall, past the window with the newborns behind it without looking at them. I turn at the end of the hall and push open the door to the ward of no hope. </span> </p> <p style="text-indent: 0.46in; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span lang="it-IT">The dottore is in your room. He's wearing a white coat. You are in your bed. I can see your chest slowly rise and fall to the beat of machine next to you. It's tube is in your throat, filling your lungs with air.</span></p> <p style="text-indent: 0.46in; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span lang="it-IT">The doctor looks at me. He doesn't know I'm wearing your favorite shirt, the one you bought me in Rome because it made my eyes look more blue. I can't speak, so I take your hand. It's limp in mine.</span></p> <p style="text-indent: 0.46in; margin-bottom: 0in;"><a name="result_box6"></a> “<span lang="it-IT">So che è difficile, ma è la cosa giusta da fare,” the doctor finally says. “Se ci fosse qualche speranza...”</span></p> <p style="text-indent: 0.46in; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span lang="it-IT">I fight back tears and lean forward to kiss your forhead.</span></p> <p style="text-indent: 0.46in; margin-bottom: 0in;">“<span lang="it-IT">OK,” I whisper. “Si, va bene.”</span></p> <p style="text-indent: 0.46in; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span lang="it-IT">And then I can't stop the tears.</span></p> <p style="text-indent: 0.46in; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p> <p style="text-indent: 0.46in; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p> <p style="text-indent: 0.46in; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p> <p style="text-indent: 0.46in; margin-bottom: 0in;"> </p> <p style="text-indent: 0.46in; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p> <p style="text-indent: 0.46in; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p>Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06247567992274342429noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12134022.post-43314369996764824342011-07-31T18:16:00.004-05:002011-07-31T18:25:44.147-05:00Captain of the Guards (chapter one)<p style="margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 200%;" align="CENTER">CHAPTER ONE</p> <p style="text-indent: 0.5in; margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 200%;">“No time,” I think as I reach back into the car for a weapon, any weapon. But what kind of weapon do you use to fight a six and a half foot tall man throwing blue energy bolts at you? </p> <p style="text-indent: 0.5in; margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 200%;">Okay, so, he probably isn't a man. Give me a break here - something that looks like a man, a very tall man at that, is hurling deadly energy blasts at me. I know they're deadly because the ones that have missed have fused chunks of the parking lot gravel into, well, fused gravel. Luckily for me, he seems to be looking for something and I'm no more than an annoyance to be brushed away.</p> <p style="text-indent: 0.5in; margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 200%;">I don't want to be brushed away though. I rather like me and the little life I lead. Sure, I could use some more money, maybe better looks, a nice car...</p> <p style="text-indent: 0.5in; margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 200%;">“Remington!” yelled Alyssa. “Now would be a good time.”</p> <p style="text-indent: 0.5in; margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 200%;">The bad energy guy was turning toward us and his right hand was glowing with crackling, blue plasma. I only have time to reach in to scoop up a handful of small pebbles and slide a golf club out of the 1930s canvas and leather Wilson golf bag I keep behind the driver's seat. Not just any golf club mind you. This beauty has a hickory shaft, leather wrapped grip and a hand-forged head. It's a Hendry and Bishop niblick.</p> <p style="text-indent: 0.5in; margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 200%;">Hendry and Bishop, Ltd. was a golf club company in the first third of last century. One of the biggest in the world for a while. Big, in this case, didn't mean shoddy though. Take this club – the hickory shaft is still straight and doesn't have any cracks, the leather grips are original and the metal head is a deliciously perfect with a dark brown patina. It takes years to acquire that kind of patina.</p> <p style="text-indent: 0.5in; margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 200%;">“Remington!”</p> <p style="text-indent: 0.5in; margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 200%;">Time slows down like a car crash as his hand swings forward. It's not just everything slowing down, it's slow and fast at the same time. As his hand swings forward and a blast of energy leaps from it, I toss the pebbles in the air. As his blast collides with the pebbles, there's a thunderous boom like a wave crashing on a rocky shore and the blue energy vaporizes into a light mist.</p> <p style="text-indent: 0.5in; margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 200%;">“How...” Says Alyssa. She's looking up at me from the ground. Her eyes have that look. You know the look you get when people discover that you're not just a bumbling idiot? No? Well, I get it a lot.</p> <p style="text-indent: 0.5in; margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 200%;">“What did you do?” she asks.</p> <p style="text-indent: 0.5in; margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 200%;">“Witch's stones...”</p> <p style="text-indent: 0.5in; margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 200%;">I mean give me some credit. I'm not gonna just lob some pebbles at a pissed off Faerie. Yeah, I sort of figured him for one of the Fay, but I wasn't sure till just now. That was Faerie Fire or I'm a monkey's...oh never mind. Just trust me, it was. </p> <p style="text-indent: 0.5in; margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 200%;">Anyway, witch's stones are stones that have a hole naturally worn through their center. They look a bit like Lifesavers, which in a way they are. Witches hang them about their property for protection. I found mine along the beach. Hence the whole wave crash thing with the energy blast.</p> <p style="text-indent: 0.5in; margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 200%;">I could explain this to Alyssa, but we've got big problems now. You don't just knock down a Fay's Faerie Fire without him noticing. I could feel his rage pulsing. If there's anything the Fay don't like, it's mortals using magick.</p> <p style="text-indent: 0.5in; margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 200%;">“Wizard!” The whites of his eyes were flashing red.</p> <p style="text-indent: 0.5in; margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 200%;">“Shit...”</p> <p style="text-indent: 0.5in; margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 200%;">I have just enough time to aim the handle end of my golf club at the Fay before he tosses another blue bomb our way. Aged hickory makes a really nice wand and wands are handy for focusing power. I plant my feet and feel the warm, earth energy flow up at the same time he hurls a blast our way. I'm just able to deflect it. My wrist, elbow and arm scream with pain at the blow. There's a lot of energy being thrown around. This is one powerful Fay.</p> <p style="text-indent: 0.5in; margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 200%;">If he keeps tossing Faerie Fire at us, we could be toast really soon. Again we get lucky and he charges forward with a yell.</p> <p style="text-indent: 0.5in; margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 200%;">“Aiiiiiiieeee!”</p> <p style="text-indent: 0.5in; margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 200%;">He can probably tear me apart with his hands. Contrary to what you may have heard, faeries aren't cute and delicate. They are pretty darn strong. As he rushes toward me, I flip the club around, pull back and swing it at his head. There's a dull thud as the club connects with his head. He gives me a startled look and falls with a thud.</p> <p style="text-indent: 0.5in; margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 200%;">Alyssa is looking at me with wide eyes.</p> <p style="text-indent: 0.5in; margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 200%;">“How..?”</p> <p style="text-indent: 0.5in; margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 200%;">“Scottish iron in this club,” I say. “Faeries don't deal with iron real well and this is hand-forged, Scottish iron. Don't think he was expecting that.”</p> <p style="text-indent: 0.5in; margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 200%;">“What?”</p> <p style="text-indent: 0.5in; margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 200%;">“Faeries don't deal...” I start. </p> <p style="text-indent: 0.5in; margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 200%;">Alyssa is looking at me like I'm nuts. I'm used to this, a lot of people have this reaction, but this isn't how I had hoped the day would go. I sigh to myself and try to think of the best way to explain all this.</p> <p style="text-indent: 0.5in; margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 200%;">Most people go their entire lives without ever having to know there's more to this world than what we see. Few people ever have any dealings with supernatural beings and those who have usually find a way to rationalize it away. </p> <p style="text-indent: 0.5in; margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 200%;">I know this isn't going to go good. It's too bad, I really like this girl.</p> <p style="text-indent: 0.5in; margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 200%;">“That,” I say, pointing at the dead Fay. “That is a Faerie.”</p> <p style="text-indent: 0.5in; margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 200%;">“A Faerie?”</p> <p style="text-indent: 0.5in; margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 200%;">“Well, actually...not so much anymore. But, yes...”</p> <p style="text-indent: 0.5in; margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 200%;">“A Faerie?”</p> <p style="text-indent: 0.5in; margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 200%;">“Yes...”</p> <p style="text-indent: 0.5in; margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 200%;">“I think I want to go home,” says Alyssa.</p> <p style="text-indent: 0.5in; margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 200%;">Told you it wasn't going to go too good.</p> <p style="text-indent: 0.5in; margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 200%;">“Okay.”</p> <p style="text-indent: 0.5in; margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 200%;">Alyssa pulls open the passenger side door and climbs in. I draw a circle on the ground around the dead Faerie and mutter a few protection words. I'll have to come back later after I take Alyssa home and figure out this mess.</p> <p style="text-indent: 0.5in; margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 200%;"><br /></p>Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06247567992274342429noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12134022.post-10881310268065491482011-04-06T15:22:00.003-05:002011-04-06T15:46:14.761-05:00Isabella Beauchamp - The Tom Thumb Robot<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:view>Normal</w:View> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:trackmoves/> <w:trackformatting/> <w:punctuationkerning/> <w:validateagainstschemas/> <w:saveifxmlinvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:ignoremixedcontent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:alwaysshowplaceholdertext>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:donotpromoteqf/> <w:lidthemeother>EN-US</w:LidThemeOther> <w:lidthemeasian>X-NONE</w:LidThemeAsian> <w:lidthemecomplexscript>X-NONE</w:LidThemeComplexScript> <w:compatibility> <w:breakwrappedtables/> <w:snaptogridincell/> <w:wraptextwithpunct/> 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<w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="19" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" qformat="true" name="Subtle Emphasis"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="21" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" qformat="true" name="Intense Emphasis"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="31" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" qformat="true" name="Subtle Reference"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="32" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" qformat="true" name="Intense Reference"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="33" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" qformat="true" name="Book Title"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="37" name="Bibliography"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="39" qformat="true" name="TOC Heading"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-priority:99; mso-style-qformat:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; mso-para-margin-top:0in; mso-para-margin-right:0in; mso-para-margin-bottom:10.0pt; mso-para-margin-left:0in; line-height:115%; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:11.0pt; font-family:"Calibri","sans-serif"; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;} </style> <![endif]--><span style="font-style: italic;">(This is the second episode/chapter of Isabella Beauchamp's adventures. They are set in a slightly different 19th century England. I'm posting with almost no editing and revision, so try and overlook any glaring problems in that department. I've also noticed that the formatting is spotty after transferring to Blogger, but I don't have the time now to fix it. </span><span style="font-style: italic;"><br /><br />The stories are meant to be a nod to Victorian era serials. I'm shooting for fun and quick to read without too much complexity. This a bit of an exercise for me. I have a journalism background and have found that I write better when I'm actually doing it on regularly - preferably with a tight deadline. This project will, I hope, help.)</span><br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">Sanjeep carried the silver tray down the hall toward the double doors. The sound of shuffling feet, stomps and metal hitting metal grew louder. As he reached the doors he heard Isabella’s labored voice and the crash of breaking glass. He paused at the doors, sighed and pushed one of the doors open.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">The large room was a disaster. A beautifully carved mahogany side table was overturned and a 17<sup>th</sup> century Chinese vase lay in pieces on the ground. A figure, clad in black, wearing a wire mask and wielding a sword was, advancing on Isabella, who was backed nearly to the far wall.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">Suddenly, she was driven all the way to the wall by the ominous, sword wielding figure. The black figure was clearly a man – large and skilled with the use of his deadly instrument. Sanjeep watched as he lunged toward Isabella, sword extended in a finishing thrust. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">She ducked to the side of the sword and deftly slid behind the man as his sword implanted itself in the wall.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">“Chai Miss?” asked Sanjeep casually.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">Isabella spun towards him, green eyes blazing, and quick as lightning let fly a knife. Sanjeep saw it hurtle end over end towards him. He felt the slight breeze as it whizzed past his head and heard the thump as it struck point end first into the wall behind him.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">“Yes,” said Isabella. She shook her long, brown loose and it tumbled down around her shoulders. “Chai would be very nice. Thank you Sanjeep.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">“And for Mister David?” said Sanjeep to the man in black.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">Isabella’s cousin David Ambrose pulled off the fencing mask with a grin.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">“You know I can’t resist that bloody Indian concoction of yours,” he said. “What do you put in it anyway, opium?”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">“Of course, Mister David,” said Sanjeep smiling. “And many other mysterious and potent drugs of the far East. It is the secret of the Rajas.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">“Okay,” laughed David. “But someday you’ll tell me how it’s made.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">“Sanjeep will never break his Hindoo oath of secrecy,” said Isabella. “Isn’t that right?”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">With his free hand, Sanjeep mimed turning a key to lock his mouth shut and set the tray down on a table that hadn’t been jostled in the sparring.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">“I do hope that Miss remembered tonight is the appearance of the miraculous Mr. General Tom Thumb at the Egyptian Hall,” said Sanjeep.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">Isabella saw the look of concern on her butler’s face and knew better than to kid him about the show. Sanjeep was obsessed with Tom Thumb, the diminutive side-show performer. She knew he kept a rolled up poster from Tom Thumb’s previous London appearance in 1844 and had been dreaming of seeing him since the current appearances had been reported. He had a ticket for this same evening and had been trying with mixed success to keep his excitement in check.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">Tom Thumb was all the rage and his appearances had been drawing crowds all week. In fact, he had been invited to Buckingham Palace the following night at the request of the Queen herself. Isabella was to attend the appearance at Buckingham Palace.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">She suspected that Sanjeep’s fascination was rooted in his Indian background. She was partly correct. As an Indian, Sanjeep grew up in a highly stratified society with firm castes. The fact that a midget could become such a celebrity struck him as a wonder of the modern age. But, he also had heard of the slapstick the short man was famous for and couldn’t help but be drawn in. Sanjeep loved silly comedy.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">“Of course,” said Isabella. “We can manage from here. You go prepare for the big night.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">Sanjeep gave a small bow and started to turn for the door,</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style=""> </span>“David,” said Isabella. “Don’t you have something for Sanjeep before he goes?”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style=""> </span>“I say,” he said. “”That’s right. Nearly forgot.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style=""> </span>He reached into a pocket and pulled out a sealed envelope.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style=""> </span>“Take this with you old chap,” he said. “Show it to the stage manager at the back door after the show. He’ll take you in to meet Tom Thumb personally. Do enjoy yourself.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style=""> </span>Tears of gratitude welled in Sanjeep’s eyes.</span></p> <p style="text-align: center;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">***</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">David and Isabella dined together that evening at the Ship and Turtle in Leadenhall Street – one of the best places in London for real turtle dishes. As cousins, they had much to talk about – family, common friends and, of course, Sanjeep’s big night out.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">“That was wonderful of you to arrange that meeting for him,” said Isabella. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">“It was nothing at all,” said David. “Barnum had been to the house on their last tour and was kind enough to write the letter.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">“Still…”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">“Come on,” he said. “We both know Sanjeep is positively daffy about this Tom Thumb. It was the least I could do for him.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">“I do hope he’s having a good time.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">“I’m sure it’s something he’ll never forget,” said David raising his glass. “To the adventure of a lifetime.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">***</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">Sanjeep hadn’t laughed so hard in years, maybe even ever. It was all he had hoped for and more and now he was about to meet Tom Thumb. The stage manager led him back to the dressing room where the star was changing after the show. The big man rapped quickly on the door and opened it.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">“Well go on in then,” he said. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">“Yes,” said a higher pitched voice inside. “Come in.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">Sanjeep hesitated and then stepped into the dressing room. There, sitting on a miniature child’s chair in front of a mirror was the star himself. Sanjeep was tongue tied for a moment, but managed to get out his name and express that he was a big fan.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">Tom Thumb, for his part, was the model of a gentleman through and through. He quickly made Sanjeep comfortable and the two fell into a lively conversation while the performer removed his stage makeup. They talked about New York City, the wilds of India and the miniature carriage that P.T. Barnum had made for his small star. The diminutive steam carriage caused stares whenever he took it out on the London streets. He planned on appearing in it at Buckingham Palace the following evening. He knew it would be a hit since the miniature horse carriage he appeared in back in 1844 had the Queen in stitches.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">Nearly forty minutes had passed with the two conversing like old friends when suddenly the room went dark. Sanjeep heard the shuffling of feet just before he felt something pound the back of his head. Then he heard and felt nothing.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">*** </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">Sanjeep gingerly opened his eyes. The room he was in was dark, but there was enough light coming in a pair of windows set high in the wall to make things out. It was some sort of warehouse building. The last thing he remembered was talking to Tom Thumb.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">“Mr. General!” he gasped. He tried to get to his feet and found they were tied with rope. His hands, he realized, were tied behind his back. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">The light from the windows made him realize that it was day time. What day he didn’t know, but it was a start. He was lying on his side, that was something too. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">Looking into the gloom, he could make out all manner of strange things. He saw a mummy case and various Egyptian looking artifacts. He also saw a giant wheel with four iron shackles on it. There were knives stuck in it’s front surrounding a painted outline of a person. He had seen this thing before, but where? </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">His brain was still fuzzy and he couldn’t place it. Then he remembered where he had seen it. It had been used in a magic show he saw some time ago at the Egyptian Hall. He realized then that he was in a storage room for items used at the Egyptian Hall. It didn’t seem likely that this was part of the hall itself. It must be a warehouse somewhere else in the city.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">Sanjeep rolled over and looked at the other side of the room. He saw a small steam carriage with a little man inside. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">“Mister General!” he yelled. “Mister General Tom Thumb!”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">“Mmmmmph,” was the response. “Mmmmmver mmmmere!”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">But the response didn’t come from Tom Thumb. It came from…Tom Thumb! The little man was leaning against a crate, bound and gagged, off to the side of the room.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">“Mmmmmver mmmmmere.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">Sanjeep rolled like a log over to the little General.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">“Are you okay Mister Tom?” Tom Thumb nodded his head.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">“But why are you tied up? And how can you be over there too?”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">Tom Thumb couldn’t answer with the gag in his mouth so Sanjeep got no immediate answer. Using the crate, he slowly worked himself upright and then over to Tom Thumb. He could just reach the knotted cloth keeping the little man silent. With the knot behind him, he blindly maneuvered the knot loose and got the gag off.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">“Dynamite,” said Tom Thumb. “There’s dynamite in the steam carriage.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">“Dynamite?”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">“The Queen…Buckingham Palace!”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">It all became clear. It was the next day now and Tom Thumb was supposed to appear at Buckingham Palace in the early evening. An elaborate dummy was in the carriage. It must have been set up to steer itself onto the grounds, up to the front entrance and when the Queen and her guests greeted it…</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">Looking up to the windows, Sanjeep could see that the light was turning red. It was nearing sunset. They didn’t have much time.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">He tried to think. Isabella would know what to do. She could always be counted on to come up with a plan. But she wasn’t here. Isabella, Sanjeep remembered had planned on staying with David’s family last night. Their home was closer to the palace. She wouldn’t even know he had been abducted and she would be at the palace to greet the carriage.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">“Think,” he said out loud. “Think you dimwitted man.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">Just then there was noise outside. Someone was unlocking the outer door.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">“Pretend you’re asleep,” Sanjeep whispered to Tom Thumb as he rolled himself down onto the floor.</span></p> <p style="text-align: center;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style=""> </span>***<span style=""></span><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"> The door opened and was quickly closed. Two men had entered the room. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style=""> </span>“Check them two out,” said the first man. “I’ll start this ‘ere boiler.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style=""> </span>The second man walked over to Sanjeep and Tom Thumb. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style=""> </span>“Oi, they’re still out cold. The little one’s lost his gag though.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style=""> </span>“Never mind that. It won’t matter once we get this thing out of ‘ere. It’ll only be a few minutes before the boiler’s ‘ot enough. Let’s wait outside. I ‘ate this place, gives me the Willy’s it does.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style=""> </span>As soon as the men left, Sanjeep got himself upright again.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style=""> </span>“I have an idea,” he whispered to Tom Thumb. The little man nodded.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style=""> </span>“You need to pull out this pin on my jacket with your teeth,” whispered Sanjeep and nodded down to an exotic looking pin on his lapel. It was serpent -the color of rich, high-karat, Indian gold and had two gleaming jewel eyes.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style=""> </span>“Okay.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style=""> </span>Tom Thumb quickly worked the pin out and held it in his teeth.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style=""> </span>“Now pass it to me.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style=""> </span>Sanjeep leaned forward and took the pin from Tom Thumb’s mouth with his own teeth.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style=""> </span>“Don’t go getting any ideas now,” whispered Tom Thumb. “That don’t mean we’re dating or anything.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style=""> </span>Sanjeep grinned and rolled himself over to the carriage. He worked himself up and against the imposter Tom Thumb inside. Up close, he could see it was a good likeness with a wax face and gears to create lifelike movement. He could also see that the carriage was packed with dynamite – a lot of dynamite. As quickly as he could, Sanjeep stuck the pin to the imposter’s lapel. He knew it was a long shot, but it’s all he could do. He rolled himself back to Tom Thumb.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style=""> </span>“That’s it?”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style=""> </span>“If Miss Isabella sees that pin on you…or your, how do you say, dopelgang…she’ll know something is wrong.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style=""> </span>“That’s a big ‘if’.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style=""> </span>“This is very true,” whispered Sanjeep. “It is out of our hands now. When these men leave, we must remove our ropes and go to Buckingham.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style=""> </span>At the sound of the door unlocking, Sanjeep rolled to the ground and he and Tom Thumbed once again feigned sleep.</span></p> <p style="text-align: center;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">***</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style=""> </span>The crowd outside the gates cheered as Tom Thumbs steam carriage turned and entered the Buckingham Palace grounds. It made its way toward the group of invited nobility, guests of note, and the Queen herself.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style=""> </span>Isabella leaned forward to see better as it approached. Tom Thumb was smiling and giving a jerky parade wave as the carriage passed and drew to a stop in front of the Queen. <span style=""> </span>The setting sun cast a warm glow on the carriage and Tom Thumb. Isabella smiled at the sight. Then she saw a glint of light reflect off a pin on Tom Thumb’s coat. It was familiar somehow.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style=""> </span>“Sanjeep?” she said aloud.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style=""> </span>“What?” asked David.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style=""> </span>“Sanjeep’s pin,” she said. “What is it doing…”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style=""> </span>Isabella didn’t finish. She shoved forward, knocking a Member of Parliament into his wife and jostling past several Ladies.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style=""> </span>“Get back!” she yelled to the startled group and ran toward the Queen and pushed her away. “Get back!”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style=""> </span>“I say!” shouted someone.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style=""> </span>“What the deuce!”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style=""> </span>Isabella ignored the clamour and jumped onto the carriage. She quickly scanned the machine. Someone tried to pull her off, but she kicked her leg out and caught whoever it was in the face. Spotting a lever, she shoved it forward and the carriage started slowly rolling. It picked up some momentum and Isabella turned the wheel and dived away. The carriage continued forward and then exploded in a fiery ball.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style=""> </span>Through the smoke, Isabella could hear the sounds of yelling and then police sirens. She could see men in military dress uniforms and tall, black fur hats whisking the short, stout figure of the Queen inside the palace. David was running over to her as two Sterling Police Broughams pulled up.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style=""> </span>“Are you alright?” asked David as he kneeled beside her. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style=""> </span>“I think so…” she said. “Is…is…”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style=""> </span>“No one is seriously hurt,” he said. “Just some cuts and scrapes. But, I think you may have broken the Prime Minister’s nose.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style=""> </span>Isabella looked at him and he nodded. She managed a small smile. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style=""> </span>“Serves him right. Imagine, grabbing at a lady’s leg like that.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style=""> </span>Sanjeep rushed out of the back of one of the police vehicles.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style=""> </span>“Miss! Miss Isabella!” he yelled. “Are you…is she okay?”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style=""> </span>“She’s going to be fine,” said David. “Just fine.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style=""> </span>“I’m afraid I lost your lovely jeweled pin though.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style=""> </span>“My pin,” sputtered Sanjeep. “You think I’m worried about my pin? Miss is the only jewel I care about.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">***</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style=""> </span>Several days later, the whole story came out. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style=""> </span>Isabella had, of course, recognized the pin and known that Sanjeep would never give away such a family heirloom – not even to the illustrious Mister General Tom Thumb. She knew something was wrong, but it wasn’t until she jumped onto the carriage that she realized just how seriously wrong. That’s when she saw the imposter Tom Thumb and the dynamite and understood a plot was unfolding to assassinate the Queen and as many dignitaries as possible.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style=""> </span>Her quick thinking got the carriage just far enough away that no one was seriously injured. No one except the Prime Minister, whose nose she did indeed break. He harboured no grudge however. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style=""> </span>“Better to have a broken nose than have my bloody head blown up,” he was reported to have said.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style=""> </span>Sanjeep and Tom Thumb have been able to free themselves quickly enough that Sanjeep was able to set off running toward the palace. He flagged down a police vehicle and they raced to the palace. They arrived just after the two men had set their plot in motion and were making their escape. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style=""> </span>Sanjeep recognized the men and captured one while the police apprehended the other. The men, it turned out, were part of an anarchist group. One of them worked at the Egyptian Hall and hatched the plot some months earlier when he learned that Tom Thumb would be appearing there. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">The other man was a machinist and created the elaborate gearing that allowed the imposter steam carriage to seemingly steer itself. He simply set the gears to turn, slow down and stop at pre-measured intervals. The dynamite had a timer set to go off after the carriage pulled to a stop.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">Sanjeep and Isabella were called to the palace a couple of days later and thanked by the Queen. Sanjeep was knighted and presented with as close a copy of his pin as could be made. Although both he and Isabella knew that mere gold and jewels could never replace the one he had sacrificed, neither said a word of it.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">Afterwards, both Isabella and David took great pleasure in irritating Sanjeep by continually referring to him as Sir Sanjeep. 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</m:defjc></m:rmargin></m:lmargin></m:dispdef></m:smallfrac>Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06247567992274342429noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12134022.post-23485297506814850082011-04-01T18:55:00.003-05:002011-04-01T19:16:32.746-05:00Isabelle Beauchamp and the Audley Street Spectre<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:view>Normal</w:View> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:trackmoves/> <w:trackformatting/> <w:punctuationkerning/> <w:validateagainstschemas/> <w:saveifxmlinvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:ignoremixedcontent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:alwaysshowplaceholdertext>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:donotpromoteqf/> <w:lidthemeother>EN-US</w:LidThemeOther> <w:lidthemeasian>X-NONE</w:LidThemeAsian> <w:lidthemecomplexscript>X-NONE</w:LidThemeComplexScript> <w:compatibility> <w:breakwrappedtables/> <w:snaptogridincell/> <w:wraptextwithpunct/> <w:useasianbreakrules/> <w:dontgrowautofit/> <w:splitpgbreakandparamark/> <w:dontvertaligncellwithsp/> 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mso-para-margin-top:0in; mso-para-margin-right:0in; mso-para-margin-bottom:10.0pt; mso-para-margin-left:0in; line-height:115%; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:11.0pt; font-family:"Calibri","sans-serif"; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;} </style> <![endif]--> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style=""> </span><span style=""> (<span style="font-style: italic;">A chapter from <span style="font-weight: bold;">The Isabelle Beauchamp Adventures.</span> Just a bit of good, clean fun...enjoy.</span>)</span></span></p><p style="text-align: center;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="">***<br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style=""></span><span style="font-weight: bold;">Isabella Beauchamp</span> set the large gold beetle down on the table in irritation. Despite her copious notes from Everton’s Encyclopaedia Hieroglyphae, the words inscribed on it remained a mystery. Even the cartouche was impossible to decipher.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style=""> </span>The ruby eyes of the large scarab stared tauntingly at her. She stared petulantly back at it. Perhaps, she thought, if it blinked first it would be forced to reveal its mysteries. She was startled by a cough behind her. Turning, she saw Sanjeep, her Hindoo butler.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style=""> </span>“Miss Isabella,” said Sanjeep. “I am very much sorry to disturb you, but there is a caller.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style=""> </span>“But it’s well past nine. Who in the world is calling this late?”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style=""> </span>Sanjeep entered the study and handed her a card. It was neatly printed on heavy stock with the name Lady Evelyn Crabbtree. Isabelle covered the gold beetle with a silk cloth and turned back to her butler.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style=""> </span>“Very well Sanjeep,” she said. “Let us see what Lady Evelyn finds so urgent this evening. Bring her in won’t you.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style=""> </span>“Of course. Shall I see to some refreshment as well?”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style=""> </span>“Yes. I suppose that would be a good idea.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style=""> </span>“Very well,” said Sanjeep turning toward the door.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style=""> </span>“Sanjeep,” said Isabella. “See to it that her driver gets something as well. He’s probably wishing he was at home in bed instead of…well. Just see to him.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">***</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style=""> </span>Isabella couldn’t help thinking of a caged rat as she waited for Lady Evelyn to come to the point of her visit. The older woman paced back and forth with a pinched look as she failed repeatedly to string together a coherent story. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style=""> </span>“It’s that,” said Lady Evelyn. “Well, you know, I don’t normally subscribe to those sorts of beliefs…”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style=""> </span>“No?”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style=""> </span>“Of course not,” said Lady Evelyn, finally stopping her pacing. “Everyone knows those occultists and mediums are charlatans. I’ve never seen why reasonable people have to believe in such silly things as ghosts and apparitions. I mean, really, spectres.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style=""> </span>“Very practical of you.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style=""> </span>“What? Yes, of course. I am, by nature, a practical person. I believe in common sense.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style=""> </span>“Not ghosts.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style=""> </span>“Well...”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style=""> </span>“Until now that is. Now that you have something that doesn’t make any sense.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style=""> </span>“At first I dismissed it as the servants’ silly superstitions,” said Lady Evelyn. “The thought of it, my house haunted.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style=""> </span>The older woman twisted a handkerchief in her hands. She looked at Isabella as if hoping that she wouldn’t have to continue her tale. Isabella waited in silence until Lady Evelyn began again. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style=""> </span>“The maids said that things were being moved when no one was in the rooms. Then they started on about noises and strange feelings late at night. I tried to calm them, but they were all in a state and wouldn’t hear me. Before I knew it, they had all given notice and I was left without any help except my driver.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style=""> </span>Lady Evelyn paused again. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style=""> </span>“And then I started hearing the noises,” she said with a shiver. “The horrible noises, I couldn’t sleep a wink. Then tonight, I saw it. It was a glowing mass floating in the air. I came here at once.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style=""> </span>“You were wise to do so Lady Evelyn.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style=""> </span>Isabella got up from her chair and walked to the bookcase. She pulled a large, midnight-blue, leather-bound volume out and opened it. Flipping through several pages, she found the one she was looking for and set it down on the table next to the covered beetle. The page showed a map of London crisscrossed with lines of various colors and thicknesses.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style=""> </span>“What was the address again?” she asked.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style=""> </span>“It is *** Audley Street,” answered Lady Evelyn.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style=""> </span>Isabella followed the street with her finger. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style=""> </span>“Near Grosvener Square?”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style=""> </span>“Yes. That’s right.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style=""> </span>When she found the spot on her map, Isabella frowned. It was directly on top of the intersection of two of the colored lines. Both of them where fairly thick. Not good, she thought.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style=""> </span>“And the problems started when?” asked Isabella.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style=""> </span>“They began in earnest Friday last.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style=""> </span>The day before the full moon, thought Isabella. The perigee-syzygy, or so-called super moon, when the full or new moon drew closest to the earth. No, this was not good at all.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">***</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style=""> </span>Isabella would have preferred to take the Stirling Phaeton Velocicar. She always enjoyed the rush of gliding quietly through the streets of London late at night. The Stirling allowed her that, but the two-seater wasn’t practical for this night. Instead she rode in the steam powered Victoria Brougham with Lady Evelyn. The Victoria, being steam powered, was still a quick vehicle, but it required the services of Chapman, her driver.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style=""> </span>It was after 11 o’clock by the time they sent Lady Evelyn’s driver away, Chapman had the boiler heated and they were on the way to Lady Evelyn’s home on Oxford Street. Most of the society crowd had followed the social calendar to the country, leaving those still in the city a quiet peace before the whirl of parties, concerts, gallery exhibits and blushing, scheming, unmarried young women once again took center stage.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style=""> </span>This quiet time of the social season had the added benefit of leaving the streets relatively empty. Those of higher status who remained in the city generally took to bed early and the newly expanding west side of the city held little of interest for the working classes at this hour.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style=""> </span>Isabella would normally love the drive through the late night streets, but Lady Evelyn’s agitation grew as they drew nearer to her home. It didn’t seem possible, but the older woman grew more like a trapped rat as they drove.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style=""> </span>“Perhaps it would be best if you remained with Chapman when we arrive,” said Isabella. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style=""> </span>“What?” said Lady Evelyn. “Yes, yes, of course. If you think it best.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style=""> </span>“I do.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style=""> </span>Dealing with the supernatural was always tricky, but the presence of someone in Lady Evelyn’s state could add an element of danger that Isabella was loathe to accept. She had seen the effect the fear of the inexperienced could have on the world of aether and spirits.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">***</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style=""> </span>Chapman skillfully pulled the Brougham up to the curb in front of *** Audley Street. He stepped around and opened the door for Isabella and then went to the back of the gleaming vehicle. He opened the boot<span style=""> </span>and pulled out a strange machine constructed of wood and brass. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style=""> </span>The E.C.R.U. was much more than it’s simple exterior revealed. Its interior was a machine of scientific complexity. The original had been designed by Isabella’s father and built with the backing of her uncle Lord Reginald Farthington. This model had been modified by Isabella herself. The initials stood for Ectoplasm Containment and Removal Unit and its purpose was exactly that.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style=""> </span>The E.C.R.U relied on advances in the ectoplastic sciences to allow the operator to first restrain unruly spirits and then contain them in its containment unit. Once contained, the spirits could be removed to be dealt with safely.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style=""> </span>Chapman helped strap the unit on Isabella’s back and handed her a belt with several detection apparatuses. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style=""> </span>“Will you be wanting the Arachnid net gun as well Miss?” he asked. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style=""> </span>Isabella thought for a moment before replying. The Arachnid was useless when dealing with spirits. It was indispensable when dealing with more solid beings of the supernatural world. The two short barrels of the gun could be equipped with shells that fired nets woven of extremely strong and light synthetic spider thread. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style=""> </span>“Yes,” she said. “I don’t think it will be necessary Chapman, but one can never be too prepared.” </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style=""> </span>“Indeed Miss. One never can be too prepared.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style=""> </span>Isabella checked the two chambers and saw that it was already loaded with one standard shell and one with a blend of spider and iron thread. It was unlikely that she would need the second, but her map had indicated that a Fae line ran directly under the house in front of her. Better safe than sorry, she thought again.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style=""> </span>Prepared now, she leaned into the Brougham and asked Lady Evelyn for the key to the front door. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">***</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style=""> </span>The house was eerily quiet. All the servants but the driver had turned in their notices and left when the disturbances started. The driver didn’t live in the house proper, so he had never experienced any apparitions.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style=""> </span>Isabella crossed the marble floor of the entryway and started checking rooms. From what Lady Evelyn had told her, there were seldom any problems on the main floor, but she wanted to be thorough. Assured that there was nothing amiss on the first floor, she moved up the stairs to the check the family’s bedrooms. These proved to be clear of anything untoward as well and she started to wonder if Lady Evelyn was suffering from nerves rather than ghosts.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style=""> </span>When she moved further upstairs to the servants’ room, though, she noticed the first twitches of her ectoplasmeter. There were definitely traces here, but the meter stayed stubbornly well clear of the red zone that indicated a nearby presence.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style=""> </span>Taking the back stairs, Isabella headed back downstairs. Her meter continued to pick up traces as she made her way to the kitchen and pantry. Seeing that the needle ticked up as she passed the door to the wine cellar below the house, she opened the door. The needle sprung up into the red zone.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style=""> </span>Inside the door, at the top of the stairs, was a small shelf with several candles pieces and matches. Unlike the rest of the house, the cellar wasn’t gas lit. Isabella lit a larger piece of candle and started down the stairs. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style=""> </span>Before she had gone several steps, the door suddenly slammed shut. A draft blew out her candle, leaving her in darkness.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style=""> </span>“Oh bother!”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style=""> </span>Isabella stumbled back up the stairs and fumbled in the dark for the shelf with the matches. She grabbed a handful and pocketed them in her coat. She then re-lit the candle and started back down again. There was another gust from below, but she had been expecting this and had her left hand cupped around the candle to block it.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style=""> </span>“Now you’re just being irritating,” she said to the gloom of the cellar. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style=""> </span>Just past the shelves of dusty Bordeaux, she caught sight of it. A glowing mist hovered in air near the back wall. It wasn’t big, maybe the size of a small child, and it didn’t glow very brightly. That was good. It wasn’t powerful, more a presence than a full-fledged ghost. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style=""> </span>“Alright then,” she said reaching back and flipping a switch on the E.C.R.U. The machine started to hum and vibrate lightly on her back. “Let’s try and keep this civilized.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style=""> </span>The glowing presence pulsed and grew brighter, but still not enough to worry her. She pulled a gun-like machine from a holster on her hip. It was attached by a long, flexible tube to the E.C.R.U. She pointed it at the presence and pulled the trigger. Green strands of light shot from the end and encircled the presence. The glowing thing let out a squeal and was quickly sucked back through the gun and the hose into the E.C.R.U.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style=""> </span>Isabella checked the ectoplasmeter and saw that it was once again picking up only traces.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style=""> </span>“Well,” she said, relieved. “That’s that.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style=""> </span>No sooner had Isabella taken several steps back toward the stairs when a horrendous howl filled the cellar. Several wine bottles flew off the shelves, only just missing her head. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style=""> </span>Isabella spun to face a figure crouched as if to spring at her. It looked vaguely like a young woman wearing nothing but a thin, wet shift. The shift clung to the creature’s body and now that her eyes had focused, Isabella saw that wet strands of mossy algae hung from its hair. The creature’s appearance shifted – first looking like a beautiful girl and then a hideous froglike beast.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style=""> </span>The creature jumped at her, flying through the air with bared teeth that gleamed like polished pearl daggers. Isabella dove to the side, crashing into a shelf of wine. Bottles fell and broke, leaving blood-red pools on the brick floor.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style=""> </span>The creature spun and jumped at her again. This time it lashed out with a claw like hand and slashed her arm. Isabella screamed and rolled away. The candle fell to the ground but, miraculously, continued burning. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">With a fluid motion born of hours of practice, Isabella drew the Arachnid net gun, aimed and fired the first chamber. The synthetic spider web spread and ensnared the creature. It thrashed and bellowed, no longer looking anything like a young girl.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">The creature growled and, with a swiftness that surprised Isabella, tore free from the net, It sprang forward, claws outstretched, and Isabella fired the second chamber. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">The effect was stunning. As the web again snared the creature, it released a mighty bellow. Smoke began to rise from its skin and its face contorted in pain and anger. It again tore away the net, but instead of attacking it dove for the farthest, darkest corner of the cellar and disappeared.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">Isabella brushed broken glass from her skirt and picked up the candle. She cautiously crept forward to where the creature disappeared. There she found a small opening at the base of the wall. It looked like a very old drain. An iron grate lay to the side of the opening. She picked it up and placed it over the opening.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0.5in;" align="center"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">***</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">Back at her own home, after having first settling Lady Evelyn in rooms at the Grosvener Hotel, Sanjeep carefully cleaned and dressed the gashes in Isabella’s arm.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">“Surely this wasn’t a ghost Miss,” he said. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">“No,” she said. “It was a Fell Affranc.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">“A water spirit?”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">“Not a nice one either. Fetch me the green book on the third shelf, I’ll show you.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">Sanjeep went to the shelves and pulled the book down. He handed it to Isabella and she flipped through several pages, stopping at one with an engraving of a creature much like the one she encountered in Lady Evelyn’s wine cellar. She handed the book to Sanjeep.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">He read the entry and looked at her questioningly.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">“But it says these creatures inhabit swamps and shallow lakes.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">“And they do.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">“But…”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">“But, what was it doing in Lady Evelyn’s cellar?”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">“Yes Miss.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">“If I had to guess,” she explained. “It came in through the old drain. The grate was off to the side. It must have been removed when the Middle Level Sewer was being built under Oxford Street. All the houses in Mayfair were connected to that sewer.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">“Hmm…I see.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">“The perigee-syzygy caused an unusually high tide on the Thames. That’s where the Middle Level Sewer flows to.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">“It came in on the tide?”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">“I think, perhaps, it did.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">“But why that house?”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">“It was probably attracted by the ectoplasmic presence. The Fae are always attracted to that sort of thing and the house is built on an old Fae line too. Its appearance likely set off the presence which was probably there all along without causing any trouble.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">“It’s a fortuitous thing that you had the net with the iron thread then Miss.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">“Very fortunate indeed Sanjeep. Very fortunate.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">One can never be too prepared, she thought as Sanjeep left the room.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style=""> </span><span style=""> </span><span style=""> </span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"> </span></p> </m:defjc></m:rmargin></m:lmargin></m:dispdef></m:smallfrac>Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06247567992274342429noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12134022.post-31610707768051197622011-02-25T16:03:00.003-06:002011-02-25T16:15:20.416-06:00InterludeIt's been nearly a year and a lot has happened. Equally true, not much has really happened in the past year. Rather than bore anyone - including myself - I've decided to use the old Hollywood trick to indicate the passing of time.<br /><br />**Start dreamy montage**<br /><br />(Imagine your own scenes for this. Just be sure to include some sunny days, some rainy days, some snow-filled days and end with a slightly older, fatter and tired me. Music would be helpful - I have no suggestions for you, so you're on your own.)<br /><br />**End dreamy montage**Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06247567992274342429noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12134022.post-42464476239276039602010-03-14T20:23:00.001-05:002010-03-14T20:29:47.121-05:00In Response To A Philosophy PostI was reading a blog and comment thread about philosophy, science and such that <a href="http://www.scribblescribblescribble.com/blog/weblog/"><span style="font-weight:bold;">Josh</span></a> posted a link to on Twitter. (Okay ignore how dorky that is on so many levels.) It was a post called <a href="http://ow.ly/1qm5pf"><span style="font-weight:bold;">"Non-foundationalism for the layman."</span></a><br /><br />It was an interesting read. The author laid out some ideas and tied them to some other ideas and left enough unsaid to create some discussion. And the comments were certainly filled with discussion. <br /><br />What I came away with, however, wasn't any better understanding of different philosophical approaches to finding what is true. What I came away with was two things.<br /><br />First was a question. Why do philosophers always seem to clothe their ideas in the garments of other philosophers thoughts? Most conversations I hear or read between students (and here I mean anyone questing for knowledge through study) of philosophy seem to become clogged with allusions to philosophers and the theses they make. As an example, let me take a portion of a response to a comment by the author:<br /><br /><blockquote>My encounters with Straussians left me respectful of and somewhat interested in the big names, but unconvinced of the total approach, probably because I was already into Alasdair MacIntyre before I met any Straussians.</blockquote><br /><br />Or a later response by someone else:<br /><br /><blockquote>I am fine with not sticking my hand in any fires out of certainty about what will happen. I think you’re getting at Kantian distinction between noumenon and phenomenon here. I certainly think that we can judge the later, even if we have to make assumptions as to the former. As you say: “My belief that the word “fire” can’t ever perfectly correspond to the fire-in-itself in a transcendent way has never caused me to abandon my dedication to not sticking my hands in fires!”</blockquote><br /><br />Now, please don't get the idea that I am in any way holding any of this up for ridicule, because that is not my intention. I'm merely trying to relate something that I've often noticed in philosophical discussions. <br /><br />As a layman, or mere philosophy dilettante, I am very clearly not well versed enough to offer much in the way of intellectual name dropping. But, I can see that for people who are well versed, this type of conversation could provide a shorthand of sorts. By referring to Kant (who, I hear, was a real piss ant), Nietzsche or Aristotle, one would also be referencing a whole series of ideas that these different thinkers have previously expounded upon. <br /><br />It seems to veer away from what I have always perceived philosophy to be about though. That is, the simplification of our complicated world in such a way as to greater understand its meaning. (And, yes, that statement was a simplification itself.)<br /><br />Anyway, after much thought, I'm still left wondering why philosophers so often use variations of "so and so said that x, thus y must be the case." Or to simplify further, why do they gotta use so dang many big words to say stuff?<br /><br />I left with a second thing. (See, I didn't forget.) I left with a glimpse of truth. Or, perhaps, with a glimpse of a truth. It wasn't anything that was said in the blog or comments. It was more of a response to an underlying question in most philosophical discussions. What is the truth? It was clear and simple. <br /><br />What is truth? <br /><br />The sound of snow melting in the spring. <br /><br />Not particularly elegant or ground breaking, but I think that might say just enough about life to be considered a truth. Then again, it could just be something that sounds neat to say. What do I know? Who am I? Why am I? Where...ahhh, forget it. <br /><br />Just go out and hear the snow melt.Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06247567992274342429noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12134022.post-54371558671178347472010-02-26T14:33:00.006-06:002010-02-26T16:18:23.165-06:00I'm tired of the foot stomping...just pass the thingHearing clips from the <a href="http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/35585513/ns/politics/"><span style="font-weight:bold;">health care reform summit</span></a> yesterday did little to restore any faith in the qualities of the men and women given the opportunity to represent us in Washington. The softness of the Democrats and the foot stomping and constant "No! No! No!" of the Republicans was enough to drive me to madness.<br /><br />The repeated chorus from the Republicans was that the majority of Americans don't want this health care reform. Despite poll after poll showing the opposite and the fact that they are a party voted into the minority, these bull-headed obstructionists continued saying it over and over. Seemingly, the mid-term victory of a charismatic Republican over a dull, apathetic Democrat for Ted Kennedy's old seat is all the proof they need to bolster this out-of-touch belief. <br /><br />Granted many people do <a href="http://theplumline.whorunsgov.com/president-obama/poll-bankrolled-by-foes-of-health-care-reform-finds-overwhelming-support-for-public-plan/"><span style="font-weight:bold;">oppose health care reform</span></a>. The <a href="http://www.gallup.com/poll/125030/Healthcare-Bill-Support-Ticks-Up-Public-Divided.aspx"><span style="font-weight:bold;">polls show</span></a> that a lot of people don't want the current offering to pass and that a lot of people do. On closer examination though, it turns out that most of the main parts taken individually receive overwhelming support - even from conservative voters. What this shows is that the Republicans have done a great job of repeating "government takeover" but a poor job of listening to what Americans want.<br /><br />Anyone who isn't embarrassed by the state of health care availability in the United States is either incredibly lucky to have a stellar health insurance policy, or incredibly unaware and naive. We are the inheritors of <a href="http://blogs.ngm.com/.a/6a00e0098226918833012876a6070f970c-800wi"><span style="font-weight:bold;">a seriously flawed system </span></a>that boasts some of the finest care available in the world, but also the most expensive and far from most effective care in the world.<br /><br />The fault lies not in one or two places, but in many. Insurance companies are chalking up record profits, malpractice suits are out of control, costs of procedures are spiraling and drug costs are exploding. Any of these causes are complex and not easily explained or fixed. Regardless, they all need to be addressed. <br /><br />Personally, I would love to say "fuck em all" and see a full government takeover. Eliminate the health insurance vultures, set prices for medical care and procedures, pay for the education of any doctors who sign on to practice medicine in the U.S. and tell the drug companies what we're willing to pay. That's what I would love to see. And, yes, that is socialism. It's socialism and I don't give a shit. That's how strong my frustration is. This system is broken and it needs to be fixed. <br /><br />I'm not silly enough to believe something like that would ever happen. It's not a cure all. There is no magic bullet and that particular bullet would create a god-awful big mess. It would be such a big procedure that health care might not survive it. It's too drastic.<br /><br />The proposed plan would also mean some big changes. Many people won't like it. So what. Don't like it? Stick with what you've got now. <br /><br />The fact is, if the system isn't reformed drastically, it will not survive anyway. Less people have health insurance now than did two decades ago and those that do are facing increasingly high costs and limited benefits. Most people just haven't felt it yet because they've been buffered by their employers footing more of the bill. How long do you think that will continue?<br /><br />In the last two weeks, Californians have seen a <a href="http://articles.latimes.com/2010/feb/04/business/la-fi-insure-anthem5-2010feb05"><span style="font-weight:bold;">major insurance provider hike costs</span></a> of policies by nearly 40 percent and another make a hike of over 30 percent. This in an economy that is seeing inflation at a near-record low.The economy is so weak that there is nearly no inflation and yet insurance giants are raising prices by nearly about 40 percent. There hasn't been <a href="http://www.inflationdata.com/Inflation/Inflation_Rate/CurrentInflation.asp"><span style="font-weight:bold;">a year in the last decade</span></a> where inflation reached even four percent. Think about that and say with a straight face that serious reform isn't needed. And if you think that's only happening in California, you're not paying attention - just ask <a href="http://fredericksburg.com/News/FLS/2010/022010/02252010/529322"><span style="font-weight:bold;">insurance buyers in Virginia</span></a>.<br /><br />Anyway, think what you will. I'm too tired and frustrated to even write any more about this. If you are even vaguely interested in health care reform, <a href="http://www.senate.gov/general/contact_information/senators_cfm.cfm"><span style="font-weight:bold;">contact your Senator</span></a> and <a href="http://clerk.house.gov/member_info/mcapdir.html"><span style="font-weight:bold;">your Representative</span></a>. Let them know what you want. Maybe they'll put aside gamesmanship long enough to actually listen. I hope so. This shouldn't be a political game, it's about people's lives and health.<br /><br />And...<span style="font-weight:bold;">in more ass-hattery</span>...<br /><br /><a href="http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2010/02/26/jim-bunning-repeatedly-bl_n_477910.html"><span style="font-weight:bold;">Jim Bunning says "tough shit"</span></a> to extending unemployment benefits despite a nearly 10 percent unemployment rate. Here's his office number - 202-208-6611. I called and asked him to show some real solidarity with the unemployed and return his monthly paycheck to the treasury. It seemed like a good way for him to experience a little of the plight of the unemployed.Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06247567992274342429noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12134022.post-23416881436333140392010-02-21T14:44:00.003-06:002010-02-21T15:38:47.471-06:00Is Google getting less Googletastic?I was reading a couple of blogs about SEO (search engine optimization) and it made me think about Google and how it's awesomeness seems to be failing. <br /><br />I still remember the days of Yahoo, Ask Jeeves, Alta Vista and the other old school search engines. It wasn't a particularly great age of the internet back then. I had a small search aggregater that would do simultaneous searches on several search engines. That made things better, but it was a bit slow. The nice thing was that you could happily chance upon sites you never would have found on your own. Surfing at it's best.<br /><br />Then Google started to blossom.<br /><br />Google became the go-to search portal. All the cool kids were using it. Google left every other search engine in the dust because it did good searches. It was that plain and simple. Sure, there was a certain quality of coolness about it, but it was really the searches that set it apart. <br /><br />Over the years, Google improved their algorithms and improved the quality of searches. That was a good thing. I still missed some of the old search engines and the fact that you could use them to get slightly different results, but the trade off was acceptable.<br /><br />There's been a change going on lately though. <br /><br />It seems that Google searches really aren't that great anymore. Maybe it's just me, but it seems like there are fewer really relevant hits and a lot more current event and commercial hits. Check it out the next time you Google something. <br /><br />I'm not sure what this means - maybe nothing at all - but it does worry me a bit. When searches become nothing more than advertising, they become essentially worthless. Sometimes you want the Yellow Pages. Sometimes you really do want know how to make a spinning wheel and not buy one, or learn about Abraham Lincoln and not open an account at Lincoln National Savings and Loan.<br /><br />Well...that's that...back to the Olympics and the new Blackberry.Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06247567992274342429noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12134022.post-20441644257774051502010-02-19T21:16:00.003-06:002010-02-19T21:22:11.871-06:00There goes the suspense...I'm feeling lazy...but not too lazy to post something. This is actually part of a reply on <a href="http://www.scribblescribblescribble.com/blog/2010/02/18/what-is-going-to-happen-on-lost/#comments">Josh's blog about what's going to happen on Lost</a>. So, without further ado, my guess about how Lost will end:<br /><br /><blockquote>The whole cast is put on trial for breaking a Good Samaritan law, Jack doesn’t marry Winnie Cooper, they all reminisce about how they all met and leave one by one until only John and the Smoke Monster remain. John holds back a tear as he says they’ll probably never see each other again and Smoke Monster says not to worry about that and that he left a note for John – “Goodbye” spelled out in rocks. John leaves and Smoke Monster looks around the now-empty island, smiles and turns out the lights…and maybe an asteroid is in there somewhere too…and we learn that Kate married Pacie instead of Dawson when we see them watching the end of “Lost” and she wonders if they should call to congratulate Dawson.</blockquote><br /><br />So, there you have it. Now you have no need to watch Lost anymore. You're welcome.Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06247567992274342429noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12134022.post-75359669940446279132010-02-16T13:48:00.002-06:002010-02-16T14:06:50.277-06:00Scattered pictures...Watched pairs figure skating last night. <br /><br />The Canadian pair skated to <a href="http://www.jango.com/music/Barbra+Streisand?l=0">'The Way We Were'</a>, which I hummed in the shower this morning. The lyrics reminded me of you and I realized one more time that I miss you. <br /><br />It's been twenty years and I still think about you - not every day, but often. I wish things had turned out differently. We had some wonderful dreams, didn't we? Life had different things in mind for us.<br /><br />Glad we've remained friends all this time. Just thought I should let you know. <br /><br />Damn figure skating.Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06247567992274342429noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12134022.post-41360853813676051062010-02-09T18:46:00.002-06:002010-02-09T20:29:42.192-06:00For every person a niche and every niche a personIt wasn't that long ago that there wasn't this thing we call the internet. Phones were just losing their cords and a couple people I knew were carrying around new mobile phones the size of Smart cars when I first caught a glimpse of this thing that would explode into our lives. <br /><br />I was using a computer in the Poli Sci department at Oregon State University and opened up a connection to a bunch of other computers at colleges around the country. It felt like a scene out War Games. From this one computer, I could access what seemed like a wealth of knowledge. The only problem was that you had to know the language to talk to get to any of it. Try as I might, I couldn't figure out how to get these other computers to talk back to me. I could see there was interesting stuff out there, but it was no more accessible than exhibits on the other side of the world in the Louvre or the British Museum. <br /><br />Mostly, what I found was a lot of indexes to information that was held at these other universities and a way to request copies be sent, by mail, to mine. Fascinating, but ultimately unsatisfying and only vaguely helpful unless you had a need for a specific book or study. My early hacking attempts were nipped in the bud by boredom.<br /><br />The decade past and we got a Macintosh at home and I slowly stopped making fun of those guys with the mobile phones. The desktop revolution was in full swing and those phones got smaller and more popular. The Internet was opening up and bulletin boards were popping up all over it. <br /><br />Fast forward - past the compact disc, the original MTV veejays who played actual music videos and airbags in every new car - to the brave new world of the internet, the internets, the tubes. Every kid has a cel phone and everyone - it seems - has some sort of web presence. If email was groundbreaking, then social networking has been earth shattering.<br /><br />But what is this social networking? <br /><br />There's an easy answer but not a not simple answer. It's this. In part, it's blogging, and yet blogging doesn't have to be part of it. It's about meeting new people and getting and staying in touch with old friends. It's part welcome wagon and part high school reunion. It can be as shallow as a "Hey Wazzup?" and as all consuming as an obsession.<br /><br />Blogging is a big piece of the social pie. Who here hasn't found new and interesting people by following links on other peoples blogs? Sure, there's plenty of time that circles the drain, but there are also some new friends with shared interests that make it all worth while. I know my life has been enriched by the people I've met through blogging. <br /><br />It's not just blogs in all their Blogger/WordPress/PersonalWebsite glory either. Spectacular and liberating as blogging has been - and still is - for many people, there are niches upon niches upon niches for everyone out in the social networking world. There's the once banner carrying MySpace and the now dominant Facebook. There's Second Life and Twitter and hundreds of other ways to connect in big ways and small. <br /><br />Right now, I'm typing away on <a href="http://www.blogger.com">Blogger</a> with a tab open to <a href="http://mashable.com/2010/02/09/google-buzz-facebook-twitter/?utm_source=feedburner&utm_medium=feed&utm_campaign=Feed%3A+Mashable+%28Mashable%29">a story about Google coming out with Buzz</a> that I found because Alyssa Milano read it and Tweeted it on<a href="http://twitter.com">Twitter</a>. That's right, Alyssa Milano - the actress - tweeted it and myself and 1.4 million of her closest friends learned something new today.<br /><br />For many, Twitter is nothing more than people telling you what they had for lunch today. It is. It's that and so much more. It's also making connections and being part of big, giant cocktail party. Some people are dull as sanded brick and many more are sterling conversationalists - albeit in exchanges 140 characters or less.<br /><br />Sure, there's the lunch thing - I had a free Grand Slam breakfast with my brother, by the way. But, also got to take part in a lively free for all coming up with four word things said after having sex, eavesdropped on author/screenwriter/graphic novelist Neil Gaiman bantering with movie maker Kevin Smith, helped a fabulous musician in Alaska find info on adding an MP3 player to her website, caught up with an old blog buddy in San Francisco, poked fun at <a href="http://www.scribblescribblescribble.com/blog/">my friend Josh</a> and heard instantly that President Obama was appearing in person at the White House press briefing after meeting with Congressional Republicans. Not a bad day's work.<br /><br />Don't even get me started on all the old friends that Facebook has brought back into my life. Yeah, I've wasted plenty of time playing Farmville, but I've also found many people I never would have found otherwise. And now I get to have friends from old workplaces, high school and even old crushes from elementary school back in my life. <br /><br />All this is really just a long-winded way of saying that social networking is an amazing wonder and we all get to take part in it. We get to make of it what we will. We can take a bit here or there or we can dive in the deep end and take it all. There's a little something for everyone and a lot to go around. Take a nibble or heap your plate and go back for seconds and third, it doesn't matter. <br /><br />It's an amazing world we live in. I feel lucky to be alive in our times and I feel honored to share the ride with all of you - friends old and new - out there. Thanks for sharing your lives with me and taking an interest in my mine. Hopefully, we're all a bit enriched by the experience. <br /><br />Now, if you wouldn't mind, pass that pie...Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06247567992274342429noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12134022.post-52686403242818913412010-02-08T19:13:00.001-06:002010-02-08T19:13:53.671-06:00Learn how to drinkWhy do all stories about getting so drunk you can't remember anything always include a detailed report of how many shots you had...amateurs.Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06247567992274342429noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12134022.post-31504520443945507422010-02-04T13:52:00.001-06:002010-02-04T14:02:19.490-06:00Ummm...okayNote to self...adding peanut butter and hot pepper to top ramen doesn't make it Thai food. That is all...carry on.Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06247567992274342429noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12134022.post-41031399003577689522010-02-02T16:59:00.003-06:002010-02-02T17:39:21.761-06:00Punk this Phil<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmY97UvBpTtUSR5DAioDE4lz3NsQmfdwymmOxrZjw6Z357bWqe3oVPjvzu-0yDrNj38Guf7j2yn88kLFL32b0J_irihykBVt4E0zguD8VSKGsvDTCwopynFRZXJdJ9vfiqvn_D/s1600-h/groundhogday.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 140px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmY97UvBpTtUSR5DAioDE4lz3NsQmfdwymmOxrZjw6Z357bWqe3oVPjvzu-0yDrNj38Guf7j2yn88kLFL32b0J_irihykBVt4E0zguD8VSKGsvDTCwopynFRZXJdJ9vfiqvn_D/s200/groundhogday.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433794630465065490" /></a><br />Groundhog Day...shadow...hmmm. I think I'm okay with this. The standard line is to moan about more winter, but I just don't feel like it. <br /><br />First of all, it's been a pretty mild winter here. We just got our first snowfall in over a month. What's to complain about if you haven't had to shovel out all year? I guess I wouldn't mind a bit more snow. It's still February for cryin' out loud. If it's still snowing in May or June, I'll get back to you on how I'm handling it.<br /><br />Secondly...it's a groundhog. A groundhog! <br /><br />No wonder nobody is worried about humans trashing the environment and perhaps...wait for it...contributing to climate change. Maybe if The Groundhog was letting us know about climate change, Americans would believe it. Science? Hell no...we got it from The Groundhog.<br /><br />Don't get me wrong, I don't have a thing against The Groundhog. He made a great movie and was smart enough to cast Andie McDowell in it. Clearly, The Groundhog knows his hot women. Ladies man yes...brilliant scientist...ummm, no.<br /><br />So, let's just all remember that The Groundhog is a celebrity and a movie maker, but that doesn't mean he knows anything about science and weather. Respect the guy for his achievements, but listen to what he says about things out of his areas of expertise with a certain amount of, well, skepticism. <br /><br />I just wish there was a way to tie these thoughts to a bigger message about the current shallowness of our society...but it's not like we listen to politicians instead of scientists, or labor to send our kids to college and still call the very professors they're learning from liberal elites in sneering tones. Nobody took what an unemployed plumber not really named Joe as gospel during an election for the highest office in the land after all. <br /><br />Maybe, if there were things like that to point to...Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06247567992274342429noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12134022.post-40365108621329700132010-01-25T20:49:00.004-06:002010-01-25T21:01:21.852-06:00One is an amazing number if it's your birthday<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4R9vRsG2h2BjF7H5Ja4zJV4JfqUGIU0fJdwUbSUj9UkogucZBE4qM9VVCL5Kb2IYgdyqQBQ98r203drQrrfK0l9d2MLRtVin0AHmk_agkKh0X9RkkvPiofPtIAyMZi1L68o_N/s1600-h/IMG_1222.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4R9vRsG2h2BjF7H5Ja4zJV4JfqUGIU0fJdwUbSUj9UkogucZBE4qM9VVCL5Kb2IYgdyqQBQ98r203drQrrfK0l9d2MLRtVin0AHmk_agkKh0X9RkkvPiofPtIAyMZi1L68o_N/s320/IMG_1222.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5430876137022535010" /></a><br />Sunday offered up a fun afternoon. Went over to my brother and sister-in-law's place for a birthday get together for my little niece. It was her first birthday and as is usual for this kind of thing, she didn't have a clue what was going on but sure found it neat that there were so many people - big and little - were around.<br /><br />It is kind of funny to notice that even when people send out invites with "no presents please" on them - in this case in all caps and followed by "seriously" - invitees are almost culturally incapable of not showing up with a gift. I was no different, but in my case it was because I had stopped by earlier in the week and my niece claimed emminent domain on my new hat and it looked so cute on her that her mom and dad asked me if I could make that her present. That's her in her hat with her dad in the photo.<br /><br />Anyway, it was sort of nice to hang out with family and friends for a wholesome, slice of American life kind of way.Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06247567992274342429noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12134022.post-7146210599593491232010-01-22T19:35:00.003-06:002010-01-22T19:56:48.414-06:00Are You Wearing Cashmere Or Are You Just Happy To See Me?<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhz8YnKM0ppQmSkZaQNuv06CBjYkm8aXaOmDW5SmASGypJVbRfJXLVCxLp73-My8-SV6Z2rz2TzW9JYBTSR_uy9D-Mlc7LtEB4eKxRUJh8ZU8w-rPE3Vmg5Uz47kceuAzgLlYxs/s1600-h/New+Image.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhz8YnKM0ppQmSkZaQNuv06CBjYkm8aXaOmDW5SmASGypJVbRfJXLVCxLp73-My8-SV6Z2rz2TzW9JYBTSR_uy9D-Mlc7LtEB4eKxRUJh8ZU8w-rPE3Vmg5Uz47kceuAzgLlYxs/s320/New+Image.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5429747706509451906" /></a><br />Sometimes you just never know when the meter on the day is going to peg out at stupendous. It didn't seem like that much of a day, but lo and behold...<br /><br />Stopped at Goodwill for some bargain hunting today. I looked and looked and was beginning to think I was gonna get skunked. Then I found a really cool Ex-Officio shirt. It was a cool color and like new. Sadly, it was a bit too big. Tried on a couple of nice jackets, but they just didn't quite do it for me. As I was putting stuff back on the racks, I stumbled upon a great feel. <br /><br />What? Surely this isn't just a coat? Guess what? It wasn't...<br /><br />There, quietly waiting on the rack was a cashmere coat. It was a nice dark grey - not quite charcoal, but not quite slate. There wasn't a sign of wear anywhere on this beauty either. <br /><br />I tried it on and as my arms slid smoothly into the sleeves and I pulled it on, my first thought was 'this is like butter.' It fit great.<br /><br />And the best part? It was under 10 dollars! Life, my friends, is pretty damn nice sometimes. <br /><br />Tomorrow I'm going to clean my place...a coat this nice needs a tidy, well-cleaned place to live!Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06247567992274342429noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12134022.post-66495282680535468802010-01-21T10:12:00.003-06:002010-01-21T10:54:21.132-06:00Maybe Vampires That Sparkle Are Okay<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyy9Y3iQFn8hRKvCQHriG243pfyPAqCO5URkOJmH7vUo7ZCT4yEmSuREn-rjwsVhKx0T9JaOMDDzQm_pqXLjGnIxrs7tzbZ4g2QZjAOQddCdzNWdJroMqXhbqLn-Wf01NOQN46/s1600-h/IMG_1218.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyy9Y3iQFn8hRKvCQHriG243pfyPAqCO5URkOJmH7vUo7ZCT4yEmSuREn-rjwsVhKx0T9JaOMDDzQm_pqXLjGnIxrs7tzbZ4g2QZjAOQddCdzNWdJroMqXhbqLn-Wf01NOQN46/s400/IMG_1218.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5429228590036949010" /></a>The other morning, my brother and I were driving out to Brookfield. It was nice and sunny for the thirty minute drive. The sunshine was a welcome break from the previous few days of grey skies. <br /><br />Looking out the window, I saw a remarkable sight. As we moved along the road, the snow caught the sunlight and sparkled. That's nothing new. The light bounces of the variously angled crystals and creates a sparkle effect. What was amazing was that it just kept on going and going.<br /><br />Signpost by signpost, the sparkling kept up. And it wasn't just right along the side of the road. When we passed open fields, I could see sparkles far out into the distance - forty, fifty, sixty yards. Incredible.<br /><br />Somewhere along the line, it reminded me of something. What you ask? Well, it looked almost exactly like the cheesy sparkling skin effect for the vampires in the Twilight movies. The idea from the books being that vampires avoid sunlight not because they burst into flames, but because their skin sparkles in a crystalline and clearly otherworldly way. In other words they avoid sunlight so as not to call attention to themselves.<br /><br />The sparkle effect wasn't a deal breaker for me, but I do have to admit a couple of things. First, not only did I indeed read all the books and enjoy them, but I've also seen the movies and liked them too. Second, I hated the sparkling bits. <br /><br />Driving along watching the snow sparkle in some bizarre, beautiful way, I suddenly didn't mind the Twilight special effects so much anymore. Even when a live Cheap Trick came on the radio and the sparkles took on the look of thousands of flashes going off during a Super Bowl kickoff, the feeling stuck with me. Maybe, just maybe, sparkling vampires are okay.Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06247567992274342429noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12134022.post-4583431587653652992010-01-18T09:05:00.004-06:002010-01-18T09:39:58.246-06:00The Knits Keep On Coming<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhu8pSR3rGRj7jAtr51h8TrGuCbNKCwNfUSKYkq9U1hGpzSQn3RU8GHUMc3nfzk3m7aPGro_8FV4VlwEZqqcmojuAb4nOOOVFSXhAmHHKthLYhdhOg00deNJjjzohBrcgOjt78o/s1600-h/Picture+006.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhu8pSR3rGRj7jAtr51h8TrGuCbNKCwNfUSKYkq9U1hGpzSQn3RU8GHUMc3nfzk3m7aPGro_8FV4VlwEZqqcmojuAb4nOOOVFSXhAmHHKthLYhdhOg00deNJjjzohBrcgOjt78o/s200/Picture+006.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5428096954537350626" /></a>Maybe it's the winter, maybe it's the unemployment, but I can't seem to stop this whole knitting thing. It started innocently enough with a scarf. How can a scarf be bad?<br /><br />On it's own, a scarf isn't much more than something to keep your neck warm. But it's not such an innocent thing. It's really a gateway to knitting depravity. First a scarf, then a hat and the next thing you know you're trolling yarn shops trying to figure out how much yarn you need to buy to make a sweater you don't even know how to make yet.<br /><br />Okay, maybe it's not that bad. I mean, really, I only made a scarf. <br /><br />Ummmm...well...about that...<br /><br />Figured out how to do some fingerless gloves, which turned out pretty well. Nice enough to give them away to one of my favorite bartenders, Rachel. And she hasn't hid them in the bottom of her laundry basket to avoid wearing them.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwP3R62mI4t773kgW6SSge_dlZ44D7TzNcAwfMNs-meuhox9qmcO9pd_iL-FBOFXYF499zwMIvaCLRP_7NtNQKXYvFdCqrERfYXN9ar5x_Mv0eM3JIxIk5oTzUu9PIh-DW_2XV/s1600-h/IMG_1214.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwP3R62mI4t773kgW6SSge_dlZ44D7TzNcAwfMNs-meuhox9qmcO9pd_iL-FBOFXYF499zwMIvaCLRP_7NtNQKXYvFdCqrERfYXN9ar5x_Mv0eM3JIxIk5oTzUu9PIh-DW_2XV/s320/IMG_1214.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5428104679568018050" /></a>Then there was a hat. I'm keeping that one. It's sort of a tight-fitting beanie. It seems like the sort of hat you would wear checking out the waves on the dawn patrol. Warm enough to keep the noggin warm, but not too bulky to wear to the bar. In fact, I wore it when I went to the bar to watch the Chargers/Jets game.<br /><br />So, I guess a scarf isn't just a scarf.Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06247567992274342429noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12134022.post-60798169206354332152010-01-16T09:43:00.003-06:002010-01-16T09:52:23.654-06:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjitqwgqMVkHEwfQJFEPt5boshITvb4LzjMxItTK9mygkan94v5zbK-Xr8zxWo3swUrq0p1JpvTIi01XlpZAH7ISQJvXDD83xNTjICF8oUw355CX75kxtCgBF2Kh7QZ6O1XVV1E/s1600-h/Picture+004.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjitqwgqMVkHEwfQJFEPt5boshITvb4LzjMxItTK9mygkan94v5zbK-Xr8zxWo3swUrq0p1JpvTIi01XlpZAH7ISQJvXDD83xNTjICF8oUw355CX75kxtCgBF2Kh7QZ6O1XVV1E/s400/Picture+004.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5427365387864997202" /></a><br />Ventured down to the tea room on Thursday for Brynn's art opening. I'm finding myself less and less desirous of stopping in the longer I've been away, but it was for Brynn and I had promised. <br /><br />She had a nice showing of some of her travel photos. They were mostly people pictures, which was nice, and they really captured a lot of joy even in some dreary places. They were primarily photos taken in Uganda and in India.<br /><br />Anyway, had some tea, bypassed the wine and had some good food. It was a nice opening and I was really proud of Brynn. She had a great time. So, it was worthwhile.Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06247567992274342429noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12134022.post-44804262342996682572010-01-10T10:22:00.007-06:002010-01-10T15:04:38.892-06:00Don't get caught out on Packers DayI've got to take my Mom to the store pretty soon. It's NFL playoff time and the Packers play this afternoon. I'm pretty sure there's a special place in Guantanamo for anyone caught out on the streets at game time. You think I'm perhaps exagerating a tad... Ask anyone in Wisconsin and they'll probably be able to tell you a tale of an uncle or brother who tried to run to the store on a Packer day and never returned.<br /><br />So, knowing all that...why is it so hard to get moving this morning? I know I want to get this taken care of as soon as I can, but can't seem to get beyond making a cup of coffee. I guess I just have to grab myself by the scruff of the neck and drag myself whining to the shower and get myself dressed and out into the car.<br /><br />Or...I could just take a nap.<br /><br /><br />***Just found this goodie...<br /><br /><object height="299" width="100%"><param name="movie" value="http://a1.soundcloud.com/player.swf?g=wi&url=http%3A//soundcloud.com/ottmar/sets/under-the-rose&player_type=waveform"></param><param name="wmode" value="transparent"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed allowscriptaccess="always" height="299" width="100%" src="http://a1.soundcloud.com/player.swf?g=wi&url=http%3A//soundcloud.com/ottmar/sets/under-the-rose&player_type=waveform" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent"></embed></object> <br /><br />It's good stuff and good for you too. The album can be found at<a href="http://www.ottmarliebert.com/rose/">http://www.ottmarliebert.com/rose/</a>. It's a free download. The artists ask that you make a donation to a worthy cause.Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06247567992274342429noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12134022.post-74374688486481238282010-01-08T11:00:00.006-06:002010-01-08T11:52:33.519-06:00Knittle me this Batman<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf0Zp6MN8KFCrYUq7UPvjGnO3XBlAxXCuHgMmVzCxKBI6NSgEwS2XAiqF3GLeGbtK-j3ZctPN1MLGX3UdMjSNYEuznGzu6Q_On9M1dlsjjsqo9f8lfqKip9tfpjclIvuZXmO4V/s1600-h/IMG_1200.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf0Zp6MN8KFCrYUq7UPvjGnO3XBlAxXCuHgMmVzCxKBI6NSgEwS2XAiqF3GLeGbtK-j3ZctPN1MLGX3UdMjSNYEuznGzu6Q_On9M1dlsjjsqo9f8lfqKip9tfpjclIvuZXmO4V/s320/IMG_1200.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5424419396814657282" /></a><br />Yesterday was a nice snow day. It started snowing during the night and continued all day long. Light and powdery too...so, easy cleanup. We were supposed to get about 10 inches. we might have come close to that, but it seems like a bit less.<br /><br />Anyway, it's pretty today. Everything is so fresh looking. But, I have to admit I like the day of a snow storm better than the day after. It's nice to have that snowed-in feeling. A cup of coffee, a project, and a view of the falling snow.<br /><br />Just before Christmas, I had a strong urge to learn how to knit. I know, "boys don't knit", but what do I care? I have always loved thick, hand-knit wool sweaters and have always wished I could make one. The urge stayed with me through the holiday so after Christmas came and went, I bought some yarn, needles and a couple of books. <br /><br />You have to walk before you run and I hadn't even stood up on my own yet. After some false starts, I finally figured out just what "cast on" meant and puzzled out how to create a knit stitch. It took a day of trying to limp through that only to not like what I saw and pull it apart to start again. The only thing that happened quickly was that I mastered starting and pulling apart. It wasn't until later that I found out that the pulling apart was called "frogging".<br /><br />Frog master, master of the frog, frog daddy...the frustration built. <br /><br />Day two saw some progress. And, oddly, the progress sped up. I was doing the simplest knitting process possible, something called a garter stitch. It's basically just the same thing over and over again. Knit a row, flip it around and knit another row. It wasn't exactly fun, but it was satisfying in an odd sort of way.<br /><br />I went through a skein of yarn. That's more than a ball and less than a hank. Most of the yarn you can buy at the local store comes in a skein. I went back to the store and picked up some more yarn. I was going to use the same color and just keep going, then decided I didn't want to drive all the way to the same store I originally bought the yarn at. <br /><br />That led to learning how to do horizontal stripes. Oddly enough, the pictures in my books and the accompanying descriptions didn't look like blueprints for a nuclear power plant and this part of the job was easy. And, more important, easy to learn.<br /><br />Around this point, it started to get fun. Maybe it was the visible progress or maybe the whole finally "getting it" thing. <br /><br />I plowed on and on and on. <br /><br />Finally, all that was left was to finish it. Back to the books I went. It might as well have been ancient Sumerian. I couldn't figure out what the heck they were talking about. Thankfully, my friend Mel has been knitting forever and she explained it to me. Of course, it was amazingly easy once you knew how it was supposed to be done.<br /><br />So, there you have it - boys can knit. And, now that we've had a great snow storm, I'm glad that boys can knit because my new scarf is really, really warm.Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06247567992274342429noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12134022.post-70609021454854937872009-02-12T13:27:00.003-06:002009-02-12T13:31:58.701-06:00Faded into oblivion..."Hi, my name is Shawn and I'm a blog slacker."<br /><br />"Hi Shawn!"<br /><br />"I had a blog that I used to post to all the time and now I never even look at it. It's been two months since I posted anything at all on it or responded to any comments. I'm a bad person..."<br /><br />"Yeah...you are a bad person and you have a serious problem!"<br /><br />"Wait! I thought this was supposed to be a support group?"<br /><br />"Hah! We got your support right here!"Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06247567992274342429noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12134022.post-62803679623521379052008-12-04T14:17:00.003-06:002008-12-04T14:23:19.502-06:00Sometimes there's not much to sayStill alive and kicking... Thanksgiving was excellent. The food was good and the time seemed to slide by pretty darn quick. That's a new twist for our family get togethers. I left wanting to eat some more and wanting to hang out a bit longer. New twist - and certainly a nice twist.<br /><br />We had our first real snow a few days ago. It wasn't too terribly aggravating. I don't have to really shovel at my place, and that makes a world of difference. With any luck, it will be a mild winter. Now that I said that we'll probably get two feet tonight. <br /><br />Read a few good books lately, but I don't have the energy and time to blog about them today. Maybe that will be my next post...Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06247567992274342429noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12134022.post-82383393607438951722008-10-31T10:36:00.002-05:002008-10-31T10:54:55.034-05:00Hmmm...what to be?Two thoughts for Halloween costumes this year: <br /><br /><blockquote>1) A mime with a cast, crutches, bandaged head, etc. and a sign that says, "People really DO hate mimes".<br /><br />2) A cardboard television set to wear so that I can be a sitcom.</blockquote><br />Oh, the fun and hi jinx that could ensue! Or, I may just stay home and read a book. I'm well into a Murakami book called "Norwegian Wood" and it's not a bad little read. I can see why he's a popular writer, he taps the little daily things that mean a lot to us even though we don't realize it at the time.<br /><br />Work has been slow. The economy and time of year aren't helping us out much at all. It has given us some time to do some little projects. Merchandise shelves rearranged, some little packages assembled from some annoying tea cup overstock and a couple ounces of tea, and moving Gregg's shrine upstairs. Now we need a new shrine though. Gladly, I haven't had to fire anyone or run any ads on Craigslist for servers. So, all in all, not a terrible couple of weeks with the bosses gone.Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06247567992274342429noreply@blogger.com7