Mystery at Bear Mountain

 

I’d worked late last night…into the wee hours of this morning. Rolling over in hopes of catching a few more zzz’s, I pulled my pillow, tight, over my head to escape the husband’s morning routine. Television blaring the morning news. Shower, all too merrily, spraying away sleeps lingering shadow. Coffee maker rumbling to a finish. Dogs bouncing around, slapping tails on the floor and whining to go out.

“Hey, honey! Isn’t that Babette’s real name?,” he shouts over the blow dryer.

“What the hell is he rambling on about?,” I think. Lifting my bed head out of hiding, I hear the newscaster continue:

“Early this morning, the body of Elizabeth Leann Evans, 54, of Redding was found by firefighters inside the wreckage of her burning double wide mobile.”

“For crissake, it is her!” I growl back as my stomach tightens with fear and anxiety. She’d been my best friend through high school. We’d been tighter than pegged jeans at one point in our lives but had slowly drifted apart. She’d headed down a haphazard and random path. And I? Well…let’s just say mine was orderly and calculated.

Our friends always seemed to think of us as the polar opposites of each other. The good and the bad. The light and the dark. The beautiful and the cute. The skinny and the fat. The sure thing and the not a chance in hell. Despite our differences, we were fast friends.

Babette had a thing for drugs. Hell, for a long time, we both did. After all, it was the 60s. Nearly everyone was trying everything they could get their hands on. In my case, it was always about having fun, experimentation and the thrill of getting away with anything I tried. In Babette’s case, obsession, compulsion, fascination and a deep, undying love of getting high motivated her every move.

Drugs shaped her entire existence. She followed the stem and seed laden trail of excess from pre-pubescent sex to alcohol to pot to psychedelics to snorting coke to freebasing to meth and beyond. Babette slung dope and rolled lids into joints for spending money. She gained notoriety as the best female grower in the area.

She went into nursing to be close to the drugs. It was no mistake that she was the best in her class at giving injections. She and the needle had become friends long ago. Not so much for herself, but she was good at hitting veins so her friends always asked her to tie them off and fire them up.

Over the years, she got thinner and thinner. She always had some lame excuse when asked about it. She was too poor to buy food. She was so busy and working hard at her new job. She was selling these fantastic new vitamins that just melted the fat away. And did I want to buy some because I could stand to shed 20 or 30 pounds. Why do people with addictions always think everyone falls for their transparent excuses?

Eventually, she became the lover of one largest pot growers in the area. Chief belonged to one of the Indian tribes that grew in the canyons between here and Humboldt. He was a good and handsome man and I truly believe that he loved Babette. But in the end, she went deeper into the murky forest of dealing than he wanted to go. And that is saying a lot.

After they split up, she kept company with some really scary and unsavory people. The few times I tried to visit her at her home, I was met by armed men and had to have her, personally, come to the gate to grant me access to her property.

A string of arrests followed. Babette pleaded no contest, in November 1996, to transportation or selling of a controlled substance. She also pleaded no contest, in February 1997, to possession of a controlled substance and illegal possession of ammunition. Deputies were called to her home, at Bear Mountain, numerous times on drug related issues. Her neighbors kept reporting her for running a meth lab and drug operations.

But, as of this morning, all that was left of  Babette for the corner to identify her charred body by, was her fingertips. 

Snapping out of my reminisce, I hear the newscaster continuing:

“A fast moving blaze gutted Ms. Evans mobile home, parts of an outbuilding, seared branches on overhanging trees and blackened two pickups parked in the driveway.

The investigators won’t say how she was murdered, but they say it’s obvious she died prior to the fire. About 35 crime scene investigators spent the morning sifting through the ashes and searching for evidence at the rural home, the surrounding 60 acres of property and the nearby road.

Furthermore, they say her case is eerily similar to two other cases in the area where people were murdered and then burned in their homes. But they don't believe there's a serial murderer -- one with a penchant for burning bodies -- on the loose.”

 

SUCKERS! I think to myself as I hop out of bed and head to the bathroom to tend my  burned and blistered fingers.

Gazed and Confused

Dazed and Confused,
words of the day
back when Led Zeppelin
ruled, my world
was seen through a
Purple Haze.

I'd gaze in the mirror
to check my eyes
for telltale signs:
too much red against
white and blue.

A mirror and Visine,
my secret weapons, saved
my glutes from being
busted by the fuzz.


*Disclaimer: Now, folks, I don't smoke the wacky tabacky any more. It has been many, many years since I sat toking with Bill Clinton, me inhaling--him not (?). But, when you have a history you have a history...no ifs, ands or roaches. Now-a-days, I just use my memories for background and color.
What I've written qualifies my post for Theme Thursday AND Flash Fiction Friday 55. Go check out the other entries, that's right...go on. Thanks for visiting the Wonderland and have a great weekend.

Friday Flash Fiction 55: tell a story in EXACTLY 55 words. Go see g-man on Friday to give it a try or read more.

Theme Thursday: Mirror-create a post that includes "mirror" in any way.

Sven, the Snow God

And, now, for our first look at the InaccuWeather forecast for Redding. Some places in the valley are already down to the 20s at this hour...if you can believe it! Chico is at 26 degrees right now and we've still got a long way to go before the night is over.

It is cold across the north state and it's going to stay that way for the next couple of days. Remember the snow I've been telling you we were going to get for the last couple of days? Well, it went to Sacramento, Stockton, Lodi...unusual places. It was cold enough for snow in the north state, the north part of the valley. But the moisture was just a little too far to the south, and it stayed to the south, so we didn't really get anything as far as snow is concerned. But the temperatures are really agreeable for a little snow tonight so we could have some by morning.

So, why, when the weather man promises snow in the a.m., do we always wake up to not a cloud in the sky? We have sneaky snow here in our little corner of California. It falls in when we aren't looking.

I met Sven, the Snow God, when I was a mere child praying for a snow day. He's quite the little trickster having a good laugh at our expense. Sven loves a good round of Peek-a-Boo I Got You or You've Been Pranked. Just like when someone points to a spot on your shirt with their index finger, you look down and then you get poked in the nose, I fall for his promise every time.

Okay, Sven, I have always been, and probably will always be, your sucker. I'm gonna look away now...k?

***The answer to last week's Theme Thursday question in the post Happy Birthday, Friend : The Birthday girl is third from the left.

Happy Birthday, Friend!

My, my, my...life comes with a synchronicity that knows no bounds. The topic of this week's Theme Thursday is "FRIEND." As today is one of my best friend's birthday, I'm sure the theme selection was made in her honor. She is one of the people in the above photo. Like Waldo, she likes you to try to find her. Go on...the lucky winner gets a prize. Y'all like Limburger cheese, don't cha?

I guess I should start out by telling you how old she is...well, maybe not. Let's just say she's older than her daughter and younger than Mick Jagger. She is a self confessed "word nerd." She'll spank your apple bottom to a rosy red at Scrabble and challenge you to a race through the telephone book to look up a number. Man, woman or child, you better know your alphabet, because this is one win you'll have to earn.

She's been spotted drinking a bottle, or three, of Coppola wine and then hitting the gift boutiques on grape-buzzed shopping sprees. Okay, it was me that spotted her, but someone had to help her with all that wine. And friends don't let friends shop alone.

She once went here and dropped her cell phone from the third story balcony of the hotel. It is unclear if wine was involved in the brutal slaying of cellular technology. In true Tiger Woods fashion, she denied 'rumors' but explained little. Well, until she had to, of course.

She recently became a MIL. Yes, I meant MIL, as in mother-in-law, and not MILF even though some may see her as such. If you don't know what MILF is, watch the movie American Pie 'cause I'm not gonna explain it here. This is a picture of her grandpuppers, Love and California.

She's had many, many songs written about her by the man who "rocks" her world. Not to mention the unforgettable, although I'm sure she's tried, Oh, God, How I Love My Cabernet written by yours truly. I tried to find a copy of it but couldn't. I'll keep looking because I'm sure she'd love to see it here. Wouldn't you?

She loves books, chocolate, Cabernet and her "kid."

Although she's a good wife, she kinda has a "thing" for Cal Ripken, Jr. and Bruce Springsteen. She acts younger than she does old and she's old enough to have fun. She's a member in good standing of the Birthday Club, a group of us dedicated to getting together to celebrate each members special day.

Happy Birthday, dear friend.
And call the fire marshall...there's about to be one towering inferno of a cake!

*Members of the Birthday Club, their family members (living or deceased), pets and Smart cars are ineligible for the Where's Friend Contest.

It's Not Too Late

Sometimes people make incredible gestures that showcase goodness, humanity and creativity. I just love being a part of serendipitous surprises, as either a giver or receiver. This time, it was my pleasure to receive.

I spied the small, brown mailer packet lying yonder on the coffee table the minute I walked in the back door. With a sense as keen as any critter noting a new object in her territory, I stalked the target. Getting closer, in bold black letters, I read my name. Yippee! It's for me!

The Wonder Husband has an EBay biz, so it seems the booty is always for him. "Take that Wonder Husband!," thinks I. I can see by the way Wonder Husband set it clearly in full view of our thrones that he's curious...and a little yellow too. His is careful about not bringing my attention to the package. He cagily pretends to watch TV while glancing, with his primal, side-eyes, for my reaction. I give him nothin'. He must wait...even if it means I have to squelch my excitement for a bit.

"That's it girl, just keep the conversation casual, keep talking about stuff that makes men's eyes dull and their ears shrivel," whispers my inner siren. I relate my day, my feelings, up coming holiday plans, his honey-do list. Just to add to my amusement, I toss in an imaginary hot flash. With deadly precision, the instant I catch him doing the nod-off-head-bob and picking up the invisible Wife Remote Control, his finger poised on the volume-mute button, I have my way with him.

Swiftly and deftly, I slit the flap of the envelope and tip out its contents. Eureka! There's gold in that there brown mailer. Pirate's gold. A couple of CDs in crystal, plastic cases. Their white play lists are stamped with the logo of that infamous, black pirate, Hammer. From between the CDs, slips this folded letter:



Hello!

First off, please read the final Throwing Hammers blog post if you haven't already. What this is and why you're receiving it will make a hell of a lot more sense that way.

Dang! Final post? I loved that blog. Totally original and thought provoking on every level. Although his blog has run for five years, I only found him 6 months ago. In his last post, among other things, he poses the question, "What does your blog sound like?"



These CDs are filled with songs that "were quoted, referenced, or embedded in this blog at some point." Feel free to pass the music forward if you like - as I said, there are no strings or expectations here. And if you do, and if someone asks you about where it came from, just tell them, "There was this guy who used to write this blog. It didn't always make sense but he seemed to have fun with it. One day he left, but on his way out the door, he made us a mixtape."

Thank you for not just accompanying me on the journey, but helping to shape it and give it direction. I won't say goodbye though. If you're reading this, then I'm pretty sure our paths will cross in the future.


And as I type this, I'm listening to his mix CDs and thinking, "Yep, that sounds like Hammer alright." And across time and space these words float in from the Hammerverse, "If you ask me, there aren't enough pleasant surprises in this world..."

It's not too late! It's not too late to dream up a way to brighten someones day. All it takes is a thought...a smile...an unexpected little somethin'...a song. No, it's not too late at all.

Phone Home, Clark Kent

www.supermanhomepage.com

Superman, aka Kal-El, from the planet Krypton, was jettisoned to Earth by his father, Jor-El, just moments before its destruction. He was found by a childless, Kansas couple who adopted and raised him under the name of Clark Kent. They passed on to Clark the moral values of human kind. His superhuman abilities began to show at an early age. When he matured, he took on the role of protector of humanity.

A mild-mannered reporter for the Daily Planet and on again-off again, love interest of co-worker, Lois Lane, Kent became supportive of the underdog. Stepping into telephone booths to change from his work suit into his primary colored, super crime fighting costume, he protected the weak and the righteous. And, although, he could blurringly spin villainous predators into silly putty, being an alien endowed with the magnificent power of finality and all, he chose to uphold human moral and social codes.

And the day became as if it were night. A chill noir fell over the western world and spread, like fog, from California to Miami. Hades, Lord of the Underworld, lurked under the crusty skirt of Mother Earth. He sucked, like a gopher in a garden filled with tasty, tender greens, telephone booths from her surface. A grim realization settled in among mortal top dwellers. Super Power, absolute, was scurrilously being stolen by inhabitants of lower realms, the Netherworld.

www.supermanhomepage.com/other/other.php?topic=phonebooth

The last of the telephone booths rapidly disappeared from existence. The codexes of information they once held, known as telephone books, became even rarer. Superman was rendered impotent by the demise of his Bell tower of power. He was no longer able to shed his wool, wide-lapeled, Zoot suit jacket in favor of his flying cape, magic Speedo and jumping tights. His dabber downed, he joined the ranks of mortals.

In this world, man, forever changed, must now take responsibility for his own future. No more relying on immortal, super beings to right grievous wrongs. The great shift came, one subterranean-sucked telephone booth at a time. One mortal at a time, the era of the Power of Man began.

http://www.basketballwallpapers.com/ (from Photobucket.com)

Once Upon a Time, There was Castle-mania

When I was growing up, I loved being read to and loved reading. I loved stories about castles and the princesses who lived in them. I would get lost in stories for days and could easily forget my current incarnation as Ronda. When I read fairy tales like Rumpelstiltskin, The Princess and the Pea, Cinderella, and Sleeping Beauty, I WAS A PRINCESS AND I LIVED IN A CASTLE . I knew those stories by heart. I built castles out of sand and boxes and sheet covered chairs. As I fell asleep, my bed became my castle, the floor a moat.

Me and Mrs. Jones

I have had many careers in my life, but that was the first thing I ever remember truly wanting for my future. I longed to be a princess. To live a romantic life in a castle in which my every whim and desire was provided and attended to by everyone in residence. But, alas, being a daughter of hard working, responsible, practical, lower middle class, suburban parents, my royal reign never materialized. Instead, I was taught to be a hard working, self-sufficient, responsible individual. I found myself a hard working, self-sufficient, responsible husband. And although he can fix a mean toilet and put new windows and roof on our house, he doesn't have a gallant, white steed or a castle and he doesn't treat me like a princess. But now that I think about it, once upon a time, he did have a Mustang...a 1965, to be exact. Does that count? Anyhoo...

No one in my life ever gave me royal treatment except this man, "M."

Queen of Hearts

He was one of my best friends from high school and beyond. His step father was a well-to-do doctor and his mother was a connoisseur of haute couture. He was artistic, handsome and gay. Not something you wanted to be in Red Neck Country in the late 60s and early 70s. After a suicide attempt, and a court mandated stint in mental health, he got his stuff together and attended cosmetology school.

Partridge in a Pear Tree

For a few years after he got his license, he participated in hair show competitions. His specialty? The Fantasy Division. He picked me to be his model. Don't really know why. I'm not anywhere near the model type. I'm short, don't yearn for the spotlight and would be described as closer to cute than beautiful.

But he made me feel beautiful and spoiled me with a privileged existence. He took days and weeks trying my hair in different colors (pink, green, red, silver) and styles, had my gowns custom designed and sewn, spent hours picking exactly the right shade of lipstick and nail polish, arched my eyebrows, painted my nails and taught me how to walk a run way and behave with proper castle etiquette. In return, being the hard working, reliable one, I showed up to ALL of his numerous rehearsals, fitting appointments, make up appointments and the big events.

The Ice Princess
Yep, I'm wearing a candelabra on my head. It is large, silver, and wrought iron complete with crystals and lit candles.

The hair shows were nothing short of torture in many cases. Fun torture, but torture none the less. Those head pieces weighed a ton and I won't even tell you about how they were stapled to my head. Try wearing one all the while smiling and walking regally like a princess. But he won many trophies, gained notoriety, moved to San Francisco, about three hours to the south, and styled the hair of 70s celebs like The Pointer Sisters. He met his future husband, "B". Later they adopted two children, a boy with Autism and a daughter from an abusive situation. The kids are grown now and he no longer lives in Frisco but, he and "B" are still together and in love. "M" did get his fairy tale ending.

As for me? Thanks, "M," for letting me live "La Vita Princess." But being a princess can be hard work and I believe I'm happier with "La Vita Plain and Simple." Ta ta, royal subjects, ta ta!

Saturday Night Life (Theme Thursday...Roof)

What a beautiful Saturday, summer evening, I think as I walk out to the mailbox to get the post. Out of the brown, metal box, I retrieve a hand full of the usual bills, advertisements and magazines. Flipping through the pieces as I return to the house, the picture on the cover of the magazine stops me in my tracks. Literally. Staring back at me from the cover of The AARP Magazine is actor/director, Ron Howard. HOLY MOLEY! Little Opie, from The Andy Griffith Show, is old enough to be on the cover of a senior rag. We are the same age. Is it not bad enough that I face the monthly reality of my Methuselahism when this buggering magazine arrives? Apparently not! Now I have to acknowledge that I, and the Richie Cunningham of Happy Days that I grew up with, are models of senior citizenry--waiting for a Viagra moment.

When did this happen? How did this happen? Wasn't it only yesterday that I was looking forward to who was on the cover of Rolling Stone? I mean, brown sugar, is Mick Jagger next month's cover feature? And this isn't the only thing that's bothering me about this whole gig. There is something else zinging around in the back of my bio-computer's gray matter like a firefly that I can't quite catch. What is it? Continuing my walk to the house, wearing long ago memories as if they were yesterday's clothes, I wonder if my peppy, young person's, bouncy step has turned into the "little, ol' lady shuffle." Fearing so, I pick up my feet and clip along with a saucy sashay.

And then...that firefly of a thought? I slap it to the wall like a mosquito to an arm. The cover of The AARP Magazine reminds me of MAD magazine. These two men on the covers look so similar they could be twins. What is going on here?

Just for a moment, my world goes black and I hear only a high-pitched buzzing in my ears which turns into singing.

Don't worry 'cause I'm a comin'
I'm a soul man...

"John is that you?," I ask.

"That's right, kiddo it's John Belushi. Live from the Bardo state, It's Saturday Night!


What the freak?

Of all the beings in all the galaxies in all the universes that I could channel, I get John Belushi. He tells me to type the name belonging to the man featured on the cover of MAD into the search bar on the computer:

A-l-f-r-e-d--E.--N-e-u-m-a-n.

I read the search engine hits and learn that Alfred E. Neuman is MAD magazine's "What -- Me Worry?" kid. He's a young man with a thatched roof of red hair, large ears and a gap-toothed, goofy-grin.


John says, "Give me 10 little, chocolate donuts and an eight ball of cocaine, and I'll tell you the secret connection between Opie and Alfred E."



Well, I don't have an eight ball, but I really want that secret, so I tell John that unlike him, I like being in my body and swore off all that stuff years ago. He starts fussin' with me, tellin' me I'm not gonna get that secret if I don't share the blow. I stand my ground. I'm not punting my karmic orbit for some ol' 12-Step dropout. Finally, he sees it my way and we start to parlay. I raise the 10 chocolate donuts to 20 and add a cheeseburger with a Coke. He tells me Pepsi--no Coke, and we have a deal.


"First off, Ron Howard and Alfred are the same age, 55. Do you think it's a coincidence?," John asks.


Thinking for a minute, I consider how much they look alike, I sez,"You mean..."


"Yeah," says Belushi."In the most magnificent Face/Off in history, Alfred E. rose off the illustrated page like the pointer on a Ouija Board and took on the physical appearance of Ron Howard."


"But why?," I ask.


"Well, he's a tricky one and is hard to read. But he detests being a one dimensional, paper boy and he plans to take over the world." says John.


I have to agree. Who's going to believe you're going to become the world sovereign when you're considered a carefree, idiotic paper doll--a pawn of "The Man." Before he leaves, Belushi makes the bargain good by giving me this extra special bonus secret.


"There are two other casualties of Neuman's deviltry that I will share with you. The next time you have an opportunity to see Charles, Prince of Wales and ABC newsman Ted Koppel, look closely. All is not as it seems."

I have to say, this explains a lot to me.

Toga flapping in the wind, John begins spinning his teleport cells faster and faster as he readies to head back to Ether World. I, being the generous sort, toss him a thank you pack of Little Debbie cookies as he departs. I guess he turned out to be a pretty good channel after all and I marvel at how I get by with a little help from my friends.

Swinging on a Star (Theme Thursday...Swing)

The rectangular sign squeaks its heavy metal song. Keeping time to the sway of its eyelet hangers, swinging, it points the way to Middle Earth. The Ceylon green, leaved skirts of the trees ruffle and ripple in hushed tones, undulating to invisible currents. In the street, discarded napkins and newspapers spiral in a vortex...an ephemeral do-si-do. Honeysuckle and sandalwood, fragrant scents, lingering and peppered with bits of dust, drift along. The sacred geometry in the Mercaba, once depositing its four feminine, luminous passengers on the checked and flaking boardwalk, spins itself into gossamer "no-thing-ness." The divine feminine lovelies, Barbara, Sally, Francis, and Louisa, poised with the tentativeness of yearling fawns, peer through the quickly bruising night. In ancient tongues, their names mean: Stranger, Princess, Free, and Fights with Honor. In their world, you are named by the Gods.

The sign, barely visible in the spreading darkness, informs them that they have arrived at the right location, Mt. Shasta. One of the seven spiritual mountains of the world, she draws beings from everywhere. Magnetic. Powerful. Mysterious. Linking arm-in-arm, the ladies float down the street to find their uncles, Mike and Tony. Their father sent them here. He wanted them to learn of their lineage. He said the meeting place would be clearly designated. He was right.

Slipping inside, the young ladies, greeted by their uncles, sat for an evening's meal of bread, cheese, wine, and tales of long ago. There are legends here. Legends of Lemurians, an antediluvian race of people, related to the fleeing descendants of Atlantis. They are rumored to live deep below the mountain. For years, the locals have seen strange lights at night, encountered other-worldly mystics, and witnessed disappearing groups of people--right before their eyes--on that mountain. It is widely believed that the lenticular, lens-shaped clouds that often cling to the top of the mount, conceal flying saucers staffed with green and gray extra-terrestrials. It is here that St. Germain, an ascended master, brought forth the teachings of the Violet Consuming Flame of Transmutation.

Strange folk abound...psychics, healers, shamans, gurus, channelers and mystics. There are shops with teachers and tools for penetrating the void, that place where there is nothing but yet nothing is ever missing. One can find oils, vibrational essences, drums, rattles, stones, crystals, singing bowls, ceremonial sage and prayer flags. The I Am Presence is here, as strong as The Force. The waters, absolutely pure, are blessed and taken for cleansing and purification. All this and more, the young women learn.

With dinner and stories over for the night, the uncles lead their nieces to the balcony on the top, west side of the house. It is a full moon tonight. They enjoy bathing in her cold, beautiful, white but lonely glow as they wait for their ride home. In the distance, they see the fire. The comet, tail blazing like the fiery, blue-white spray of a welder's arc, sweeps toward the balcony. Reaching out their long, pale, graceful arms, the beauties swing up and on to the spritzing tail. Instantly, they vanish. Mike and Tony, with sweet, sad smiles upon their faces, wave goodbye. Minutes later, four sparking, baby diamond stars are Bedazzled upon the Milky Way's simple black dress. All sparkles, shimmers and excited chatter, they tell of their evening's experience of spirit being in a physical body. They tell their father about their night of swinging on the playground of planet Earth.

For Whom the Clock Tocks (Theme Thursday...Clock)

Photo: arvbhat Photobucket.com

At 12:30 p.m., Central Standard Time, CST, a car turned slowly into the plaza. A woman turned to face the man sitting behind her in the rear seat of the car. His face, lit with brightness, shone as he acknowledged her comment. Two men, the one in the back seat and one who sat next to the woman who spoke, abruptly turned their heads looking to the left and then to the right. The sound of a firecracker or backfire of a car's exhaust caught their attention. The man in the front seat, pleading disbelief, turned to look back at the other gentleman.

As the man in the rear seat raised his right arm to wave, a shot entered his back, pierced his neck and fled his throat. With hands clenched tightly, he raised them to his neck and tilted forward as another woman, who was sitting next to him, wrapped arms of concern around him. The man in the front seat yelled out that they were all going to be killed as the same bullet opened holes in his back, chest, right wrist and left thigh. The woman next to him pushed his gaping chest wound against her lap...saving his life. A third shot repeated. A fist-size hole erupted from the right side of the head of the male in the back seat. Blood and brain tissue splattered the interior of the car like molten lava spewing from a volcano.

The woman next to him wailed that she held his brain in her hand and climbed onto the back of the car. Later, she had no recollection of doing so, she just remembered reaching for something. A piece of the skull perhaps? Another man walking near the car, pushed her back into her seat and jumped in as the car speed toward the hospital. The staff at the trauma room proclaimed the condition of the man in the rear seat "moribund," meaning he had no chance for survival. The man's personal physician was called and he determined that the head wound was the cause of death. At 1:00 p.m., CST, after all heart activity ceased and last rites were given by a priest, the doctor signed the death certificate.

Photo: DRobberdeau Photobucket.com

The day was Friday, November 22, 1963 in Dallas, Texas. The thirty fifth president of the United States, John F. Kennedy, was mortally wounded while riding with his wife, Jacqueline, in a Presidential motorcade. She had been seated next to him in the back seat of the limousine. The couple in the front seat were Texas Governor John Connally and his wife. The last words President Kennedy heard from the rear seat of his limousine spoken by Nellie Connally, the First Lady of Texas, lit and brightened his face. She said, "Mr. President, you can't say that Dallas doesn't love you."

Photo: flatratelegalservices Photobucket.com

His life clock began ticking at 3:00 p.m. on May 29, 1917. It ceased when the last of three fired bullets stopped his pulse at 12:30 p.m. on that November day. Each one of us is a human clock with an unknown number of hours and unexpired, roll-over minutes enclosed in our case. We are geared to run to the end of our time. If you had a choice, would you choose to know when your clock will tick its last tock?

Welcome to RUB Airlines! (Theme Thursday...Suitcase)

TERMINAL BUILDING - BOARDING AREA

"Welcome to RUB Airlines! We will begin our boarding process shortly. Flight 409, departing Stressville bound for Nirvana, will board through Gate 17 at 3:30 p.m. Pacific time. This flight is on schedule. Please have your boarding passes ready," announced the ticketer.

"Nervous? First time?," asked the stewardess. "Don't worry! I'll make sure you're snuggled in and comfortable. Since you've not taken a massage flight before, let me give you some pointers that will make for a pleasant ride. First, please make sure your busy, chattering mind is turned off. This is a 'worry free zone.' Next, I am going to ask you to put your array, or rather, disarray of problems in imaginary suitcases. That's right. Put them a-l-l in there. Wait, you forgot to put in your anxiety, fear, shame and anger. There you go. Oops, don't forget the "lacks." Lack of funds. Lack of love. Lack of commitment. Sorry abandonment and resentment, you don't get to escape so easily. And, hey, you over there, stop! Ya, you, guilt, I'm talking to you! You get your ripply, overstuffed glutes in that BIG suitcase over there. That's a good passenger, stuff them all in and sit on the lids to close the cases if you need. Now, leave those suitcases outside the passenger cabin door as you enter and climb on the table.

Just leave them there for 60 minutes. That's all I ask. No one is going to steal them, believe me, they have plenty of baggage of their own. They don't need yours any more than you do. If there are items you wish to retrieve from those suitcases after your massage, feel free to claim them as you exit the terminal. Personally, I hope you don't but, unfortunately, RUB Airline's lost baggage return percentage is very high. Ready? All aboard!!!"

"4-0-9er to ground control. We're ready, loaded and prepared to taxi."

"4-0-9er, this is the tower, taxi to runway 1-9er. Flight 4-0-9er, you're cleared for take off. Stressville departure frequency 2-2-3 point 9er."

"Roger, tower. Request vector, over."

"4-0-9er, tower has you cleared for vector 3-4-5."

"Good evening ladies and gentlemen, this is captain Ronda speaking. Tower has given us clearance. We'll be cruising at 38,000 feet this afternoon. Our arrival time in Nirvana will be 4:30 p.m. Pacific time. The temperature there is currently a perfect 80 degrees with a 0% chance of precipitation. It looks like we will have smooth flying. Meanwhile relax and enjoy your flight. Over and out."

The Vacation Hat (Theme Thursday...Vacation)

The Vacation Hat

Hey there, hi there, ho there! This is the Vacation Hat. What was once just bubble wrap, tape, and paper became so much more. In the doctor's office where I worked, we collected a wonderful group of people. We didn't have much money but we had great imaginations and even greater times. The tradition was that on the last day you worked before leaving on vacation, you had to wear the hat the entire day. It was an odd combination of celebration of your time off and punishment for dumping all of your unfinished work on others.

Over the years, the hat had many incarnations. We started using it for all kinds of celebrations. One man's trash is another man's treasure. What I treasure are the many happy memories held in this hat. I remember when Suzanna turned 30 years old. "Colette, wear this hat with pride. I know your mom did. Happy 21st!," proclaims the lavender Post-It note. Dr. Jamie's favorite sayings, which drove us crazy, are imbued in that hat. It was given as an employee award. And, conversely, it was used to identify, like a dunce cap, the office poop-stirrer du jour. Please note the phases of the moon illustrated by, well, the cottage cheese, moon-glute chart moving from waxing to full to waning. We were definitely students of anatomy. Oh yeah! The doctor made us so. By the time even the most short lived employee left our office, they were quite familiar with the glutes. We discussed, treated, and charged for more buns than are buttered on Thanksgiving Day.



Just like kids who have more fun with the cardboard box than the expensive gift inside, so it was for us. Until the day we left that office, we looked as forward to receiving that hat as we did to passing it on to the next poor chump. We valued this wacky, tacky, plastic Vacation Hat at the price of gold because it symbolized many years of friendship. For a time, we thought it lost. Its disappearance was the subject of many a baleful conversation. But, today, while cleaning the deepest, scariest reaches of my bedroom closet, I uncovered a small, beautifully decorated box that had been carefully tucked away. Upon opening the box, happiness filled my heart as I beheld the splendor of the Vacation Hat. And the ritual begins anew. To whom will it go next? The thing is is that if it is you, you will know that you are well loved.

Betty Lou "Unplugged" (Theme Thursday...Whoops)

Betty Lou Stratton, Nurse Graduate

August 17,1942 to September 1945

Nee Stratton, Betty Lou, arrived in this world at a location known as Hobson, Montana, in the early summer of 1924. She was the third of seven children. The family soon moved to Lewistown, Montana. Her friends and family were her world. They were all she knew or wanted. Her mother, Blanche, was steadfast in her determination that Betty Lou would not live her life toiling in stoop labor planting crops that would, all to often, wither and produce only tears of loss and frustration. She was determined that Betty Lou would have the opportunity to bear children who might not die for want of money and lack of care. She determined to send her away in the summer of '42.

Despite her protestations, at age 18, her familial homestead was left behind as she traveled to Los Angeles, California to live with her aunt Edna, a private care nurse. Betty Lou, crushed and heart broken, missed her family terribly. Frequent, salty remorse glistened on her cheeks. Her kindly, but stern, aunt enrolled her in nursing school. World War II had just begun and nurses were needed for the cause. Betty proved to have the gift of healing and excelled. Her studies kept her mind occupied and off of her loneliness. That and the movies. She loved going to the movies in Hollywood. She could get lost for hours living a life that was not hers. She graduated from nurses training just as the war ended in 1945. Patriotic, she was disappointed that she would not be sent out to serve the war effort and its wounded soldiers.

Betty Lou Stratton, Cadet Nurse

1943-1945

Since the war was over, she moved to Modesto, California to take her first nursing job at McPheeter's Hospital in December of 1945. It was there that she met her husband, Bill. They married and had two sons. Five years after the birth of her youngest son, the family moved again, further north this time, ending up in upper northern California. She cared for her family, raised her sons, and moved forward in her career. Eventually, she took a position as the head surgical nurse at the local county hospital. She was kindly and stern, like her aunt, with a mind meshed for details.

During her career, she witnessed many tragedies and traumas. She saw families make emotional, heart wrenching decisions to place members on life support all the while knowing, that they would have been better served by quiet, and ideally, painless expunging of their light. She began to understand, with certainty, what she wanted for her self--no heroic life saving measures.

As she aged, her health problems increased. A number of non-life-threatening surgeries ensued. Eventually, she suffered a heart attack. Although serious, she always managed to come back from these occurrences with renewed vigor and zest for life. She made sure her Advance Directive stating her health care wishes and Health Care Proxy forms were completed, signed, and on file with the hospital. Her appointed proxy knew of her profound wish--NO HEROIC LIFE SAVING MEASURES! Being a woman of detail, she left nothing to chance.

In the spring of 2000, she fell down on several occasions and her teeth fell out for no apparent reason. I mean, there had to be a reason, but it wasn't obvious. She was admitted into the hospital where, for the first time in her life, she did not keep her head-nurse-eagle-eye on the doctors, nurses, and staff. She was distracted. Her mind was on, she would say, more important matters. This time, she was aware that her hospitalization was different.

After a procedure on the evening of Easter Sunday, she failed. An intensivist was called to provide emergency interventions. At a critical juncture in her event, he was made aware of her Advance Directive. He told Betty Lou that if she wanted to live, he would have to intervene with life saving heroics. She was lucid enough at the time to tell him that she would agree, if only for a brief while, until it could be determined if her life could be sustained without long term support.

It was here her problem began. After their conversation, she fell into a deep, unreachable coma. She was no longer able to define what she meant by a "brief while." She continued to need tests, treatments, surgeries, and life support. Even with all of these being performed, she failed to thrive. After a few weeks, social services, the finance department and medical staff called the proxy to make a decision regarding Betty Lou's life: continue or desist. The proxy, taking all points under advisement along with her written and verbal commands, made the decision to discontinue life support and allow her to function, or not, of her own accord. It was believed that she would only live for a few hours after support was withdrawn.

The proxy, sad and dejected, left the hospital to make arrangements for her cremation and memorial...according to her very specific and detailed orders. The proxy's wife, at home waiting his return, answered the phone when it rang. It was a nurse from the hospital. She asked for the proxy and upon hearing he wasn't available, hurriedly stated that she had been in the last step of Betty Lou's disconnect. At that point, Betty rallied from her long coma. Startled, the nurse informed Betty Lou that her life support was being discontinued according to her wishes. She then asked her if this was what she wanted. Betty blinked indicating "no". NO, she shook her head. NO! The nurse told the proxy's wife she needed a verbal decision to cease the disconnect process. She asked what she should do. The proxy's wife, being in a situation of having to make a life or death decision, and hoping her husband would agree, yelled for the nurse to stop. She told her to re-initialize Betty Lou's support. Happily, the nurse, quickly and efficiently, set about doing as she was instructed.

WHOOPS! And I mean a BIG OL' W-H-O-O-P-S! Another person's life was almost taken, albeit by her own pen, it was still nearly forfeit. When the proxy arrived home 20 minutes later, his wife told him that the hospital had called. Resignedly, he dropped his head and stated that he knew. He told his wife that he had finally given the instructions to discontinue life support for Betty Lou according to her very specific instructions regarding no heroics in the last stages of her life. He told his wife that he had been out making her final arrangements. He stated that he knew that by the time he got home to pick her up to go up to the hospital for the last time, the hospital would call with notice of Betty Lou's death. His wife, with rushed panic, explained that what he didn't understand was that Betty had risen at the last possible minute to indicated this was not her wish. And that she, the proxy's wife, upon being asked to make the final decision on the end of life, had ordered the nurse to stop the process.

A whiter shade of pale surfaced as the blood drained from his face. Catching his breath, he told his wife he felt the flames of Hell licking on the heels of his near execution of her self-imposed death sentence. What a tricky business...this interpretation of the intricacies of another's life. Especially when the ego's desire for life was stronger than the intellect's ability to account. We rarely know what we truly want until that last instant is at hand.

After that incident, Betty Lou roused, kind of, for a day or two. She couldn't speak but she would nod. It was a mad yes-nod given in response to ALL questions. Do you want to live? Yes. Do you want water? Yes. Would you like a back rub? Yes. Would you like dirt in your IV? Yes. Is dog poop a great dessert? Yes. It was as if her mind was gone but a powerfully, small piece of her own sheer will that could not, nay, would not, let her pass on, was pulling the marionette's string. Finally, even the nodding stopped as she dropped back into her coma, never to return. The disconnect process was finally executed by her doctor on May 21, 2000.

Betty Lou was my mother-in-law. My husband was her proxy. We will never forget the biggest "whoops" of our life. EVER!

Theme Thursday...Water (Water Works)

I live in an area that gets hot, hot, hot! Most of the summer, the temperature ranges from the upper 90s to 120 plus degrees. The old timers say that following the completion of Shasta Dam in the 1940s, the over all temperature was cooled by 10 degrees. I am talking about fry-an-egg-on-the-pavement kind of hot. Here, hydration of everything is important.

There are many bonds between humans and other living creatures. But the most powerful bond of commonality is water. Life is sustained by water. Animals and humans need it to survive. Like humans, animals use it for cleansing and drinking. Amphibians, fish, reptiles, and some insects need it for reproduction.

Wild animals can get water from puddles, dew on grass, raindrops on leaves, and from the food they eat. They need a habitat that includes a plentiful supply of fresh, clean, accessible water. If the canals or lakes are steeply angled, they are near useless to many animals. And to butterflies, free-standing water is undrinkable.

During the blasting heat of summer, a good water source is critical for wildlife. Since we are rapidly approaching that time of year, I thought I would share some of my summer projects with you. I set up water habitats in my yard. It is quite simple and fun to do. Children love taking an active role in making the habitats that will soon give life to many different species.

Birds

Photo: krukus Photobucket.com

Dehydration becomes a life or death issue. Especially for small birds. Birdbaths are a great way to provide water for animals. Additionally, they provide focal points for landscape designs and endless hours of viewing entertainment. Birdbaths are easy and popular for providing water sources. They can be purchased or made at home. You can even look around for naturally formed baths. Hollowed-out stumps of trees or rocks with wells in them can trap sprinkler and rainwater.

As you look for a location for your water station, consider the presence of predators. Placement should allow the bathers safe haven from sneak attacks. Bushes nearby offer bird perches for preening as well as protection. But take care to make sure the shrubbery is not low and close enough to turn the bath into a birdie smorgasbord for the neighborhood cats. That really isn't a Kodak moment you want young minds to capture. The lower the bath, the more open space around it is needed.

Photo: kariccio Photobucket.com

A distance of 15 feet away from heavy shrubs is good for ground-level baths, but taller baths can be located closer. Baths with textured bottoms allow the birds firm footing. A simple way to provide this is to layer a smooth bottom with sand or pebbles. Keep the water in the bath shallow, no more than two to three inches deep in the middle with gently sloping sides. Contrary to popular belief, size is not important. But if they are less than a foot in diameter, they will be primarily used for drinking only. Baths that are 24 to 36 inches in diameter will encourage a number of birds to bathe and drink simultaneously and party sumptuously.

Be imaginative. You can use simple things like tin or foil plates, ceramic or plastic saucers, or a garbage can lid. Birds are attracted by the sound of running water. You can purchase kits or make your own device. Punch a hole in the side--not bottom--of a bucket or large can, fill with water and hang it above the birdbath. The size of hole should let 10 to 20 drops a minute dribble into the bath. Covering the bucket will keep out debris and slow evaporation. Freshen and replenish the water on a consistent basis. Scrub away algae when you see it begin to accumulate. Algae just loves bird-fertilized water.

Butterflies

These beautiful, winged creatures can not drink the standing water that a birdbath would provide. Fluids are acquired via their proboscis, the long, tube that resembles a hollow tongue. The butterflies often "puddle" by sunny, damp areas and draw moisture from the sand or mud. You can create a watering hole for these insects with an inexpensive coffee can or like container. Using earth or sand, fill the container, dig it into the ground and add water. Rocks can be added to the sides and middle of container to serve as landing pads.

Frogs, turtles, birds, lizards, snakes, and raccoons

fallingstarz1 Photobucket.com

If you are particularly skilled and have the finances, a garden pond with aquatic plants and vegetation around its edges is ideal for attracting animals that use ponds. Irregular shaped ponds provide extra fingers of space for greater variance of habitat and are attractive to a number of species. When planting a pond, you want to offer four layers of vegetation from completely submerged to completely exposed.

You can create a man-made pond or purchase any number of structures at retail stores. Be wary of pre-made ponds that are steep. They were designed for fish but can be customized for birds by adding rocks that sit above the surface serving as landing pads. Stones can also be added below the surface. And a nearby tree with overhanging branches will serve as perches.

Your water work project will give you pleasure all summer long as you dance with nature in her infinite cycle of ebb and flow. A healthy yard attracts healthy wildlife. Healthy wildlife will yield a healthy yard. Ah, water, the gift of life.

Theme Thursday...Fire (The Deodar Incident)

...EMERGENCY ALERT...EMERGENCY ALERT...EMERGENCY ALERT...

Photo: twenkiedestruct@photobucket.com

Thursday, 23 April, 2009 at 0500 hours

CAUTION: all persons not having a direct need to be in the vicinity of the Keswick Dam Road area are advised to find alternate routes of travel. An incendiary incident is in progress. A local blogger's computer flared into a fully involved inferno following a recent Theme Thursday marathon. She states it was due to faulty wiring but arson is being investigated. Action News Reports will bring you the full story as it develops.

...EMERGENCY ALERT...EMERGENCY ALERT...EMERGENCY ALERT...


(Wish I was kidding!!! Having computer issues).

Theme Thursday-Earth (The Infinity Project)

Photographs are ® G. Deane Bardwell, Tommy Olof Elder, Emelia Fleck, Lewis Legbreaker, Deb Levin, Wendy Miner and Scott Lesure.

Infinity Project


Josh Simpson, contemporary glass blower and artist, uncovered a few handmade marbles outside his kitchen door in 1976. It was likely that they had been left behind by children of another era. Time had not dulled their colorful brightness; they looked as new as the day they were lost. He began thinking about the longevity of glass. Glass, composed of silica, one of the Earth's primary component's, is stable chemically. For thousands of years, it will remain unchanged. It is environmentally inert and therefore, green. He thought of all the invaluable pieces of museum quality glass that had been discovered around the Earth. Many of the items had spent hundreds of years underground before being unearthed by archaeologists.


Click photo to View Infinity Project


He began making beautiful, intricate, silica Planets which he started hiding more than 30 years ago. At that time, none of his work had been acquired by museums. In an effort to stake his claim in posterity, he hid Planets near his house. Later, he would take extras to leave behind when he traveled. After learning to fly, he air dropped Planets from the pilot's window of the plane in obscure locations. He left Planets in everyday locations. Other people began asking for the privilege of concealing them. Since 2000, over 1,700 participants have tucked Planets in locations around the Earth. Some of the Planets will lie undiscovered for eons. Others, will be found right away. The recipients of the find may well ponder what the Planet is and why it was left.


Photo: Deborah S. Taylor


It is Josh's hope that, far into the future, archaeologists will consider the message and purpose of these little orbs. What are they? How did they get there? He likes to imagine archaeologists puzzling over Infinity Project Planets just as they had the odd glass goblets found in ancient Mideastern sites.


Photo: Britney Whiting - Budapest,Hungary


What was the story of the goblets? Was their purpose connected to beauty, health and spirit? Or were they more practical like miniature liqueur vessels? It was a great mystery until the late 1970s when a glassblower was found, by a Corning Museum scientist, working over an ancient furnace in Herat, Afghanistan making the same shaped tiny goblet. Ultimately, it was learned that they were designed as water and seed holders for caged birds. The archaeologists were way off track.


Photo: Kelly Fellows


Many of the Planets will be found by people other than archaeologists. They will be found by people who may or may not be able to afford one of Mr. Simpson's pieces. They will be found by the educated and the uneducated alike. They will be found by artists as well as non-artists. Josh is intrigued by the idea of touching a completely new group of beings with his art glass. In his own fashion, he has found a way to bridge cultural and social ravines. He has done the impossible. He has created his own time machine capable of reaching hundreds and thousands of years into the future. He stepped into the future after finding the past.


Photo: Astronaut Cady Coleman with Russian Cosmonauts Alexander Misurkin and

Nikolai Tikonov with their Infinity Planet during Soyuz water survival training in the Black Sea.


Josh Simpson donates two Planets at least once a month: one to keep, one to hide on Earth. Inscribed only with the Infinity symbol, they are entrusted to people who apply.

Merely propose when, where and why you want to place a Planet. If selected, you will join a select group of individuals whose quest is to participate in this exciting and unique project. Your name, approximate location of your hidden Planet and (hopefully) your photo will be posted.

Zebulon Jakub Near the weather station at the summit of Mount Washington


I have my own idea of when, where and why I would like to conceal a Planet. How about you?


All photos courtesy of the gracious Josh Simpson. From the bottom, top and center of my green heart chakra, THANK YOU.

Theme Thursday-Egg (Egg Hoax Case Uncovered)

Egg Hoax Case Uncovered

In March of 2001, I was talking to my sister, Tami, at work. I told her that I had just learned that one can balance an egg on end during the spring equinox, the first day of spring. So, we decided to try it even though the idea sounded rather far-fetched. With enthusiasm, we began our egg balancing trials. After a number of attempts, Eureka! We had success! We passed off this information to one of our coworkers, Jeanne. She told her husband Bill. Bill, in turn, told all of his coworkers. Egg erections spiked to staggering proportions on this particular equinox.


Photo: byakuya92 photobucket.com

My sister and I made up a joke article: Egg-balancing: Facts and Fiction. In this case, it was mostly fiction. But we truly believed what we had been told. That as the equinox is a time of balance, equal day and night, this is the only time eggs would stand. We faxed it to Bill's office. I can't remember the entire gag. Its been too long. But, I'm sure it was very funny. We are quite creative and thorough when it comes to mischievous endeavors. He spent several days informing coworkers, family and customers of this wondrous magical trick that could only be accomplished one day of the year. And then, we discovered that eggs will balance on end any day of the year. Most importantly, HE, discovered that the trick will work any time. What follows is his response (retaliation) to our practical, albeit, unintentional joke about egg standing.

Egg Hoax Case Uncovered

Current investigations of Redding's Egg Hoax case have uncovered a devious scam, planned and implemented by two Redding sisters, to undermine and destroy a prominent Redding businessman's good name and credibility. The aforementioned sisters, both of whom are employed by a prominent Palo Cedro doctor, purposely and mischievously, masterminded and carried out the hoax causing Redding businessman, Bill Casparino, to lose face and credibility with co-workers and family in a plot uncovered by Redding's own EMPLOYMENT ADVERSARIAL THREAT, SCAM & HOAX INTERVENTION TEAM, EATSHIT. EATSHIT said today that the sisters did, in fact, plan to destroy Mr. Casparino's reputation by intentionally feeding him falsified information regarding the vernal equinox egg standing fallacy. The malicious leader of the two, Ronda Laveen, accomplished this dastardly feat by deviously manipulating a member of Mr. Casparino's family to feed him this false information. Mrs. Laveen, who could not be reached for comment, has reportedly purported these sorts of heinous crimes in the past, according to SCREW YOU.

SHASTA COUNTY'S REGIONAL ETHICAL WOMAN'S YEARLY OPPROBRIOUS UNDERTAKINGS, is a watchdog group dedicated to exposing such characters as Mrs. Laveen. SCREW YOU has has previously reported that the pair have distributed falsified documents in the past. "There is a distinct lack of class emanating from these two sisters," SCREW YOU told us today. "They should be banished from the public view," said Mr. Casparino speaking from his newly formed anti-hoax crime associations headquarters in Redding. The association known as, UP YOURS, or UNITED PERSONS YAHWEH OVERSEES UMPEEN RETRIBUTION SOCIETY. "It truly is a crime that my credibility has weakened some and I vow to continue to fight for the restoration of my good name."

"I will fight to the death to clear my name," said an angry, but determined, Mr. Casparino as he was surrounded by a large, cheering crowd of supportive friends outside of UP YOURS headquarters. "I may bend but I will not break," Mr. Casparino shouted to supporters today.

Also on hand to support Mr. Casprarino, was the nationally know Washington,
D.C. based, and powerfully connected political action lobbyist group, PAAB, PAYBACKS ARE A BITCH. "With our unlimited monetary fund and hundreds of thousands of members, those two women just don't stand a chance. They will serve restitution of Mr. Casparino's good name," said their spokesman and founder, Harry "The Hitman" Genovese. Mr. Casparino was last seen being driven away in a large, black limousine with Mr. Genovese and the Godfather.

Reporting for the Record Searchlight with truth, liberty, and justice for all emanating from my pores, Captain America.


Laveen's notes: Well done, Bill. I applaud your gene Se qua. But keep your one good eye and your egg standing hand at ready 'cause, I, too, am a card carrying member of PAAB. Happy Passover!