I REMAIN UNCONQUERED! Invictus Maneo!

Invictus Maneo:

I REMAIN UNCONQUERED

Friday this week was St. Baldrick’s at where I work.  Our fundraising goal was set at $3000 for the event.  We’ve done more in the past, but this year I figured we’d start low and if we went over, even the better.  One of my ‘deals’ that I made with the students was that the top three students would get to shave my head, trim my goatee or dye my hair.  I also promised not to trim or cut my hair from Thanksgiving on. 

My female relations and friends protested this agreement, but as I explained to them.  Children who have cancer endure so much; we can all endure this obstacle.  So my hair grew.  It grew long and out of control.  It got to the point that I would comb my hair before I left for work only to have a completely disorganized mess by the time I got there.  My goatee made me look like a distant cousin of ZZ TOP or the Roberts Family.  But I endured these obstacles and would remind my friends, family and coworkers – Kids who have cancer suffer so much more….

One fateful day I was having a conversation with my good friend and fellow administrator Barbara Z.  I mentioned to her that I desperately wanted to wear a kilt for St. Baldrick’s.  We’ve bandied about the idea for some time, me talking about it wistfully, her and others with that hint of a knowing smile of – oh yeah, that WOULD be crazy!  Looking on-line one day I found a website that would make my size and it would look awesome!  However, the cost was easily in the $300 range – immediately it was out of range for me.  And then Barbara made her mistake.  She offered to make one for me.  She was hooked!  There was no going back now. 

I mentioned my plans to those who know me and immediately they cringed with fear.  “No, please tell me you’re not.”  But we were committed. 

A trip to Wally World with Barbara and her daughter Amanda and we had selected the fabric and the assorted odds and ends for the sash and kilt.  We were on our way.  Barbara said it took her seven hours to do it – I’m willing to believe that it was longer than that – closer to 10 at least.  So Thursday before the event rolled around and I brought the finished kilt home.  Before I went to bed I put everything on, the socks, shoes, kilt, shirt, sporran and pins.  I saw what I looked like.  Yep, that was a kilt! 

The fabric for the kilt wasn’t some traditional tartan.  Yes, my family can trace a legacy back to the homeland; but no – This was not my family tartan.  The fabric was a pattern based on IRON MAN!  It had a pair of Iron Man suits flying in a blue field of comic.  It wrapped around my waist and fit perfectly.  The Velcro held it tight against me, the belt loops painstakingly stitched on and the pleats fitted to the right spots on the kilt all worked to make me look like – well an IRON MAN Highlander! 

The next morning I was determined to go to school like this.  I put everything on, got dressed and there I was.  And suddenly I had cold feet. 

Me wearing my Iron Man
Kilt and hair teased out!

People would laugh at me.  I was sure of that.  I hadn’t even bothered to comb my hair, Kim G. who was going to tease my hair out said it would be better if I didn’t wash it – so it was a disorganized bed head mess  (I did wet it a bit because it didn’t feel right not to.)  I would look like an idiot and the laughing would make me feel embarrassed.  I thought of all the silly things I had done – this was right up there.  I usually don’t care about my self-image.  I’m overweight and not Mr. Handsome – but I am me and usually I just don’t care as long as I’m suited nicely – well this was different than having a nice suit on. 

I tried to remind myself that refrain from before – Children who have cancer go through so much more.  It wasn’t enough to dispel all the butterflies, but it was enough to get me out the door or at least headed towards it. 

I was driving to school that morning, and the butterflies returned in full force.  Sitting in the truck as we drove down my dirt road and then out onto the connecting roads I wanted to turn around.  Every morning I stop to get my breakfast.  I order the same thing every day from the same place and yes I am a creature of habit – but so was Einstein and my rocket scientist father – so it’s a sign of genius – thank you!  

But today I WAS NERVOUS.  They would laugh at me; people there would laugh at me.  I would be a laughingstock. 

And I thought about kilts in general.   They have a strong tradition.  They were used by those of the Scottish Highlands to represent their families and clans.  To wear them was to honor them.  In many circumstances the kilts were worn to battle to defend their families and traditions.   At one point in the history of the kilt, they were banned from use because the British government tried to suppress the highland culture.  The kilt was associated with fighting to protect the clan and the culture of their people.

Strangely, it filled me with purpose.  That’s what I was doing now.  Fighting cancer in the way that I could, revving up my students and co-workers to help fight cancer.  And YES WE DID!  Early counting shows that we nearly doubled our original effort.    My trepidation from the morning was gone.  I did not give in to my fear and got my breakfast wearing my kilt – and YES I was asked and then I told them why I was wearing it.  I showed up at the school and every student stopped and stared as I passed their classroom throughout the morning.  But I wasn’t worried anymore – I was energized

Later, while I was walking around the gym, my hair half shaved off- the rest teased up and painted pink, yellow and green.  I was a walking advertisement to enlist others.  Three students volunteered and got permission from their parents.  The school cheered on everyone who did it.  I had to convince my principal to not shave her head because one of us had to appear to be sane – and from my hairdo before and after I was clearly the crazy one!   

I REMAIN UNCONQUERED

!  Invictus Maneo!

The FALL - The Final Part

The FALL

Final Part

And then that last image replayed itself again.  Clarice hadn’t moved to catch me nor had she acted surprised as I crashed into the water.  And then I remembered.  Randall’s other hand had been cupping my wife’s fanny.  My best friend, the man who I entrusted with so many pieces of my life, was holding firmly and decidedly onto my wife’s rear end.

Clarice, my loving wife, held something in her hand.  What was that in my wife’s hand?  The image within my head focused on something white which her hand wrapped around, like a ball, its whiteness marred by a fresh mark of redness which marked its round image. It was the cue ball from the pool table on one of the lower decks of my yacht.  We had spent hours playing pool as my yacht wandered the world, Randall would often play pool till late at night with Clarice while I slept.  Or if I was getting ready for a webcast from my office on the yacht I would often here the two of them banging away at the balls on the deck below mine. But looking at the image now I knew instantly what the red substance was, it was my blood. 

The whiteness of the ball intensified, hiding the blood.  The whiteness turned into a bright light, I could feel myself fading.  My arms and legs moved automatically, trying to get to that light, my instincts the only thing giving power to my limbs.  I knew what that light represented; the freedom from the betrayal that I felt in my heart.  It would be a warm embrace, welcoming and refreshing for the betrayal that I felt in my heart. 

She had hit me on the head.  How could she have done that?   She had tried to kill me, and now she would succeed. My wife and best friend had betrayed me and now I was doomed and free.   Doomed because I was a dead man, but free of her and Randall’s treacherous behavior.  Free to live in Heaven, away from the evil that had penetrated my house.  My poor mother, she was right.  It was true, mothers were always right.

My hand reached out for the light.  With my last bit of strength I reached out towards the light, embracing the freedom and doom.  I felt the Angel of Death grab my hand and pull me towards the light.  I was finally going to be released from this prison.

My head crested above the surface of the water. I took in a breath of fresh air, and began to cough.

“I got him, Detective,” a voice said as I felt strong male hands grab me from under my arms. “He’ll live.”  With a sudden pull I was yanked from the water, coughing and hacking up my insides.  I was on my knees and palms, water cascading down from my body as I began to feel the hot summer sun shine down on me.  And life. 

But what life would it be without Clarice, and knowing that the two people I trusted the most had betrayed me and almost gotten away for it.  Looking around I could see the nearby piers stretching back towards the land.  My yacht had docked the night before, snugged in behind some of the large cruisers along Miami Harbor.    The Passport Office sat higher than the rest of the piers, surround by the palm trees decorating the dock areas.   Behind me West Island Park blocked the horizon, giving me a view of the park.  My yacht sat on the edge of the pier, the perfect spot for me to be dumped into the water.  The bulk of the yacht hid their plotted murder scene from the shore and the lack of traffic during this early in the day prevented any possible witnesses.

“How?” I struggled to get out as I continued to cough and hack at the water still within me.  “How did you know?”  More coughing caused me to spit.

“Seems your mama must have heard them talking about it,”  The one officer said as he put the handcuffs onto Clarice.  “Seems this one has some type of liking to talking dirty on the phone and left a rather detailed message on your mama’s answering machine when she butt called her yesterday.” 

“Yeah,” said a third officer as he handcuffed Randall.  “They were doing A LOT of talking,”  the officer winked.  “If you know what I mean?” 

“Can it rockie.” The first officer said. “Seems it was a turn on to off ya,” the first officer said as he patted me on my back. “Sorry buddy, but at least your mama reached out to us and somebody down at the station finally believed her.”

“More like they got tired of her screaming and threatening them over the phone,”  the officer who had handcuffed Clarice said. 

“Nothing worse than an irate mom,” The first officer said as he helped me to sit along the lounge chair on the forward deck.  “She said she would do things to the Desk Sargent that I haven’t heard a longshoreman say to his worst enemy.”  

Coming Soon!

Hey Everyone,
Sorry I have been the absent blogger this week.  Some stuff dealing with on this side of the computer.  I got a little over focused on some other things.  Didn't forget you - just got side tracked.  I apologize and promise to come back this Thursday with the last piece of the FALL!  It's a good one.  I hope you can't wait as much as ME!!

Till then - in the words of the Great STAN LEE!!

EXCELSIOR!

And fear not true believer - Sunday Scribble will RETURN!!!

Sunday Scribble: COMMITMENT to a Cause!

Sunday Scribble

Commitment to a Cause!

A brief trip....

The other day I was driving along and wondering when the next story idea was going to hit me.  And then it did.  I find it funny sometimes how the simplest thing can hit me as a story idea.  Of course it helps I have no specific genre that I haunt around, although the closest one would probably be science fiction, but there's almost an equal push towards simple fiction or what some nose in the sky people might call literary fiction.  

That puts me in an unenviable position of having to make some tough choices when it comes to time management.  For example;  right now I am sitting on a number of potential literary fiction stories because I am working on my latest sci-fi epic story (one of two that I am working on btw)  Which puts me at odds with the three or four stories that are fiction that I haven't been able to work on so far, but have been sitting in the back corner of my 'pile of stuff' to write about.  

Of course, all this vies for time in my busy work day.  Helping out with the Fashion Show, holding down a full time job and of course keeping the family happy, makes for a full full full time lifestyle.  Let's not forget that the work week is a finite resource and that sleeping is more myth on some days then reality.  Throughout this we find ourselves looking for power days.

Power days can be defined as those days when everything seems to come due, or when the big appointments are happening.  I found out recently that I seem to be building a power week in this last week of March. 

During this week I have a meeting in which I have to be very professional, help out with two presentations and present to my peers a front of someone who not only is a solid professional but someone who knows their profession - education.  I'm also getting my head shaved - oh and painted.  

For the last six months(plus) I have been letting my hair grow and grow and grow, much to the consternation of family and friends - last week I was referenced as Sasquatch due the massive amount of untamed hair on my head and face - oh yeah, I forgot to mention the goatee that has now reached almost three inches in length.  

I promised my students earlier this year that they would be able to dye my hair the week of the shaving for St. Baldrick's day (see www.stbaldricks.org).  But St. Baldrick's is happening on Friday of that week and the hair dying is on Wednesday, the same day as my very professional meeting.  

For those of you who are unfamiliar with St. Baldrick's it is an organization that helps to fight childhood cancer.  Across the nation there are a number of organizations and groups that set out to raise money by organizing head shaving events for two reasons, to raise money and to de-stigmatize those kids who have to fight childhood cancer and may also be loose their hair. At the end of every fundraising year the organization puts out a complete list of what money was raised and where it went; very transparent and very open.  They are ranked very high in the percentage of money raised going to their mission as very little is used as 'administrative' costs - an easy way for many charities to raise money for the benefit of those raising the money.  St. Baldrick's is not like that at all. 

Those of you who know me, or can figure out what kind of person I am know that I plan on not even HESITATING about dying my hair, and then going to the professional meeting.  It's just not in my DNA to postpone that, nor is it to shirk my responsibilities to help fighting Childhood Cancer.  I have no problem looking the fool if it means I might be able to give another child a day with their parents.  It's worth all the laughing, silly comments I may get.  This is my commitment.  

What's yours? 

The FALL (part 2)

THE FALL (PART 2)

Click to read the first part of THE FALL

She loved me so much that when my mother told me that Clarice was nothing but a cold blooded gold-digger who only wanted my money.  I stopped talking to my mother for a month.  And when I finally did start talking to her again, I told her that if she ever said anything bad about Clarice that my mother would never – ever hear or see me again and that she would not get a dime of my money.

That was the end of it because my mother told me that she could never stomach seeing a gold-digger like Clarice rob me, ruin me and destroy me.  She told me that it just wasn’t in her to witness such a tragedy.  That was the last time I told to my mother.  Which was a shame because I knew that my mother and Clarice had talked over the phone and that Clarice had always come out of her room after talking to my mother with the largest smile on her face.  So, maybe there was room for forgiveness in my mother, maybe there was hope. 

I knew my mother was talking to her because in secret I was checking my wife’s phone records.  I knew it was wrong of me.  After all didn’t I trust my wife?  But my mother’s comments had sparked something inside me, after all, she was my mother and still held a powerful sway over my thinking. 

Boy, was I glad when I saw that the only people that my wife was talking to me was Randall and me.  And didn’t you know it, I found that just yesterday my mother had gotten a call from Clarice, that was when she had come from her private cabin, with that big smile on her face.  It must have been because she was trying to cook up a surprise reunion for my mother and me. 

Poor Randall.  It was Randall who had not been having any luck with the woman.  True, he would bring them around, but they seemed more like showpieces to help assuage his ego, allow the fiction of thinking he was still “getting the girl”. We never chided him, nor made him feel inadequate. In fact we praised him for it.  Clarice had just told him the other day that she was glad that he had not just any woman.  That all the girls he had brought home were nothing more than trollops and skanks, not worthy of dating such a “fine man” as he. 

Here I am in the water, slipping further into unconsciousness, my life flashing before me.  Thinking of all the mistakes I had made, the regrets, the hopelessly lost moments I would want to retrieve and redo.  All of this, while darkness began to overcome my vision.  My mind drifting back to those last few moments before I feel back.  Poor Randall, I thought again.

And then that last image replayed itself again.  Clarice hadn’t moved to catch me nor had she acted surprised as I crashed into the water.  And then I remembered.  Randall’s other hand ...

Sunday Scribble: What if life is real?

Sunday Scribble

What if life is real?

It’s a question I posed myself earlier this week as I was pondering another story.  I wanted to write a story that was on the level of some deep and far reaching concepts.  So I decided to ask myself that question.  Of course I wasn’t sure I would get an answer, but I thought it was worth exploring. 

It turns out it was a good question at the right time.  There are a number of people in my life who look at life as one big plan, and I admit, I am one of those believers.  I would also add that I wish someone would tell me what the goal of the plan was – cause I would like to make some adjustments to it in the vein of making it happier for me.  But I digress. 

So I said: “Self,”  paused momentarily as I fruitlessly waited for an answer.  “What if life is real?” 

After a few seconds I gave up waiting for an answer and just sat there, thinking.  This is the part of any one of those documentaries where the narrator would launch into a whole description of what life is – cause you have to understand that aspect of the question in order to answer the question.  Of course we know what life is…… Don’t we?

 Now before you get all fuzzy and watery, this is not a discussion on conception vs abortion, etc.  I was actually headed down a different path.  In a non-philosophical debate that doesn’t touch on conception or abortion we can move beyond that to something more pertinent to this discussion.  Looking at a cross section of friends, associates, acquaintances, occasional visitors, etc. etc. etc.; we can readily find those who we think have NO life, meaning they spend all their days doing work or something not fun or what we might perceive as uninteresting.   Or are we a placeholder.

A placeholder is what it sounds.  Just going through the motions, getting no where fast or slow, just going along – alone usually, towards no goal of possible accomplishment.  They are the people we call paycheck ------- (fill in the job title you wish- player, teacher, musician, construction worker).  They check in at the time clock, do just enough work, avoid creativity or going the mile; they don’t see it as their priority or as part of their job description.  (If you want me to do more, pay me more.)

These place holders have fun, but are they really entitled to it.  ‘Sure’ I thought.  ‘But maybe just enough to say they had fun.’  But then I thought, ‘What if that is living for them?’  And things just kinda clicked.  What if they’re fun was spent doing something that I found completely uninteresting.  Which is, of course, something completely possible. 

And I leave it to you.  Is what you are doing:  Reading a book, hunting, fishing, mud-bogging, crocheting, making kilts (thanks Barbara) or doing something – Anything that is interesting to you.  Is this your life – or are you just holding a place for someone to fill.  Decide before someone decides for you.  

Thursday Tales Presents: The Fall (Part 1)

I hope you enjoyed Fellow Othello, a take off of Shakespeare's story.  In our latest Thursday Tales I hope to give you a piece of small action from a potential tragedy.  I won't give away the ending but here's a taste of the story.  More to follow.....

THURSDAY TALES Presents:

THE FALL (Part 1)

“I’ve got to get out of these clothes – fast.” I thought to say but couldn't.  The light leaking through the water began to fade.   The water was surrounding me and I was quickly sliding further down into the darkening abyss.  The weight of my cloths held back my arms as I struggled to keep from going deeper; the intensity of the cold slowly sapping away my strength from me.  Fatigue began to take hold as every movement made my arms and legs feel heavier, becoming more clumsy as I struggled.

With all my strength I tried to kick, only to be met with a wince of pain from my left leg. It must have broken when I fell.  I struggled on.   Despite this, there was a detached feeling to the whole scene. My mind struggled to stay focus as reality seemed to shift.  I looked down and saw my fingers fumbling with the buttons on my shirt, trying and failing to undo all the buttons as I tried to get out of the shirt.

Instinct took over as I kicked off my shoes, and then tried to wiggle out of my pants, made even more difficult by the pain shooting though my leg.  The pain from my leg intensified, bring me the clarity that I needed. Then the panic came. 

I couldn't breathe, and I needed air.  All I had in my lungs was the breath I had caught as I tumbled from deck of my yacht.  My last image was of my wife, a wicked smile on her face, with Randall standing slightly behind her holding one arm back.  Randall had been the best man at my wedding, last month, my best friend since college. As I hit the water the last sound I heard was the splash of the water mingled with a woman’s scream.

I knew that I was doomed, that I would die in this watery place.  I continued to kick, but the pain that had brought me back to reality before failed.  I no longer had feeling in my legs.  As I prepared to meet my maker I did so with a clear understanding that I had done all I could for those I would leave behind.  A peace settled over me.

My brothers, sisters and parents would be well taken care of because of the generous pension that I had put aside to take care of them after I had made my first hundred million.  The lawyers would get a piece of the action, but his family would be guaranteed a future. They would not be wanting.

My wife would be satisfied, all the life insurance on me would go directly to her, totaling nearly half of my overall wealth.  My misfortune would help add to her fortune.  Making her one of the wealthiest women in the world.  My only regret is not having children.  I would have liked to -.  My thinking paused.

The last image of my wife played within my head as delusions began to take over.  I thought of Clarice, my wife staring down at me with a wicked smile.  She was the most beautiful woman I had ever been with.  Her hair, a silk, her eyes pearls of beauty.  With or without make up she was a stunning woman.  I had instantly fallen in love with her.  What sane man wouldn't want to be with a beauty as stunning as she?  Before I had made my first million she would have been one of those women who would have been out of my reach.  I remember when I first asked her out that Randall, my best friend, had joked that she only wanted me for my money. 

We had been married only a short time, but I felt her love.  She would go on spending sprees, always bringing something back for me.  Sometimes Randall would accompany her.  There was nothing suspicious.  Randall was the only person that I could ever trust.  He had been a business partner of mine for years, a friend even longer.  Our college years were filled with escapades of how he would gain one conquest after another, no matter if it was sports or women, Randall was a man to be envied. 

And now I was the man to be envied.  Yes, Randall lived a comfortable life, but he did not have the financial resources that I had developed over the years, and he did not have the love of a beautiful woman like Clarice.  She loved me.  

To be Continued.......

Manic Monday

It's time for Manic Monday.  

I want to apologize to all my fans - all four of you (let's hope that's humor and not reality).  I was unable to post Sunday Scribble.  I promise to make it up to you soon.  Oh wait, I can do that now.  Today I am offering you an opportunity to download my book.  CAPTAIN ALGERNON FISK SAVES A PRINCESS!



In this story Fisk, is making his way towards the outer reaches of the solar system.  His mission calls for him to reach Pluto and secure the resources necessary to ensure the continued success of the Empire.  Along the way the HMS SCOTT encounters some the Princess and her escort of ships under attack....

Read on while Fisk turns a well organized plan of some pirates into a mess.  But in order to do that.  You have to download the book from here.