Happy Easter!

Enjoy your Easter and relax.  There is no Sunday Scribble today.

Sunday SCRIBBLE: FAILURE IS NOT AN OPTION!

I so dropped the ball this morning.  I wrote this and didn't post it.  My bad.  Here - for your reading pleasure......

The Sunday Scribble:

FAILURE IS NOT AN OPTION!  

It has been 44 years since the incident of Apollo 13. For those of you unfamiliar with Apollo 13 – watch the movie.  One of the oxygen cells blew while the crew was on its way to the moon.  The rest of the mission was scrubbed; NASA and the crew struggled to get home before the space ship they were in failed completely.   NASA called it a successful failure because no one died during the mission and despite the mission not getting complete; they were able to return everyone home. 

When we look at our world, we see amazing accomplishments.  We see large towers, massive projects, mankind overcoming nature.  If they happen here or somewhere else, we are still overcoming those obstacles, and it has cost us a lot at times.  We have lost ten astronauts in our quest for space.  Others died during construction phases, research and development and we have learned some harsh lessons since Alan Shepard said “LIGHT THIS CANDLE” nearly fifty years ago. 

Great nations make great things happen.  Great leaders make great things happen.  There needs to be a driving force to make great things happen – it won’t be done by committee.  Or at least it shouldn’t be because a committee will have no clear direction.  In our world we often overlook the power of what one individual can do.  We overlook what one person can do. 

Remember it was one boot stat first walked on the moon.  It was a single person who went into space first.  Individuals sticking it out there on the far end of the envelope, not pulling it back at the first sign of a bump – that’s what makes this country great.  It doesn’t matter if you are an astronaut traveling thousands of miles an hour towards a heavenly body or man or woman sitting on your back forty thinking of what you will seed, with what kind of seed.  These risks are LIFE!  They are what make us great, the INDIVIDUAL.  Yeah sometimes we fail.  But our greatness is our OWN! 

I made this – not just for me – but for you too.  We all enjoy the benefits of those who died risking their all as they crossed the void of space.  We enjoy the benefits of the space program and the innovations that came into our life.  A healthier life, an easier life, better medicines and better ways of living; all these came from the space program.  

I am a bit on a soap box today.  I think we need to do more space travel.  Get off this ball of rock and explore our solar system, terraform Mars.  Set up habitats in space; expand the human footprint before the next big dinosaur killer size asteroid impacts the planet – or just too free up impending social unrest from not enough resources.  Getting into space will teach us how to make energy with little or no impact on the environment, grow more abundant food, and build massive monuments to humanity in the form of factories in space, stations for families to live in and a universe to spread out into.  All these things can be accomplished.

Failure is not an option – unless you let it be.  Be the individual to hang it out over the edge.

Sunday Scribble: I AM NO HERO!

Sunday Scribble:

I AM NO HERO!

Last week I shaved my head.  I even wrote about it here when I discussed wearing a kilt.  I thought I was brave for doing it and tried to make a big deal about wearing something that was completely different and not normal.  Wearing it brought me some fear and was able to get a lot of kids on board with shaving their heads.  But I’m no hero. 

I don’t say this to convince myself, knew it long ago.  I say this because I want to make sure that there is a clear delineation between what a hero is and what a hero isn’t.   Me shaving my head, wearing a kilt is good for the kids, shows lots of spirit and commitment to cause, and maybe even draws some more students into donating money or shaving their heads.  But I am not a hero. 

Working on the Sussex Tech Fashion Show has given me the opportunity to know some heroes.  A little background first.  For the second year in a row the Fashion Show is trying to raise money to put together the cemetery that is going up next to Sussex Tech.  Last year the Fashion Show and Sussex Tech raised $13,000.  This year we’re hoping to break that amount. 

However, my point still stands.  While I am no hero, the people who we are doing the Fashion Show for are heroes, and families of heroes.  I can think of nothing sadder than hearing a Gold Star mother tell me that she appreciates my efforts because she cannot drive the three hours to South Jersey, where her son is buried.  That bringing him up here to Sparta is her greatest hope and prayer.  It leaves you speechless, and if it doesn’t- well you just don’t get it.

I can never understand or know what these heroes and their families have gone through.  I can appreciate and respect it.  It’s a humbling feeling getting hugged by a man old enough to be my father, tears running down his cheeks.  He struggles to thank you for making it possible for his wife to visit him when he’s no longer here, that she won’t risk her life to drive so far in her declining health. 

Meeting wounded soldiers, so damaged from the foreign war and the one waged in them on a daily basis, when they can’t hold a job that pays more than $12 an hour; their families struggling to live on less than $25,000 a year, with veteran’s benefits. 

There is no substitute for courage, valor or the heart of love of country.   These brave men and women are more than just some forgotten statistic from some power struggle.  We fight wars for various reasons, and this is neither condemnation nor support for those reasons.  Instead, it’s just meant as support for those who fought it in our name, for the love of their country. 

Every day of my life I look up at my father’s flag in my office, it’s triangle box of wood a poor substitute for the mountain of my life he represented.  I wonder at how many other triangles are out there, not observed by a grown adult man who lost his father, but a child whose only way of remembering his father is that wooden triangle with the stars and stripes folded inside. 

I am no hero.  Are you?

EXCERPT FROM: CAPTAIN ALGERNON FISK AGAINST THE PIRATES OF THE ASTEROID BELT:

EXCERPT FROM: 

CAPTAIN ALGERNON FISK AGAINST THE PIRATES OF THE ASTEROID BELT:

Chapter 1:

 Commander Algernon Fisk sat in the command chair of the HMS HORACE. The small command crew worked feverishly on their nav plots as they headed into the cluttered space of the Asteroid Field. Even the most experienced crews feared to tread through this maze, and it was even more difficult for this newly formed crew under their rookie commander, with an equally untested, overpowered ship.

The UNION merchant fleet had been hammering the Parliament about the increasingly large number of pirate attacks against the lifeline of the Commonwealth. When the Princeps Senatus (Head of the Senate, the upper House of Parliament) demands that the Admiralty do something about the situation: well, it was one of those “Yes sir” moments that officers hear about, but hope to never be involved in.

When push came to shove, there just weren’t enough ships or squadrons around to deal with the enormous demands. The Fleet was already tasked with maintaining the border against the increasingly aggressive Rus/Com forces of Saturn, maintaining a presence around the solar system and also protecting trade within the Jovian moon system.  The UNION, the offspring of Old Europe, headed by Great Britain, had escaped to Jupiter during the great Human Diaspora. As Earth fell apart through war, disease and famine the nations of the world reached out to the final frontier for their salvation. Using the latest in gravity technology the human race was able to lift large numbers of people off the planet and provide habitats to support them. It was hoped that this desperate moment would end all the petty fights, wars and disagreements that had caused so much strife on Old Earth, but it seemed that these same problems just followed humanity into space.

That was nearly three hundred years before Fisk found himself in the Asteroid Belt between Mars and Jupiter. And in those three hundred years the different societies had clustered themselves around the solar system and made their new homes. Nearly 80 percent of all the traffic in the solar system traveled past one portion of the asteroid belt or another. And because of the maze and ever-changing nature of the belt, it made a perfect haven for pirates to operate from.

It was all civilized. Well, as civilized as pirates can be. Like the medieval families of Italy or the mobsters of the 20th century, the Asteroid Belt had been broken up into family-controlled sections. Each section was based out of one of the largest asteroid bodies within the belt. The families set up on these rocks were all legal and protected; protected if not from the multiple minefields or other military hardware, then by the maze of rocks in the way. There was no way that any Navy could move a dreadnaught or even a large cruiser into the Belt without risking getting holed by a rock.

Intelligence suggested that there were three main families that “ruled” the Belt.  The most influential of all three was the Medici Family, which operated out of Ceres. Ceres is the largest asteroid in the Belt. Its size puts it in the classification of a dwarf planet. Over the last three hundred years the Medici Family had used it to create a very successful empire of trade, corruption and treachery.

“Closing on the outer rim of the Asteroid Belt,” Lieutenant Beezer announced to no one. Lieutenant Beezer was new to the officer corps. It turned out that he had once been a sailor on a pirate vessel years before. His ship had been taken on one of the rare occasions that a UNION warship had been there to help.

The ship that had captured him had been captained by then-Captain McIntyre, now Admiral McIntyre. McIntyre recognized in the crew of pirates the simple distinction that a sailor was a sailor. At the time, McIntyre had given the pirates of the captured ship the chance to join the fleet or be sent to prison for the rest of their life. It was an easy choice. Through the years of deployment, Beezer had followed McIntyre from command to command, at McIntyre’s insistence. Just before Captain McIntyre became Admiral McIntyre he had recommended Beezer to the officer corps as a direct commission to lieutenant.

A hundred years before it would have been unheard of, but with the ever-increasing need for officers and the ever-present threat of war, the recommendation became reality. Which was when Admiral McIntyre “encouraged” Fisk to take Beezer on as his second-in-command; when the head of Operations makes a recommendation, it’s one of those “Aye Aye sir” moments. It helped that Fisk had once been a lowly midshipman under McIntyre. McIntyre had taken a shine to Fisk and had done what he could to advance the young man’s career. In fact, it was McIntyre that had recommended Fisk for this assignment, which Fisk wasn’t sure he should be thankful for.

Regardless, Fisk trusted the Admiral with his life. Therefore, any recommendation from him was good enough for Fisk. As it turned out, Beezer was the perfect choice for Fisk. The intelligence section of the Admiralty only went so far in their knowledge. Beezer’s knowledge was often first-hand and filled with detail that the reports just couldn’t compete with. Beezer had not only been a sailor on a pirate ship, but had been the jack-of-all-trades type of sailor who was well sought out by ship captains. His reputation was as good as any pirate’s, but a bit better because of his abilities, which had given him access to knowledge about the lead pirates, their family connections and the secret underworld of the pirate way. This knowledge Fisk had put to immediate use, and had seen the immediate impact on his ship and crew.

“Sir, with all due respect, we need to dirty up the ship a bit,” Beezer had explained ten minutes after the two had met for the first time.

“What do you mean?” Fisk had asked.

The Royal Navy prided itself on maintaining its ships in the highest degree of readiness. Part of that readiness was that the ships look as sharp as they were expected to be. No ship was allowed to have rust on the hull or inside the ship. Everything was expected to be painted to the highest degree. All parts of the ship were expected to be in perfect working order. If it wasn’t, then it was expected that someone was working on it to make it better. There were many reasons for this; it helped with crew morale, and made the fleet look good, but the long hours that a ship was in transit from one spot to another often left a lot of time available for the sailors. This time had to be filled, often by the busy work that kept a ship in such good shape.

“It’s just that, if they see us come into port this way, sir,” Beezer apologized, holding his hat in front of him with both hands. “It’s just that if we pull into CERES PRIME or the Pillars with a ship in this good order, well I doubt we’ll make it past the outer marker without some trigger happy sum a b’ich peggin’ us as a Royal Wog,” Beezer explained. “Beggin’ your pardon, sir.”

Which was why the ship had been “dirtied up.” During the journey to the Belt Algernon had sent the crew to the hull, cutting pieces of the hull, burning the paint, even putting a few plasma bolt hits into the ship. All that had been done after they had applied a new paint scheme, which had been part of the original plan. Fisk wasn’t stupid; he knew that he wouldn’t be able to go into the capital of the Medici Family with the colors and designs of a Royal Warship, which was what the HORACE really was.

While it was officially classified as a corvette, it would be considered a very heavily armed corvette. But its current shape was a bit misleading. It looked more like a raider. The dings and dents that the crew had done to the hull had been repeated inside the ship. They had even added some stains to the seats and corners of the ship that resembled dried blood. The crew had left little pools of water in certain areas of the ship to create the needed rust to help enhance the image they were looking for. All this preparation had used up the better part of the ship’s trip from AMAZON BASE.

“Scans indicate potential targets in the Defile,” the ship’s MSOC or Main Ship Operating Computer said over the loudspeaker. “Working to identify.”

The MSOC was the heart of the ship. Every ship system had one or two computers running them. Just the command seat that Fisk was sitting at had three computers working to meet his demands; these were smart computers, able to anticipate his needs, and were very high end on the software and the versatility of the machines. For many of the systems such as the air supply, there was a dumb computer in every room that helped regulate supply. These “dumb” computers were often tailored to their type of job. There was no versatility built into the software and while they could be swapped out with a software change, it was a time-consuming affair.

Each of the dumb computers in the life support system had two backups which also doubled as backups for other systems, totaling up to nearly a hundred “dumb” computers which had been created for the simple job of running the life support in the different rooms of the entire ship. The engineering spaces had three times the number of life-support “dumb” computers because of the massive heat and temperature changes in there. And that was just one system of the ship. The water and waste system were even more complex. All of these systems had human operators looking over them. The one entity that made sure all the “dumb” computers kept up on their tasks was the MSOC. Its massive core was the same size as the bridge. It was broken into three parts and spread around the ship, providing that at least part of the MSOC would still be functioning if the ship was hit.

“Roger that, CHERRY,” Fisk responded, punching the data from the sensors onto his screen. “They’re probably nothing more than the outer marker forces of the Medici Family. The Defile is the main route to CERES,”  Fisk said to himself.

There were few “highways” in the Asteroid Belt, but the well-known one was the Defile. Due to the magnetic fields of Ceres and a number of other larger asteroids, there was a passage that was large enough to put three ships the size of the HORACE in. While the passage had been long, it was originally blocked by several formations of asteroids. Nearly two hundred years ago, according to intelligence, the Medici Family had purchased several large field generators that had pushed back the rocks. Those generators were still working to this day, and their maintenance as well as the duty to the defense of the Defile was granted to the Governor of the Defile.

Throughout the years, according to Intelligence and Beezer, the Governors had been the most trusted family friends of the Ruling Medici. The Defile was lined with cannons and other weapons. The last line of defense was the generators. If they were destroyed, the passage known as the Defile would fill up in the choke points, blocking any aggressor from successfully getting to CERES PRIME.   

According to Beezer, the man in charge of the Defile was no other than Jack “Death” Ridge. Jack was a notorious bandit and pirate of the highest order. It was believed by intelligence that he was responsible for some of the more horrendous pirate incidents recently. One story told of how a pleasure vessel owned by a family was overtaken by “Death” Ridge. The pirate had taken everything on board, including the food and extra oxygen tanks. Before he left he punctured a small hole into the cabin which the owners were locked into. The ruptured hole caused all the air to exit. But that was after he had tied up the parents and put them in oxygen suits. Their four-year-old had been left to wander around the cabin without a suit. They had to watch as the cabin slowly lost pressure. The parents were forced to watch their baby die a horrible death. It was a story that couldn’t be confirmed because the parents died of asphyxiation, having knocked their masks off their faces instead of watching their baby die.

While it hadn’t been confirmed, Beezer, who had heard similar stories about Ridge, believed that not only was it probably, but very likely, true.

“Receiving message,” said CHERRY (the name for the MSOC, or more correctly, it was the nickname based on the computer’s designation, which was CHRE-374).

“Who goes there,” a gruff voice asked over the intercom.

“That voice sounds familiar,” Beezer said, in barely over a whisper. “I know that voice,  I think that’s Sten…”  he paused, as he thought some more. “Yes, Sten Marko of the old RAIDER’S ARK.”

“This is the Star of New Caledonia,” Fisk said. The Star of New Caledonia had been a private escort ship, hired by those who could afford it to protect valuable cargos in transit: a mercenary. It had been decommissioned by its owners at the insistence of the UNION government. A cover story had been put out that the Star of New Caledonia had been attacked and taken in a raid against the wealthy mining giant Nathan Star—of STAR INDUSTRIES. The ship and the crew had bought enough time for Star’s yacht to get away, at least that’s what the UNION Fleet wanted everyone to believe had happened.

“We are coming in for trade,” Fisk clarified.

“Don’t come no further ’less we blow you out of space,” the voice said.

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.

Part 4: The Final Installment of A FELLOW OTHELLO

PART 4:  The Final Installment of 

A FELLOW OTHELLO

Sitting in Mr. Fuddle’s office was not a good way to end any day.  Mr. Fuddle held up his mirror and looked at himself once more.  The room was packed with Rachel, Gale, Cassie, Tommy and Jimmy.  Mr. Braker had just left the office, after explaining what he had witnessed. 

“So who wants to start,” Mr.Fuddle asked. “I have the rest of the day since I already suspended Jenny for what she did.”

“It’s all my fault,” Rachel said.  “I trusted a boy who I thought was good.”

“I have no idea what you are talking about,” Mr. Fuddle said.  “Would you care to elaborate?”

“That jerk,” Rachel said pointing towards Tommy. “He gave me his mother’s necklace, or something that he claimed was his mother’s necklace.”  Her anger was sharp, if it was a movie flames would have be coming from her eyes.  “Then the jerk stole it back and gave it to her.”  Rachel pointed at Cassie.

Understanding dawned on Jimmy’s face.

“That’s not the way I think it happened,” Jimmy said after a moment.  It wasn’t long before Jimmy explained what he had seen Gale do on the bus, unraveling her sordid plan of deception. 

“Well young lady,” Mr. Fuddle said.  “Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

“I want to call my mom,” was all Gale would say, her face was drawn and pointed down at her feet.  She had been caught and there was no way out.  She had screwed up, and it was all that jerk Jimmy’s fault.  If he had just gotten off the bus and not stayed looking at her.  Then my plan would have worked. 

Somewhere in the back of her mind, that middle school brain began to spin as she thought that Jimmy had stayed on the bus waiting for her.  Did he like her?  Did she like him?  Did he want to dump Jenny and date me now?  All those thoughts hovered.  And then she remembered where she was sitting.  

“I bet you do,” Mr. Fuddle said as he dismissed the rest of the students, promising to give out their punishments after he had finished with Gale.

MANIC MONDAY - FREE BOOKS

It's Manic Monday

Once again, I am humbly offering one of my books out to you, my readers, in the hope of showing a smidgen of gratitude for your willingness to take a chance with me.  As some of you may know I sought to create Captain Algernon Fisk as an officer of great gentlemanly character and strong virtue, similar to what we might see in Horatio Hornblower from the legendary series of C.S. Forester.

CAPTAIN ALGERNON FISK and the HMS SCOTT

This part of the Fisk's story takes place three years after the first book in the series.  Since then Fisk has spearheaded a growing presence of the Empire's force within the Asteroid Belt; a force determined to deal with the pirates who ravaged and pillaged the space lanes of the Sol System.  As we will find out in this part of the story, with great success, there can not be complete victory against so insidious a population as pirates.

Enjoy my fair reader.  Again, I am humbly thankful for your attention and would greatly appreciate it if you shared this information with your friends, peers, vassals, lieges, lords and ladies while leaving a review of the story in the appropriate box.

Captain Algernon Fisk and the HMS SCOTT can be downloaded here from Amazon.

Sunday Scribble

Sunday Scribble:  

What's in a word?

or

A History of the Flush Toilet!

The word 'crap' has many different connotations and meanings.  To some it's a good word to describe something not in the best of shape.  According to Mike Rowe (of Dirty Jobs and multiple voice overs including my ringtone of him singing Dr. Seuss's Mr. Grinch)  C.R.A.P.  means Collectibles, Rare And Precious.  While still others use the word CRAP as a term of endearment as in - "It maybe Crap, but it's all mine."  And let's not forget that it is the root of the name of the most famous plumber of all time; a person who has been mistakenly credited for creating the one invention that delineates Civilized Society from Barbaric Society -  Of course I am talking of no other than THOMAS CRAPPER.  Crapper has been correctly credited with inventing the .......BALLCOCK... which helps the flow and flushing of the ah.... crapper. Of course in old English and in parts of Great Britain today the word Crap refers to weeds, or rubbish or even chaff.  

Within the last hundred years or so the word has come to mean something as in dealing with human waste.  In the event that those of you who read this don't realize this I'm a man of history.   I soak up historical facts like a piece of bread sops up soup.  Yes, like that and then some.  I try not to be picky and discriminate about history - after all there is so much of it and it would be very easy to be selective.  Not me, however.  I enjoy hearing about the Ancient Greeks, Early Romans, Middle Age, Dark Age, Sun-Tzu, Mao, Stanley and Livingston, the Pharaohs, Olmecs, Mayans, Easter Island, Stonehenge, King Alfred the Great, Rollo, Xenophon and yes even CRAPper -  the list goes on.  

Long ago, before I had finished college but after I knew everything like a teenager, my now late mother told me of the one defining invention that separates us from the barbaric ages.  She explained how this single invention makes the world of difference in humanity's growth.  It's invention and subsequent improvements helped to prevent disease, improve lifestyles of people and changed the way that the word 'wealth' was used to define people.  

Of course the obvious avoidance of pestilence, she explained, was but the way to prevent disease.  Filth could now travele down the pipe and out of the home. No longer was the average person forced to dump their - ah crap - (i.e. rubbish, weeds and other leavings) out the window to the small gutter that ran down the street.  The gutter which would be filled up and only emptied by the next rain storm, all of which would end up in the river that ran through or by the town.  

When the diseased filth gets flushed down the crapper it flows through the pipes,down to the sewage system of the city and eventually ends up in that river.  The waste then flows down river getting mixed in with the sediment, water, river banks or simply flows to the next town.  Of course this system is only truly beneficial for those closer to the head waters of the river or those rich folks furthest from the water - so just don't go swimming.  

According to those who know, history's definition of wealth has changed repeatedly over the eons.  Early on, it was the amount of sheep or other animals which you had in your tribe as you roamed the lands. As societies settled into more structured civilizations, pasture and farm land size mattered.  This changed to include the amount of gold or precious metals you could use to shape into things to sell or use to defend yourself with - i.e. weapons of war such as the sword or pike.  Some cultures looked at the number of camels while others looked at the size and shape of your ships because it meant you could send more materials to sell on the backs of the camel or keel of a ship.  This all changed again with Crapper and his popularity among the English gentry.  

My mother explained that when Edward VII ordered Crapper to outfit one of his homes he gained national prestige and made everyone want his work, the then contemporary version of what we know more popularly in our vernacular as the flush toilet, water closet or as some know it - their reading seat - and if living the movie THIS IS FORTY (33 seconds in) - your chance to play Words With Friends.  This single act of Edward VII redefined wealth and what made you wealthy.  The flush toilet had reached it's ascendancy.  

Whatever your point of view on the word, keep in mind some simple facts.  Be thankful for Thomas Crapper, and that the word crap means more then crap.    

Until next time - make sure you check back Thursday for the conclusion of A FELLOW OTHELLO.

A Fellow Othello: Part 3

Thursday Tales Presents:

A Fellow Othello: 

(Part 3) 

To read Part 2 of A Fellow Othello Click HERE!

To read Part 1 of a Fellow Othello Click HERE!

Quickly ducking down, Gale found Rachel’s binder that she had left on the bus.  She reached into it and took out the necklace that she had watched Rachel tuck away in the front pocket of the binder.  She pocketed it and stood up.  It was then that she saw Jimmy looking back.  She wasn't sure that if he had seen her but tried to play it off.

“What,” Gale asked.

“What are you doing with Rachel’s binder,” Jimmy asked. 

“What do you mean,” Gale asked, acting dumb.  “Oh, that’s hers.  I just noticed that it was open and figured that the nice thing to do would be to close it so nothing would fall out when the bus moved.”

Jimmy looked at her skeptically, but he figured that with all the garbage she usually gave him for stupid stuff that calling her a liar would only make his day worse. 

“Sure,” Jimmy finally said and headed off the bus.  Gale followed quickly.

***

The touch tunnel was dark, which was the point of the enclosed space.  You had to crawl along the carpeted area in complete blackness, feeling your way.  Gale had positioned herself in front of Cassie, knowing she would have an opportunity to get close.  The plan that Gale had come up with was to drop the necklace into Cassie’s pocket. 

About half way she had her opportunity.  Stopping Gale asked Cassie if she would take the lead for her.  As Cassie passed Gale, she stuck the necklace into the other girl’s pocket.  Getting out of the tunnel, the sweaty group of middle schoolers met up with Mr. Breaker at the hallway.

Gale met up with Jenny who had been at the back of the line. 

“I thought you were going to wait up for me,” Jenny asked.

“I couldn’t,” Gale said.  “The people here wouldn’t let me.” She lied  “Besides I had a great idea.”

“What’s that,” Jenny asked.

“I think you should pick a fight with Cassie,”

“Why would I do that,” Jenny asked. 

“Well, because she’s going to be the next vice-president of student council,” Gale said.

“WHAT!” Jenny exclaimed, drawing the attention of those closest to her. 

“I heard Cassie bragging about it yesterday in Science, but I didn’t want to upset you.” Gale said.  “And I thought you knew already.”

Jenny angrily stormed off towards where Cassie stood, Jenny looked hard at Cassie.  Gale had positioned herself next to a group of other kids and acted as if she was engaged in talking to them.  This enabled her to be able to hear the confrontation while not seeming to notice it. 

“So, you like to brag,” Jenny said to her.  “You are such a b**ch.”

Jenny pulled her arm back and swung at Cassie.  Cassie tried to step back, but not fast enough.  The top third of Jenny’s fingers made contact with the front of Cassie’s face, turning the unprepared girl’s head sideways and staggering her. 

A moment later Jenny was able to slap with the other hand at Cassie’s face, sending the girl to the ground. Jenny took her leg back as if to kick, but was stopped by the timely intervention of Rachel who pulled the smaller girl back from Cassie.

Mr. Braker came around to the front of the group, surprise covering his face.  There was one of his better students on the ground and another standing over her read to kick her senseless.

“That’s enough ladies,” Mr. Braker said.  “Neutral corners,” Mr. Braker soon regained control of the situation. “What happened her?”

“Cassie has been running around telling everyone that she was appointed to the student council, rubbing it in my face.”  Jenny said loud enough for everyone in the immediate vicinity to hear. 

“That’s not true,”  Cassie said.

“You told Gale in science class,” Jenny yelled back.

“Is that true Cassie?” Mr. Braker asked. 

Sheepishly Cassie looked up at Mr. Braker.  His face was a stern mask, filled with anger at his school trips interruption and the embarrassment this would bring him back at school and from the people at the Planetarium. 

“Well,”  Mr. Braker said testily.  “Yes or No?”

“Yes, I told Gale,” Cassie said finally. 

“Well, I’m going to talk to the Vice Principal about this and I doubt he will still want you to be part of Student Council.” 

Jenny leaped up and clapped her hands, yelling “Yay!”

“And as for you, young lady,” Mr. Braker turned on Jenny.  “I sincerely doubt that our esteemed Vice Principal will want you to participate in Student Council at all.  In fact I suspect that both of you will be spending some quality time suspended in or out of school.” 

Mr. Braker made the two girls walk around with him after that but not before Rachel had a chance to talk to Cassie.

“I have to say I’m disappointed,” Rachel said to Cassie.

“Me too, I never would have thought that Jenny would have flipped out like that,” Cassie said. 

“I didn’t mean I was disappointed in Jenny,” Rachel said.  “I meant you.”

“Why me?” A completely shocked Cassie asked.

“Because you were running around blabbing about your appointment,” Rachel said.  “Now I don’t know if I can trust you in this position.  Being my vice-president has to be someone I can trust to keep a secret.  It seems you can’t be.”  It was bad enough that Mr. Fuddles wouldn’t want Cassie as the vice president, but neither did Rachel now.

Without another word Rachel turned and left Cassie in stunned silence.

Rachel didn’t get far before Gale intercepted her. 

“What’s the matter Rachel, you look so upset,” Gale asked.

Rachel looked at Gale, again unsure if Gale was being sincere or trying to upset her.  Rachel still wasn’t sure what had been Gale’s intention on the bus. 

“Nothing,” Rachel said, figuring that it was better to be safe rather than sorry later.

“Good,” Gale said.  “I was afraid it was about the necklace thing.”

“No, I figured you were just trying to be helpful back on the bus,” Rachel said.

“Oh,” Gale said, her face innocent.  “I didn’t mean that necklace thing.”

“What do you mean,” Rachel asked.

“I meant the necklace thing with Cassie,” Gale said.  “I figured that’s what you were talking to her about.” Gale made it look like she was trying to hold something in.  “I couldn’t help but overhear what you just said to Cassie and I thought it was related to the necklace.”

“What are you getting at,” Rachel asked.

Gale hesitated, appearing unsure how to proceed, although she knew exactly what she was doing, creating drama and scoring some attention points while getting back at Rachel for her friend Jenny.  If Gale felt any remorse at her friends loss of the vice president job on the student council, Gale didn’t show it.  She knew that in any plan there needed to be sacrifice, and after all this plan was to get revenge on a girl who was trying to steal Jenny’s boyfriend, not Gales.  It was only fitting that Jenny have some difficulty come from the plan.

“Let it out,” Rachel said, her patience clearly growing thin.

“Well, you didn’t hear this from me,” Gale began.  “But I heard that Tommy had given your necklace to,” Gale held up her left hand blocking her right hand from Cassie’s view, who still looked dumbfounded.  Gale’s finger was pointing at Cassie.

“No way,” Rachel said firmly.  “I don’t believe it.”

Gale looked over at Cassie, noticed a piece of the necklace hanging out of Cassie’s pants.  Rachel followed Gale’s look and saw the same chain.  By that time Cassie noticed the two girls staring and also followed to where they were looking and saw the same chain.  Cassie reached down and pulled the necklace from the pocket, unsure how or what she was looking at.

Rachel’s face instantly contorted into rage.  With an anger she didn’t know she had in her, she yelled and headed towards the crowd of her fellow students.  Rachel saw Tommy standing next to his friend Jimmy, she headed straight for them.  When she got there she didn’t even hesitate, she through first one punch and then a second. 

Tommy blocked the first and then the second.  Jimmy tried to intervene and was shoved back by the enraged girl.  Jimmy banged his head against the ground and yelled out.  Rachel finally connected with Tommy’s forehead, sending him back a step. 

It was then that the surprisingly strong Mr. Braker was able to hold the struggling girl back from any further punching.  Mr. Braker idly thought that it was the last time he would be coming to the Planetarium with anyone.  It was moments like this that made him hate not taking an early retirement.

Manic Monday - Revisited

MANIC MONDAY 2/17/2014

Why should Monday be seen so bad.  Let's lighten the mood, shall we? 

 Celebrating the increased number of participants viewing my stories on my website brings us to the second Manic Monday.  I know we all work hard and I want to humbly thank you for finding the time to spend with me reading my writings.  Once again I offer up to you another free Kindle story in the hopes that you continue to know the depths of my appreciation.  

Captain Algernon Fisk Against the Pirates of the Asteroid Belt

This story tells of a newly minted Captain of a small ship sent to deal with the growing pirate trade out of the Asteroid Belt of our Sol system.  The Belt circles the center of our solar system and because of that is easily the best place to have pirates operate out of as shipments have to cross it's path along the solar systems plane.  Captain Algernon Fisk story is set in a time period where Saturn is dominated by a communist state on the bring of collapse, a British empire based out of Jupiter allied with an American presence on Mars.  Assorted other nationalities are spread out among the Human Diaspora within the solar system, providing a political climate on the brink of war.  

This first book of Fisk is humbly offered to you, my reader.  Please feel free to leave a review if you have read the story already or if you haven't download today and read at your leisure.